Bullets in the Sun

by Robert J. Horton

  “I’m not sure,” she answered him, looking away.

  “That’s just it,” he said in a tremulous voice. “It’s just what I thought. I wouldn’t think of beating around the bush with you. Men don’t usually step into danger . . .” He paused, and then: “We’ll say men don’t always take a long chance for charity or because they . . . I’ll start all over by telling you, Gladys, that I like you. I like you enough so that it isn’t just friendship. I know you love your dad. I like him myself, but I’m doing what I am, for you. Don’t misunderstand me, for I’m putting my cards on the table. I want you to like me, even be grateful to me . . . anything so long as you don’t dislike me. And to show you that I’m not trying to bribe myself into your favor I’m going through with this thing regardless of what you say or think.”

  Gladys was thrilled and his earnestness struck a responsive feeling within her. “I don’t believe . . . everything they say about you,” she said. “After all, I need a friend . . . a man friend . . . on my side.”

  “I don’t care what you believe of what they say about me,” he told her feelingly. “I just care about what you believe of what I say. I’m in love with you, girl, and now you have the whole story.”

  One of her arms went suddenly about his neck and he waited no more. He took her boldly in his arms and kissed her. And Gladys thrilled to the warm pressure of his lips. Gunman, killer, bandit, what-not—she returned his kiss.

  “That’s all, now,” he said, releasing her. “You must trust me, and for your own sake and your dad’s, you must obey any message I send to you. I’m leaving town for a day or two, but I’ll be on hand when the time comes. I’m trusting you as I never trusted a girl before when I tell you that you can get word to me in an emergency through the last person you would think of . . . Porky Snyder.”

  She looked at him with shining eyes, and then turned abruptly to hurry back to the cabin.

  Dan Farlin confronted her in the living room.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded in a voice he never before had used in addressing her.

  Gladys resented it instantly.

  “I’ve been for a walk,” she replied, tossing her head defiantly.

  “You’ve been out meeting that fellow!” her father accused, his face darkening. “You needn’t try to lie to me . . .”

  “I’ve no intention of trying to lie to you,” she broke in soberly. “But I’m of age in more ways than one and I can refuse to answer your questions. After all, a father can be a gentleman with his daughter.”

  Farlin’s face had gone pale. His next words came through his teeth. “He isn’t going to put over anything on me,” he said grimly. “He’s cooed to you until he’s got you to liking him.” Farlin was not displaying his usual strategy, or diplomacy.

  “And what of it?” said the girl with another toss of her head.

  Farlin’s temper exploded. “Just this,” he shot. “I’m going to kill him!” He slammed out the door.

  A moment later, Gladys’s clear ringing voice came from the porch. “Watch out, Jim Bond!”

  An answering whistle came from below.

  Dan Farlin swore, clamped his jaw shut, and went on down the trail to town.

  Chapter Twenty

  A silent spectator of the clandestine meeting between Jim Bond and Gladys Farlin had been Big Tom Lester. He had heard some of what had passed between Bond and Dan Farlin in their conversation earlier in the evening and he had anticipated Bond’s next move. The resortkeeper had left his place of business by the rear door in time to see Bond on his way to keep his rendezvous with the girl. He had trailed him and had slipped away unobserved after the meeting. He was just entering his resort when he heard the girl’s cry of warning and Bond’s whistled answer.

  Back in his cubbyhole of an office, Lester smiled to himself. He believed matters were working out to his advantage. It might be that Dan Farlin would try to put Bond away himself—and he might succeed. Farlin was no slouch with his Derringer and none could accuse him rightfully of lacking courage. Lester would have shot Bond down from ambush, but the sheriff’s warning held him back, and down in his heart he lacked the nerve. For Bond had been right when he had formed the opinion that Lester possessed a yellow streak.

  But, while Lester recognized Farlin’s courage and his skill with his weapon, he overlooked the fact that the gambler reasoned calmly and coolly in such an emergency after the outburst of white-hot anger. Therefore he was somewhat disappointed when Farlin came into the place shortly afterward, the same debonair gambler as of old. Certainly there was nothing in Farlin’s look or manner to indicate that he had any murderous intentions.

