by Max Brand
CHAPTER 8
It took less than five minutes for the deputy sheriff to mount his men;he himself had the pick of the corral, a dusty roan, and, as he drew thecinch taut, he turned to find Charles Merchant at his side.
"Bill," said the young fellow, "what sort of a man is this Lanning?"
"He's been a covered card, partner," said Bill Dozier. "He's been acovered card that seemed pretty good. Now he's in the game, and he lookslike the rest of the Lannings--a good lump of daring and defiance. Whyd'you ask?"
"Are you keen to get him, Bill?" continued Charlie Merchant eagerly.
"I could stand it. Again, why?"
"You'd like a little gun play with that fellow?"
"I wouldn't complain none."
"Ah? One more thing. Could you use a bit of ready cash?"
"I ain't pressed," said Bill Dozier. "On the other hand, I ain't of asavin' nature."
Then he added: "Get it out, Charlie. I think I follow your drift. Andyou can go as far as you like." He put out his jaw in an ugly way ashe said it.
"It would be worth a lot to me to have this cur done for, Bill. Youunderstand?"
"My time's short. Talk terms, Charlie."
"A thousand."
"The price of a fair hoss."
"Two thousand, old man."
"Hoss and trimmin's."
"Three thousand." "Charlie, you seem to forget that we're talkin' abouta man and a gun."
"Bill, it's worth five thousand to me."
"That's turkey. Let me have your hand."
They shook hands.
"And if you kill the horses," said Charles Merchant, "you won't hurt myfeelings. But get him!"
"I've got nothing much on him," said Bill Dozier, "but some fools resistarrest."
He smiled in a manner that made the other shudder. And a moment laterthe deputy led his men out on the trail.
They were a weary lot by this time, but they had beneath the beltseveral shots of the Merchant whisky which Charles had distributed. Andthey had that still greater stimulus--fresh horses running smooth andstrong beneath them. Another thing had changed. They saw their leader,Bill Dozier, working at his revolver and his rifle as he rode, lookingto the charges, trying the pressure of the triggers, getting the balanceof the weapons with a peculiar anxiety, and they knew, without a wordbeing spoken, that there was small chance of that trail ending atanything short of a red mark in the dust.
It made some of them shrug their shoulders, but here again it was provedthat Bill Dozier knew the men of Martindale, and had picked his possewell. They were the common, hard-working variety of cow-puncher, andpresently the word went among them from the man riding nearest to Billthat if young Lanning were taken it would be worth a hundred dollars toeach of them. Two months' pay for two days' work. That was fair enough.They also began to look to their guns. It was not that a single one ofthem could have been bought for a mankilling at that or any other price,perhaps, but this was simply a bonus to carry them along toward whatthey considered an honest duty.
Nevertheless, it was a different crew that rode over the hills awayfrom the Merchant place. They had begun for the sake of the excitement.Now they were working carefully, riding with less abandon, jockeyingtheir horses, for each man was laboring to be in on the kill.
They had against them a good horse and a stanch horseman. Never had thepinto dodged his share of honest running, and this day was no exception.He gave himself whole-heartedly to his task, and he stretched the legsof the ponies behind him. Yet he had a great handicap. He was tough, butthe ranch horses of John Merchant came out from a night of rest. Theirlegs were full of running. And the pinto, for all his courage, could notmeet that handicap and beat it.
That truth slowly sank in upon the mind of the fugitive as he put thegame little cattle pony into his best stride. He tried the pinto in thelevel going. He tried him in the rough. And in both conditions the possegained slowly and steadily, until it became apparent to Andrew Lanningthat the deputy held him in the hollow of his hand, and in half an hourof stiff galloping could run his quarry into the ground wheneverhe chose.
Andy turned in the saddle and grinned back at the followers. He coulddistinguish Bill Dozier most distinctly. The broad brim of Bill's hatwas blown up stiffly. And the sun glinted now and again on thosemelancholy mustaches of his. Andy was puzzled. Bill had horses whichcould outrun the fugitive, and why did he not use them?
Almost at once Andy received his answer.
