Close Call

by Clinton Spurr

  “Yeah, I saw them earlier,” he admitted. “I’m sorry about Snap getting killed, Paula. I didn’t know him at all, but when I met him last night at your place I figured he was a decent sort.”

  “They murdered him, Dane!” There was a tremor in her voice. “It was cold blooded, and they put the blame on you.”

  “They can murder anyone they figure is in their way and lay the blame at my door,” he said. “But Milton is in for a shock when this comes out.”

  “The sooner he’s locked in jail the better for the county,” the girl declared. “He must be crazy, Dane.”

  “Looks that way to me. He’s bitter about something, and he set his mind on getting hold of Cross L. He killed my father, after framing me with Beutel’s murder. He’s got no limits, Paula.”

  “What are you going to do now?” she looked into his face with fear in her eyes. “I know you’re not gonna sit down and wait for the US Marshal to show up. You’re not the type.”

  “I can’t wait. Other folk will be killed if we delay. But you better stay here, Paula. I’m going out to collect those two deputies. We’ll keep them prisoner here. They’ll be valuable witnesses against Milton. When they find that the game is up they’ll talk about what’s been happening, especially as there are murder charges waiting for someone.”

  “Be careful, Dane,” she pleaded. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you now. I’m so happy you’re back, and it looks like you’ll be able to clear yourself now. I never believed that you drew first against Beutel.”

  “I’m not gonna take any chances,” he promised, embracing her. “But I’ve wasted too much time already. If either of those two get loose then we’re gonna be back right where we started, only a whole lot worse. Stay here and don’t leave for anything, Paula. There’s danger outside for you.”

  She nodded, and Lassiter took his leave of her, slipping out into the night and waiting until she had closed the door. Then he steeled himself for another effort, and went off back through the shadows to where he had left his prisoners. It looked to him like the end coming up. But he needed a little luck for all the pieces to fall smoothly into place, and all he could do was pray that the Doc would find success in his attempts to put matters right.

  It seemed to lie in the balance, and he knew it would be touch and go. Everything would be ruined if he fell foul of someone hoping to collect the reward on his head. But he had been lucky ever since he’d returned, and he could hope his good fortune would continue for just a while longer.

  When he neared the spot where he had left his horse and the prisoners, he peered around for them, careful to the last. It would be just his luck to get back and find that Carver and Boswell had freed themselves, and they would be lying in wait for him with murderous intent.

  He spotted the horse standing in cover, and saw the dark figures of the two men still as he had left them, but he put his hand upon the butt of his gun as he closed the distance between them. He had too much to lose to take any chances. However he found them still tightly bound, and he grinned as he confronted them.

  “So you couldn’t get free, huh?” he demanded. “Well that’s too bad. It was your last chance. I’m no longer alone against the law. I’ve got help, and it’s the end of the trail for Milton. Unless I miss my guess you two are lucky to be out of it. Come on, up on your feet and we’ll go into town.”

  The two men started up clumsily, tied as they were, and Lassiter bent to help them. It was bending over that saved his life. As he moved a gun flashed nearby, its reddish flame dazzling him, the crash of the shot blasting out the silence. The shock of it hit Lassiter hard, and in the same instant he felt a tremendous blow in the left arm. The force of it knocked him sideways and off balance, and he fell to the ground, struck by fierce agony, filled with a subconscious thought that luck had suddenly deserted him, and this was when it really counted...

  CHAPTER TEN

  LASSITER fell on his right side, and this stopped him instinctively drawing his gun. The roar of the shot was throwing echoes across the dark range, and he was aware only of the horrifying pain in his left arm between elbow and shoulder. As he had bent he’d turned his left side towards the ambusher, and but for that the bullet would have taken him dead centre through the chest. He heard voices shouting harshly, and tried to drag his awareness above the shock that filtered through him.

  “Yancey, for God’s sake come and check him, then cut us loose,” Hank Boswell yelled, and at the mention of Clark’s name, Lassiter began to move.

