The Fourth Western Novel

by H. H. Knibbs

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  Judson Hamill turned to Finn. “Finn, you can call the boys in when you’re ready.” Grumbling, Finn stole back to the hearth.

  Ira Hamill unbuttoned the top button of his coat, hesitated, then buttoned it again. Pete wondered why Ira did not take his coat off. The rest of the Hamills, Pete surmised, were not accustomed to wearing coats in the house, or at any time except in the severest weather.

  “Didn’t I see Charley Lee’s buckskin as I came by the south pasture?” asked Ira Hamill.

  “Did you? I thought Brent fed him and put him in the corral.”

  “My mistake,” said Ira.

  “Were you looking for him?” asked Judson.

  “What the hell’s got into you, anyway, Jud?”

  Judson Hamill smiled. “You’ll have to answer that.” He turned to Pete. “You can wash up and come in and eat. Finn’s about ready.”

  Judson Hamill sat at the head of the long table, Ira, Brent, Dave, the youngest of the brothers, and Pete below him. Finn was back and forth from table to hearth.

  When they had finished breakfast Judson pushed back his chair. “Sit still,” he said to the others. “Ira’s got something to tell you.”

  “I told Brent and Dave about Amos,” said Ira. “I told them before I came in.”

  Finn Hamill fetched a plate of food and a cup of coffee and sat with both elbows on the table and the cup held in both hands. Ira fumbled with the top button of his coat.

  “Take off your coat and stay awhile,” said Judson, as one who invites a visitor to make himself comfortable.

  “Stay awhile? In my own home?” Ira laughed. “What kind of a joke do you call that, Jud?”

  “Even Amos knew enough to keep away from here after he got himself made a peace officer.”

  Brent, who had been toying with his fork, dropped it and stared at Ira. Perplexed, Young Dave Hamill stared at Judson. Finn’s broad, sharp-chinned face became distorted with a sardonic grin.

  Ignoring the surprise of his brothers Ira addressed Judson. “Amos was conscious a few minutes before he went. I had a talk with him. He said he didn’t have anything personal against Charley Lee or Pecos, but he had to go after them or lose his job. He told me that Pecos Jim and another man got away.” Ira Hamill paused and gazed round at his brothers. “I was offered the job of acting city marshal and I took it.”

  “You! A peace officer!” cried Young Dave.

  “I trailed Pecos to the stone house in Morse Thief Hollow,” continued Ira, ignoring the remark. “Pecos won’t make any more trouble. The other man,” Ira rose and laid his hand on Pete’s shoulder, “is right here. I’m taking him back to Vegas.”

  For a moment the Hamills were silent, staring curiously at Pete. Young Dave Hamill jumped up. “No!” he cried, facing Ira Hamill. “You don’t take him to Las Vegas, peace officer or no peace officer.”

  “He rode in here last night on Charley Lee’s horse,” declared Finn the hunchback. “I knew he was lying—”

  Judson Hamill silenced Finn with a wave of his hand. “Sit down,” he said to Young Dave. Then to Ira. “Take your hands off the boy. He’s a guest in this house. We’ll hear what he has to say.”

  “He’s doin’ the talkin’.” Pete indicated Ira Hamill.

  “Have you anything more to say?” Judson asked Ira.

  Ira Hamill glanced at Pete, then his gaze settled on Judson Hamill’s impassive face. “This boy isn’t such a kid as you think he is. According to Tom Kimball’s antemortem statement his name is Pete. He was riding with Charley Lee’s outfit when deputies Jones and Redfern disappeared. Kimball said this kid had a hand in it. He said also that the kid had an argument with Charley Lee and quit him and went to work for Old Man Butterfield. Several folks in Las Vegas who saw the fight said the kid jumped out of Butterfield’s wagon and started a battle with two deputies that were coming out of the bank. Then he helped Pecos onto a horse and they lit out.”

  “Is that right?” asked Judson Hamill.

  “Some of it,” replied Pete.

  “According to the records in the marshal’s office,” continued Ira Hamill, “this kid is known in Arizona as ‘The Tonto Kid.’ He and Tonto Charley were the last of the old Hemenway gang. They got mixed up with the Benavides outfit in Socorro. Tonto Charley got shot up pretty bad. But he and the kid got away. According to the talk down around Socorro the kid shot Tonto Charley in the back and took his horse when the Benavides riders crowded them too close. Amos had all this on record in his office. He was waiting for the kid to make a break. Old Man Butterfield told Amos that the kid was a good boy, to give him a chance. That’s why Amos hadn’t arrested him.”

