by Elmer Kelton
The doctor glanced up at Toby. It was the first time he had really looked at him, and his eyes widened at the bluish, swollen face. But he never mentioned that.
“There wouldn’t have been much you could’ve done about it, one way or the other. He caught pneumonia and it almost killed him. He was out of his head for a week. He hasn’t been the same since, Toby. You’ve seen what that spell did to his mind. No, there wouldn’t have been much you could do about it. He was old, and it just happened.”
Toby sat in silence, letting that soak in. Somehow it left him feeling better. It lifted some of the guilt from his shoulders.
He hadn’t been there long before Betty Duncan came in. She paled at the sight of Toby’s swollen face. Then sympathy came into her eyes.
“I just heard, Toby. I came to see what I can do.”
Toby shook his head. “There’s not much any of us can do but wait.”
She took hold of his hand. Warmth rose in him.
“I’ll wait with you,” she said. She sat down beside him.
It was two days before the doctor decided Sod Tippett was going to pull through. During those two days Toby saw Betty Duncan a number of times. Each time he came near her, he felt a little lightheaded, like he used to when he’d been in the old Mustang Saloon too long. He knew what was the matter with him, and it wasn’t anything the old saloon had had to offer.
Toby noticed something else, too. Cass Duncan was seldom around. He was always gone at night. Toby thought he knew the answer to that. The sheriff was staying out in the country, hoping to jump those cattle thieves if they made another try. So far as Toby knew, they hadn’t tried. He hoped they had been scared for good. But he knew within reason that they would try again.
In town, Toby was conscious of the half-hidden hostility which followed him wherever he went. He felt it when men broke off their conversations as he walked by. He sensed it when women passed him on the street and kept their eyes averted.
Only with Betty Duncan could he put aside the growing bitterness in him. So he was glad to return to the ranch when the doctor told him it would be all right.
The sharp thud of hoofbeats brought him straight up in bed. He was wide awake in an instant, and one thought stabbed him.
It’s gone bad with Dad, and they’re coming to tell me.
He pulled on his boots and the pants which he had left hanging on a corner of the iron bedstead. He was fully dressed and waiting on the porch when the riders came up. His heart was pounding hard.
Silver moonlight splashed upon the men, and he saw that he had been wrong. They were Marvin Sand and Alton Frost. Alton was slumped over the saddle horn, wounded.
Toby grabbed hold of him. He eased him out of the saddle and onto the porch. His hand came out from under Alton’s back warm and sticky, and even in the moonlight he could see the dark smear of blood. The boy’s throat rasped as he struggled to breathe. He was dying—there wasn’t much time.
Sand never dismounted. “They jumped us over on Paul English’s place. There was a bunch of them, and they were on us before we knew it. After they hit Alton, I managed to get him away. But they’re close behind us. You can hear them now, if you listen hard.”
Toby’s heart leaped. Yes, he could hear the hoofbeats. Anger swept through him. “You led them here? You fool, don’t you know how that’ll look for me?”
He could feel the hard grin on Marvin Sand’s hat-shadowed face. “Sure, Toby, I knew how it would look. That’s why I led them here. Keep them company. I’m riding on.”
Wheeling his horse around, he spurred away. In the first flush of helpless rage Toby dashed for the door, wanting a gun. But he stopped, realizing that it would be useless now.
He dropped on his knees beside Alton Frost. He could hardly hear the breathing now. Desperate, he knew he had to keep Alton alive, had to keep him alive until the posse got here. Only Alton’s word could clear him of the implication which Marvin Sand’s coming here had made.
The posse rode in cautiously, guns ready, a circle of men drawing a tight noose around the little ranch house. Toby waited quietly, standing in the moonlight where they could all see him.
“It’s all right, Cass” he called. “Come on in.”
Cass Duncan stepped down from his horse, the gun in his hand catching a glint of moonlight. “Better raise your hands, son.”
Toby did. “I haven’t got a gun on.”
He pointed his chin toward Alton Frost. “You better see after Alton, Cass. He’s about gone.”
