by Jonas Ward
Buchanan turned, his eyes quizzical at the stern tone.
"I warned you," Lime said, "about taking the law into four own hands. You deliberately provoked that gunplay fast now."
Buchanan smiled sheepishly. "Damn near provoked myself to death," he admitted. "Them swivel jobs are tricky-"
"You're under arrest, Buchanan!"
"John," Cristy said, "you're not serious?"
"Please don't interfere, Cristina. The law has been broken. There can be no compromise with justice. Not in my town.” He moved away from her, came to stand directly beside Buchanan. "Hand me your gun, Buchanan." Buchanan looked down, half-smiling, half-squinting.
"'I don't get you, Mr. Lime," he said softly. "What harm's been done to your precious law?"
“I said hand me your gun. You're under arrest."
Buchanan looked over the man's head, into Cristy's eyes, Hal Harper's, glanced at the faces of total strangers. In each he saw the same disturbance he was feeling, the bewilderment, the inability to comprehend Lime's position. And, importantly, Buchanan felt their oneness with him, their complete support if he defied the sheriff, told him go to hell. Even Cristy.
His eyes went again to Lime's intense, unyielding expression and the urge was there, all right, to brush the sanctimonious little martinet aside and be on his way.
"For the third and last time, Buchanan, your gun!"
The candlelight in the crystal chandelier overhead caught Lime's small gold badge and made it glisten. Not a shield at all like the tarnished, bullet-creased old star that Jess Bogan wore back in Alpine. But they both stood for the same thing, the law, and suddenly the persons of John Lime and Jess Bogan became fused in Buchanan's mind.
He lifted the Colt from its holster backhanded and surrendered it.
"That's showing good sense, mister," Lime said.
"Just take it," Buchanan advised him. "Don't talk about it."
The sheriff of Brownsville followed his big prisoner out of the Crystal Palace, had to quicken his stride to keep pace, and he wondered just how much of his dignity he'd regained.
Ten
IT NEVER OCCURRED to Turkey Forbes to report first to Lash Wall. He hurried into the hacienda, stood in the doorway of the room where the poker game was in progress and announced his news in a shrill, charged voice. "Jules Perrott is dead."
The roomful of gunmen seemed to freeze, then one by one they all swung their attention to Fred Perrott. Perrott's slack jaw hung open as he slowly climbed to his feet
"Say that again," he said hollowly. "Your brother just got himself shot and killed in Brownsville," Forbes repeated. "I couldn't follow what him I and the big guy was arguin' about, but it sure got over in a hurry."
"How big?" Wynt Jenkins asked. "Near as big as Big Red."
"Ain't nobody as big as me!" Leech himself said loudly, coming into the room. He glanced around at the faces of the men. "What's the matter here?"
"Somebody got Jules Perrott," Sherm Moore informed in.
“Got him?" Leech echoed. "Who? Where?"
"He slipped into town tonight," Turkey Forbes said, Lash sent me to keep an eye on him. Only I was too late. It was all over before it started, seemed like."
"You were there," Fred Perrott said, "and didn't take a hand?”
Listen, Fred," Forbes answered, "that fella spotted your brother that swivel shot of his and plugged him three times through the heart. Then he swings the gun around and starts callin' for fresh meat—namely you and Sam Gill."
"He knew us?" the heavy-set Gill asked. Forbes shook his head. "It wasn't like he knew you, Sam. Just your name, and Fred's. And he invited you both to step up and try him."
"Well, I'll damn well oblige him," Fred Perrott said, stepping forward. "Come on, Sam."
Lash Wall had come into the room, heard a part of the conversation. "Hold on, Fred," he said.
"Hold on, hell! Jules is dead."
"If it's the ramstam I think it is," Wynt Jenkins drawled, "you and Sam better approach him real careful." "Amen," Sherm Moore said dryly.
"You mean the same one that took Prado and you?" Lash Wall asked.
"The description is close," Wynt replied. "Especially the spotting old Jules' first shot, then hitting him three times."
"He don't scare me none," Fred Perrott said hotly. "Stand aside, Lash!"
"Everybody hold on here!" Big Red thundered. "Who's runnin' this outfit, anyhow?"
"Big Red, somebody is cutting this outfit down," Lash Wall commented. "We can't lose any more."
"Don't tell me what we can and can't!" Leech shouted at his lieutenant. "Now, forgettin' the fact that Jules disobeyed me personal, the fact remains that there's some scudder runnin' around loose and makin' this army look bad. We got hired for this job on our rep, and by damn I ain't gonna lose it to no lucky shootin' sonofabitch! Saddle up, everybody!" Leech ordered. "We got a maverick is Brownsville that needs lynchin'!"