  Judson Hamill turned to Pete. “Is that right?”

  “About as right as most folks get it when they go by what they hear.”

  “How long were you with Charley Lee?”

  “A couple of days.”

  “How did you happen to know Charley, if you came from, over in Arizona?”

  “I didn’t know him. I run onto Pecos Jim at the Red Butte. I was huntin’ a breakfast.”

  “What horse were you riding then?”

  “Tonto Charley’s horse—the big iron-gray that’s over in Old Man Butterfield’s pasture.”

  “You didn’t say, last night, how you came to get mixed up in the Las Vegas fight.”

  “No. You asked me if I saw it. Well, Old Man Butterfield was loadin’ some groceries on his buckboard when he told me four or five deputies had Charley Lee and Pecos cornered in Brownell’s store. Charley and Pecos fed me when I was out of grub. I stepped in and warned ’em. I came out and climbed into the buckboard to go back home with the old man. He was nervous and the team was nervous. The horses jumped and pitched me out. I sat up. Somebody across the street started shootin’ at me. It was a case of dog eat dog.”

  “So you stuck with Pecos Jim till he was through and then rode up here?”

  “Yes. Lookin’ for grass and water. The horse and I was both played out. It was dark. The horse kept comin’ like he knew where he was headed for.”

  Judson Hamill spoke to his brother Ira. “This boy tells a pretty straight story. He hasn’t made any excuses for anything he’s done. He never did any harm to us. All you’ve got against him is that he warned Charley Lee and Pecos. It wasn’t this boy’s fault that Amos got killed. Amos had that coming ever since Charley’s young brother was murdered in Las Vegas. And you know who murdered him. You say you are going to take this boy to Las Vegas. If you do it will be the first time an officer ever made an arrest on the Hamill homestead.”

  “Or had a meal at this table,” said Young Dave.

  “Verdict!” cried Finn the hunchback. “I call for a vote!”

  Pete’s dark eyes flashed. “You talk like I was a prisoner and this was a law court. If you are a family of humans, you’ll turn me loose out there in the meadow with your city marshal and let us settle it.”

  Ira Hamill’s broad face grew red, but he said nothing. Finn the trouble-maker laughed shrilly. “Better not, Ira! He’ll kill you, Ira! You never were any too fast with a gun.”

  “Shut up!” said Young Dave. “The Judge’ll settle this.”

  “Verdict!” cried Finn. “Call for a vote, Judge.”

  “Ira don’t vote,” said Young Dave. “He ain’t a Hamill—he’s a darn’ peace officer.”

  Judson Hamill asked Brent, the eldest brother, what he had to say. The huge Brent, after a long pause, declared he had nothing to say. He would not vote.

  Finn the hunchback cursed Brent for a coward. Heretofore all serious disputes had been settled by vote, Judson Hamill presiding and remaining neutral. Brent’s withdrawal from the controversy left but Finn and Young Dave to make a decision. And Finn knew how Young Dave would vote.

  “Finn?”

  “He helped
Charley Lee murder Amos.” Finn wagged his great head toward Pete. “Ira can take him to hell for all I care.”

  “Dave?”

  Young Dave, tall, blue-eyed, his strong throat pulsing, kept his gaze fixed on Ira. “We never turned away a hungry man or a man in trouble. And we never fed an officer of the law in this house. Ira is riding off his range. The city limits of Las Vegas don’t take in Thunder Mountain.”

  His arms spread out across the table, his chin level with its edge, his glittering black eyes fixed on Judson Hamill, Finn looked like a gigantic tarantula ready to spring.

  Judson Hamill glanced from one brother to another, then turned to Ira. “Ira, when you became a peace officer you forfeited your share in this homestead, your interest in the stock, and your right to be called a Hamill. You are a stranger. But you are entitled to safe conduct as far as our line. After that, what you do is your business. But I’m advising you not to come back.”

  “The Judge is right,” declared Brent Hamill. “That’s our law.”

  “Powder-face Brent was too yellow to vote. But now he can talk,” said Finn.

  Brent Hamill, whose right cheek was specked with powder marks, shrugged his shoulders. “You know better than to call me yellow,” he said quietly.