  Lester, annoyed by Farlin’s complaisance, decided upon a bold move, hoping that Farlin might inadvertently let something slip.

  “Say, Dan,” he said confidingly, “maybe I know something that would interest you.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me any if you did,” Farlin observed.

  “The only thing is”—Lester regarded him doubtfully—“you might think I was buttin’ in on your personal business.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” was Farlin’s cheerful comment.

  “Well, I think you ought to know.” Lester frowned. “I don’t see how I’d be shootin’ square with you if I didn’t tell you what I saw tonight.”

  Farlin favored him with a sharp look. “Your eyes always are open, aren’t they, Tom,” he observed.

  “They have to be in this game,” Lester retorted crossly.

  “I’ve often wondered why you didn’t get out of it, Tom.”

  Lester’s frown deepened into a scowl.

  “I’ve got too much at stake,” he snapped, “an’ nobody knows it better than you, Dan. What’s more I don’t want anything to happen that would sour you on the town. Not just for business reasons, but because I like you.”

  “Of course.” Farlin nodded. “That’s understood, Tom.”

  “Well, anyway, this young upstart who’s been galloping around here of late is gettin’ fresher every minute. An’ what do you think I saw tonight? I happened to go out by the back way an’ I saw him sneaking in the trees. For all I know the fool may figure on tryin’ to take this place. I followed him to see what he was up to an’ I saw . . . I saw . . .”

  “You saw Gladys meet him,” Farlin supplied disdainfully.

  “So you knew it,” said Lester, puzzled. “Well, I sure was surprised an’ you can’t blame me for thinking I should tell you.”

  “And then, I suppose, you heard Gladys call something to him?” Farlin suggested pleasantly.

  “Why . . . yes,” stammered the flustered resortkeeper who felt uneasy under the gambler’s steady gaze.

  “Just so,” said Farlin coldly. “Now you just forget all this and let me tend to those personal affairs you mentioned.”

  “It’s none of my business.” The frustrated Lester shrugged.

  “And that’s the proper way to look at it.” Farlin nodded. It was odd to stand listening to the confidences of the man whose every secret move he knew, thanks to Lawson and Porky. “Did you hear any of the . . . ah . . . conversation, by any chance.”

  “I wasn’t close enough,” growled Lester. “But I saw plenty.”

  “No doubt . . . only you’ve forgotten what you saw,” Farlin warned.

  “There’s a bunch in that want a big game tonight,” said Big Tom, changing the subject. “Do you want some of it?”

  “Sure,” replied Farlin genially. “I’m on.”

  * * * * *

  Jim Bond had seen things, almost in the wink of an eye after his meeting with Gladys. He had caught a glimpse of Big Tom Lester, stealing back into his resort by the rear door and suspected the resortkeeper had seen them; next he had turned in a flash at the girl’s cry of warning and had seen her on the porch of the cabin with Dan Farlin, striding down the trail.

  The significance of the girl’s cry was brought home to him at once. Farlin had seen them or had suspected their meeting,
had accused Gladys, who had defied him, and had started out with a threat to shoot him.

  Bond raced through the shadows and entered town on the side of the street opposite the Red Arrow. He hurried to the livery and ordered his horse saddled and put in the corral behind the barn, bribing the barn man to secrecy. This bribing might not have been so easy and complete but for the fact that practically no tips were forthcoming from Lester or Farlin, who used horses so little, and, if the barn man suspected anything between Gladys and this young stranger, he—well, the girl was a good tipper, too. Altogether, it was good business for him, for no one had complained to him about Bond, and the latter, too, was to be respected for his horse. The owner of such a horse was no ordinary range rider.

  Bond made a quick visit to Porky Snyder’s room. He had his gun in his hand, for he was taking no chances. Things were going to blow up soon. Bond felt it, and he had an errand ahead.

  The light was turned low in the little gunman’s room and Bond put a finger to his lips for caution and was careful that his shadow didn’t show against the window shade.

