_______
KEDRICK DOVE HEADLONG for the landing, brought up hard against the wall, and smashed another shot at the big man. It knocked a leg from under him and he rolled over on his feet, colliding with the bar.
He had been hit twice, but he was cold sober and deadly. He braced himself and with his left hand clinging to the bar, lifted his right and thumbed back the hammer. Kedrick fired two quick shots with his left gun. One ripped a furrow down the bar and hit Fessenden below the breast bone, a jagged, tearing piece of metal when it struck.
Fessenden fired again, but the bullet went wild, and his sixth shot was fired in desperation as he swung up his left-hand gun, dropping the right into his holster. Taking his time, feeling his life’s blood running out of him, he braced himself there and took the gun over into his right hand. He was deliberate and calm. “Pour me a drink,” he said.
The bartender, lying flat on his face behind the bar, made no move. Tom Kedrick stood on the edge of the landing now, staring at Fessenden. The big gunman had been hit three times, through the shoulder, the leg and the chest, and he still stood there, gun in hand, ponderous and invulnerable.
The gun came up, and Fessenden seemed to lean forward with it. “I wish you was Dornie,” he said.
Kedrick triggered. The shot nailed Fessenden through the chest again. The big man took a fast step back and then another. His gun slipped from his hand, and he grabbed a glass standing on the bar. “Gimme a drink!” he demanded. Blood bubbled at his lips.
Tom Kedrick came down the steps, his gun ready in his hand and walked toward Fessenden. Holding his gun level and low down with his right hand, Kedrick picked up the bottle with his left and filled the empty glass. Then he pulled over another glass and poured one for himself.
Fessenden stared at him. “You’re a good man, Kedrick,” he said, shaping the words patiently. “I’m a good man, too—on the wrong side.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Kedrick lifted his glass. They clicked them, and Fessenden grinned crookedly over his.
“You watch that Dornie,” he advised, “he’s rattler-mean.” The words stumbled from his mouth and he frowned, lifting the glass. He downed his drink, choked on it, and started to hold out his big hand to Kedrick. Then he fell flat on his face. Holstering his gun, Tom Kedrick leaned over and gripped the big right hand. Fessenden grinned and died.
XV
Connie Duane had reached Mustang only a short time before the survivors of the fight at Yellow Butte began to arrive. Restless, after the leaving of the men for their return to the squatters’ town, she had begun to think of what lay ahead, of Fred Ransome and the impending investigation and of her uncle’s part in it.
All his papers as well as many of her own remained under lock in the gray stone house in Mustang, but if she was to get her own money back from Burwick or was to clear any part of the blame from her uncle, she knew it must be done with those papers. Mounting her horse she left the camp beyond the rim and striking the Old Mormon Trail, headed south. She was on that trail when the sun lifted, and she heard the distant sound of shots.
Turning from the trail she reined her horse into the bed of Salt Creek and rode south, passing the point where only a short time later Loren Keith was to meet his death at the hands of Dornie Shaw. Once in town, she believed, she would be safe, and she doubted if anyone would be left in the gray house unless it was Burwick, and she knew that he rarely left his chair.
Arriving in Mustang, she rode quickly up the street and then cut over behind the stone house and dismounted. She went into the house through the back door and went very quietly. Actually, she need not have bothered, for Alton Burwick was not there. Making her way up the old stairs, she unlocked the door to the apartment she had shared with her uncle and closed the door behind her.
Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. The blinds were drawn as she had left them, and the room was still. A little dust had collected, and the light filtering in around the blinds showed it to her. Going to her trunk, she opened it and got out the ironbound box in which she carried her own papers. It was intact and showed no evidence of having been tampered with. From the bottom of the trunk she took an old purse in which there were two dozen gold eagles, and these she changed to the purse she was now carrying.
Among other things, there was an old pistol there, a huge, cumbersome old thing. This she got out and laid on the table beside her. Then she found a derringer seven-shot .22 caliber pistol her father had given her several years before he died, and she put it in the pocket of her dress.
