15 Western Short Stories — page 51: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE TEXAS KIND count nesters. If we could get hold of that water, we’d be made.” “We'll all be made,” the surveyor stated testily. He paused again. “And just in case you and Pete have some notion of putting a slug through my back to increase your profits...I’ve got a full statement signed, sealed and salted. Anything happens to me, a friend’ll find the paper where it’s hidden—and there'll be a vigilante posse to straighten you out. J may be broke and dead...but soll you and Pete be.” Hank seemed to be biting off a chew of tobacco. Presently he said: “Don t trust us, huin?” “Hell no!” said the surveyor. “Why would I trust a couple of do-gooders like you? ...Where’s Pete?” “He went up to plant the dyna- mite,” “Dynamite?” “Yes. Those Uniemacds re tough. The younguns take after the old man. Even the girl’s sort of a she-buffalo. Me’n Pete went over to pay a social call when we came here couple months ago. Pete was kinda took by the girl’s shane—and damn’ if she didn’t run us both off with a shotgun.” “so?” “Well, Pete plants the dynamite... and if they happen to be trespassin’ on our property and don’t get out of the way...” Larribee listened. Presently he had control of both the facts and the face of appearances. One of the facts was that the Underwoods had no friends in the county. They remained aloof even when they went to town for groceries. And they had no use for the drunken sheriff or his deputy. Underwood had asked them to come out to investigate some stock losses, but they hadn’t done it. The surveyor inquired: snoring?” Hank said: “Saddle tramp. Drifted in afoot yesterday. He’s got no use for Underwood. I hired his gun and him....” Larribee was still snoring noisily when Hank Smathers came to awaken him a few minutes later. The sun was rising. “Who’s that “Time to start. Larribee. Come in an’ have some coffee.” Larribee “awoke” woozily, with ela- 51 borate yawns, looked stupid, rubbed his eyes. “No night’s ever long enough,” “Har. Come swaller some coffee and we get goin’.” The sullen Jacoby and the survey- or were already drinking rancid cof- fee. The surveyor was thin and prim- looking and dressed in a town-type suit of medium gray. Smathers intro- duced Larribee briefly and poured a tincup full of the stuff. “What's the job?” Larribee asked. “A roundup?” “Kind of.” Smathers looked at him for a time. “Underwood’s been steal- in’ our water. We aim to change that. All you got to do is look tough and say nothin’, Don’t shoot unless it looks as if you’re goin’ to be shot at. Ain't that a simple way to earn a horse?” “Seldom heard of a simpler one.” They finished the coffee. Hank said: “We’ll walk up.” it WAS NOT a long walk. A quar- ter of a mile or so across a dried-up pasture and then a two-minute climb up the hill to the lake. Most of the east wall of the lake was manmade of stone and earth. The wall was about six feet wide and flat on top. The water was up to within a foot of the top. As the four approached lake level, Larribee scrutinized the face of the wall. Sure enough, a niche had been gouged into the face of the wall four feet from the top. Six sticks of dyna- mite were in that niche. A long fuse led to a thick clump of bushes toward the north and slightly east of the wall. Anyone standing on the wall would be unable to see the fuse. Hank Smathers bellowed: You there? All set?” From the thickly concealing clump of bushes: “All set!” “Stay hid,” Hank ordered. “Remem- ber Underwood’s got a telescope. We won't have long to wait.” “I got the drop on ’em double when >? they get here! Pete Smathers’ voice sounded quite familiar to Larribee, somehow. But there was nothing positive about the recognition, “All right.” Hank gestured to the surveyor. “Pin your legal notices on cCoMmichoo “Pete! S (CO