“You’re a man alone,” Blake said. “You have no friends here.”
“I’m gonna hunt down Doubell and get what I’ve worked for, Durant. Keep out of my way or you’ll have to face up to me.”
Blake shrugged. “Suit yourself. But you’ve been told.”
Carter heard movement at the tables. He swung around to cover Bodie with his gun. As he turned Blake Durant lashed out with his left boot. His toe caught Carter’s wrist and sent the gun flying. Before Carter could move, Bodie charged forward and scooped the gun from the floor. He backed away, holding the Colt on Carter. The gun handler stood frozen to the floor, his chest heaving, his eyes as mean as a hungry cougar’s.
Bodie licked his lips nervously and said, “What now, Durant? You seem to be making all the plays.”
Blake finished his drink and walked towards the batwings. “He knows how I feel about things. If you like, tell him your own version of it.”
With that he went out. He knew that Pete Doubell wouldn’t expose his niece to any more danger if he could help it. It looked to him as if Doubell had headed out of town, going south, and had run into Vance Carter. The fact that he had escaped the hellion proved that Doubell was in full command of his actions and that his mind was still working for him, seeing him out of trouble, getting him prepared for the unexpected. In any other circumstances Blake Durant would have been satisfied to call the old jasper a friend, but not now, not when he had stupidly endangered the life of a young woman who should never have left the safety and comforts of the east.
He walked slowly along the boardwalk, wondering where the old dodger might hide out. Lusc was a big town, but he doubted Doubell had any friends here. So the old man would have to find a quiet corner, a place where few people were likely to come.
With that in mind, Blake Durant turned into the back street. He saw lighted cottages, an old barn with yellow lantern light streaming through its door. Beyond that was darkness. Walking out of the light, Blake called quietly:
“Doubell!”
There was no answer. He stopped to make a cigarette, lit a and held the burning match near his face. Only when the match burned his fingers did he go on, drawing on the cigarette.
But the old man didn’t appear. Blake returned to the front street and continued up the boardwalk opposite the saloon. The lamps in the saloon were bright, sending out a square of yellow light like a corral in the middle of the street. Blake was about to flick his dying cigarette way when a rider came slowly along. His gaze swung to the man. He saw hunched shoulders, a hat tipped down, hands on the pommel of the saddle and the reins about the wrists.
Blake stepped off the boardwalk. Vance Carter was standing outside the saloon, his gun back in his holster, his eyes on the oncoming rider. Blake ignored Carter. He crossed to the horse and stopped it. The rider slumped to the horse’s neck and blood dripped from his wrist onto the animal’s hide.
Carter had stepped off the saloon boardwalk and was coming Durant’s way. Blake pushed the rider back in the saddle and the man toppled off, unconscious, into his arms. Up the street the burly lawman, Mule Twoomey, was coming along at a steady stride. He gave Carter a searing look and made for Durant. Blake lowered Ray Coulston to the ground and then he gently lifted Coulston’s shirt. The light was strong enough to show the blood-soaked pad on the chest wound.
Twoomey eased Durant aside and growled a curse. “Ray Coulston,” he said. “How in hell did this happen?”
Blake rose, swinging his gaze to the boardwalk where Vance Carter had stood. But the hellion had disappeared. However, Bodie and his five companions came into sight.
“Bodie, come over here,” Durant called.
Reke Bodie straightened, planting his feet wide. Then he saw Twoomey and Durant lift a body from the ground. His face graying, he hurried off the boardwalk, his defiance melting away.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Sheriff Coulston,” Durant said.
“Hit bad?”
“That we’ll find out when we get him someplace comfortable,” said Durant. “Find a sawbones and get him to the jailhouse pronto.”
Twoomey told Bodie where to go. Before the river man ran off, Blake said, “Have your men seek out Pete Doubell, Bodie. But don’t anybody lay a hand on him.”
Durant helped Twoomey carry the unconscious Coulston to the jailhouse. They placed him on a cell bunk and Blake fetched a canteen of water. He poured water over Coulston’s white face and when the lawman opened his eyes, he asked:
“Who did it, Coulston?”