Hurrying across the room, she went into the next room and began to go through her uncle’s desk, working swiftly and surely. Most of his papers were readily available, and apparently nobody had made any effort to go through them, probably believing they contained nothing of consequence or that there would be plenty of time later. She was busy at this when she heard a horse walk by the house and stop near the back steps.
Instantly she stopped what she was doing and stood erect. The window here was partly open and she could hear the saddle creak very gently as whoever it was swung down. Then a spur jingled, and there was a step below, then silence.
“So? It’s you.”
Startled by the voice, Connie turned. Sue Laine stood behind her, staring with wide eyes. “Yes,” Connie replied, “I came for some things of mine. You’re Sue, aren’t you?”
Without replying to the question, the girl nodded her head toward the window. “Who was that? Did you see?”
“No. It was a man.”
“Maybe Loren has come back.” Sue studied her, un-smiling. “How are they out there? Are they all right? I mean—did you see Pit?”
“Yes. He’s unhappy about you.”
Sue Laine flushed, but her chin lifted proudly. “I suppose he is, but what did he expect? That I was going to live all my life out there in that awful desert? I’m sick of it! Sick of it, I tell you!”
Connie smiled. “That’s strange. I love it. I love it, and every minute I’m there, I love it more. I’d like to spend my life here, and I believe I will.”
“With Tom Kedrick?”
Sue’s jealousy flashed in her eyes, yet there was curiosity, too. Connie noticed how the other girl studied her clothes, her face.
“Why—I—where did you ever get that idea?”
“From looking at him. What girl wouldn’t want him? Anyway, he’s the best of the lot.”
“I thought you liked Colonel Keith?”
_______
SUE’S FACE FLUSHED again. “I—I—thought I did, too. Only part of it was because Tom Kedrick wouldn’t notice me. And because I wanted to get away from here, from the desert. But since then—I guess Pit hates me.”
“No brother really hates his sister, I think. He’d be glad to see you back with him.”
“You don’t know him. If it had been anybody but someone associated with Alton Burwick, why—”
“You mean, you knew Burwick before?”
“Knew him?” Sue stared at her. “Didn’t you know? Didn’t he tell you? He was our stepfather.”
“Alton Burwick?” Connie stared in amazement.
“Yes, and we always suspected that he killed my father. We never knew, but my mother suspected later, too, for she took us and ran away from him. He came after us. We never knew what happened to mother. She went off one night for something and never came back, and we were reared by a family who just took us in.”
A board creaked in the hall, and both girls were suddenly still, listening.
Guns thundered from the street of the town, and both girls stared at each other, holding their breath. There was a brief silence and then a further spattering of shots. Then the door opened very gently and Dornie Shaw stood there facing the two girls.
He seemed startled at finding the girls together and looked from one to the other, his brown eyes bright, but now confused.
Then he centered his eyes on Sue Laine. “You better get out,” he said. “Keith’s dead.”
“De
ad?” Sue gasped, horrified. “They—they killed him?”
“No. I did. Up on the Salt. He drew on me.”
“Keith—dead.” Sue was shocked.
“What about the others? Where are they?” Connie asked quickly.
Dornie turned his head sharply around and looked hard at her, a curious, prying gaze as if he did not quite know what to make of her. “Some of ’em dead,” he said matter of factly. “They whipped us. It was that Kedrick.” He spoke without emotion or shadow of prejudice, as though completely indifferent. “He had ’em set for us, an’ they mowed us down.” He jerked his head toward the street. “I guess they are finishin’ up now. The Mixus boys an’ Fessenden are down there.”
“They’ll be coming here,” Connie said with conviction. “This is the next place.”
“I reckon.” He seemed indifferent to that, too. “Kedrick’ll be the first one. Maybe,” he smiled, “the last one.”
He dug out the makings, glancing around the room and then back at Sue. “You get out. I want to talk to Connie.”
Sue did not move. “You can talk to us both. I like it here.”
As he touched his tongue to the paper his eyes lifted and met hers. They were flat, expressionless. “You heard me,” he said. “I’d hate to treat you rough.”
“You haven’t the nerve!” Sue flashed back. “You know what would happen to you if you laid hands on a woman in this country! You can get away with killing me, but this country won’t stand for having their women bothered, even by a ratty little killer like you!”
