CHAPTER TWELVE
Billy thought of what he was about to ask Mary Thornhill. It was like asking her to turn against her own brother. And yet—there were innocent people in danger. Thad and his wife and the others. All there, probably, in the house, with Jase Thornhill and Ackerman and four whisky-crazy cowhands.
He swallowed hard and looked down at her. “I’ll ask you,” he said slowly, “and then I’ll let you make up your own mind, Mary. What I want you to do won’t be easy. But I’m not askin’ for myself—I want you to know that. If it was just me, I’d ride out of here and let Jase come find me in his own good time. But it’s the folks in there with him. There’s no telling…”
“What do you want me to do?”
He sensed a sudden wariness in her voice, a note of restraint that let him wonder if he had any right to ask.
“Up on that big dry wash just south of Wolf Creek, just east of where your range meets Thad’s—you know the place I mean?”
She nodded, but he noticed that she withdrew her hand from his arm.
Billy felt himself sigh as he went on. “Some of Thad’s men are there—they’re expecting that bunch you saw ride north with rifles, and…”
He heard her catch her breath sharply. “Billy—not…an ambush?”
He nodded, tensing his jaw until the muscles stood out.
“They’d stampede our herd if they had a chance,” he said defensively.
She dropped her head. “And I suppose…you want me to…ride up there and bring help?”
“It seems like the only way,” he said gently.
She shook her head, and by the sound of her voice he knew she was trying to keep from crying when she answered. And she wouldn’t look up at him.
“I—I can’t do that, Billy. I just—just can’t!”
Billy started to turn away. “I guess I had no right asking…”
He felt her hand on his arm again. “Billy…! Don’t say that. Please—please try to understand.” Her voice dropped a little, “I—have my loyalties, too… After all, Jase is my brother.”
She was right, he guessed. This was no fault of hers. Not—not as much as it was his own. It had all started when he’d come back. Maybe it wasn’t fair for him to take the blame that way, either—but it had to go someplace.
“I appreciate what you tried to do,” he said. “Now maybe you’d better find your horse and…”
“What’s going to happen, Billy?”
He felt sorry for her. This wasn’t the way she wanted it, either. He could tell that by the way she looked at him. Ordinarily it would have made him feel like a spring colt to know she felt that way about him. But now it hurt him. She was torn two ways, he knew that. It wasn’t just a matter of helping him, either, like he’d thought at first. It was more like he’d told her—it would be like helping Jason Thornhill to die.
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Mary.”
She hesitated. “Couldn’t you…go for help?”
“I’d thought of that. But it’s me they’re after. I’d wanted to stay here to—to make sure nobody does anything to those people inside. If it comes to that, I can always give myself up.”
She started to cry again.
“You’d better go,” he said, forcing himself to sound gruff.
He felt her arms about him suddenly, felt the pressure of her body against his own. There were tears on her cheeks, but her eyes were clear with a desperate sort of brightness. He felt the pounding of her heart against his chest and felt himself drawing her closer. Then their lips were together, gently at first, and then with a crushing insistence that made his head swim giddily and crowded his mind with the despairing thought that it was happening too late. They clung together for a moment, their breathing heavy and quick. Then they drew apart.
“I’ll go—now,” she whispered.
He watched her until she disappeared, flitting among the shadows until they swallowed her up. Then he turned and tried to put her out of his mind.
It wasn’t easy to do—not even with all the other thoughts that crowded in upon him. But slowly it came back to him that whatever was to be done he would have to do himself.
He thought again of riding after Will Pryor, but vetoed the idea with a shake of his head. Even if he risked it and left the herd to the mercy of the Lazy S riders Mary had told him about—even then there was no guarantee that more men could help him now. Not that he wanted help for himself, but he was thinking about what Jase and his crew of drunks might do to Thad and his wife and the others if they found themselves surrounded. They might do anything.
