‘Don’t try lying, Makin,’ Larry snapped. ‘And you were told to keep away from this spread.’
‘So I didn’t.’ Makin shrugged. ‘And I never shall whilst Val is around. I’ve a preacher on his way here to marry us.’
‘Pity he’ll have a wasted journey,’ Richard King said, getting to his feet. Larry’s eyes travelled to the bloodstained kerchief about the rancher’s hand; then he looked at Val.
‘Better take your dad in the kitchen and bind him up properly,’ he said. ‘His hand wants fixing — and besides you may not like to see what’s going to happen in here.’
‘With what?’ Makin asked sourly, glancing at the floor. ‘I reckon you’ve no more stones to throw at me.’
‘I don’t need them,’ Larry said evenly, throwing his hat into a corner. ‘Go on, Val — take your father out.’
She hesitated, then her father decided the issue for her by leaving the room. She gave an anxious backwards glance. Larry did not notice it. He was measuring Makin as he stood with clenched fists on the other side of the table.
‘You’re finished around here, Makin,’ Larry said. ‘I’m going to give you a sample of what you’ll get any time you set foot in here again, until maybe my patience gets exhausted and I put a bullet through you instead … ’
Makin remained silent. He kept his eyes fixed on Larry’s clenched fists.
‘I’m going to give you some long-overdue repayment for molesting Val and shooting her father, not to mention what you tried to do to me,’ Larry explained. ‘By doing so, I can soften you up so that when the minister comes he can be a witness to the statement you’re going to make concerning my stolen property. Once I have a minister as a witness, it won’t take me very long to get my case tried by Judge Gascoigne, who’s one of the few straight officials in Buzzard’s Bend. In other words, Makin, I aim to finish what I began earlier tonight when your beloved sheriff stepped in and helped you … ’
Suddenly Makin made his move, and lashed up his big right fist with all the strength of his arm. It struck Larry under the jaw, and he lurched back, sitting down unexpectedly in the chair behind him. In one lunge, Makin was across the desk, raining blows down on Larry’s face and head before he had a chance to rise.
Larry did the only thing he could. He buckled up his knees and thrust outwards with all his power. The blow struck Makin in the midriff, doubling him up — then he straightened again as a left whizzed up under his chin and made him bite the end of his tongue. A fist crashing against his ear sent him spinning round.
Head singing, he hit the wall, but used it to rebound himself and came charging forward. Larry held back, waiting to deliver a killing uppercut, but he mistimed by a fraction. Makin’s bunched fist slammed into his nose, and hurtled him helplessly into the fireplace. He gasped and lunged clear as his hand was scorched momentarily by the flames — then Makin was upon him, squeezing at his throat with steel-strong fingers, trying to force his head back towards the flames.
Larry twisted and writhed, the heat searing the side of his face. Makin’s own features were sweating, his hair wild, blood trickling from the nipped end of his tongue. Meeting Larry’s desperate resistance at being pushed firewards, he paused for a split second and snatched up the heavy iron poker from the hearth, bringing it down with blinding force.
Larry twisted savagely. The poker crashed into the rough tile-work and fractured it. He heaved and arched his body, dislodging Makin’s grip upon him. Flinging up his hands, he tore frenziedly at Makin’s thick hair, dragging his head backwards. Then, holding the hair with one hand, he slammed down his fist repeatedly with the other. Both men fell to the floor, Larry on top.
Makin made his only move. He kicked up his right foot with all his power, slamming it in an arc so that the toe of his boot struck Larry on the back of his head. The blow caused Larry to lose his grip, and Makin instantly jabbed up his fist into Larry’s face. He went reeling backwards, his teeth rattling, and sat down with a sickening bump.
But he was not too dazed to thrust up both his feet as Makin came hurtling upon him. The lawyer took the boots in his chest and cannoned backwards against the bureau. It stewed round under the impact, taking Makin with it as he clutched at it desperately.
