House of Winslow 14 The Valiant Gunman

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Hush, now!” Hope whispered. “Don’t talk about it.”

  A thought occurred to him, and he looked up at her and asked, “How we gonna take care of the place, Sis?”

  Hope smoothed his hair back from his forehead and smiled. “God will help us,” she said softly.

  At that moment a tap came on the door, and she rose and crossed the room to open it. A big man she’d never seen before stood there, and she said, “Doctor Matthews isn’t here right now.”

  “Mrs. Malloy?” He removed his hat and stood there watching her.

  “Why—yes.”

  “I’m looking for Rosa Mann. My name is Dan Winslow.”

  At once Hope said, “Come in, Mr. Winslow.” She stepped back as he entered. “Rosa isn’t here, Mr. Winslow. She’s with Mr. John Edwards. We were planning to bring her home, but—we’ve had some difficulty.”

  “I stopped by your place,” Dan said. “Your man Og told me some of it.” He lifted his eyes to take in the young man on the bed. “This the young fellow who got hurt?”

  “Yes. This is my brother, Zane.”

  Dan moved across the room, coming to stand over Zane. “Guess I owe you some thanks, for finding Rosa and bringing her in,” he said.

  Zane blinked his eyes. “Aw, it weren’t nothin’.” A streak of bitterness tightened his lips. “I didn’t do so good protectin’ her from those Arrow hands.”

  “You did your best, Zane,” Dan said gently. “That’s all any man can do. How do you feel?”

  As Winslow spoke with Zane, Hope had an opportunity to study him. There was, she saw at once, a vigilance about him, despite his easy speech. He moved with a loose-muscled slackness, but she saw that he was very strong. His chest was deep, and the muscles in his upper arms and on the broad flats of his shoulders filled the thin shirt he wore. He had a quiet manner, but there was a quickness in his eyes, a remote and angular shining, and behind such surfaces Hope caught a hint of the toughness the years had beaten into him. And as she watched him, the intense masculine vigor that she sensed in him caused a sudden fear. She had stayed away from men since Willis had died, and now without intending it, a resistance to Winslow built up in her.

  Winslow was saying, “You did fine, Zane, real fine. I’m grateful and so is Rosa, I’m sure.” Then he turned and put his eyes on Hope. “Like to talk to you, Mrs. Malloy.”

  “Yes, we can go in the other room.” She led him into the doctor’s main office and turned to face him.

  “Like to hear about what happened,” Dan said. He listened as she recounted the details of the fight. She was younger than he had expected, and he admired the steadfastness of her manner. She was, he noted, an attractive woman, with hair the color of honey and a smooth complexion. She was wearing a worn brown dress, but it didn’t conceal her upright carriage nor the smoothly rounded lines of her figure. There was some quality in the woman he couldn’t quite identify—a sort of distance that she kept. She seemed aloof, and there was a kind of warning in her clear blue eyes that puzzled him. He decided that it was the strain of her brother’s beating, and when she was finished, he said, “Hard on you, Mrs. Malloy.”

  “I’m used to hard things,” she answered. She hesitated, and Dan sensed a gentle spirit that lay beneath her distant manner. “But I’m afraid of Arrow. Those men will come back.”

  Dan Winslow said softly, “No, they won’t.”

  His quiet words were so firm that Hope was taken aback. He was very sober and added, “I’ll have a word with them. And until your brother gets better, I’ll be around to help you keep the ranch going.”

  “But—you have your own ranch to take care of!”

  A wry light that could have been amusement came to his eyes. “Well, it’s shrunk up, you might say, so I’ve got some time on my hands.”

  “I couldn’t let you do that, Mr. Winslow,” Hope protested.

  But he merely nodded, saying, “I’ll be back. Where does this man Edwards live? I’d like to see Rosa.”

  She was telling him how to get to the Edwards’ house, when the door opened and a man entered. “Smoky!” she cried out in a glad voice.

  “Heard Zane had some trouble,” the man nodded. “Come to check on him.”

  “This is Dan Winslow,” Hope said. “And this is Smoky Jacks, an old friend of ours.”

  Winslow nodded, saying, “Glad to meet you,” then left the office. He went at once to the Edwards’ house. He was met at the door by a woman who stared at him coldly until he identified himself and asked for Rosa.

