Terror in Gunsight

by Lauran Paine

  “Worry? What do you mean?” He raised up just enough to peer down into her shadowed face.

  “I wanted so much for you to bring peace to this valley, Ben. Yet, I know that to do that you’ll have to go up against men whose views are so different from yours and mine.”

  He eased back again. Beyond, far out in the night, came the faintly heard sound of a running horse. “You can’t hope to overcome all differences overnight,” he explained to her. “Sure, there’ll be differences. But as long as most folks in the valley are agreed on what is right and what is wrong, there shouldn’t be any more real trouble here.”

  She sighed. A moment later she pushed gently clear of his enfolding arm to turn and look into his face. “Ben ?”

  He watched the laterally shining moonlight touch her face and spin its magic in her golden hair and bring forth the visible evidences of her womanly worth. He told her then that he loved her.

  She was rigid for a long time, just watching his face. Then she leaned across him, and again his mouth felt the coolness, the wonderfully tender and soft sweetness, of her mouth. She afterward whispered to him an echoing of his own words.

  “I love you.”

  He was raising both arms to enfold her when again came that distantly heard clatter of a running horse. He froze, listening, then very gently he arose bringing her up with him. They stood together listening.

  “It’s the man I sent to find the Diamond H crew,” he said, knowing this had to be so. “Kathy?”

  “Yes, I know,” she moved back slightly. “Please be careful, Ben. Please.”

  He tilted her chin and lightly brushed his lips over her mouth. “I’ll be careful. You be waiting.”

  He left the porch, struck the plank walk, and turned southward to pace strongly forward with loud echoes of his own footfalls preceding him.

  Elsewhere in Gunsight there were a few motionless silhouettes of men visible. Something that had not occurred in recent days until Ben Knight had agreed to accept Mike Mulaney’s badge.

  Swinging into town from the north came the horseman whose oncoming hoof beats had alerted every waiting posse man that the long-awaited showdown with Hobart’s Diamond H was imminent. This man on his sweat-shiny mount swung past Ben and reined down in a dust-spewing halt before the sheriff’s office. He hit the ground and started over the plank walk.

  Nearing the sheriff’s office, Ben called out, which halted the rider in midstride.

  “Hold it! What did you find out?” Ben asked as he hurried onward.

  The horseman waited until Ben was closer, then spoke only as recognition came. “They’re less than a mile from town, Sheriff. It’s the whole cussed crew of ’em and Ace Dwinell’s leading the mob.”

  “Armed?”

  “Loaded for bear, Sheriff.”

  “How many?”

  “Twelve, by my count.”

  Ben started past into the office. “That’s not enough to get sweated up about,” he told the obviously excited rider.

  “Hell,” that young man protested, following Ben inside. “These aren’t farmers on horseback, Sheriff. This is the Diamond H.”

  Morgan Hyatt, seated at Ben’s desk, sprang up when Knight and the rider appeared. He listened to the messenger’s words, then frowned worriedly at Ben. “That’s plumb right,” he said to Ben in support of the younger man’s words. “The Diamond H is something to step softly around.”

  Ben, conscious of the posse men lounging around the room, their eyes now fully and alertly upon him, fixed Hyatt with a wry look. “How many times have you been with crews that braced towns on the cattle trails?” he asked.

  Hyatt started to say something, then abruptly closed his mouth.

  Ben grinned at him. “That’s all right,” he told the saloon owner. “I’ve been there, too. The point I’m making, boys, is that if Diamond H had nothing but top gunfighters in its crew, it still wouldn’t have enough men to brace this town. Not,” he added, looking around at the crowd of men, “as long as you are armed, deputized, and willing to defend your homes.”

  “We are that,” growled a bearded older man. “I’m against killin’ I want you to know, Sheriff. But I ain’t against doin’ it to protect my family.”

  “This town can ask nothing better than that,” Ben said in strong approval. He faced Morgan Hyatt again. “You in accord?” he asked.

  Hyatt nodded.

  Ben sought out and found the messenger who had brought them news of Diamond H’s closeness.

  “Which way will they hit town?” he asked this man.