Someone exclaimed, “I told you we got one of them. I told you I saw him almost fall.”
Instantly Cass was on his knees beside young Frost.
Toby said, “They rode up here just a couple or three minutes ago.”
“They?”
“Alton and Marvin Sand.”
Cass said, “There’s nobody here but you and Alton. And we were chasing just two men.”
Panic rising in him, Toby tried to explain. But he could see disbelief and disgust in the dark, shadowed faces that surrounded him.
“Alton will tell you the truth of it, Cass,” Toby exclaimed in desperation. “Ask him. Ask him before it’s too late.”
Cass Duncan’s voice was flat and hard. “It is too late. Alton has just died.”
Riding in, he felt the sheriff’s eyes upon him, hard as flint. “You oughtn’t to’ve come back, Toby. Cattle stealing was bad enough. At least they couldn’t do anything worse than send you to prison for it. But murder is something else.”
“Murder?” Toby’s chest tightened. “What murder?”
“You shot Paul English tonight. He got a little too close, and your slug caught him. We sent him to town in a wagon. But he looked like he didn’t stand much chance.”
Paul English! Toby slumped in the saddle. The only man left who would have believed him, would have fought for him.
Toby became angry with himself. It needn’t have happened this way. If he had told what he knew the first time Cass asked him, this wouldn’t have happened. But he had held back. Minding his own business, he had told himself. Hoping Alton Frost would come out all right.
Now it was too late to talk, because there was no one who would listen, no one who would believe.
But he found himself wrong. Betty Duncan was standing in front of his cell door ten minutes after Cass had clanged it shut. Her gray eyes glistened. Her slender hands trembled if she did not hold them tightly together.
“Toby,” she said, and then stopped talking because she could not hold down the tremor in her voice. But her eyes told the rest of it. He reached through the bars, and her hands came into his.
“Betty,” he whispered, “they won’t believe me.”
“I believe you, Toby.” Cass Duncan finally came back from the doctor’s. Toby asked him, “What about Paul English?”
Cass shot him a hostile glance and turned his back, shrugging. “Fifty-fifty chance.”
The sheriff sat down heavily in his chair, his shoulders slumped. He and Paul English had made many a cow camp together in years past. They’d gone off hunting together many a time.
Toby waited a while before he tried talking to the sheriff again. “Look, Cass,” he said, “I feel as bad about this as you do. I didn’t have many friends left, but Paul English was one of them. I didn’t shoot him, Cass. Believe me.”
Cass Duncan sat there for a time in thoughtful silence. Finally he said, “I wish I could believe you.”
Toby pressed, “I’ve told you it was Marvin Sand who was with Alton last night. You don’t have to take my say-so on it. Make Marvin prove where he was. He won’t be able to do it. Then maybe you can find his gun and see if it didn’t fire the bullet that hit Paul.”
Cass Duncan swung around. His hard gaze probed Toby’s face. “All right Toby. But you better not be making a fool of me this time.”
He was gone all day. He came in late in the afternoon, when the reddening, bar-crossed sunlight that entered Toby’s cell window was eas
ing up toward the plaster ceiling. The sheriff’s shoulders sagged, and weariness cut deep lines into his beard-shadowed face. But a dangerous fire smoldered in his tired eyes.
“You lied to me, Toby.”
Heartbeat lifting, Toby stood erect.
Cass said, “I found somebody who vouched for him, Toby. He was at the ranch all night.”
A cold numbness gripped Toby. He sensed the rest of it, even before Cass told him.
“Ellen Frost. She said he was with her.”
The word came next morning. Paul English was going to live.
Betty Duncan was the one who told Toby. He turned away, standing in front of the window a long moment, swallowing down the tightness in his throat.
“He’s not conscious yet,” Betty told him. “But his heartbeat has gotten stronger. Doc Chalmers said he’s sure Paul will make it all right.”
Toby faced back toward the girl. “Betty, maybe Paul got close enough to know who it was that shot him. When he wakes up and tells, they’ll have to turn me loose. They’ll know I wasn’t lying.”