He stood watching the house through the trees, and wondered if he’d meant what he’d said to Mary about giving himself up. Would that prove anything? He doubted it. For Jase Thornhill it would. He’d have what he wanted. Yes, and Billy allowed that it would probably be one way to buy the others freedom. But he didn’t feel much desire to be a hero. Those he’d seen during the war weren’t much help to anybody after they were dead—and most of them had died. He knew he would probably hang—Mary said that’s what Jase was after.
He shook his head. No—and maybe it would be the wrong thing for the rest. One hanging could lead to another with whisky making the decisions.
There’d have to be another way.
He thought of Shorty Long moving the herd east out of the Panhandle toward Indian Territory—Shorty would be wondering what the hell was going on when the others came back. If they came back—and there was something to that. Maybe, if the ambush turned back the Lazy S crew—maybe then Will Pryor and the others would come to see what was keeping him. He wondered how long it was till midnight. From where he stood he couldn’t see the North Star from the trees, but he guessed it couldn’t be long.
The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that he didn’t want Pryor and the others to show. He could imagine what it would be like—a bunch of riders piling pell-mell into this with Jase and his men already spoiling for trouble. It would be slaughter—inside and out.
Mary came back into his thoughts, and he smiled bitterly at the irony of it. If ever a man had found the answer at the wrong time, he had. All the long nights he had lain awake, thinking of her—at Antietam, Gettysburg, and all the others. And all the pleasant situations he had conjured up in his mind of the day when he would know at last that she would be his to claim—and then to have her come to him at a time like this. At a time when her brother was waiting not a hundred yards away to kill him—and with the fate of seven other people in the balance, not to mention what might be happening to Will Pryor’s crew or the herd and the men with it. At such a time he had found the answer to the question he had pondered for six years.
Maybe it was all his own fault for waiting too long. Maybe he should have written during the war—but he’d always had an aversion to sentimentality, either verbal or written. Or maybe he should have made it plain before he left—perhaps he would have if there’d been time, or if he hadn’t known how the sentiment ran against the North. Maybe he’d missed his chance to make it clear to her earlier—during those afternoons of stolen rendezvous when they’d met in the trees along the creek.
He couldn’t help smiling as he thought of how awkward and boyish he’d felt around her then. It had taken him weeks just to summon enough courage to give her a fleeting, unsatisfactory kiss after that first time they’d met. All the time he’d wasted! Listening, and trying to make out he was interested, while she read to him from the classics—all those damfool stories that never made much sense to him, about the way some Greek feller would take off and wander around for years. Or sending out a whole fleet of ships just because somebody ran off with another man’s wife, and a lot of foolishness about a bunch of people crawling inside a wooden horse so that they could…
His thoughts ground to a stop. No—that last hadn’t been as dum
b as it sounded. He recalled that at the time he’d thought it was a pretty good stunt. Something about it made him stop and think. The Trojan Horse—that was what Mary had called it. No—it wasn’t so dumb at all. Matter of fact, he could use something like that…
He furrowed his brow, trying to corner the wisp of a thought that was running wild through his brain. The frown deepened—and then his face relaxed in a faint smile that gradually deepened into a broad grin as the thought grew to maturity. It would be risky, sure as hell. But, if it worked…
He turned and crept quietly back through the shadows to the creek. Taking off his gun belt and hat, he laid them carefully aside. Then he took off his shirt and began to rip it to shreds. When it looked sufficiently battered, he put it on again, smiling in satisfaction at the effect. Kneeling at the edge of the water he began gathering handfuls of mud, smearing the stuff methodically over his face and clothes and the exposed parts of his body under the torn shirt. He ruffled his hair so that it hung over his face, adding to the disguise, and gave it a liberal coating of mud. When he had finished he figured that not even Mary would know him now—which was just what he wanted.
Wiping his hands carefully on the grass, he replaced the dead cartridge in his .44 and slipped it inside his waist where it wouldn’t show. For good measure, he put a handful of cartridges in his pocket. Then he turned and started back through the trees.
