Ride the Man Down Read Free Page A

epitaphs on gravestones, for Will had pictured them thus—each as a new death for Hatchet.
    It had begun with the blizzards in February which piled foot after foot of snow upon the flats until Phil Evarts, helpless and raging, had ridden out to his death in the storm in a vain attempt to cut the drift fences. That nightmare week had wiped out all but a remnant of Hatchet’s cattle, leaving them piled in frozen windrows against the drift fences. Phil’s death had set in motion the chain of events that brought John Evarts to Hatchet as owner. The crises began then and followed each other with the regularity of beads on a string. John Evarts could not swing loans from the bank, and the Hatchet crew, with no loyalty for a man who would not provide for them; broke up and drifted away with their wages owing. So now Hatchet’s vast range that Phil Evarts had plundered from weaker men was empty and stood waiting for a man strong enough to take it. And that man, everyone knew, was Bide Marriner. In the struggle for more range and more water holes for more cattle that made up the life of a big rancher, Phil Evarts had outguessed and outfought Bide Marriner at every turn. But Phil was dead and Bide was alive, the ultimate crisis that John Evarts must face.
    Will had known the showdown would come after the snows. Phil Evarts had been a brigand, tougher than, his tough neighbors, but his brother was a reasonable man, which in this country was interpreted as a sign of weakness. So now these outfits, large and small, were closing in on him and forcing his hand, for there was nothing between them and the empty limitless ranges of Hatchet except a timid aging man and an unpaid skeleton crew, of which Will was boss. A dozen times Will had decided to drift, and each time he had stayed, hating himself, helpless, waiting for the inevitable.
    And now it was here. Bide had moved onto Hatchet under cover of calf burning, and John Evarts didn’t want to see it. It was in his face and Will watched it, just as Sam and Celia were watching it.
    John said reluctantly, then, “Maybe you’re right, Will. But Bide might lease it from us.”
    Sam Danfelser said flatly, “That’s not the way to handle Bide, John.”
    His heavy positive voice seemed to wipe out John Evarts’ words; it was more than a contradiction, and the older man strangely seemed to welcome it.
    Sam put his big hands on the back of the chair in front of him and spoke slowly now to Evarts.
    â€œBide won’t lease. Phil took Russian Springs away from him, and he figures it’s his. He won’t pay for it.”
    â€œWhat would satisfy him?” Evarts asked.
    Sam said flatly, positively, “Give it to him. He’s leading the pack. Cut the ground from under him and you’ve got them beat. Give it to him.”
    Will made no move, said nothing, but he watched Celia. He could see the protest mount in her eyes, and he knew Sam Danfelser saw it, too, and didn’t care.
    Celia said challengingly, “If Bide wanted a chunk of D Cross would you give it to him, Sam?”
    Sam regarded her coolly, almost impersonally, and nodded. “If I’d stolen it from him and didn’t have a crew to fight for it, yes. I’d give it back before he took it—and a lot more.”
    Celia looked to John Evarts now, silently appealing to him. And Sam was watching him, too, just as silently forcing his will upon him. Under the scrutiny of them, Evarts was uncomfortable, but some decision was necessary and he knew it. He sighed and said, “I believe you’re right, Sam. He’ll take it anyway.”
    â€œGive it to him before he takes it,” Sam said. He was pleased with himself, and he could not keep a smugness entirely from his voice.
    Celia looked fleetingly at Will, who was rubbing the edge of the boot-scarred desk, watching his hand, completely quiet, out of this. He was not going to help her.
    She turned from him