  He pulled his gun as he rolled over on to his stomach, and his movement brought a cry of warning from Carver.

  “He ain’t done for! Clark, come and finish him off.”

  Lassiter spotted movement from the area where the shot had been fired. He gritted his teeth as he pulled his gun forward, and he thumbed back the trigger as a man materialised from the shadows. It looked like Yancey Clark, and he wondered remotely where the hell Clark had come from. But there was little time for anything else. He saw the gun in Clark’s hand, watching it lift slightly to cover him, and he fired a single shot, aiming for the centre of Clark’s shadowy figure.

  The gun blasted quickly, booming raucously, and its orange flash blinded Lassiter’s eyes. He clenched his teeth at the gunsmoke which was flung back into his face, and he cursed silently as he rolled to the right, the movement filling his arm with mortal agony. He didn’t see what happened to Clark, but there was no reply from the man’s gun, and he rolled on to his stomach once more and recocked his pistol.

  He lay blinking, his ears ringing to the noise of the shots. Slowly he heard the sound of Boswell’s voice cutting through the fading echoes of the shooting, and he firmed his lips and gritted his teeth against his pain. He saw the two deputies trying to get on their feet, and was relieved to see that they were still bound. He had tied their feet, and it was obvious that Clark had untied them. A little later in arriving, Lassiter thought remotely, and he would have walked into worse trouble, with both deputies free and lying in wait for him.

  “Hold it, you two,” he rasped harshly. “Just stand where you are and keep very still.”

  “Clark missed him!” Boswell cursed. “Where is that yellow dog?”

  Lassiter was looking around for a glimpse of the ambusher and he caught the sudden pounding of departing hoofs. Some of the tension left him then, for he knew Clark was too cowardly to stand and make a fight of it. He began pushing himself to his feet, his gun ready, and he silenced both cursing deputies with a harsh command.

  “Start walking towards town,” he rapped. “Get going.”

  They stared at his shadowy figure, then lurched away, and Lassiter holstered his gun and led his horse at their backs. He made them circle until they were clear of anyone tempted to come and investigate the shooting. When they reached the rear of the doctor’s house, Lassiter was almost out on his feet. The pain in his arm was intolerable, and he was dragging his feet as weakness tried to overcome him.

  There was a light in the kitchen, and Lassiter tapped at the door, his gun in his hand again. He stared at his two prisoners and they regarded him balefully, their faces dark and sullen in the lamplight.

  Paula opened the door to him, and she gasped when she saw the blood on his left sleeve. Lassiter urged the men into the house and leaned his back against the door after closing it.

  “Is the Doc back yet?” he demanded.

  “Not yet. That shooting. I heard it. Were you involved, Dane?”

  He glanced down at his left sleeve, and there was thick blood saturating the cloth. He gritted his teeth against the pain, and was thankful that he had turned the instant Clark fired at him. If he hadn’t he would have been dead by now.

  “I wish the Doc would hurry up,” he said softly, and moved to a chair and dropped heavily into it. He motioned for the two men to sit on the floor in a corner, and they complied reluctantly.

  There was shock in Paula’s face, but she came to Lassiter’s side an
d began to expose his arm. He gritted his teeth, and she went through to the doctor’s office and came back with scissors and bandages. Lassiter turned his attention to his prisoners to take his mind off the wound.

  “Where did Yancey come from?” he demanded, and saw a tight grin touch Boswell’s face.

  “He was on his way into town when we heard his horse. We called to him, and if the blamed coward had come across without hesitation we would have been free by the time you showed up again, Lassiter. As it was, it was a close thing. A few more seconds and we’d have been able to jump you.”

  “Now you’ve lost your last chance,” Lassiter commented. “Too bad. It’s all up with you now.”

  The expressions on the men’s faces showed Lassiter that they agreed with him. He sat stoically while Paula washed the wound and examined it. She looked at him, tight lipped and shocked, and there was fear in her pale eyes.