"He's already in the pokey, Red," Turkey Forbes announced. "The sheriff took him in immediate for shooting Jules."
"Then we'll just take him the hell out of the pokey!"
"No, Big Red," Lash Wall protested. "That sheriff will fight."
"Hope he does! What's gettin' into you, Lash? Losin' your nerve?"
"My nerve is the same as ever, Big Red. What you're losing are the boys we need to get this job done!"
"Then to hell with the job!" Leech roared down at him. "The rep of this outfit comes first with me! Let's go, boys!"
"Down!" John Lime commanded the trio of chained, snarling, hungry-looking bull mastiffs that guarded his jail. "Down!" he snapped, and the half-wild beasts obeyed, reluctantly, casting aggressive glances at Buchanan as they slunk into the shadows. The jail itself was nothing more than an out-sized adobe hut, with a portal instead of a door, partitions rather than cells and narrow slit windows without bars. John Lime lit a lantern that rested on a scarred table just inside the portal, sending a huge rat scurrying into its nest beneath the cracked floor, throwing light on a tarantula who had complete possession of one entire ceiling corner. Inside each partitioned section was a mattress of straw that looked as old as the building itself.
"Some calaboose," Buchanan commented.
"I don't believe in fancy jails," Lime said.
"Guess you don't."
"Nor in taking prisoners. Waste of good money."
Buchanan looked at him. "You got me for a prisoner," he said.
"Temporarily," Lime said.
"Oh, yeah?"
Lime shook his head. "Nothing like that," he said. "I'm going to send a deputy around with your belongings and your horse. He'll escort you out of Brownsville, Buchanan, and you'll keep right on going."
"You're sure positive about things, aren't you?" Busman asked him feeling his irritation rising to an active level again.
"Very positive," the lawman said and then his features seemed to relent in the lantern's flickering glow. "I have to be, Buchanan," he said. "I couldn't be any other way and still maintain law and order in this border city. If I showed one sign of weakness, of indecision, Brownsville would turn on me the same as those dogs out front." The man sighed, smiled curiously. "It's not easy," he said, "being John Lime."
"Why do you keep at it?" Buchanan asked him. Lime kept smiling, gave a shrug of his shoulders beneath the expensive coat. "Some men are born to hold power," he said, in a different voice. "They are put on earth to direct the lives of lesser men, to run things. I happen to be one of those chosen." He sighed again, shook his head. "But it's a lonely road to travel. Lonely and friendless." His eyes seemed to focus sharply on Buchanan's face. "I envy a man like you," Lime said. "You don't know how lucky you are."
"Yeah," the tall man said, looking around at his doleful surroundings. "This is the high life."
"I also like you," Lime said surprisingly. "I almost wish I didn't have to send you on your way."
"Oh, I'll be right back," Buchanan told him. -:
"You'll what?"
; "Be back," Buchanan repeated. "I figure the brother and his sidekick'll show up now. Wouldn't want to miss "em."
"I just said that I liked you, Buchanan," John Lime said, his voice and manner withdrawn again. "But I'm ordering you out of the territory. Defy me and the consequences will be very serious. Very," he added and moved toward the open portal. "I'll send a man to ride you out of Brownsville," he said then. "Don't force me to do anything more." He stepped out into the darkness and was gone. Immediately, the dogs set up a vicious clamor, strained fiercely at their chains to get at the prisoner inside the miserable jail.
Buchanan eyed his lively guards from the entranceway, speculating wryly that they added a certain extra hazard if a man had escape on his mind.
"Nice little doggies," he called out to them, experimentally, but the sound of his voice only increased then-frenzy. Just plain unfriendly, he decided, and tried no more overtures. Fifteen minutes went by, twenty, then half an hour passed without a sign of the deputy Lime had promised. Finally a rider appeared in the street outside, trailing Buchanan's filly behind him.
"You in there, buddy?" the deputy called.
"I ain't out for a stroll," Buchanan assured him. "What kept you?"
"I'll tell you what kept me, this goddamn ornery horse of yours kept me! Liked to have stomped me to death tryin' to get the bit in her mouth!"
"She's stealproof," Buchanan explained. "Has to know a man for a spell."
"Even got my stallion jittery," the man complained, dismounting. "God help any stud takes a notion to her."
"She'll pick one out when she's ready," Buchanan said, watching the deputy make a wary approach. "You know them dogs real well?" he asked him.
"I know 'em, all right. Sometimes they forget they know me."
"All Lime said was down," Buchanan told him helpfully.
"That's Lime," the man outside replied. "I happen to be named Boyd. Generally," he added, "if I stand here till they get my scent they let me by. Takes a minute or so, depending on how hungry they are."