The lawman blinked against the glare of the cell light, blood coursing from his lips. He gulped air into his lungs and struggled to rise. But Blake Durant’s hand kept him down. Coulston sighed and his eyes closed.
Twoomey barked, “Ease off, Durant. What makes you think you can take over in my town?”
“Somebody has to move on this, Twoomey.” He leaned over Coulston and listened for a heartbeat. He found one, weak. He straightened, soaked his bandanna in water from the canteen and mopped Coulston’s brow. Slowly a bit of color began to show in the lawman’s drawn face.
“Who?” Blake asked.
“Carter,” Coulston grunted out.
The sheriff’s hand grabbed at Blake’s wrist. His lips moved soundlessly, but there was a question in his eyes that Durant nodded to. Coulston slumped back, his lips framing a tight smile.
Durant stepped away from the bunk and Twoomey snapped, “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”
“To get Vance Carter for shooting up a lawman, Twoomey. I won’t need anybody else.”
“To hell you won’t!”
Twoomey pulled out his gun. Durant shook his head. “That’s too slow for Carter. If you want to help, stay here and keep Coulston’s fever down as much as you can. He’d do the same for you.” With that Durant went out.
He stopped on the boardwalk and saw Bodie and a tall, hunched old man hurrying along the opposite boardwalk. Blake walked down to the saloon where he found two of Bodie’s men.
“Which way did Carter go?” he asked.
One of the men pointed up the street towards Pete Doubell’s rented cottage.
“Does Carter know about Miss Doubell?”
The man pinched his lips tight. “Guess so. Reke made a deal with him. Carter will bring Doubell to Reke, and there’ll be no interference from us. None of us liked it much, but it was either that or take Carter on. Well, we ain’t gun handlers.”
Blake gave the man a sour look and went on. Striding out now, he moved towards the end of the street. Light spilled from the open front door and the porch windows of the cottage. Wind rustled through the vines along the porch rail. There was no other sound. Blake left his gun in his holster. He despised Bodie for telling a scum killer like Carter where he could find the girl. He had met men like Reke Bodie before; they showed a brave face to the world, but they fell apart when the going got rough. At the same time, Reke Bodie had reason enough for anger. He had been cheated of a lot of money, he had had two of his men killed and another two wounded. He could understand why Bodie had turned to Carter—his own group was just about the least impressive bunch of men Blake had ever set eyes on.
He turned into the yard of the cottage and threw himself to the side as a gun went off beside the porch. Blake crouched and his Colt flashed into his hand. Gun-flame lanced from the darkness and the slug whined past Durant’s face. His Colt bucked three times and his bullets ripped into the creeping vines, sending leaves flying.
Another bullet went by, well off line. So the shooter wasn’t Carter. If the gunslinger had been waiting beside the cottage, Durant would have lead in him. He broke into a run.
As he neared the side of the porch, a fourth shot came at him. He twisted to the side and went forward in a low crouch. Then he saw a figure looming close, outlined against the wash of light from the side window. His shoulder went into a bony frame and his weight took the man to the ground.
Blake lifted himself
from a limp body. He grasped the man’s shirt and turned his face into the light. Pete Doubell’s snarl met his gaze. Blake brought back his left hand and hit the old man sharply across the jaw. Doubell collapsed in his grip. He lowered him to the ground and stepped over him.
Christine Doubell came rushing from the house, her blouse open at the throat.
“Get out of the light,” Durant said.
“Mr. Durant?”
“Get down!”
Christine shook her head. The back door of the house slammed shut. There were shouts. Durant saw Reke Bodie and his men running up the street. Christine turned and ran for the steps. A gun roared and the slug splintered a knob on the step railing. Christine let out a cry of alarm and pitched forward on her face. Durant went past her with a long bound just as Vance Cartel appeared in the front doorway. He looked savagely down at Durant before his gun lifted. Blake beat him to the shot by a blink and his bullet smashed into Carter’s shoulder and sent him reeling inside. Gun still drawn, Blake cautiously entered the house.
Bodie shouted from the gateway, “Hold it, Durant. Twoomey said to leave things be.”
Durant paid him no heed. Christine Doubell struggled to her feet and called out, “Where is Uncle Pete?”