  “If you weren’t a damned cripple I’d break you in two.” Young Dave walked up to Finn.

  The hunchback raised his chin and spat in Dave’s face. Judson Hamill rose. Brent Hamill seized Young Dave’s arm. Young Dave’s mouth trembled. His face went white. He said nothing. He only wiped his face on his sleeve. But Pete knew that Finn the hunchback had never before come so near to being killed.

  Judson Hamill returned to his chair. Brent let go Young Dave’s arm. His chin lowered and his eyes half closed, Finn sat blinking at the wall. Pete noticed that the hunchback was trembling violently.

  “This boy is also a stranger up here,” said Judson Hamill. “He is entitled to a safe conduct to our line.” Judson Hamill gazed round at his brothers. “Beyond our line there’s plenty of room for everybody.”

  “If that’s all,” said Brent, rising, “I’m going over to Turkey Springs.” Brent was halfway to the door when he turned and came back. “Good-bye, Ira,” he said, shaking hands with his brother.

  Following Brent’s departure Judson Hamill rose. “Well, Ira, I suppose you’ll be wanting to get back to your new job.”

  “As soon as I pack my stuff.”

  “All right. When you’re ready I’ll ride down to the line with you.”

  Finn the hunchback took off his flour-sack apron and tossed it across a chair.

  He was pulling on his chaps when Young Dave beckoned to Pete. Outside he said: “Let Ira make the first move. If you leave now, he’ll trail you, and he knows this country.”

  “Yes,” said Pete as they walked toward the corral. “And if I wait till he’s gone, he’ll lay for me.”

  “That don’t bother me any,” said Young Dave. “It’s Finn. He always made trouble in this family when he got a chance. Nobody has ever laid a hand on him because he’s a cripple. But that doesn’t mean he can’t handle a gun. Judson is making a mistake. He thinks Finn and Ira will listen to what he says after they cross the line.”

  Brent had saddled up and departed. Young Dave was catching his own mount when Finn came toward the corral trailing a rope. “Thought so,” said Young Dave to Pete. “Take your time getting ready.”

  When Pete and Young Dave led their horses over to the cabin, they were closely followed by Finn on a big, high-headed blue roan. They waited for Ira and Judson, half expecting that Judson would have something further to say. Instead he merely gestured to Ira to take the lead. Finn immediately swung in beside him. Pete and Young Dave followed, with Judson Hamill bringing up the rear. They struck across the sunlit meadow and into the trail. Occasionally, as they rounded a bend, Pete caught a glimpse of the desert below. He wondered what would happen when they reached the boundary of the homestead. Would Ira try to arrest him? If there was an argument would the others take a hand?

  At the boundary, marked by a monument of piled stones, they halted. After shaking hands with Ira and bidding him good-bye, Judson took his rifle from the scabbard and laid it across his knees.

  “You’ll be riding north,” he told Ira. “And you’ll be riding south,” he said to Pete.

  A smooth, gravelly bench sloped down toward the desert. There was no cover of any kind. Pete wondered if he dared turn his back on the Hamills, even with Judson there to see that no one interfered with his departure. Pete glanced at Ira Hamill. Ira sat his horse, apparently in no hurry to be gone.

  “So long.” Pete nodded to Young Dave. “I’ll be on my way.” Pete touched his horse with the spurs.

  Watching his horse’s ears as he rode out onto the flat, Pete became aware that someone was following him. Angered by what he considered treachery on the part of the Hamills, he spurred his horse into a lope, whirled him and came round with gun poised.

  Taken by surprise, Ira Hamill went for his gun. Pete fired, and spurring his mount under short rein made him rear. Ira Hamill’s shot hit the buckskin somewhere. Pete felt him flinch and heard him grunt.

  As the buckskin’s forefeet struck the ground, Pete fired again. Thinking he had missed, he jumped his horse toward Hamill and fired a third time. Hamill leaned forward in the saddle. He was hit hard. His gun hand hung down, though he still held his six-shooter.

  Reining round, Pete spurred into a lope. He had no fear that Ira Hamill would follow him. Yet at each jump he did fear that Judson Hamill or the hunchback would drop him out of the saddle. He turned his head to look back. A rifle-shot crashed. The buckskin stumbled and settled down with a groan. Finn the hunchback had shot Pete’s horse out from under him. Pete kicked free of the stirrups and dropped behind the animal.