The deputy sheriff sent his horse into a hard run, and then brought himsuddenly to a standstill. Looking back, Andy saw a rifle pitch to theshoulder of the deputy. It was a flashing line of light which focusedsuddenly in a single, glinting dot. That instant something hummed evillybeside the ear of Andy. A moment later the report came barking andechoing in his ear with the little metallic ring in it which tells ofthe shiver of a gun barrel.
That was the beginning of a running fusillade. Technically these wereshots fired to warn the fugitive that he was wanted by the law, and totell him that if he did not halt he would be shot at to be killed. Butthe deputy did not waste warnings. He began to shoot to kill. And so didthe rest of the posse. They saw the deputy's plan at once, and thengrinned at it. If they rode down in a mob the boy would no doubtsurrender. But if they goaded him in this manner from a distance hewould probably attempt to return the fire. And if he fired one shot inreply, unwritten law and strong public opinion would be on the side ofBill Dozier in killing this criminal without quarter. In a word, thewhisky and the little promise of money were each taking effect onthe posse.
They spurted ahead in pairs, halted, and delivered their fire; then thenext pair spurted ahead and fired. Every moment or so two bullets wingedthrough the air nearer and nearer Andy. It was really a wonder that hewas not cleanly drilled by a bullet long before that fusillade hadcontinued for ten minutes. But it is no easy thing to hit a man on agalloping horse when one sits on the back of another horse, and thathorse heaving from a hard run. Moreover, Andy watched, and when thepairs halted he made the pinto weave.
At the first bullet he felt his heart come into his throat. At thesecond he merely raised his head. At the next he smiled, and thereafterhe greeted each volley with a yell and with a wave of his hat. It waslike dancing, but greater fun. The cold, still terror was in his heartevery moment, but yet he felt like laughing, and when the posse heardhim their own hearts went cold.
It disturbed their aim. They began to snarl at each other, and they alsopressed their horses closer and closer before they even attempted tofire. And the result was that Andy, waving his hat, felt it twitchsharply in his hand, and then he saw a neat little hole clipped out ofthe very edge of the brim. It was a pretty trick to see, until Andyremembered that the thing which had nicked that hole would also cut itsway through him, body and bone. He leaned over the saddle and spurredthe pinto into his racing gait.
"I nicked him!" yelled the deputy. "Come on, boys! Close in!"
But within five minutes of racing, Andy drew the pinto to a sudden haltand raised his rifle. The posse laughed. They had been shooting for sometime, and always for a distance even less than Andy's; yet not one oftheir bullets had gone home. So they waved their hats recklessly andcontinued to ride to be in at the death. And every one knew that the endof the trail was not far off when the fugitive had once begun to turnat bay.
Andy knew it as well as the rest, and his hand shook like a nervousgirl's, while the rifle barrel tilted up and up, the blue barrelshimmering wickedly. In a frenzy of eagerness he tried to line up thesights. It was in vain. The circle through which he squinted wobbledcrazily. He saw two of the pursuers spurt ahead, take their posts, raisetheir rifles for a fire which would at least disturb his. For the firsttime they had a stationary target.
And then, by chance, the circle of Andy's sight embraced the body of ahorseman. Instantly the left arm, stretching out to support his rifle,became a rock; the forefinger of his right hand was as steady as thetrigger it pressed. It was like shooting at
a target. He found himselfbreathing easily.
It was very strange. Find a man with his sights? He could follow histarget as though a magnetic power attracted his rifle. The weapon seemedto have a volition of its own. It drifted along with the canter of BillDozier. With incredible precision the little finger of iron inside thecircle dwelt in turn on the hat of Bill Dozier, on his sandy mustaches,on his fluttering shirt. And Andy knew that he had the life of a manunder the command of his forefinger.
And why not? He had killed one. Why not a hundred?
The punishment would be no greater. And to tempt him there was this newmystery, this knowledge that he could not miss. It had been vaguelypresent in his mind when he faced the crowd at Martindale, he rememberednow. And the same merciless coldness had been in his hand when hepressed his gun into the throat of Charles Merchant.
He turned his eyes and looked down the guns of the two men who hadhalted. Then, hardly looking at his target, he snapped his rifle back tohis shoulder and fired. He saw Bill Dozier throw up his hands, saw hishead rock stupidly back and forth, and then the long figure toppled toone side. One of the posse rushed alongside to catch his leader, but hemissed, and Bill, slumping to the ground, was trampled underfoot.