As Larry flung himself towards him, his foot caught in a crumpled rug on the floor, and he pitched forward. Makin dived, hauled him to his feet, then swung him back against the wall and began to deliver the most savage punches he could muster. Dazed, feeling as if his brain were about to explode, Larry felt his senses trying to slide away. He did the only thing he could — dropped down suddenly so that Makin missed him and struck his fist agonizingly on the wall. Larry surged up again, gathering all his remaining strength for one terrific punch into Makin’s already weakened stomach.
He gasped with the pain of the blow, and clapped his hands to his middle. Breathing was an agony; pressures beat like hammers before his eyes. Larry waited, gathering his remaining strength, and lashed up a haymaker that caught Makin clean under the chin and sent him staggering. Larry leaped after him, and his right hand thudded across Makin’s face with savage violence. To Makin’s dimming senses it seemed as though it had taken his nose with it. He hit the log wall, striking his head with such terrible force the universe blanked out in fiery stars. He sank to the floor and remained inert.
Breathless, his shirt in ribbons, hair fallen over his eyes, Larry staggered to the table and clutched at it. For several seconds he could hardly move — then he realized that Val and her father had been watching from the doorway. Val came hurrying forward, her hands tenderly touching the streaks of blood across Larry’s face and bare arms.
‘I’ve still got the rest of the bandaging I used on Dad,’ she said quickly, and turned to fetch it as her father came forward, smiling broadly.
‘You’ve certainly learned how to fight, son! I reckon that’ll show Makin that he isn’t welcome around here.’
Larry could only grunt wearily, pushing his hair back from his forehead. King went over to Makin and prodded him with the toe of his boot.
‘Time to wake up, Makin,’ he said briefly.
Makin did not move. King frowned, dropping down on one knee as he shook the lawyer’s shoulder. Getting no reaction, he did it more urgently; then he looked up from feeling Makin’s chest carefully.
‘Say, Larry, this guy’s dead !’ he exclaimed, startled.
Wincing from bruises, Larry went over to the fallen man and examined him quickly. There was no doubt he was dead — and the reason was not far to seek. Makin’s head was at an acute angle. Obviously, in hitting the wall, he had broken his neck.
At that moment Val came back, with bandaging, a sponge, and a bowl of water on a tray. She set it on the table and then moved to where the two men kneeled.
‘We can patch up Cliff afterwards, Larry. It’s you I’m concerned about.’
‘You can leave Cliff to the undertaker,’ King said, with a grim glance. ‘He’s broken his neck, Val. Can’t say I’m sorry, neither.’
Val just stood staring blankly; then at the sound of heavy feet in the hall she turned sharply. The two men looked up too as Sheriff Crawford and a couple of his deputies came into the room. Behind them was King’s redskin servant.
‘This what you meant?’ Crawford asked, with a backward glance.
‘Fight,’ the Aztec said. ‘Fight was getting bad. I thought I should fetch you. Makin had shot Mr King and was threatening to kill him.’
King got to his feet, dismissed the servant with a nod of his head, then looked at the paunchy Crawford. The sheriff’s ferret-eyes studied the body on the floor.
‘What’s this?’ he asked bluntly.
‘Corpse,’ Larry said, shrugging, and took the sponge from the tray to wipe blood from his face and arms.
For a moment Crawford and his two deputies fell to examining the body. Val and her father exchanged glances. Larry stood winding bandage round his scratched arm.
‘I reckon this is murder,’
Crawford said at length, turning.
‘He was a trespasser,’ King snapped. ‘I had the right to shoot him — only he shot me first. Look at my hand. That Larry killed him instead of me, and that by accident, adds up to the same thing.’
‘Not to me it doesn’t,’ Crawford said, taking out his gun. ‘You admit you killed him, Ashfield?’
‘Yes,’ Larry admitted. ‘Not deliberately, though. We were fighting, and he hit his head on the wall. The blow must have broken his neck.’
Crawford smiled thinly and glanced at his deputies. ‘There you have it, boys. An admission of murder.’
‘Self-defence,’ Larry corrected. ‘Don’t start twisting things, Sheriff, because you were a friend of Makin’s.’
‘I’m not twisting anything. I’ve just had a definite statement from you that you murdered Makin, and my two deputies here will verify it. Their word and mine will be enough to convince any jury. Everybody in town knows that you and Makin didn’t exactly love each other. That scrap you had in the high street will be used as evidence of it.’