  Ira Hamill saw the horse fall and came on slowly, determined, hard hit as he was, either to arrest Pete or kill him. But Finn, with a yell, spurred out onto the flat, firing as he came. Pete had but two shots left in his gun. Ira Hamill was badly wounded and weaving in the saddle. His real fight, Pete knew, would be with the hunchback.

  Finn was almost on top of Pete when Ira Hamill crumpled up and slid to the ground. A slug from Finn’s rifle whistled over Pete’s head. The short body of Finn was scarcely visible behind the head of his horse. He was using a carbine and firing alongside the neck of his mount. Pete threw a shot at the hunchback as he galloped past. Finn’s horse shied, but the hunchback sat him like a statue. Whatever else he was, Finn Hamill was a horseman. Before Pete could fire again, he came back on the run, loosing another shot at Pete.

  Pete used his last cartridge. It tore through the hunchback’s thigh. Finn jerked his horse to a stop and reined him round. Pete bluffed with an empty gun. Maddened by pain, and ignoring the threat, Finn drew down the muzzle of his carbine.

  Pete sprang to his feet. “Look out, fish-back!” he cried, flinging up his arms under the nose of Finn’s horse.

  The animal reared just as Finn fired. The bullet cut the tip off the blue roan’s ear. It began to pitch, but unable to unseat its rider it reared and fell over backward. The hunchback kicked one foot clear, but was unable to move his right leg. The horse rolled, scrambled up, and started down the desert on the run, the hunchback’s foot caught in the stirrup.

  Pete wondered why Judson Hamill had not come out to see how badly Ira was hurt. Already Young Dave had spurred after Finn’s horse, trying to save the hunchback from being dragged to death. Judson Hamill sat his horse as motionless as the stone monument beside him, his rifle still across his knees.

  Keeping Ira’s horse between himself and Judson, Pete walked over to where Ira Hamill lay. Ira was breathing. He asked for water. Pete gave him a drink from his canteen.

  “Where’s Jud?” asked Ira.

  “He’ll be here in a minute.”

  “Amos said
you were a tough kid.” The lines of pain melted from Ira Hamill’s face. He stared at Pete in a peculiar, questioning way. Pete had seen enough men die to know what that look meant. “Tough kid,” murmured Ira. “Mebby you better get going before Jud gets here.”

  Pete rose from beside the dead man; he waved to Judson Hamill, but Judson did not move from his place. Pete walked over to his own horse and began to strip off saddle and bridle.

  Leading Finn’s high-headed blue roan, Young Dave rode up. Across the saddle hung the battered, lifeless form of the hunchback.

  “Did you get hit?” asked Young Dave. Pete shook his head.

  Young Dave rode over to his brother Judson and laid Finn’s body at his feet. Judson and Young Dave seemed to be arguing. Presently Young Dave came riding back, leading Finn’s horse. “Throw your saddle on this fool,” he said. “The Hamills owe you a horse.”

  Pete stared up in surprise. “How do you mean, owe me a horse?”

  “Judson could have prevented all this. He could have told Ira not to follow you, and Ira wouldn’t have followed you. And Judson could have stopped Finn. I told him that.” Young Dave gazed toward Thunder Mountain. “Judson and Brent will be running the ranch from now on.”

  Pete saddled the blue roan. Young Dave walked over to where his brother Ira lay and stood looking down at him. Stooping, he took the badge from Ira’s shirt and tossed it away. Young Dave came back, took up the reins of his horse, and mounted.

  “So long,” said Pete as he stepped up on Finn’s horse. “I’m headin’ south.”

  “My horse can travel just as fast as yours,” said Young Dave suddenly, “and just as far.” He swung alongside Pete. Their horses struck into a fast walk.

  His rifle still across his knees, Judson Hamill sat gazing after them until they had vanished in the haze of the southern desert.

  CHAPTER 7

  Pete and Dave Hamill, two days south of the Thunder Mountain country, were looking for a chance to rest their horses and get a square meal. Having left the Hamill homestead without any preparation whatever, Dave was without money or provisions of any kind. Young Pete was in no better case. He had a dollar or so in his pocket, his gun, and the blue roan horse. Although Dave Hamill was Pete’s senior by several years, his experience had embraced little more than helping his brothers run their large band of horses in the Thunder Mountain range.