"They ain't fed since Christmas from the sound of 'em," Buchanan said, not noticing any letup in their snarling and growling.
"Down!" the deputy ordered, but without Lime's bland assurance of being obeyed. "Back off there, Leo! Down, Eng! Down, Vixen!" The three animals abated some, seemed confused for a moment. Deputy Boyd kept talking to them, edged forward, and the dogs finally decided to let him walk past. He stopped at the portal.
"Let them see me takin' hold of your arm," he said to Buchanan. "That usually works."
"Usually?"
"More times than not," Boyd amended.
"Well, just in case," Buchanan said, "let me have my gun back."
"To shoot Lime's dogs? Mister, you must be out of your head—" His voice broke off at the sound of his name
being called from up the street. ;
"Boyd!" John Lime shouted, his voice erratic. "Hold the prisoner in there!"
Now what? Buchanan thought, his patience thin. Lime appeared before the jail, followed by half a dozen of his men. They all carried rifles and seemed agitated. Lime strode past his dogs as though they weren't there.
"You've apparently stirred the hornets," he said to Buchanan. "Red Leech is looking for you with his entire crew."
"Well, thanks, Sheriff, for the tip," Buchanan said and started around the man. Lime got in his way. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Going out," Buchanan told him. "Man's a sitting duck in here."
"Sorry about that, Buchanan," Lime said, "but you're in my custody. How would I look if I set you free now? Everyone would accuse me of sidestepping a threat from this arrogant bandit—"
Buchanan looked his amazement. "You told me he's got six guns to your one," he said, trying to keep his tone reasonable. "You take a fight like that out into the open country, whittle him down to size. Man, you don't sit in a damn chicken coop and wait for him to take you."
"We disagree," Lime said, and even as he spoke the clamor sounded. There were many riders coming this way, coming nearer by the moment. Lime turned to Deputy Boyd, lifted the Colt from the man's belt and returned it to Buchanan. "Defend yourself," he said. "We're in this together."
It was the damnedest fool thing Buchanan had ever heard of. Foolish, but beyond the arguing stage now. Leech's army had arrived outside, were forming a tight ominous-looking ring around the adobe jail. The dogs set up a fierce din.
"This the hoosegow?" Red Leech roared above their racket.
"This is my jail, Leech!" Lime called back. "And you're off limits! Turn around and get back where you belong*"
"Why sure, brother, sure! Soon's we stretch that ranny's neck for ya!"
"The man is my prisoner," Lime told him. "He's under no sentence to hang!"
"I say different!" Leech bellowed. "Push him out here by the count of three or I'll blow this pokey over! Start the count, Perrott."
"One!" Fred Perrott shouted, and from inside the building Buchanan tried to make out the man and the direction of his voice.
"Two!"
"Last chance, by God!" Leech warned.
"THREE!"
Thirty-five handguns thundered with one deafening voice. Slugs screamed through the portal in front, through the slit windows in back, crashed against the four walls and rocked the little building visibly.
The defenders answered back, but not with that tremendous firepower, that overwhelming impact. Buchanan, with single-minded devotion to his mission in Brownsville, knelt in the opening and sighted carefully on the rider who had tolled the count. Once, twice, three times he punished Fred Perrott for the cowardly murder of Rig Bogan and consigned him to hell. And, on either side of him, two of Lime's men went down.
"Pour it on." Leech bawled and another volley slammed against the doomed jailhouse, inside and out. A fagged section of the back wall fell in. Only four of the trapped guns replied, and one of those silenced was Lime himself. Buchanan pulled the fallen lawman away from the portal.
"Hit bad?" he asked him.
"In the forearm. Fractured the bone, I think."
"Give 'em hell.'" Leech cried at the top of his lungs and the third round racketed relentlessly. One more of Lime's deputies screamed and fell. Another went down without a murmur and lay still.
“I seemed to have made a mistake," Lime murmured through his pain. "Should have listened. Fought them in the open—"
"Hold your fire, boys/" Leech ordered outside. "All right, in there!" he called. "Anybody wants to come out, he's got a ten-second truce! Startin' now!"
"You two," Buchanan said to the remaining deputies. "Pick up your boss and get out of here. Quick!"
They nodded, unafraid but grateful, lifted John Lime gently between them and carried him outside, past the bodies of his three jail guards who had died in the first barrage.
"Who else?" Leech shouted into the tense quiet. "Time's up!"
Buchanan had gone to the damaged back wall, was testing the gaping hole with his fingers.
"You asked for it." Leech bellowed and Buchanan hit the wall with his big shoulder in the same instant. The old mortar gave way with a groan, giving the man an exit that caught the gunmen at the rear of the building by surprise.