From the edge of the clearing he surveyed the buildings carefully. His smile was gone now, and he felt a cold lumpiness in the pit of his stomach. Once he started, he knew he had to go all the way.
Inside the house, Jase Thornhill sat staring gloomily out of the window. His fingers explored the puffiness of his face beneath the welt from Billy’s pistol. He drew his hand away quickly as Ace Ackerman came and stood beside him.
“You gonna sit here all night?” Ackerman growled.
“I told you to sit down and shut up!” Jase snapped. “He’ll show up.”
“What about that shot we heard a while ago?”
“You’re drunk!” Jase sneered. “That wasn’t a shot. It sounded more like one of the horses you hid in the barn tryin’ to kick its way out of the stall. Now, damit, sit down—he’ll be back.”
“I told you, Jase,” Old Thad said, “that he ain’t comin’ back. He’s took that herd and is halfway to Abilene by now.”
Jase nodded toward Joe Metcalf and the four Circle 8 men squatted in the middle of the floor under the guns of two watchful Lazy S men. “Don’t tell me Condo would take a herd on the trail without at least your foreman to go with him. That’s a damn lie, Thad.”
The old man shrugged his shoulders and lapsed into belligerent silence. From the back room came the noise of something being dropped with a gurgling sound and a muffled curse. Jase turned to Ackerman. “Go back and take that bottle away from those two fools. They’ll be so damn drunk they won’t be able to see if Condo does come back.”
Ackerman walked out of the room and Old Thad said again, “Sit here all night, Thornhill, but you won’t see Condo. He’s on his way…”
Jase spun around, his face livid with rage. “Shut up, goddamit!” Then his lips parted in a sneer. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Harper—I set six men with rifles up on Wolf Creek to see that your herd don’t get started for Abilene.”
Old Thad sat up abruptly, his eyes blazing. “Why you son of a…”
“What’s more,” Jase continued, “they’ve got orders to leave Condo alone if he tries to come back here—which is just exactly what I figure he’ll do. And when he does, he’ll come ridin’ in here hell-bent for election—right into my lap!”
Thad Harper groaned and ran a hand over his forehead. “Jase—you’ll never get away with hangin’ Billy Condo. There’s law in parts of Texas and…”
“No law I ever heard of against hangin’ a cattle thief,” Jase sneered. “And my men seen him…”
“What was that?” Ace Ackerman had come back into the room and held up his hand at the sound of the cry. Then he crossed swiftly to the window. Jase spun around to look out.
A figure had stumbled out of the underbrush into the moonlit clearing, weaving and stumbling like whoever it was was either half drunk or badly hurt.
“Thornhill!” the cry came again, weak and indistinct, as if the man was drawing his last breath to shout it.
Jase leaned forward. He ran his tongue over his dry lips and asked uneasily, “W-who the hell’s that?”
Ackerman’s eyes were intent on the weaving, stumbling figure. “I—I don’t know. But whoever it is, he’s been in a helluva fight—look at the way his clothes is all tore and mud all over him.”
Jase jumped up. “That’s one of our men, sure as hell! Dammit, Ace! I told you it wasn’t a good idea to send those drunken fools up after that herd. They’ve got themselves all shot up. Let’s go out and bring him in and find out what’s happened!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
To Billy it seemed that he stumbled toward the house for an eternity, every second expecting to feel the red-hot searing of a bullet. He was telling himself what a damfool thing this was he’d done when he saw the door open.
He kept his head down, and with his disheveled hair and the mud on his face he knew they might not be able to tell who he was till they got up close. It would be then that luck would tell.
He glanced up briefly, saw Jase and Ackerman both running toward him holstering their guns and calling out questions.
“It’s Ed Waters!” he heard Jase say. “Ed—what in hell happened?”
“Naw, it ain’t Ed!” Ackerman came back, and for a second Billy’s hand moved toward the gun under his shirt. He relaxed a little when Ackerman went on, “It looks like Connor.”