  “Why, she’s in the living room, Mr. Winslow. Come with me.”

  Rosa was sitting on a chair, and her face lit up when Winslow walked in. “Dan!” she exclaimed and struggled to her feet. He caught her as she grabbed at him. “You better take it easy,” he grinned.

  She pulled him down to the couch, her eyes wide as she began to talk. “My horse raked me off,” she began, and went through the story of her rescue by Zane. “If he hadn’t found me, I think I’d have died!” she exclaimed. She recounted the events of the fight with Arrow at Anchor—the new name Hope had given their ranch after Willis’ death—and her hand squeezed his arm urgently. “Dan, we’ve got to help them! Zane got hurt trying to help me, and now they’ve got nobody to watch the cattle.”

  “I guess we can be of some help there, Rosa,” Dan said. “Are you all right?”

  They talked briefly, Dan filled with relief that the girl had come to no serious harm. But he was also angry, and soon he said, “You’re staying here tonight, I guess?”

  “Yes, they’re very nice people,” Rosa nodded. “But tomorrow—”

  “Take it one day at a time, Rosa,” Dan advised. He got to his feet, but paused to put one hand on her shoulder. “You gave me quite a scare, you know it? I had all kinds of thoughts while I was riding around looking for you.”

  She reached up and put her hand on his, a smile on her lips. “I’m all right, Dan.”

  He hesitated, then said gently, “Rosa, I want to tell you something.”

  She took a look at his face and knew instantly what it was. “It’s about my father, isn’t it? He’s dead, is that it?”

  “I think he is, Rosa. If he were alive, he’d have gotten word to us by this time.” He put his hand on her shoulder, adding gently, “He was a fine man. I’ll try to help you all I can, but I can’t make up for a father.”

  He left the house, his face losing its easy look. It was in his mind to ride to Arrow at once and take up the matter with Silas Head, but he decided instead to pay a visit to Sheriff Rider. Making his way to the main street of War Paint, he was hailed by a rider and looked up to see Sid Kincaid pulling alongside.

  “Dan, I came in to find out what’s happening,” he said at once.

  “She’s okay, Sid,” Dan said quickly, and saw a tremendous relief come over Kincaid’s face. Winslow explained quickly, and when he was finished, said, “I’m going to pay a visit to Arrow.”

  “Good! Let’s go.”

  Dan studied the smaller man. “May be a rough visit, Sid. I’m not feeling charitable.”

  Kincaid’s hazel eyes were hot with anger. “We’re wasting time, Dan,” he said. “And don’t try to talk me out of it,” he added stubbornly.

  “I guess I won’t,” Winslow said. “Let’s go see the sheriff first. It won’t do any good, but if we’re going on the rampage, I guess we ought to let him know.”

  But Sheriff Rider was out of town, they were informed by his deputy, Ray Shotwell. The stocky deputy stared with a truculent air at the two men, but asked, “Anything I can do for you?”

  “I guess not, Deputy,” Winslow said. “Just tell the sheriff that some Arrow hands beat up young Zane Jenson. We figure to take it out of their hides.”

  A startled look sprang into Shotwell’s eyes. “Why, you can’t do that!”

  “Why can’t we?” Kincaid demanded; then the two men left the office with Shotwell calling out for them to stop.

  “No help there,�
� Sid commented. “You ready to go?”

  Winslow nodded, and they started back down the street. When they were almost as far as where their horses were tied, Winslow heard his named called. He turned quickly to see three men standing in front of a barber shop. He identified two of them at once as the men who’d brought his cattle back—Gus Miller and Dave Orr—and the third was the cowboy named Jacks that he’d seen in Doctor Matthews’ office.

  “Winslow, what’s this about your girl and Zane Jenson?” asked Gus Miller, who spoke quickly as Winslow and Kincaid approached. “Smoky says the Arrow bunch beat him to a pulp.” Miller had a set of hard black eyes, which now revealed a wicked temper.

  Smoky Jacks broke in. “Hope said you told her you was gonna go after the bunch that done it, Winslow. Well, count me in! That Zane is a good kid!”

  “Now wait a minute, Smoky,” Dave Orr said quickly. “If you go after Arrow, they’ll come down on us hard—all of us.” He had a nervous look on his thin face, and of the three men, he alone carried no gun.