  “From northward, like they usually do. They’ll come into the roadway about where Hyatt’s saloon is.”

  Ben faced the saloon man again. “Take these men up to your saloon,” he directed, “and place them in two ranks on either side of the road up there. Then, when Diamond H rides in, you call to them to hold up. You understand?”

  Hyatt nodded that he did, then he frowned at Ben. “Where you going to be?”

  “First I’m going to get Jacob to round up the deputies we’ve got patrolling town. Then I’m going to ”

  “Where is Jacob?” someone asked.

  Hyatt had an answer to this. “He went out looking for you,” he told Ben. “I reckon he’ll be along directly.”

  Jacob would, as Morgan Hyatt had carelessly said, “be along directly,” but at that precise moment he was upon his own porch.

  * * * * *

  Kathy, within the solid embrace of Jacob’s sinewy old arms, was doing something she had not done in a long time. She was turning to her grandfather for solace in the face of events she could neither control nor influence. She was not weeping, but with a heart as full as was hers, she was only a breath away from it.

  Jacob caressed her head saying: “Honey child, this is something everyone has to go through sometime or other in their lives. They have to face up to the fact that life is largely what folks make it. But in order to make it right and decent and good, folks got to sacrifice and they got to take risks. You understand that, Kathy?”

  “Yes,” she murmured with her face buried against his chest. “I understand it, Grandfather.”

  “Then,” he said, releasing her almost roughly, “you’re grown up you’re mature. So, you go on into the house and you pray for your young man while I go downtown and see if maybe this old carbine and me can’t sort of help the Lord along a mite.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ben Knight saw Morgan Hyatt and his posse men on their way north along the plank walk before he left the sheriff’s office himself, and he had no sooner emerged into the darkness than he was accosted by old Jacob. The saddler, with his face’s grimness reflecting only the immediate situation, did not mention that he had gone in search of Ben, nor, for that matter, where he had done his searching. All he now said was: “Did you see him?”

  “Who?”

  “Bob Hogan who else?”

  Ben blinked at Jacob. Without another word he reentered the office, crossed to the desk, and turned up the lamp. Next, he went over to the strap steel cages and passed from one to the other until he found Hogan, who had prudently taken advantage of the recent excitement, in which he had been overlooked, to lie upon the cell’s solitary floor pallet, where he was only barely visible.

  At Ben’s side, Jacob said: “You want the keys? I’ll fetch them.” Then Jacob pursed his lips, studied the sheriff’s face briefly, and contradicted himself. “On second thought, I don’t think I will.” He plucked at Knight’s arm. “Come on, we’ve got work to do. This fellow will keep until later.”

  Ignoring old Jacob, Ben ordered Hogan to get up onto his feet.

  This the prisoner did in a silence full of obvious apprehension. He did not cross the cell but stood back looking owlishly into Ben Knight’s face.

  For a time, the sheriff’s unwavering and deadly glare was rivet
ed to his brother’s murderer. Then he abruptly turned away without a word.

  Jacob followed him back out into the night and paused beside him upon the plank walk.

  Without looking down, or apparently even thinking of Jacob at all, Knight said: “Round up the deputies who’re patrolling town and meet me at the livery barn with them.”

  He then left Jacob to cross through the roadway dust and fade out in the general direction of the barn.

  Jacob watched Knight disappear. He screwed up his face, scratched his head in puzzlement, then, with a shrug, started out to comply with the orders he had received. As he walked along he rationalized Knight’s peculiar behavior by telling himself that, since he was not now and never had been a lawman, he had no accurate knowledge of how they worked under circumstances like these, and since there were times when you had to accept a man on faith, he must do this now. He must have faith in Ben Knight.

  Morgan Hyatt, neither as old nor as philosophical as Jacob Howell, felt differently as he listened to the oncoming sweep of many galloping horses out in the night beyond Gunsight.

  He said to the little cluster of men around him: “No shooting. No matter what happens here no shooting.”

  The same older, bearded man who had spoken out in the sheriff’s office gazed upon Hyatt now with a puzzled look. “They won’t spend much time talking,” he said. “Not Hobart’s crew. There are gunfighters in it.”