As she spoke, a dazed, staggering Pete Doubell lurched around the corner of the house. He stumbled and grabbed the vine-covered rail. Managing to stay on his feet, he shook his head and came towards Christine. She reached for him but he pushed her aside.
“Carter,” he growled. “It was Carter who messed it from the start.” He turned to Durant. “Didn’t try to hit you ... I only wanted to keep you clear of the house. Carter’s mine.”
Bodie came rushing into the yard, gun drawn. He stopped just behind Doubell. The old-timer, seeing him, suddenly swung a wild blow that knocked Bodie off his feet. Bodie’s gun barked but the bullet went harmlessly into the air as he fell onto the seat of his pants. Pete Doubell grasped Christine’s arm and flung her away, saying:
“Keep back now.”
Doubell went up the stairs and onto the porch. A gun exploded inside the house but he took no notice. He strode straight into the cottage, his gun in his hand.
Doubell passed through the living room and went out to the back porch where he saw Blake Durant firing into the yard. The outline of a crouched form showed near a chicken coop and the gun of the man there was blasting away at Durant.
Durant saw Doubell and snapped, “Keep back, damn you! You’ve caused enough trouble.”
“My business, Durant. Not yours. You can’t deny me my chance at him.”
“I can deny you what I like, mister.”
“Nope.” Doubell shook his head. “I took that gold, sure, but I had a real need of it. Got only a few years left in me and a girl to look after. If I don’t come out of this, Durant, you look after her, eh? I signed up for a little place outside town, to run a few cows, a few pigs, maybe some chickens, put in a vegetable garden. Nosin’ around, I can make enough to see us through till the girl’s ready to get married.”
A bullet whistled between them. Durant held his fire. Carter was cornered behind the chicken run. There was open country on either side of him, and only the yard before him.
Doubell said, “My girl, Durant, she don’t know a spit about nothin’. If you can’t see any way to help her out, send her back east. She’s got some good friends there.”
Doubell jumped off the back porch. Before Durant could stop him, he ran straight for the chicken coop. Frightened hens cackled and threw themselves at the wires. Blake went after the old-timer, working to the left of him, covering one avenue of escape from Vance Carter.
Sheriff Mule Twoomey came charging onto the back porch. His gun gleamed in the moonlight and he shouted, “You two, get back here. If you’ve got him cornered, leave it that way.” Reke Bodie and two men appeared behind him as Twoomey’s voice lifted in anger. “Damn you Durant, a lawman’s killer is my business!”
Twoomey dropped into the yard. Then Vance Carter showed himself. Doubell was only twenty yards from him and moving fast. The old man stopped suddenly and went down on his haunches. He knelt there, looking Blake Durant’s way while Twoomey pounded up the yard after them.
“He said Carter killed a lawman, Durant?” the old-timer said.
“Ray Coulston,”
Doubell swore fiercely. “Coulston was a good man. He gave everybody his due, good or bad. Damn Carter! Now he’s asked for it!”
“Not from you old man,” Durant told him firmly “Draw back and leave this to Twoomey and me.”
“Go to hell!”
Doubell rose and broke into a run. He was within a few yards of the chicken house when Vance Carter stumbled out of cover, holding a hand to his shoulder. His eyes were fierce with hatred.
“Old scum dodger!” he called and fired twice. Pete Doubell doubled over, still running on. He slammed into the wire mesh and sent the hens flying again. Carter moved away from the side of the coop, hastily refilling his gun. Blake Durant saw him at the same time Mule Twoomey did.
Twoomey snapped, “He’s mine, Durant!”
The fierceness of Twoomey’s tone made Durant hold back. Twoomey went on, blasting away. His bullets tore into a staggering Vance Carter. But still the gunslinger didn’t go down. He hit the back fence and whirled along it. Then he suddenly straightened. His gaze slashed at Blake Durant who waited for Twoomey to get a lawman’s revenge. Durant turned, saw Twoomey loading his Colt. Carter’s gun came up slowly.
