by Lauran Paine
Sundance nudged him. “Well...?”
Jack pulled Sundance’s extra gun from his waistband, checked its cylinder for loads, and put it back. In a voice gone cold and crisp, he said: “All right. I’ll wait until I see you come up behind your men. Then I’ll go down to Logan’s office.” He looked at the thin man. “Calabasas, that sheriff’s a decent feller....”
“Sure. I won’t do him no harm.”
They split up. The last one to move off was the Sundance Kid. He looked at Jack’s shadowed face. “Boy, you take your time. If Logan’s got more’n two of them railroaders in there with him...you wait for me. I’ll be back. Remember that...more’n two.”
Jack watched his friends cross the roadway through the darkness. He was so engrossed in their progress he did not notice that Red Ewart and Deputy Spencer were no longer standing under the overhang down by the saloon.
Sheriff Farmer had his head bent and his hands cupped around the match he was holding to his pipe when the thin, cadaverous shadow materialized behind him. Jack saw Farmer’s head jerk up, his body stiffen.
He was so engrossed in this silent drama that he did not heed approaching footfalls until a man’s voice said: “Easy, boy. It’s me...Red.”
Jack turned very slowly. Ewart was half smiling up at him.
“I thought you were with the deputy.”
“No need now. He’s gone to have a talk with Amy.”
Jack blinked. “Amy Southard?”
“Yeah.”
“You found out about her, Red?”
“Well, dammit, that’s my trade, Jack. Nosin’ around and figurin’ things out. This here,” Ewart said with a gesture around the town with one hand, “is kind of like a holiday for me. Sort of like attendin’ a reunion and mixin’ in a little work, too.”
“What’s he want with Amy?”
“To see that Rob’s all right.”
At Jack’s blinking stare the deputy marshal’s teeth flashed white from under the dark splendor of his mustache.
“They were bound to find out sooner or later, Jack.”
“Does Logan know?”
Ewart wagged his head. “Not yet. Farmer and Spencer just found it out about an hour ago. Farmer went to see Missus Southard...she’s his sister or something...and there was the kid, eatin’ at the kitchen table.”
“He will find out, though,” Jack said, and started to move.
Ewart restrained him by one arm. “What difference does it make? Let him find out.”
Jack pulled free. “He’ll kill the kid, Red.”
“Naw. Listen to me a second. Amy Southard got a lawyer from Raton. He got a writ of Mandamus against Logan.”
“A what?”
“Writ of Mandamus. It means he’s got to show cause why he wants you arrested.”
“Well, for hell’s sake...he can do that easy enough, Red.”
Ewart nodded. “Sure he can...if he’s around to do it.”
“What d’you mean?”
“When that writ was served on him by Deputy Spencer, he come a-hightailing it back here to town with his crew.”
“What of it?”
Ewart turned and pointed across the roadway where Hoyt Farmer was standing — with a thin shadow behind him. “Farmer’s waitin’ for Logan to come out of his office. He’s goin’ to call him.”
“What! He can’t do that. He’s a law officer.”
“Nope. He quit this afternoon.” Ewart looked up again. “I guess you know why, Jack.”
“Why?”
Ewart shrugged. “Don’t ask me. All I can tell you is that he read some papers Will Spencer gave him. About an hour later he resigned, left the office, and has been waitin’ around for Logan to show up ever since. He missed it when Logan come to town, boy, but he won’t miss him this time if he has to stand there all night.”
“Oh, no,” Jack said. “Red, see that man behind Farmer there in the shadows, that’s Calabasas. He’s got the sheriff disarmed.”
Ewart turned and squinted. After a time he said: “You mean you’ve already started your play?”
“Yes. Look yonder...where those four men’re walking toward Buck’s barn with that other feller behind ’em....”
“Tex!”
“And there, yonder. Those others....”
“Sundance!”
Ewart ran a nervous hand up along his mustache. His brow creased and his eyes narrowed. With deliberate slowness he turned back toward Jack. “We better stop it, boy. That writ an’ the lawyer an’ all....”