Suddenly a grim realization came to him. His face fell. “Marvin Sand will think of that, too.”
Betty’s eyes widened. “You think he might try to kill Paul?”
Toby said, “I know he would. You better get Cass, Betty.”
Cass Duncan stared at him in cold disbelief. Contempt lay coiled in his eyes as he listened to Toby’s desperate plea.
“You’ve got to get somebody over there to guard Paul,” Toby cried. “Everything I’ve told you is the truth. You can’t just stand by and let Marvin kill him.”
Cass said flatly, “You’ve lied to me too many times, Toby. You’re not going to make a fool of me again.”
He turned his back and started to leave the jail.
“Cass,” Toby called after him, “I swear I’m not lying to you. You can’t just turn your back.”
Cass whirled on him, his eyes ablaze. “Toby, I’ve got one solitary confinement cell back yonder, padded all around, without any windows. Say one more word to me and I’ll throw you in it!”
He stomped out. Toby sank back onto the cot, face fallen in despair.
Cass Duncan’s lean, stoop-shouldered deputy came in a while later. “Hungry?” Toby shook his head.
“Betty Duncan’s bringing you some supper anyway,” the deputy said. “Was I her, I wouldn’t even give you a burnt biscuit. But then, I ain’t her.”
The deputy unlocked the cell door when Betty came in. She gave Toby a quick, half-scared smile, then uncovered a platter with biscuits, fried beef, and some dried fruit on it. She had also brought a small pot of coffee.
Toby’s heart went into his brief smile. “Thanks, Betty.” Then his chin sank. “I guess you know Cass won’t listen to me. He won’t put a guard on Paul. Marvin’ll kill him, and there’s not one thing I can do to stop him.”
Betty touched Toby’s hand, a quick, fleeting touch that left a warm glow.
“Maybe there is something you can do about it, Toby. Don’t worry. Just eat your supper and drink all your coffee. All of it.”
He soon had eaten all he could of the supper. He was pouring the third cup of coffee when he heard the metallic click inside the pot. Betty’s words came back to him in a rush. “Drink all your coffee.” He looked up quickly to see if the deputy had heard the faint noise. But if he had, he gave no sign.
Cautiously Toby took the lid off the pot. There, sticking up out of the remaining coffee, was one end of a long key. Toby fitted the lid back in place and looked up again, hoping his sudden excitement didn’t show in his face.
After a while the deputy took a heavy old watch out of his vest pocket. “Well,” he said, jokingly, “I got a few rounds to make. I won’t be long. You just stay here till I get back.”
Toby’s heart was in his throat. He waited a long minute after the deputy was gone. Then, quickly, he took the key out of the coffee pot. He stepped up to the door and fitted it into the lock outside. He fumbled a moment, a choking fear rising in him that this wasn’t the right key, that Betty had made a mistake.
Then he heard a click, and the door swung open under his weight. He looked longingly at the gun chest in a corner. But it was locked, and he couldn’t afford to spend time in hunting for a key. There were no loose guns around.
Lamplight bathed the front door. He couldn’t go out that way. He hurried to the back door and tried it. It was unlocked. He knew he could thank Betty for that. He stepped out into the darkness.
“Toby!”
He spun around. He made out the shadowy form of the girl hurrying toward him.
“Betty,” he breathed.
She came into his arms, and he held her tightly. He found her lips.
When they stepped apart, she put something heavy and cold into his hand. A six-shooter.
“One of Dad’s,” she said. “Now let’s move away from here before John comes back and finds out you’ve left.”
They kept to the shadows, moving quietly but hurriedly along at the backs of the town buildings toward the doctor’s house.
Once somebody stepped out of a door. Toby flattened against a wall, holding his breath, while Betty held tightly to him. The man flung a panful of water out onto the ground and stood there a minute, biting off a fresh chew from a plug of tobacco while he looked around. But the lamplight inside evidently had blinded him against the darkness. He never seemed to notice the man and the girl.
In a few minutes they reached the back of the doctor’s house.
Pointing, Betty said, “That’s the room where Paul is. Your dad is in a room on the other side.”
