Hardcase Read Free Page A

“Not till I’ve talked to you.”
    Carol sank down on the bed and put the flat of her palms to her temples. She shivered a little, and Dave looked at her curiously, his face impassive. He liked the blue color of the dress she was wearing, and he thought she looked nice, and he knew it wasn’t because she was the first white woman he’d seen for a long time.
    He said, gently for him, “What’s the matter?”
    Carol looked up. “I’m just thinking what an awful fool I am. First, I sent Will Usher the wrong letter, and he found out you were here. Second, I addressed your letter in your own name, so the whole town is hunting you. And now—well, Dad is with me. He’s bound to find out you’re here and he’ll head a posse for three weeks just to hunt you down.”
    Dave said, “You’re flustered, I reckon. You was flustered when you sent me word in Mexico. You still are. Why?”
    â€œDave,” Carol said, “will you please go? Now? Will you please get out of town?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI—I sent word to you in Mexico because I needed help. You see, I didn’t forget that stage trip we had together when I came home from school. I couldn’t very well forget it, could I, when it was in all the newspapers in the territory that you saved me from that gang of Will Usher’s kidnapers?”
    â€œYou shouldn’t have told ’em who I was.”
    â€œBut I thought Dad would plead with Governor Johns for your pardon! I—I didn’t know they’d chase you clear out of the territory into Mexico.”
    â€œNeither did I,” Dave said carelessly.
    â€œThen when this—this trouble came up I sent for you because—well, I guess I thought you could help.”
    â€œWhat trouble?”
    â€œOh, it doesn’t matter now!” Carol cried. “You can’t help! All you can do is get out while you can!”
    â€œWhat trouble?” Dave insisted.
    â€œDad’s trouble. Haven’t you heard that we’re losing all our range on a forged deed?”
    Dave scowled. “Who forged it?”
    â€œTate Wallace. He owns the Three Rivers Cattle Company.”
    The interest in Dave’s eyes quickened. “Tate Wallace or Wallace Tate?”
    â€œTate Wallace. Why?”
    â€œWhat’s he look like?”
    â€œHe’s a Texan. Tall, slim, over thirty, light hair and eyes, and a lazy way—”
    â€œI know him,” Dave said thinly. “How’d he do it?”
    â€œHe and his men just rode in and burned our line camps and drove our riders off and shoved the stock back. All we have now is the house. We fought, but there were too many of them. When the sheriff visited them they showed him the deed of sale from Dad. Now Dad’s taking it to court, but it won’t do any good.”
    â€œWhy won’t it?” Dave asked softly.
    â€œThey’ve got the fake witness to the deed—a liar named Sholto—under heavy guard. They’re bringing him through here tomorrow on the way to Sabinal, where they’ll take him by train to Santa Fe for the suit. We’re on our way now too.”
    â€œWhat did you want me for?” Dave asked.
    Carol blushed, but she looked him straight in the eye. “You won’t like this, Dave. But you told me you were a gunman. Everybody said you were. I wanted you to come up and—and drive the Three Rivers outfit off our range.”
    â€œThat’s all right,” Dave said tonelessly. “I would have too.”
    â€œBut it’s too late now! The message took so long to reach you, and in between the deed came to light and Dad filed suit.” She paused. “Now do you see? You can’t help!”
    Dave lounged erect from the door and walked into the middle of the room, his hands on his hips. His face was alert, still, curious.
    â€œYou think you tolled me into a trap and you’re sorry,” he