Blake leveled his gun. Twoomey had put six shots into the gunslinger yet Carter hung there, more dead than alive but with fight still in him. Then Pete Doubell lifted himself on one elbow and fired off a single shot. The bullet cracked into Carter’s head. He fell forward, his gun firing a last shot into the dust. Twoomey let out a string of curses, then Reke Bodie came rushing into the yard now that all the danger was past. Christine Doubell, her face torn with anxiety, pushed past Bodie and dropped at her uncle’s side. The old-timer opened his pain-filled eyes and managed to smile at her. Blake Durant crossed to them and tried to ease Christine away, but she fought him, tears running down her face.
“He’s through,” Blake said.
“No! No!” Christine called out, her love for the old man making her voice shrill. Durant released her and she sat and lifted Doubell’s head onto her lap.
He looked up and his expression softened. “The drifter is right, girl. I’m finished ... and I got just about what I asked for. Stole Bodie’s gold all right ... yeah, and I stole more’n once before in my time. So wipe away those tears, girl. Don’t shed ’em over ... over an old buzzard like me.”
“Uncle Pete,” Christine gasped.
Blake knelt beside her as Doubell’s eyes closed, then his head dropped to the side. Blake pulled the young woman to her feet and put her in Twoomey’s care. When the lawman took the dazed girl aside, Doubell kicked Durant in the leg. Blake swung back, shocked by the life in the old jasper. He found Doubell squinting painfully up at him. Doubell lifted a finger, curled it and beckoned for Durant to come closer. Blake dropped down quickly beside him.
Doubell spent some time getting breath back into his lungs. “Get Bodie,” he said.
Blake looked up to find Reke Bodie coming his way. The miner looked pale and worried. Blake told him to keep coming and the miner dropped to his knee beside old Doubell. “Where’s my gold?” he demanded. “Tell me, you old ...”
“Cut it!” Durant said.
Doubell’s eyes glistened with amusement. “Let’s trade, Bodie. Got to get ... the girl somethin’ outa all this. You hear me, mister?”
“You can go to blazes,” Bodie said.
“Girl’s not to know, Durant,” Doubell went on. “If she knows, she won’t accept money. She’s a fine woman—likes things on the up and up.”
Bodie swore again. “Where the hell did you plant that gold dust, Doubell? Hell, ain’t you done enough trouble-makin’ without cashin’ in your chips and leavin’ that gold
hidden?”
Bodie stopped when Doubell’s weak grip dropped onto his wrist. The coldness of the fingers made Bodie withdraw his hand quickly.
“Trade, damn you, mister. You don’t ... the secret goes with me.”
Bodie’s mouth opened and a gasp came from him. “You wouldn’t, damn you! What good ...”
“The girl, mister. All this ... for her. She ain’t to know ... ever. You just give her share to Durant—he’ll see her set up good. What you reckon, Bodie? Half?”
Bodie, eyes blazing, looked at Blake Durant who shrugged and said, “Half is a lot better than nothing.”
Bodie banged his hands on the ground in a fit of rage. “Why, you thievin’ old buzzard! You won’t change even when you’re dyin’!”
“Don’t see it’d help me any, Bodie. Come on ... I ain’t got all damn night.”
Bodie looked helplessly about him, then he nodded. “A deal.”
Doubell said, “Durant, you’ll see after the girl?”
“I will.”
Bodie drew in his breath. “Left it back of your camp, Bodie. Right where you buried that carcass. Half goes to the girl, remember.” And his eyes closed for the last time.
Bodie spat into the dirt. “My camp,” he moaned. “Right under my damn nose all the time. And I thought ... I thought ...” He hugged his face in his hands and groaned.
Blake Durant touched Bodie’s shoulder and told him to go off. He removed his hide coat and placed it over Pete Doubell’s face. He stood there a moment before he said, “Rest easy, old-timer.”
He went back to the porch. Taking Christine aside, he said, “He didn’t have to go for the gold in the first place. He’d already bought a little place out here. He meant to give it to you. He made some mistakes, but he died killing a snake who gunned down a lot of good men in his life. I think that whoever takes the tally on him will see the good things.”
Christine placed her cheek against his wide, deep chest. Her tears soaked into his shirt. He held her close, feeling the softness of her body, letting her cry herself out.
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