  Hyatt mopped at his face. It was not a hot night, but he was perspiring profusely. He turned irritably upon the bearded man. “Listen,” he rumbled loudly enough for all to hear him. “It’s not going to be said we started a war here tonight, and you fellows remember that.”

  He craned his neck peering beyond, southerly down the dark and empty roadway. “Where is that damned sheriff?” he queried agitatedly. “Damn it all. I don’t like this.”

  “I can see ’em,” a man called from across the roadway. “Didn’t that fellow who rode out say there was twelve of ’em?”

  Someone affirmed this.

  “I don’t see but ten,” said the informer. Look yonder.”

  They did not have to strain very hard, for the Diamond H riders were sweeping directly forward now, backgrounded by the faraway hills, becoming increasingly visible as they approached.

  “Ten is right,” said the bearded man, lifting his carbine off the ground and holding it across his body with both hands. “Go out into the roadway,” he called quietly to Morgan Hyatt. “Sheriff Knight said to halt ’em.”

  Hyatt shot this man a hard look, then began moving out farther into the dust. His shirt was clinging to him. It was not that Morgan was afraid. He was no physical coward. It was simply that he had been maneuvered into a position which left him feeling as though he were betraying a trust, and he had done the job himself.

  The dark body of clustered horsemen slowed to a walk as they entered Gunsight. Except for the gravelly sound of their horses’ shod hoofs passing along, there was not a sound anywhere in the night.

  Morgan counted them as they came close enough for him to see them clearly. There were, as the unidentified observer had noted, only ten riders. Hyatt had a moment to wonder where the other two might be, or whether the rider who had gone out to count them had not arrived at the wrong figure. Then he had no further time for private speculation.

  A large-boned, rough-appearing man riding an equally tough-looking big bay horse whose high-crested neck and hammer head indicated that this animal was a ridgeling, reined down to a halt some seventy-five feet away. He then sat there gazing from Morgan in the roadway to the dark and numerous shapes of other armed men on either side of the roadway.

  This was Ace Dwinell, a man whose gunfighting prowess had preceded him to Gunsight country, and in fact had been one of the reasons why Arthur Hobart had hired Dwinell as the Diamond H foreman several years before. He now brought his gaze back to Hyatt and spoke in an inflectionless tone.

  “Hello, Morg. I see you got some townsmen here.” The deep-set baleful eyes of Dwinell burned coldly against Hyatt. “Reckon Mister Hobart and some of the rest of us had you figured wrong. We always sort of figured you to be a range man.”

  “Listen, Ace,” Hyatt said in a voice that gradually firmed up as its speaker resolutely faced the mounted men. “We don’t want any trouble here. There’s been enough bad blood on both sides. Unless this thing is stopped now, there’s going to be more and we don’t want that.”

  “No,” said Dwinell, crossing both hands upon his saddle horn. “I reckon you don’t, Morg.” Dwinell’s sunk-set eyes glowed. “You spokesman for the town, Morg?”

  “Well,” stammered Hyatt. “Not exactly, Ace. I just happen to be here is all. Now listen, Ace—”

  “Morg, you listen. That there Knight fellow killed Mister Hobart. Gunsight don’t get away with that. Not by a damned sight.”

  “But that was a private fight, Ace. Gunsight had nothing to do with it. You got to look at this—”

  “He’s dead, Morg. He was shot to death in your town. Now you’ve went and made this Knight your sheriff. That’s like pinning a medal on him for downing Hobart.” Dwinell gestured to the bitter-faced horsemen sitting silently behind him. “That’s the way us fellows look at it. Right, boys?” Dwinell’s arm returned to his side. He rested his hand upon his holstered six-gun. “You take this fellow’s side, Morg, you got to expect the consequences.” Dwinell paused to let his words sink into the deathly stillness. He swung his head slowly from side to side, staring into the faces on both sides of the road.

  After several minutes of silence, Dwinell added: “Mister Hobart told you townsmen what he was going to do if you didn’t quit making things hard for the cowmen. Well, we’re here to do it. Shooting him don’t change that.”