‘Just a minute, Sheriff,’ King said deliberately. ‘Are you trying to pin a murder rap on Larry?’
‘I’m not trying, King, I’m doing it.’ Crawford motioned with his gun. ‘Finish getting yourself cleaned up, Ashfield, but stay where I can watch you. Then I’m taking you to the town jailhouse. I’m indicting you for murder, and I reckon you won’t get away with a self-defence plea, either.’
‘You’ve forgotten Val and her father,’ Larry retorted. ‘They can prove it.’
Crawford shrugged. ‘Can you imagine a jury paying much attention to father and daughter, each obviously supporting the other? With two strangers you might have stood a chance: otherwise I don’t think so. Now finish cleaning up.’
Val moved to tend the damage on Larry’s face. She said nothing, but anxiety clearly showed in her expression. Then she paused as there came more sounds in the hall, where Luke Clay appeared, his wife and daughter behind him. They stopped on the threshold, taken aback by the unusual scene of a dead man on the floor, a blood-streaked one beside the table, and a sheriff and deputies with guns levelled.
‘What do you want, Luke?’ Crawford demanded.
The blacksmith scratched the back of his head.
‘I reckon Mr Makin told me to get over here to perform a marriage ceremony … ’
‘You can recite the last rites instead,’ Crawford told him. ‘And since you’re the coroner around here, you can start making arrangements to get the body buried. I’m holding Larry Ashfield here as the killer.’
*
To Val and her father the ranch house seemed unbearably quiet when Larry had been taken away by the sheriff and Makin’s body removed. Despite the late hour, Val had no thought of sleep. She paced restlessly up and down the living room, watched by her father as he rested his injured hand on the table.
‘No point in fretting yourself to a shadow like this, Val,’ he said at last. ‘Larry can only be tried by Judge Gascoigne, and he’s one of the squarest men in town. That murder charge will never stick.’
‘Won’t it?’ Val came to a halt beside the table, the lamplight reflecting on to her troubled face. ‘You know the kind of man Sheriff Crawford is. He’s crooked, and always has been. Cliff was his closest friend, so naturally he’ll do everything he can to get Larry a necktie party.’
‘Agreed,’ King admitted, smiling ruefully, ‘but we’ll have plenty to say, too. And Larry himself will put up a good fight.’
‘Against a sheriff and two deputies who’ll support him it may not be good enough,’ Val said slowly. ‘Everybody knows Larry and Cliff were enemies. That fact will tell against Larry.’ She paused in her pacing, and spun round to look directly at her father.
‘I think I know how we can make Larry safe. How do you suppose Crawford would get on if his two deputies — his only witnesses, remember — disappeared?’
As King pondered the question, Val came round the table and went on speaking urgently. ‘I know both those deputies of Crawford’s — Rog Lucas and Tom Harral. They’re familiar about the town. I know where they live. They’re single men who dig in together and work on one of the nearby spreads. Suppose we kidnapped them tonight?’
King smiled incredulously. ‘How can we? Here am I with my gun hand ruined for some time to come, and — ’
‘I can handle guns,’ she interrupted. ‘I’ve yet to see any man try conclusions with six-shooters if he’s on the wrong end of them. My idea is to get these deputies out of the way — and keep them out of the way — until after the trial. Without their biased testimony, which they only mean to give because Crawford has ordered them to — Larry ought to be able to get free.’
‘Might just work at that,’ King admitted, thinking. ‘But what do you figure on doing with the men after you’ve got them?’
‘Make them ride out to the mountain foothills. Nobody will ever find them there. You can stay and guard them easily enough, even if you are one-handed for the time being.’
‘Sure thing, but you can’t keep those men in the foothills for ever! The moment they are released they’ll speed back into town and give their evidence.’
‘Be too late then,’Val said. ‘The judge can’t reopen the trial once he’s exonerated Larry. Be against the law.’