  “The bullet is in there, Dane,” she said fearfully. “It looks a real mess.”

  “Put a bandage on it and I’ll take my chances,” he said. “I think the only thing I can do now is go along to the law office and take the sheriff. With him behind bars there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “You’re too late,” Boswell said. “You should have taken Milton first. Yancey will have made straight for the office, and right now he’ll be telling the sheriff all about it. You under-played your hand, Lassiter. Milton can still come out on top.”

  Lassiter did not reply, and he gritted his teeth as Paula put a tight bandage around his upper left arm. When she had finished he thanked her and got unsteadily to his feet.

  “Paula, I’m gonna have to leave you here guarding these two,” he said softly. “I can’t wait any longer for the Doc. Like Boswell says, I’m losing out by waiting.”

  “Let me have your spare gun,” the girl said bravely. “I’ll make sure they stay put.”

  Lassiter nodded and drew the gun he had taken from Boswell. He gave it to the girl and shook his head when he saw how big and awkward it was in her slim hand. But she moved to a chair and sat down, cocking the weapon and pointing it in the general direction of the two men.

  “Be careful what you’re doing, Dane,” she said. “You don’t have to worry about these two any longer.”

  For a moment he stared at her, uncertain, yet filled with the knowledge that he had to do something and quickly. He drew his gun and checked it, then returned it to its holster, and his lips were thin in his face, his eyes troubled as he made for the door.

  “I’ll be back soon as I can make it,” he promised, and departed, pausing with the kitchen door opened while he stared back for an instant at the two men. “Don’t give her any trouble,” he warned. “If you do you’ll have me to reckon with, no matter what happens.”

  He took with him a picture of Paula’s face set in unusually grim lines, and there was fear in the girl’s eyes although she was doing her best to conceal it. He was reluctant to leave her in such a situation, but he had little choice and he knew it.

  Fading into the shadows at the back of the house, he moved away to the nearest alley and hurried along it to the street. He held his gun in his hand as he slipped through the darkness with all the guile and stealth of an Indian, and he kept his eyes on the lighted windows of the law office. A strange sense of satisfaction began to fill him. This was the showdown, and Buck Milton was going to be the most surprised man in Pommel when he found himself under the gun of a man he had condemned to death.

  There seemed little movement around the street, and Lassiter paused in a doorway opposite the jail and studied his surroundings. He could hear music coming from the saloon, and he wondered where the Doc was. Help was what he needed more than anything right now, but it didn’t seem to be on the way.

  When he was satisfied that no trouble lay awaiting him, he started across the street, his feet making no sound in the soft dust. He tightened his grip upon his gun, and steeled himself for the action that was due. He was breathing shallowly as he reached the sidewalk in front of the jail, and now he had forgotten the pain in his wound and that his left arm was all but useless to him. He used his left hand to take hold of the door handle, and he tensed for the effort that was needed.

  For a split second he hesitated, and then he threw his weight on the handle and lunged against the door.

  His action took him solidly against the door, which refused to open, and his full weight and movement fell upon his wound. He fell away sideways as agony burst inside his arm, and he sprawled against the wall beside the door, breathing hard. He tried the door again before he was certain that it was locked.

  Moving to a window he peered into the office, and saw it was deserted. His lips pulled tight as he turned to survey the street again, and he wondered where Milton had gone. Had Yancey got in to warn the sheriff?

  He figured there would have been some evidence of trouble if that had happened, and knowing Yancey as he did, he thought the man would have high tailed it on to the range and would still be running for home. But Yancey knew Dane Lassiter was on the loose, and that was a disadvantage.

  Lassiter decided to look over the town for the sheriff, and he held his drawn gun as he moved towards the saloon. He didn’t know where the Doc was, and he would have welcomed some support. On top of that he had no idea what would happen if any of the townsmen spotted him. He fancied he could expect trouble, and didn’t want to have to shoot it out with anyone not connected with the sheriff’s crooked game.

