by Neil Webb
‘You’re pushing your luck a long way,’ chuckled the other gunnie.
‘A fool would think so,’ Latimer replied quickly. ‘But I ain’t a fool. The only thing I’m pushing is my bronc, and that’s heading for KS headquarters. I’ve got a Court Order for Kenton Stott.’
‘You’ve got just five seconds to get back on the other side of the gate, where your wiser pard is sitting. We’ve got a job to do, in case you didn’t know. We shoot trespassers on sight.’
‘Well I ain’t a trespasser. I’m a lawman executing his duty. Now if you’ll get off the trail I’ll ride on to the ranch-house.’
‘You ain’t going anywhere.’ The gunman’s voice lost its veneer of amusement. Viciousness flooded his face and his lips tightened. Latimer saw the convulsive crooking of the fingers of the man’s gunhand. He knew the signs and waited.
‘I would remind you,’ he drawled, ‘that it’s against the law to obstruct a lawman doing his duty.’
‘You’ve got too much sap, lawman. Get off KS range or I’ll bore you.’
‘You’re boring me now with your tough talk,’ Latimer said evenly.
‘Well slap leather,’ the gunman yelled. He swung his horse around slowly and drew his Colt, levelling the weapon across his saddle.
Latimer snaked his right-hand Colt upwards and the gun crackled and spurted orange flame. His bullet smashed the gunman’s hand, and blood splashed as the unfired sixgun fell to the ground. The gunman uttered a cry of pain and gripped his smashed hand, hunching in the saddle and groaning in agony. Latimer looked at his muzzle and covered the other gunman, who sat stupefied by the swift turn of events. The man made a half-hearted attempt to touch his butts.
‘Don’t try it, unless you’re tired of living,’ Latimer commanded. ‘I’m through warning boys that it’s dangerous to play men’s games. Any more shooting by me will be for keeps. Sit very still and don’t do anything with your hands. I’m a little short of patience right now.’
Behind Latimer, Walker was making excited noises, almost as shocked by Latimer’s inspired gunplay as Stott’s men. The wounded gunman was cursing profusely, trying to staunch the bleeding of his shattered hand.
‘Knock it off,’ Latimer ordered. ‘You asked for that. It’s only a crippling shot. I could have killed you. But you’ll never pull a gun with that hand again. Walker, come and take charge of this galoot. Do something for him so that he doesn’t bleed to death, then take him into town and throw him into jail. There’ll be a charge against him when I come back.’
‘You’re not still going on to Stott’s place, are you?’ There was awe in Walker’s voice as he came through the gate.
‘I am. I ain’t seen the big man yet. You don’t think these two can scare me off, do you?’ He chuckled. ‘Go take their guns, and shake them down for hideout weapons. I’ll take that other one on to Stott’s headquarters. I feel like a little company. Can you manage that wounded jasper back to town?’
‘I can,’ Walker replied. ‘He ain’t in the mind for playing any more games. If you’re set on going all the way to Stott’s headquarters then you’d better get moving, for it’ll be dark before you shake the dust of this range off your hooves again. Good luck.’
‘Be seeing you, Walker. So long.’ Latimer waved his Colt at the now disarmed uninjured gunman. ‘Get moving, feller. We’re going to see your boss.’
‘You won’t live long enough to see him,’ the gunman snarled.
‘Let me worry about that.’ Latimer motioned for him to ride on in front. The man took off at a canter, following the trail that led eventually to the ranch headquarters. Latimer holstered his Colt. He knew his prisoner wouldn’t try to escape, especially after witnessing Latimer’s exhibition of gunskill.
As they rode, Latimer looked around with interest. Stott had some good grass inside his fences. Several times he spotted small herds of cattle grazing on different sections of the range, and once he saw a pair of riders, but the two evidently thought Latimer and his captive were more prowler guards, for they headed away in a westerly direction towards the fence.
‘How much farther to the house?’ Latimer asked when he judged that they had covered several miles. ‘You’ll never live to see it,’ the man replied.
Before Latimer could ask why, a series of shots crackled. They were all well spaced, and obviously not aimed at anyone.
‘Is that a signal of some sort?’ he asked.
‘Yeah. What are you going to do about it?’
‘Keep going.’ Latimer eased his Winchester out of saddle leather. ‘Just remember. The first slug out of this rifle will split your spine. So don’t try anything stupid when we reach the house.’
They went on. Latimer skirted a clump of trees with wary eyes. He was alert now for other guards, because they were nearing Stott’s house. He saw smoke climbing lazily into the clear sky, and grunted his satisfaction. Shortly, the trail inclined sharply, and, breasting the slope, Latimer reined in and studied the vista which unfolded abruptly before him.
The trail declined tortuously into a great natural basin. In the middle distance, occupying a square of high ground, stood a large, well built house, white and gleaming in the sunlight. Trees had been planted around the building to trap shade. Well to the left were smaller buildings, barns and corrals, and what looked like sleeping quarters for the cowboys and gunmen. In the foreground was a small stream, sparkling and gurgling, with a wooden bridge carrying the trail over the obstacle. To the right the stream had been widened to form a pool, in which several figures were bathing.
Latimer studied the house, noting the huge pillars of white stone that held an impressive arch over the big front door. What a place to call home! Kenton Stott must be worth a fortune. What, he wondered, compelled a man to go on grasping for power and wealth when he had more than sufficient already? Hatred for Stott was born from that moment.