  “How you feel, Porky?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Better,” whispered the gunman. “Lester wants me to get well quick.” He grinned. “Says he’s got a job for me that’ll mean big money.” He nodded and winked.

  “Probably going to hand you my ticket,” said Bond grimly. “Here’s five hundred on account. Now Gladys may want to get a message to me, or you may want to reach me yourself. Note the name on this piece of paper but don’t speak it aloud.”

  Porky looked at the name on the slip and his eyes widened.

  “Don’t speak it,” Bond warned softly. “You can reach me through that party. It’s all right and you can trust me. I’m sloping out of town for a few days. Things are too hot here because Farlin is sore, Gladys might get in trouble, and there’s no telling what Lester might get in his fool head. You’re playing along with me?” Bond crumpled the slip of paper and chewed it.

  Porky looked at the wad of bills and thrust them under his pillow.

  “I’d be a fool not to trail with you,” he said. And his tone showed unmistakably that he meant just what he said.

  “All right. I’ll slope.” Bond pressed Porky’s hand a moment and slipped silently out of the room. A few minutes later he was riding swiftly into the northeast.

  * * * * *

  It was Gladys Farlin who first discovered that Bond had left town when she got her horse for an early ride next morning. “You don’t know where he went?” she asked, handing the barn man a folded bill.

  “Nope.” He grinned. He rather liked the idea of an affair between the good-looking stranger and this attractive girl. Good pay, both of them. “Hinted he’d be back, though,” he volunteered.

  “I was asking because I’m merely curious,” she said, taking up her reins.

  Dan Farlin smiled in satisfaction when he heard the news from Lester. He could think of no errand the resortkeeper could have sent him on, and he was pretty sure Bond had made Lester pay plenty in Rocky Point. The logical conclusion was that Bond had seen that he was up against it and had taken the easiest way out. Gladys herself strengthened this conviction when he asked her if she had heard of the fellow’s leave-taking. Indeed, he suspected the girl had told him something that had hastened his departure. After all, his daughter was not fool enough to take up with some passing gamester and gunman.

  “I’m not interested,” she had told him haughtily. “And I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  “I’m pleased you don’t,” was his retort. He felt rather ashamed and embarrassed because of his outburst of the night before. He loved this girl too much to injure her feelings willingly. And one thing was sure: they would certainly leave Sunrise as speedily as possible.

  * * * * *

  Within three days Ed Lawson had returned. He was alone and in an ugly mood. Both Farlin and Lester knew the signals. He had had trouble with his men and had laid down the law to them. Possibly he had had a run-in with Red Cole, and this always put him in a harsh frame of mind. For Cole was the one man in the outfit who came a bit short of being afraid of him. He drank by himself at the upper end of the bar, and it was Dan Farlin who first approached him.

  “In for a whirl at the paper beauties?” he asked in a tone loud enough for the listening Lester to hear.

  “If I am, I’ll make a hard hand in the game,” he retorted sharply.

  “You never were good for a player’s nerves,” Farlin commented, raising his brows in significance.

  “Give us a drink,” Lawson ordered sullenly.

  “All of us?” Farlin asked with a wink at Big Tom.

  “I’m buyin’ in pairs or singles this trip,” scowled the outlaw.

  Farlin shrugged. “We want to pull this job of ours just as soon as we can,” he said in an undertone.

  “That’ll be within forty-eight hours if you figure you can make it,” was the surly answer so that Farlin alone could hear.

  “Couldn’t be better,” said the gambler. Then, in a louder voice for Lester’s benefit: “So we will have a little game, eh?”

  “Yes, but don’t start countin’ out the checks till I’ve had something to eat.” The outlaw drained his glass and left.

  “What’s got into him?” asked Lester anxiously, shortly after.

  “Must have had a run-in with some of his men,” Farlin replied casually. “Don’t worry, he’s going to play. I know that breed like a book. He’s in town to get whatever’s lurking in his system.”