Jack was shaking his head. “Too late to stop it, Red. You can come with me to Logan’s office or....”
XIII
Jack was moving away, starting southward along the plank walk when Red Ewart came out of his reverie. He hastened after the big man, caught his arm, and pulled him around.
“Listen to me a second, Jack,” the deputy marshal said. “That writ of Mandamus will force Logan to give his reason for wanting you arrested.”
“What of it?” Jack asked, puzzled.
“Dammit, he’s after you ’cause you got his nephew.”
“Yes.”
“But he can’t prove you got him, Jack. Until he has proof, he can’t have you arrested. Do you see?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah, I see. I also see something you’ve overlooked. A couple of things in fact.”
“Such as...?”
“In the first place Logan’s got enough railroaders working for him to swear me back into Yuma for carrying a gun. He’s never seen me carry a gun any more’n he knows I have Rob, but that won’t matter. He’ll pay his men to swear in court under oath that I carried a gun. That’s all it’d take to send me back.”
Ewart said nothing. He was watching the big man’s face closely and listening.
“The second thing is Hoyt Farmer. You know I sent him some papers. I can guess how you know. You wormed it out of Will Spencer. What you don’t know is what was in those papers. Well, I’ll tell you this much. Josh Logan deserves to die and those papers prove it. Hoyt Farmer knows that. Maybe he was a special friend of a man Josh Logan killed. I don’t know. I didn’t suspect that when I sent him the papers or maybe I wouldn’t have sent them to him. This much I do know and so do you. If Farmer kills Logan, it’ll ruin him here in Herd. A lawman can’t resign, shoot a man, then put his badge back on. Law enforcement is Farmer’s life. I did this to him and I’ve got to prevent him from ruining his life by killing Logan myself.”
Ewart frowned and shrugged. “All right, Jack, it’s your game. I came along to see that you got a fair shake. I reckon you know more of the ins and outs than I do.” Ewart looked southward along the plank walk where lamplight spilled onto the roadway from Logan’s office. “You go ahead and do things your way. One thing though...Will Spencer is pretty upset over Farmer quitting as sheriff. He blames you for that, and he told me he knew you’d try and force a showdown with Logan.” Ewart’s eyes swung back to Jack’s face again. “He’s watching Logan’s office, waiting for you to show up.”
“From inside or outside?”
“Outside.”
“Find him, Red, and don’t let him interfere.”
Ewart looked reluctant. Before he could speak again, a thin yell arose over the hushed town. A dark silhouette was running frantically from the direction of the livery barn. Both Jack and Red Ewart turned to watch. The running man’s empty hip holster flopped and his legs pumped like pistons. He was heading straight for Josh Logan’s office.
From the doorless entrance to Buck’s barn a second shadow appeared. There was a dark glint of steel showing. The second shadow called out.
“Hold it! Stop where you are!”
Jack recognized the voice; the second man was Sundance. He turned to see if the fleeing man would obey. He did not stop. Sundance fired, the fleeing man crumpled, da
rk dust arose around him, then he scrambled up and raced the remaining distance to Logan’s office and slammed past the door.
Sundance’s bitter profanity was loud in the quiet. He stood in the barn doorway, looking out for a moment, then he holstered his gun angrily, turned, and limped back into the shadows.
“That spoiled things,” Ewart said in a detached tone. “Logan’ll know now, for sure.”
Jack felt bitter; he had wasted precious time. Without another glance at Red Ewart he started forward. The plank walk was empty. In fact, the entire town seemed empty. There was no one on either walkway and the road was devoid of traffic. A sickle moon glowed and thin light shone against the far mountains.
Jack was less than fifty feet from the railroad superintendent’s door when the lights went out. He stopped, then moved quickly sideways to press against the building. Red Ewart was no longer in sight. Into the powerful stillness Sheriff Farmer’s voice came, brittle-sounding and hollow.
“Logan!”
The silence ran on. No answer came from the office.