Toby studied the house. He figured what he would do in Marvin Sand’s place. Safest thing would be to shoot from outside through a window. That way, he could get away in a hurry.
Next to the doctor’s home was a house set up on wooden blocks. The bottom was boarded up, but a big open space was left unboarded beneath the high front porch, probably to let the family dog sleep under there. Toby motioned toward it.
“I’m going to wait under there,” he said quietly. “It gives me a good view of Paul’s window, and it’s in range. It’s dark enough that nobody can see me. You better get along now, before Cass misses you.”
Betty shook her head. “I’m staying here with you.”
Firmly he said, “I don’t want you getting hurt. Go on.”
She started to argue with him, but stopped as they heard a plodding of hoofbeats. Somebody was riding down the street toward them. Without hesitation Betty ducked under the high porch. There was nothing else Toby could do. He followed her.
The rider went on by. Then sounds of excitement burst over toward the courthouse square. Toby could hear running feet, and someone shouting. Old John had returned to the jail and found Toby gone.
It wasn’t many minutes before searching riders and men afoot began working up and down the streets and alleys, nosing into all the dark places. Toby crawled farther back under the house, and Betty crawled back with him. He knew he ought to make her leave, but she didn’t want to. And touching her warm, slender hand, he didn’t want her to leave now.
Presently the search died down.
“I reckon by now Cass knows how I got out,” Toby whispered. “You ought to’ve gone home when I told you.”
She shook her head and touched her cheek to his arm. “I’m where I want to be, Toby, with you.”
There was no warning before the shooting started. Toby and Betty knelt together, watching carefully where they thought the killer might come. But they never saw him before the two sudden shots shattered the night stillness. The man and the girl exchanged one swift, terrified glance, then both burst out from under the porch in a hard run.
More shots sounded from inside the house. A rider spurred out from the other side of the building. A quick shaft of moonlight touched him—Marvin Sand.
Heart hammering, Toby dropped to one knee and fired. Sand leaned low over his saddle horn. His gun came up, and dus
t leaped at Toby’s feet. Toby squeezed the trigger again.
He saw the second flash of fire just as Sand’s bullet sent him reeling, to sprawl in the sand.
Betty screamed and rushed to him. She grabbed up the fallen gun and fired futilely at the horseman who was spurring away. The darkness swallowed him up.
Toby fought for breath. The girl dropped to her knees beside him and sobbed, “Toby, where did he hit you?”
Toby pushed onto his knees, supporting himself with his left hand. His right hand felt along his ribs, searching for the source of the hammer-like throbbing.
“My ribs,” he gritted finally. “Creased them a little. Knocked the breath out of me.”
Running feet thudded on the soft ground, and from somewhere came the sudden clatter of horses’ hooves. A shadow fell across the man and the girl. Cass Duncan stopped there, a smoking gun in his hand.
“You hit, son?”
Toby didn’t answer the question. Instead he asked fearfully, “What about Paul? Did he get him?”
The sheriff was slow in replying. “No, Toby, he didn’t get Paul.”
Cass Duncan helped Toby to his feet. Betty’s arm went around Toby, supporting him. She was trying to keep from crying.
“This clears him, doesn’t it, Dad?” she begged in a breaking voice.
Cass said, “Well, it does put a different complexion on things. It doesn’t clear you all the way. But at least it shows you weren’t lying about Marvin Sand. The funny thing is, I had a notion you were going to try to kill Paul yourself, when we found you had gotten out. I was in Paul’s room, waiting for you to try it.”
A dozen or more men were crowding around the trio. They made room as Cass, Toby, and Betty started toward the doctor’s house. Toby felt his strength seeping back into him, and the pain in his ribs was easing down to a dull throbbing. Just a crease.
At the front door, Cass Duncan stopped. “Toby, before you go in, I better tell you Marvin Sand picked the wrong window, and he got the wrong man.”
Toby choked, a sudden rush of panic sweeping through him. Betty’s hand tightened quickly on his arm.
He whispered, “Dad?”
Cass nodded, his head down. “I’m sorry, Toby.”