  Smoky glanced at him impatiently. “Well, I quit, Mr. Orr. And I’ll tell Mr. Ash Caudill I’m on my own hook when I take a bite of that bunch.”

  Orr frowned. “Now, don’t be so hasty, Smoky. I agree we can’t let this go by, but we can’t fight Arrow. There’s too many of them.”

  “You got any ideas, Dan?” Gus Miller demanded. “Them yahoos are over at the Palace Saloon right now.”

  Winslow glanced in the direction of the saloon across the street that Miller indicated, and rank anger burned in him. He knew that he should stay clear of the trouble, but he couldn’t stop the swing of his temper. It was a weakness for which he had been punished more than once, as the scars on his face testified. Nevertheless, he said, “I’ll take a hand,” and turning, forged across the street.

  “Hey, Dan—!” Sid was beside him, and the suddenness of Winslow’s response startled him. He stretched his legs to keep up with the larger man. “Look, we gotta be smart, Dan. There’s probably a big bunch in there. Let’s catch ’em when the odds are better.”

  But Winslow appeared not to hear him, for he didn’t answer but shouldered his way through the double doors of the saloon. Sid followed, but then faded off to one side, his eyes sweeping the crowd. The place was packed, for it was a Saturday, and the smell of tobacco smoke and whiskey was strong. Dan spotted Deuce Longly and Ollie Peace instantly, sitting at a round table filled with other hands—Arrow hands he judged. He noted the way that Longly spoke to the others and how their glances swung to meet him. And then he saw Ash Caudill far toward the back of the room, sitting at a table with one other man. Caudill lifted his head, but showed no friendliness. He had a cigar clenched between his teeth, and Dan caught his slanting, sly glance, which didn’t hide the catlike alertness of his interest. He heard about the trouble, Dan thought. He’ll stay out of it—let the crew do me in.

  Winslow moved to the bar and laid his arms on it. He felt a growing pressure in the place; it was like a steady force on his shoulder blades. He made a circle on the bar with one forefinger, watching the pale imprint show on the scarred hardwood surface, and he saw Gus Miller drift in through the front door and take a place at the bar not far from where the Arrow hands sat.

  The barkeep, a burly man with pale blue eyes, came to stand before him. “What’ll it be?”

  Winslow lifted his voice so that it carried over the hum of talk that filled the Palace. “I’m looking for the yellow curs who beat up Zane Jenson. Part of that yellow-bellied Arrow outfit.”

  The barkeep, tough as he was, blinked and looked flustered. He shot a nervous glance sideways toward the Arrow crowd, but said nothing.

  “Well, are the dirty sons in here, or not?” Winslow demanded. Then when the barkeep shook his head and moved away, Dan turned and put his eyes on the Arrow crowd. “Well, well, look what we have here!” he said in the absolute stillness of the room. “These men work for you, Ash?” He shifted his gaze to Caudill.

  Caudill got to his feet, the man across from him doing the same. “I’d be a little careful, Dan,” he said tersely. “Let’s you and me have a quiet talk about this thing.”

  “Be glad to, Ash,” Winslow said, “just as soon as I settle up with these skunks.” He moved away from the bar and kept his hand close to the gun at his side. “Peace, you don’t learn very fast do you? But you’re about to get an education right now.”

  Suddenly Deuce Longly stood up, fury on his face. As he did, the men with him all rose and moved away. Three of them moved to the left of Winslow in front of the door, while two more edged toward the bar. Those five, plus Ash and the man with him formed a threat that Dan couldn’t handle. He kept his eyes on Longly and saw the gunman’s eyes run around the room. Deuce liked what he saw and brought his gaze back to Winslow.

  “You’ve got in my way too often, Winslow,” he said. “I aim to see you don’t do it again.” His hands hovered over the butts of the twin .44s in his holsters, and one twitch would set him off, Dan saw.

  Winslow knew the moment he touched his gun, the other Arrow hands would draw, but he kept his eyes focused on the savage face of the gunman. He thought suddenly of the many times he’d been at this point, often in the war, poised and waiting for the signal that could bring death to him. But he said only, “You’re a dog, Longly.”

  His words brought a crazy light into Longly’s eyes, but at that moment Smoky Jacks stepped through the front door. Smoky lifted his gun and said to the three Arrow hands who were facing Winslow, “You fellers scratch for it.”