“Logan! This is Hoyt Farmer. I know how many railroaders you got in there with you...six. Listen to me, Logan...there are six men waiting out here for you to come out. Six...counting me. You think you got seven men outside here, too, but you haven’t. That feller who escaped’ll tell you where your other men are...in the livery barn unarmed and under guard. You got a pretty slim chance Logan, but no one’ll shoot you if you walk out of there unarmed. You’d better do it...you and your men.”
Jack could not see where Calabasas and Hoyt Farmer were standing. The west side of the road was in complete darkness except for pale lamplight coming from deep within Buck’s barn.
He wondered if Calabasas had given the sheriff back his gun. Farmer had said there were six of them waiting for Logan. Jack knew of only five, including himself — Sundance, Ewart, Calabasas, and Tex Connelly. It didn’t matter. He didn’t intend to let Farmer kill Logan.
The sheriff’s voice came again, as bitter-sounding as before: “Logan! You’re covered front and rear. You’ve got to come out sometime. These fellers out here can wait longer’n you can....”
Jack heard the muffled sound of voices in the office. Logan’s men were arguing. He smiled thinly; railroaders weren’t gunfighters. Then the superintendent answered Hoyt Farmer.
“What the hell d’you think you’re doing, Sheriff? You’re the law. Those men out there are gunmen...outlaws. Swift did ten thousand dollars’ worth of damage to the railroad. He’s a fugitive from the law....”
“Logan, I resigned. I’m not sheriff any more.”
There was an interval of deep silence. Jack could hear the raised voices in the office through the wall, but beyond, the full length of Herd, there was not a sound. Then Hoyt Farmer spoke again.
“Logan, you remember who my first deputy was? You remember whose wedding I was best man at? You recollect who the feller was who worked hardest to get the new stage line going?”
Jack understood. He knew Joshua Logan also understood. Hoyt Farmer was talking about Logan’s dead brother, the man who had married a girl Logan had courted and wanted, the man who had raised Josh Logan’s son as his own son. The sheriff’s brittle voice went on.
“You ruined a lot of lives, Logan...now you’re going to pay for every one of them. You better send those railroaders out of there. These men’re going to smoke you out, starve you out, or burn you out.”
Straining against the wall, Jack heard a violent argument break out in the office. He was listening with his head pressed close and neither saw nor heard the approach of a newcomer, until cold steel pressed against him.
“Give me that gun, Jack.”
He turned very slowly. Will Spencer was standing there, white-faced, holding out his right hand.
Jack could hear his own heart sloshing erratically. “Will....”
“The gun.”
Jack took it from under his coat and held it out. Will received it as he lowered his own weapon. A soft sigh passed his lips. “You heard Hoyt. He quit. I’m the law now.”
Beyond Deputy Spencer a second figure assumed substance. Jack recognized it as Tex Connelly. He made fast conversation to cover the Texan’s approach, and, when he saw Will’s eyes widen, his body draw up slightly, he stopped talking. Connelly’s voice was a near whisper; it was saturnine-sounding.
“Now, Deputy, you hadn’t ought to disarm a man at a time like this. It ain’t sportin’.” Tex looked over at Jack. “I can knock him over the head,” he said.
Spencer broke in. “Wait a minute. Jack, did you see that feller Hoyt was talkin’ to out in the roadway a little while ago, the feller with the bowler hat?”
“I saw him. What of it?”
“He’s the Yuma warden. He come up here after Hoyt went down to talk to him about you.” The deputy’s narrowed glance held steady. “He’s in the hotel, waitin’.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For you to walk out into the road against Josh Logan with a gun in your belt.”
The sounds of dissension from within the office were growing louder. Jack had to raise his voice to be heard over them. “You’re saying that’s why you disarmed me...to keep him from...?”
“Partly that. Partly because I don’t want to see Hoyt do something wrong.” Spencer relaxed. Behind him, Tex Connelly lowered his gun. He was straining to hear the argument in progress in Logan’s office.