  Some time later, when Gladys had learned Lawson was back and that her father was playing late that night, she visited Porky Snyder’s room under pretense of taking the wounded gunman a glass of homemade jelly. She appeared hesitant and Porky surmised the true nature of her errand. Bond had said she might want to send a message through Porky’s hands. Bond was indeed trusting him.

  “Sure you ain’t got anything for me besides . . . the jelly?” he insinuated subtly.

  She looked at him half frightened. “Why should you think that?” she countered.

  “Because Jim Bond tipped me off,” he said, lowering his voice.

  “Tipped you off to what?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Said you might want to send him a message through me.”

  She looked at him for some time.

  “Is it all right, Porky?” she asked in a low, even voice.

  “You know me, Miss Gladys. An’ there must be some good reason for Jim Bond to trust me. Don’t you think so?”

  She took a long breath, looked at him again, thrust a hand within her jacket, and brought out a letter that she handed to the wounded man in the bed. Then she rose hurriedly.

  “I’m trusting you, too, Porky, and, if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know. And . . . thank you.”

  She went out swiftly with a single backward glance.

  Porky just had time to slip the envelope, addressed simply to Jim Bond and sealed, under the edge of his pillow when the door flew open and Lester came in, closing the door after him and looking keenly at Porky. He noted, too, the glass of jelly on the stand.

  “Findin’ out you’ve got some nice friends, eh, Porky?” Lester’s voice held nothing of friendliness, let alone kindness.

  Porky’s hands slid down beneath the covers. “Sure,” he replied brightly. “You an’ some others, eh, Tom.”

  “Jelly!” snorted the resortkeeper with a light sneer. “It’ll take something besides jelly to get you well. The doctor told me you wouldn’t be out of here for a month, the way you’re doin’!”

  “Well, the doctor ought to know what he’s talkin’ about,” said Porky in resignation. “Why . . . is that job so pressing?”

  “It can’t wait a month,” said Lester harshly. “Just when I need you bad an’ get a good thing for you, you go get shot up turnin’ common burglar. That’s the way I figure it.”

  “What is this job?” asked Porky slowly. “Maybe I can fool the doc an�
�� sneak out an’ do it without him knowing.”

  Lester ignored this. “Jelly!” he jeered again. “Did the Farlin girl have anything special to say?” His eyes glowed with suspicion.

  “That’s a funny thing for you to ask,” said Porky coldly.

  “I want to know where you stand, that’s all,” snarled Lester. “I heard that Bond or Bovert had sneaked up here to see you. He bores you up at the Farlin place, comes to see you, an’ now the girl’s sneaking up. I know she didn’t just come here to bring you some silly jelly.”

  “Sometimes you think you know too much,” said Porky, and the resortkeeper should have taken warning at the tone of the voice.

  “Looks like you was tryin’ to double-cross me, if you want to know,” said Lester hotly. “Here I’ve kept you when you couldn’t hang out anywhere else for years, an’ what do I get?”

  “I reckon you get what you’re entitled to, Tom.”

  “Yeah? What’s this?” Lester’s keen eyes had detected the corner of the envelope Gladys Farlin had left peeping out from under the pillow. He hurled his big bulk forward with surprising agility and grasped it, waving it in triumph.

  “Drop it!”

  The little gunman’s words cut through the room sharply as Lester, his face darkening, read the name on the envelope.

  “You insignificant little rat!” he cried, giving Porky a dark look. He tore open the envelope.

  “Drop it now!” Porky Snyder’s right hand came out from under the covers, grasping his gun in fingers of steel.

  Lester’s eyes popped, then reddened with rage. “Why you . . .”

  Then the bomb to which Lester, among others, had attached the fuse exploded. In his rage, Big Tom forgot himself for an instant and made a move for his weapon.

  The crashing report of Porky’s gun in the little room fairly rocked it. The envelope and letter fluttered to the floor. Lester’s right hand swung over toward his heart and he splintered the chair by the bed as he dropped to the floor.

  Porky Snyder leaned over with a groaning effort and recovered the letter and envelope as a stamping of feet was heard on the stairs.