Connie Duane was remembering the derringer in her pocket and lowered her hand to her hip within easy grasp of the gun.
A sudden cannonade sounded and then a scattering of more shots. At that moment Kedrick was finally shooting it out with Fessenden. Dornie Shaw cocked an inquisitive ear toward the sound. “Gettin’ closer,” he said. “I ain’t really in no hurry until Kedrick gets here.”
“You’d better be gone before he does come.” Connie was surprised at the confidence in her voice. “He’s too much for you, and he’s not half frightened like these others are. He’ll kill you, Dornie.”
He stared at her and then chuckled without humor. “Him? Bah! The man doesn’t live who can outdraw Dornie Shaw! I’ve tried ’em all! Fess? He’s supposed to be good, but he don’t fool with Dornie! I’d shoot his ears off.”
Calmly, Connie dropped her right hand into her pocket and clutched the derringer. The feel of it gave her confidence. “You had better go,” she said quietly. “You were not invited here, and we don’t want you.”
He did not move. “Still playin’ it high an’ mighty, are you? You’ve got to get over that. Come on, you’re coming with me.”
“Are you leaving?” Connie’s eyes flashed. “I’ll not ask you again!”
_______
SHAW STARTED TO speak, but whatever it was he planned to say never formed into words, for Connie had her hand on the derringer, and she fired from her pocket. Ordinarily, she was a good shot, but had never fired the gun from that position. The first bullet burned a furrow along Dornie Shaw’s ear, notching it at the top, the second shot stung him along the ribs, and the third plowed into the table beside him.
With a grunt of surprise, he dove through the door into the hall. Sue was staring at Connie. “Well, I never!” Her eyes dropped to the tiny gun that Connie had now drawn from her pocket. “Dornie Shaw! And with that! Oh, just wait until this gets around!” Her laughter rang out merrily, and despite herself, Connie was laughing, too.
Downstairs near the door, Dornie Shaw clutched his bloody ear and panted as though he had been running, his face twisting as he stared at his blood. Amazed, he scarcely noticed when Kedrick came up the steps, but as the door pushed open, he saw him. For a fatal instant, he froze. Then he grabbed for his gun, but he had lost his chance. In that split second of hesitation, Kedrick jumped. His right hand grasped Dornie’s gun wrist, and Kedrick swung the gunman bodily around, hurling him into the wall. Shaw’s body hit with a crash, and he rebounded into a wicked right to the wind.
Shaw was no fighter with his hands, and the power of that blow would have wrecked many a bigger man. As it was, it knocked every bit of wind from the gunman’s body, and then Kedrick shoved him back against the wall. “You asked me what I’d do, once, with a faster man. Watch this, Dornie!”
Kedrick lifted his right hand and slapped the gunman across the mouth. Crying with fury, Shaw fought against the bigger man’s grip while Kedrick held him flat against the wall, gripping him by the shirt collar, and slapped him, over and back. “Just a cheap killer!” Kedrick said calmly. “Somebody has already bled you a little. I’ll do it for good.”
He dropped a hand to Dornie’s shirt and ripped it wide. “I’m going to ruin you in this country, Dornie. I’m going to show them what you are—a cheap, yellow-bellied killer who terrorizes men better than himself.” He slapped Dornie again and then shoved him into the wall once more and stepped back.
“All right, Shaw! You got your guns! Reach!”
Almost crying with fury, Dornie Shaw grabbed for his guns, but as he whipped them free, all his timing wrecked by the events of the past few minutes, Kedrick’s gun crashed and Shaw’s right-hand gun was smashed from his hand. Shaw fired the left-hand gun, but the shot went wild, and Kedrick lunged, chopping down with his pistol barrel. The blow smashed Dornie Shaw’s wrist and he dropped the gun with a yelp.
He fell back against the wall, trembling and staring at his hands. His left wrist was broken and his right thumb was gone, and where it had been, blood was welling.