  “Ace, you won’t get it done,” said Hyatt. “There aren’t enough of you.”

  Dwinell studied Hyatt briefly, then shrugged.

  “Maybe we won’t have to do it,” he said. “You fellows just hand over this Ben Knight, and we’ll turn around and ride out. No one’ll fire your damned town then.” He sat there, waiting.

  Morgan Hyatt turned to cast a desperate look around him for Knight. He did not see him. For that matter, he found that the other deputies who had been patrolling the town had not come up to support his little crew of townsmen who were facing Diamond H, and this as much as Sheriff Knight’s absence sent Hyatt’s morale plummeting.

  He faced Dwinell to say: “Give us some time to talk this over, Ace.”

  Dwinell shook his head. “No dice,” he stated flatly. “Whatever’s done has got to be decided right now. Right here and now, Morg.”

  Hyatt looked over at the men on the east side of the road. His gaze fell unexpectedly upon Jacob Howell. The old saddle maker was leaning upon his buffalo gun with a serene and almost cheerful expression upon his face. This irritated Hyatt.

  In an accusing tone, he said to Jacob: “Where in hell is Knight?”

  Jacob deliberately drew back, took up his gun, and cradled it across his arm, then, with his free hand, he pointed. “Right over there, Morgan. Right over there with eighteen men, and every man jack of ’em has got a carbine sighted on these here hard cases.”

  For a moment, the men, both mounted and dismounted, gazed fully upon old Jacob. Then, a few at a time, they began to turn, following out the line in which Jacob was pointing. It was then that everyone could hear a hiss of gently expelled breath, almost like a sigh, pass outward from the Diamond H’s mounted riders.

  Barring Diamond H’s withdrawal from Gunsight with their guns, fully athwart the roadway behind the mounted men, stood Ben Knight and his additional deputies. Diamond H had buildings to the east and west of them. They also had an overpoweringly strong body of armed men in front and behind them.

  Into the ensuing fateful silence, Knight called up to Ace Dwinell: “You’re asking me to go out of town with
you. Well, I’ll be happy to oblige. But it’ll be just you and me alone, Dwinell, and only one of us will come back. Now, get down off that horse!”

  Diamond H’s foreman sat like stone, half twisting backward in the saddle to see Knight. He did not make a sound.

  “I said get down off that horse, Dwinell!” Ben ordered.

  Very gradually Dwinell moved. He swung one leg over the cantle and struck down into the roadway, facing away from Morgan Hyatt and his posse men. To Ben he said quietly, careful to keep his right hand well clear of his holstered, lashed-down pistol: “You won’t settle anything this way, Knight. Mister Hobart said the town was to be burned and burned it’s going to be. With me or without me.”

  Ben, far enough back so that Dwinell’s mounted companions could not flank him, stood wide-legged in obvious preparation for what lay ahead.

  “I don’t think so,” he replied, in a tone as quietly resolute as Dwinell’s voice had been. “Those two men you sent around to the west to start torching, are both in jail.”

  Diamond H’s men looked gradually away from Knight to their foreman. Dwinell himself considered Knight over a long interval of silence. After several drawn out bad moments of this had passed, it was Jacob who spoke.

  His words were addressed to the posse men around him on the plank walk, and they were easily audible to the mounted men. “That’s the truth. Ben figured Diamond H would try it like that. He figured the big bunch of ’em would ride into town to hold our attention, while those other two fellows with the coal-oil cans would go out around town and commence setting fires. He had men watching and ready. That’s what kept us from coming up here right away. Some of the local boys found both them fire bugs and packed ’em off to the jailhouse.”

  Pausing to let the words sink in, old Jacob narrowed his eyes in a long, hard look upward at the listening cowboys. “’Course, any you other fellows care to have a try at firing things up why just ride on down the roadway and have a go at it.”

  As he said this, Jacob cocked his old .45-70. It made a sound so loud and convincing, in all that otherwise stillness, that not a doubt existed anywhere as to Jacob’s meaning.