‘Yeah — we hope,’ King said uneasily. ‘There is such a thing as a retrial when fresh evidence comes in, but — OK,’ he decided abruptly, ‘we’ll do it, Val. The only thing to decide is — when? We both need rest. We can’t go through all that on top of what we’ve endured without some sleep. To attempt a stunt like this we need to be fresh.’
Val reflected. ‘Well, maybe you’re right,’ she admitted, stifling a yawn. ‘We can take it in spells, though.’
‘Good enough. You go first. I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.’
With a nod, Val kissed her father gently and then left the room. The fact that she now had some kind of plan in mind made her nerves calmer: she even managed to sleep for most of the two specified hours. Then her father took his turn until it was time for her to awaken him. It was still two hours from dawn when they were eating a quick breakfast of beans and coffee.
The eastern sky was still dark when they rode their horses along the trail to Buzzard’s Bend, the town looking very much like a mausoleum at this unearthly hour. Val was wearing a leather mackinaw, shirt and riding pants, her hair flowing free.
‘They live in that small wooden house at the far end of the street,’ Val said, when the town was reached. ‘I’d better go first since I can use both hands.’
She nudged her horse forward, alert for any signs of trouble, but all remained quiet. Gaining the wooden house at the end of the street they stopped their horses. Val dropped down from the saddle and took out her right-hand gun.
‘Here I go,’ she murmured, as her father also dismounted and moved closer. ‘Keep me covered, Dad.’
King dodged down at the gatepost, his left-hand gun ready for immediate action. Val mounted the short steps to the porch and looked about her in the gloom. Knowing the door would be locked, she moved silently to the side of the house and surveyed the lower windows. Two were tightly fastened; the one that was presumably that of the bedroom, was slightly open, top and bottom. She glided towards it, then paused as she spotted a bucket in the rear yard. She inverted it to use as a stand and found herself within easy reach of the window. For a while she crouched, listening to the sounds from within the room, until she was satisfied she could distinguish deep breathing. Only then did she raise her head and peer through the narrow gap of open window.
She was just able to make out the outlines of two beds, with two dark figures sleeping in them. She pushed the window up slowly, until she had room to throw one leg and then the other over the sill. She tiptoed across the room to the door, turned the key in the lock and put it in her pocket.
As her eyes became attuned to the gloom, she made out two gun belts within reach of the beds, hangi
ng from a knob on the bed-heads. She managed to remove them both without undue disturbance, and tossed them through the open window on to the soft loam outside. Then she moved to the oil-lamp, and lit it from the box of lucifers alongside.
The sleeping men stirred slightly, but did not awaken. Deliberately she picked up a brush from the dressing-table nearby and slammed it on the floor.
Instantly both men jumped and struggled into wakefulness. First they looked at each other, then about them, and finally at the slim girl with a gun in each hand.
‘You’re going for a ride, boys,’ she said briefly. ‘Get dressed.’
‘It’s King’s daughter,’ Harral, the taller of the men exclaimed. His eyes moved to the empty bed-knob where his gun had been hanging. ‘How in hell did she get in here?’
‘Through the window,’ Val said. ‘Now get dressed!’ She motioned with the guns threateningly. ‘Don’t be shy,’ she added drily.
Having more sense than to try conclusions with a couple of guns, both men slid out of bed and drew on their outdoor clothes over their pyjamas, using the jackets as shirts. By the time they had finished and had their boots laced up several minutes had elapsed.
‘Outside — through the window.’ Val motioned to it with her right-hand gun. ‘The door’s locked.’
The men hesitated, then reluctantly obeyed as Val edged behind them.
‘Keep your hands up,’ she ordered. ‘Go to your horses, wherever they are, and don’t try anything. I won’t hesitate to shoot — and you’re also covered from outside.’
Both men moved across the yard to the dimness of the stables. Never for a moment did Val relax her vigilance. She kept the guns trained all the time while the men saddled their horses; then she made them lead the animals into the street by the side gate. When her father had been reached she called a halt.
‘Get on your horses. We’re riding out of here.’
‘You’re crazy if you think you can get away with this,’ Lucas snapped.
‘Shut up, and get mounted,’ King said levelly, raising his gun at the speaker.
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