Roughly, Kedrick grabbed him and shoved him out the door. He stumbled and fell, but Kedrick jerked him to his feet, unmindful of the gasps of the onlookers attracted by the sounds of fighting. In the forefront of the crowd were Pit Laine, Dai Reid, and Laredo Shad, blinking with astonishment at the sight of the most feared gunman in the country being treated like a whipped child.
Shaw’s horse stood nearby, and Kedrick motioned to him. “Get on him—backwards!”
Shaw started to turn and Kedrick lifted his hand and the gunman ducked instinctively. “Get up there! Dai, when he’s up, tie his ankles together.”
_______
DORNIE SHAW, BEFUDDLED by the whipping he had taken, scarcely aware of what was happening, lifted his eyes. Only he saw the grulla tied near the stone house. It was the last straw; his demoralization was complete.
Feared because of his deadly skill with guns and his love of killing for the sake of killing, he had walked a path alone, avoided by all or catered to by them. Never in his life had he been manhandled as he had been by Tom Kedrick. His ego was shattered.
“Take him through the town.” Kedrick’s voice was harsh. “Show them what a killer looks like. Then fix up that thumb and wrist and turn him loose.”
“Turn him loose?” Shad demanded. “Are you crazy?”
“No, turn him loose. He’ll leave this country so far behind nobody will ever see him again. This is worse than death for him, believe me.” He shrugged. “I’ve seen them before. All they need, that kind, is for somebody to face them once who isn’t afraid. He was fast and accurate with his guns, so he developed the idea he was tough.
“Other folks thought the same thing. He wasn’t tough. A tough man has to win and lose, he has to come up after being knocked down, he has to have taken a few beatings and know what it means to win the hard way.
“Anybody,” he said dryly, “can knock a man down. When you’ve been knocked down at least three times yourself and then got up and floored the other man, then you can figure you’re a tough hombre. Those smoke poles, of Shaw’s greased his path for him. Now he knows what he’s worth.”
The crowd drifted away, and Connie Duane was standing in the doorway. Tom Kedrick looked up at her, and suddenly he smiled. To see her now, standing like this in the doorway, was like life-giving rain upon the desert, coming in the wake of many heat-filled days.
She came down the steps to
him and then looked past him at Pit. “Your sister’s upstairs, Pit. You’d better talk to her.”
Laine hesitated; then he said stiffly, “I don’t reckon I want to.”
Laredo Shad drew deep on his cigarette and squinted through the smoke at Laine. “Mind if I do?” he asked. “I like her.”
Pit Laine was astonished. “After this?”
Shad looked at the fire end of his cigarette. “Well,” he said, speaking seriously, “the best cuttin’ horse I ever rode was the hardest to break. Them with lots of get up an’ go to ’em often make the best stock.”
“Then go ahead.” Pit stared after him. Then he said, “Tell her I’ll be along later.”
XVI
For three weeks, there was no sign of Alton Burwick. He seemed to have vanished into the earth, and riders around the country reported no sign of him.
At the end of that time three men got down from the afternoon stage and were shown to rooms in the St. James. An hour later, while they were at dinner, Captain Tom Kedrick pushed open the door and walked into the dining room. Instantly, one of the men, a tall, immaculate young man whose hair was turning gray at the temples, arose to meet him, hand outstretched. “Tom! Say, this is wonderful! Gentlemen, this is Tom Kedrick, the man I was telling you about. We served together in the war between the states! Tom—Mr. Edgerton and Mr. Cummings.”
The two men, one a pudgy man with a round, cheerful face, the other as tall as Frederic Ransome, with gray muttonchop whiskers, acknowledged the introduction. When Kedrick had seated himself, they began demanding details. Quietly, and as concisely as possible, he told them his own story from his joining the company in New Orleans.
“And Burwick’s gone?” Edgerton asked. He was the older man with the muttonchop whiskers. “Was he killed?”
“I doubt it, sir,” Kedrick replied. “He simply vanished. The man had a faculty for being out of the way when trouble came. Since he left, with the aid of Miss Duane’s and her uncle’s papers, we’ve managed to put together most of the facts. However, Burwick’s papers have disappeared, or most of them.”
“Disappeared?” Edgerton asked. “How did that happen?”
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