“I don’t care who kills Logan,” Spencer went on. “I could almost do it myself. I just don’t think he’s worth your future and the future of Sheriff Farmer. He’s ruined a lot of men in his time. He’ll ruin both of you two. You, if you’re carrying a gun when you face him. Hoyt, if he even draws against him.”
Tex shuffled his feet. “Jack, listen. Logan’s comin’ out.”
The three of them faced toward the office. From beyond the door raised voices erupted in fierce contention. The door opened and a man stepped out. He was wearing a ragged windbreaker and had both arms high over his head. He called out in a reedy voice.
“Don’t shoot! I surrender.”
He walked out into the roadway and turned around slowly. “Sheriff...somebody...I surrender.”
From the dripping darkness of a doorway Hoyt Farmer said: “Walk toward the jailhouse and keep your hands high.”
A second railroader came then, followed by two more. One of them held a gun belt. As he stepped off the plank walk into the roadway, he dropped it in the dust. This time it was Calabasas who directed them toward the jail.
Beside Jack, the left-handed deputy raised his voice. It carried the full length of the roadway.
“Hold your fire! Everybody...don’t shoot! Logan...you and the other railroaders come out with your hands high. Logan, you hear me?”
The reply was sharp. “I hear...and I’m not walking out of here to be shot down.”
“You won’t be...unless you force a fight. Come on out!”
Jack moved away from the wall for a better view of the office doorway. Tex Connelly was beside him, on the left. On his right stood Deputy Sheriff Will Spencer. The three of them, standing close together, completely barred the plank walk.
The utter stillness drew out. A short, thick silhouette emerged from the hotel doorway, hesitated briefly, looking north toward the three men blocking the plank walk, then ducked back out of sight. Jack had only a fleeting glimpse of a bowler hat.
In the gloom of Buck’s barn a lounging figure was joined by another shadow. One wore two holsters, with one being empty. The other figure, older, bent and bowlegged, was hugging a long-barreled rifle.
Down by the sheriff’s office a tall, cadaverous man was holding a gun on several other men whose arms were rigidly skyward. Directly in front of him was a gray-headed older man, also with an empty holster. He was staring from a bleak face at the open door of Joshua Logan’s
office up the road.
Jack saw every detail clearly. He even heard the boards creak when someone inched forward in Logan’s office. Then he saw the man emerge, looking southward. It was Will Spencer’s voice that turned the man to stone.
“Mister, drop that gun!”
The railroader started to turn, caught himself, and let the pistol fall from his hand.
“Walk out in the road an’ down to the jailhouse.”
The only sound that followed was that of heavy footfalls on hard-packed earth.
Then Joshua Logan and the solitary remaining railroader came out. Both wore gun belts. They came through the doorway opening side-by-side, heads up and moving. Jack’s voice stopped them less than fifty feet away. They turned to face him.
“Logan...send that man away.”
The superintendent’s face filled with dark blood; the strange, overpowering fury he was capable of showed in fire points that flamed from his eyes.
“He stays, Swift!”
“It’s not his fight.”
Logan’s lips curled. “It’s any law-abiding man’s fight.” The hot eyes flicked down, then up again. “Where’s your gun, Swift? You made a fatal mistake coming after me without one.”
“For the last time...send that man away!”
Joshua Logan made no move to obey or reply. He drew up very straight. His lips scarcely moved.
“Swift!”
Logan was dropping into a crouch, his right hand streaking downward, when two explosions, one a fraction of a second ahead of the other one, blew the night apart.
Logan went back a step, bumped the man beside him whose one shot went high over the heads of the three men facing him, then he braced himself against the office doorjamb, staring at the big man. The uninjured railroader was bringing his gun to bear when Jack’s voice knifed into the echoing stillness.
“Don’t!”
Two cocked guns, one in either fist, loomed black and ready. The railroader, who hadn’t tugged back the hammer for his second shot, stared in fascination at death. He slowly lowered his weapon—then dropped it.
Joshua Logan slid down the front wall of his office and went over gently onto his side. He was dead.