He could hear the pounding of their boots coming closer and he stood for a minute, head down, swaying uncertainly. Then Jase Thornhill was almost to him. Billy put his hand under his shirt, over the butt of the .44 and let out a loud groan to make it look like he’d been hit in the belly. Then he started to pitch forward on his face just as Jase reached out for him.
“He’s been hit,” Jase said, “sure as…”
Billy leaned into him suddenly, jabbing the .44 hard into his belt, looking up at Ackerman as he did it.
“Not a damn word out of either of you or I’ll blow Jase’s guts all over the lot!” he hissed.
Dumb surprise blanked their faces. It had happened so fast neither of them could believe it yet.
“Now—you, Ackerman—walk on ahead where I can see you. You, Jase, hold me up like you’re giving me a hand to help me walk. I’ll keep this forty-four in your back every inch of the way. Now—move, and not a bawl out of either of you!”
“B-by God!” Ackerman whispered in a tone akin to awe, “it’s Condo!”
“Say that once more and I’ll kill you both,” Billy snapped, keeping his voice low. “Get movin’, Ackerman!”
They moved across the yard, Ackerman in the lead. Jase had an arm under Billy’s shoulder, helping him, conscious of the muzzle of the .44 against his spine. Billy looked up, saw three men he didn’t recognize standing on the porch. Mary had said there were six altogether. They must have left one on guard inside. He pretended to stumble, leaned close to Jase.
“Where’s your other man?” he asked in a whisper.
“That’s all there are,” Jase told him.
Billy jabbed with the gun against Jase’s kidneys. “Six of you came over,” he growled. “That means you’ve still got a man inside. Call him out.”
Jase hesitated. Billy jabbed with the gun again.
“Porter!” Jase called suddenly. “Get Porter out here, quick!”
“Wait here!” Billy hissed, pretending to stop for wind. “Wait’ll Porter comes out.”
The three on the porch were coming down the steps, curiosity on their faces. “What the hell happened, Jase?” on
e of them asked. “Who you got there?”
Billy saw the man called Porter come through the door. He stepped behind Jase, straightening up suddenly so the others could see the gun in Jase’s back.
“Everybody reach!” he yelled. “Reach, dammit—that’s better.” Then he called out, “Thad! Joe Metcalf! Out here—Condo talking.”
Old Thad padded out, barefoot and still in nightshirt. Joe Metcalf was behind him with the four Circle 8 riders. Old Thad let out a loud guffaw. “By doggies—Billy Condo, if you ain’t the damnedest sight!”
Billy grinned, felt the dried mud crack on his face. He let his eyes wander over the old man from head to toe. “If I was you, Thad, I wouldn’t talk.”
He turned to Joe Metcalf. “I’d feel a lot better, Joe, if you’d relieve these fellas of their guns.”
“What d’you aim to do with these hombres, anyway, Billy?” Old Thad wanted to know.
“Nothing,” Billy said simply.
“What! After they’d come here all primed to string you up by the neck?”
“Point is, they didn’t do it,” Billy replied. He turned to Jase Thornhill. “Looks like you’re never goin’ to learn, Jase. There’ll come a day, though, like I told you, that both of us is going to lose our temper at the same time. I’m holding mine on purpose. And I’m going to try to hold it till I get Thad’s herd to Abilene like I agreed. I’d advise you to do the same, Jase. If you start any shenanigans on the trail nobody’s going to get their herd through. So, if I was you, I’d postpone any ideas along that line until we both get there. Then…”
“Then, what?” Jase sneered.
“That’ll wait until Abilene, Jase,” Billy said levelly.
He called to Joe Metcalf. “Where’d these men hide their mounts?”
“They’re hid in the barn,” Joe told him. “You’re not gonna give ’em back, are you? Maybe a walk’d teach them a lesson.”
Billy smiled grimly. “There’s only one thing I know that would teach Jase Thornhill and Ace Ackerman a lesson,” he said quietly.
“What d’you mean by that?” Jase bristled.
The 7th Western Novel Page 53