  But when he looked into the saloon he didn’t see the sheriff. For some moments he stood peering through a window, his face illuminated by the light coming through the glass, and he was on the point of turning away when he heard a voice shout to his right.

  “Hey, that’s Dane Lassiter!”

  As he swung around a gun crashed, and the bullet smashed the window at Lassiter’s side. He turned and started running without thought, and more shooting broke out, some of the slugs whining around him.

  Lassiter thinned his lips as he darted into an alley, and he kept going, breathless as he ran without thought for the darkness towards the back lots. He reached the end of the alley as his pursuers came into the street end, and as he ducked around the comer several guns blasted angrily, tossing lead through the night.

  The heavy reports of the shooting stung Lassiter, and he almost turned to rattle a few shots back in reply. But he knew the sheriff would be alterted by the shooting, and he didn’t want to be at a disadvantage once the lawman arrived to take charge. But Milton would learn now that Dane Lassiter was no longer in the well at the old Redfern place, and what that news might do to the crooked sheriff Lassiter had no idea.

  He could hear boots thudding in the alley, and knew the men in the saloon had come out to take part in the hunt. They would want and expect a share in the reward if he were taken, and he clenched his teeth as he started running for the back of the doctor’s house. He hoped the shooting would alert the doctor as well, and once the medico arrived to talk to the hunters it would change the situation completely.

  Breathless from his haste, Lassiter kept moving, and behind him guns blasted again as townsmen reached the back lots and fired into the shadows. He heard some slugs whining over his head, but he wasn’t hit, and he didn’t figure he had been seen. He kept moving, and when he reached the rear of the doctor’s house he paused and tried to regain his breath. There was still some shooting going on around the alley beside the saloon, but it didn’t seem to be coming his way.

  He saw his horse standing where he had left it, and knew its presence would give him away. He knotted the trailing reins and left them on the animal’s neck, then slapped the horse and set it running through the night. As the sound of the hoofs echoed someone started shooting indiscriminately with a sixgun and the night was tattered by the reddish gun flashes.

  Lassiter ducked in at the doctor’s back door, and found himself staring into the muzzle of the gun that he’d left with Paula. The girl was still seated in her chair
, menacing the two deputies, and there was frozen horror on her features.

  “Dane!” she gasped. “Are they shooting at you?” “Yeah. Some of the townsmen figure to collect on my scalp. I set my horse running out of town, and with any luck it’ll draw them off. But we better bolt up here and put out the light. They may start searching for me.” Boswell chuckled harshly, and Lassiter let his gaze run over the man’s taut face.

  “You can laugh,” he retorted. “When the truth gets out it’ll be you and the sheriff they’ll be looking for!” The man’s face sobered then, and he glanced at his companion. “You want someone to go out there and tell that bunch they’re on the wrong track then I’ll volunteer,” he said. “But you got to make a deal and see to it that we get away after you’ve got Milton.”

  “No deal,” Lassiter said through his teeth. He moved to the door again and shot the bolts. “Now we’re gonna have to sit in the darkness. If I so much as hear a rustle come from you two I’ll start shooting. Just sit quiet and sweat it out.”

  Paula blew out the lamp, and darkness swept through the kitchen. Lassiter leaned against the back door, and he could hear voices yelling out there in the night. But there was no more shooting, and for that he was thankful. Then the voices came nearer, and a moment later an unseen hand tried the handle of the door. Lassiter tensed, tightening his grip upon his gun.

  “This door is locked, so he couldn’t have gone into the Doc’s,” someone yelled.

  “Make sure you check every building around here,” another retorted. “He wasn’t on that hoss, so he’s got to be around. Spread out, and don’t take any chances. He’s a real killer, and mighty fast with a gun.”

  Lassiter gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm, and he held his gun pointing into the direction where his two prisoners were sitting in the corner. He was afraid one of them might yell to the men outside, and he was ready to start shooting if they did. But Boswell knew too much about him to start anything, and there was silence in the kitchen until after the voices outside had moved away.