  Suddenly, Gus Miller drew his revolver and held it on the two hands who’d moved toward the bar. “Jack, you and Mott are out of it.” The two riders half turned, but were frozen by the sight of Miller’s gun trained on them.

  That left Ash Caudill and the man at the table with him. But Sid had seen that and now moved away from the bar. He took a position to the left of the table, his gun still in his holster, but Caudill could not mistake the look on his face. “Better stay out of this,” Caudill snapped, but saw that the man was standing there like a cocked gun.

  Winslow shifted his glance and shot another look toward Ash. The foreman, he knew, was no coward, but he was smart. The balance of power had shifted, and Winslow gambled that he would stay out of it. He turned to face Longly, and at that moment, the hands of the gunman shot down toward his guns.

  Longly had seen Winslow’s gaze move away from him, and was confident that he could draw and shoot before Winslow looked back. The slap of his hands on the butts of his guns was heard by every man in the saloon. Ash had anticipated the move and was expecting the crash of Longly’s guns—but it didn’t happen.

  Longly had his guns half-drawn, but the Colt in Winslow’s holster had appeared in his hand like magic and was pointed right at his chest. Longly flinched and stopped his draw instantly. He threw his hands up over his head, and a hoarse cry of fear came from his lips. He knew he was a dead man—as did every man in the saloon.

  Winslow, however, held his fire. He moved forward until he stood before the terrified man. He pulled Longly’s guns from the holsters, tossed them to the floor, then slapped the man’s face with a force so sudden it drove him sideways. When Longly caught his balance, Winslow said, “Get out of my sight, you scum! The next time I see you, I’ll kill you.”

  Longly seemed to be drunk, for fear had destroyed his nerve. He turned and scrambled out of the room, his hoarse breathing cutting the silence of the room. He hit the door blindly, and his heels made a staccato sound on the board walkway, and then his horse left at a wild gallop.

  Winslow turned to Ollie Peace, who was staring at the door with shock. “Now, Peace,” he said, slipping his gun back into the holster. “It’s your turn.”

  Peace suddenly grew pale. He had seen the lightning draw of Winslow and knew he had no chance at all. “No, not me!” he cried out. “I’m not drawing on you!”

  Caudill’s voice came across the room. “If you shoot him, it’ll be murder, W
inslow!”

  Winslow stood there, a tough figure with every man’s eyes on him. Slowly he unbuckled his gun belt and laid it on the bar. “All right, Ollie,” he said. “This will be a treat on me.”

  He moved toward the hulking form of Peace, who stood there in shock. He was a brutal saloon fighter and could not believe that Winslow was offering to fight with his fists. He was sly and unpredictable, a giant of a man with brutality throbbing through him. Now he was pleased with himself for he had no doubts as to his ability. He studied Winslow in a way a man might measure an ox for a slaughterhouse sledging. His confidence and malignant enjoyment was clear to every man in the room. Then he grinned and dropped his gun belt. “Watch this, boys,” he leered. “I’ll drive him around a little before I drop him!” Peace needed fights as other men needed food, and his breath grew shallow with anticipation. “Winslow, I’m gonna bust you up good—!”

  He tried to surprise Winslow by throwing a powerful right hand that would have ended the fight had it landed. But it didn’t land. Winslow parried the blow, and as Peace missed and was thrown off balance, Dan lifted his arm and brought it down with all his might on the back of Peace’s thick neck.

  The sound of it striking went through the saloon, and it drove Peace to the floor. His face struck the boards, and he rolled there, his wits addled. It would have broken the neck of a lesser man, but Peace was a burly brute with bones like those of a grizzly, with an oxlike vitality. All his victories came from the thick shield of bone and muscle, this insensitivity to injury. He crawled to his feet and came up facing the wrong way as Winslow said, “Over here, Ollie.”

  Peace was confused, and before he could move, Winslow stepped forward and threw a tremendous right hand. Dan knew that the skull of the man would break his fingers, so he drove another blow into his thick throat. It was only partly successful, for Peace ducked and the blow only caught him indirectly. But it did turn the big man’s face crimson, and he began gagging. Winslow pushed forward, and a blow he never saw struck him on the chest, the force of it driving him backward.