Stott was obviously a bad man from choice, and because he was rich there was no price on his head. He could do things with impunity that lesser men would hang for. Latimer thought of his own past, of the little things he had done which had increased the price on his head and made him worse than a hunted animal. His lip curled in a sneer of hatred and envy.
‘I’ll bring you down, Stott.’ he promised. ‘You’ll eat dust before I’m through.’
Movement attracted his glinting eyes. A party of riders was coming towards him from the corral. He counted seven of them and his lips thinned.
‘You’re in trouble now, Mister Deputy,’ his prisoner snarled. ‘They’re coming because they didn’t hear an answer to the signal fired by the guard in the big tree on that ridge.’
‘Well that makes two of us in trouble,’ Latimer retorted. ‘If you as much as breathe any faster I’ll ventilate you. Sit your horse and stay quiet.’
Latimer watched the riders approach. He held his rifle across his saddle, keeping his muzzle lined upon the newcomers. His prisoner sat his horse four yards away on Latimer’s left. The riders drew in, recognizing Latimer’s captive as one of their members. But they didn’t know Latimer. Their faces showed suspicion, and Latimer noted with satisfaction that none of them held a gun. They reined in with dust rising, a few feet in front of Latimer.
‘You run out of cartridges?’ demanded the foremost of the gunmen. ‘You been on the payroll long enough to know you’ve got to reply to the signal. We’ve had this ride out for nothing.’
‘You must be blind!’ retorted Latimer’s captive. ‘Can’t you see that my holsters are empty? Have you missed the law badge this jasper is wearing?’ The man spoke in disgust. ‘He’s got his rifle lined up on you, and none of you has a gun in his hand. Colley Rand will be pleased to hear about this.’
‘How did he get past you at the gate?’ one of the gunmen demanded.
‘He plugged Condors from an even break, and sent him back to town under arrest. He’s on his way now to see the Boss with a Court Order for something or other.’
‘That’s right,’ sai
d Latimer. ‘Anyone got any objections?’
They sat looking at him with surprise on their faces. One or two of them had their hands resting on gun butts, and Latimer knew the situation was fraught with peril. One wrong move could set all these men reaching for weapons, and that meant he would surely die, even if he got half of these grim-faced gunhawks before they started shooting.
‘You fit the description of a man who killed six of our men yesterday,’ one of the gunmen said.
‘I’ve been told I look like Santa Claus, but that don’t prove anything. I’m a deputy sheriff on legal duty so you’d do well to keep out of my path and keep your hands off your guns. I’m likely to act a little nervous with so many ugly faces crowding me, and nervousness always sends a twitch through my trigger finger.’
‘There ain’t no law on Stott range,’ snarled one of the gunmen.
‘I’ve heard that before today.’ Latimer chuckled. ‘But I’m here on KS range, and I’m a lawman. That proves there is law on the range, and you’ve got it whether you like it or not. Anyone of you obstruction me, that means just stepping in front of me, is liable to be arrested, or worse. I’m on my way in to see Kenton Stott.’
‘What for?’
‘That’s none of your damn business.’
‘We’ve been told to stop everyone approaching the house.’
‘Well I’m different. Anyway, you’ve stopped me. Now get out of my way. I’ve got business with your boss.’
There was a long silence. The riders sat watching Latimer, noting his steady blue eyes and unwavering rifle barrel, and to each man it seemed that the black muzzle was gaping directly at him. In the silence the click of Latimer’s hammer being cocked sounded ominous.
‘You’re obstructing,’ Latimer warned. He pointed the rifle at the nearest rider. ‘Move off the trail, mister. In five seconds I start shooting.’
The man in question looked quickly at his pards, but none spoke; no one was prepared to take a bullet from this hard-eyed deputy sheriff who showed no emotion in facing them down. A crack from Latimer’s rifle smacked the silence and a bullet plucked at the nearest rider’s hat, whipping it off the man’s head and thrusting it into the face of the man behind. Horses pranced and moved restlessly. Latimer reloaded before anyone could move.
‘The next one will be three inches lower,’ he said calmly. ‘When I say move, I mean it. Clear the trail. Get on back to your bunkhouse before martial law is declared. Ride out, and move fast.’
The hatless rider was the first to move. He cursed as he swung his mount. The others followed silently, and not one of them turned to look at the solitary lawman. Latimer’s captive made as if to follow his companions, but Latimer pulled him back.
‘Not you. You’re under arrest for obstructing. You’re going back to town with me to spend the night in jail. Now ride on and go slow. Ride to the house.’ Latimer fell in behind his prisoner. They rode slowly over the last mile to the big house. Something like elation flowed through Buffalo Spring’s latest deputy. He could still handle men, he thought. But he knew that Kenton Stott would prove to be a different matter. The cold menace of a gun wouldn’t take Latimer very far with Stott. Latimer guessed that from what he had heard about the man. But there was a way in which Stott could be handled, and Latimer knew of it. Already a glimmer of an idea was showing in Latimer’s brain. He was just the man to carry it through, too. He had no conscience when it came to fighting. Any method was fair if it produced results. He kept a wary eye on the riders jogging slowly back to their bunkhouse. He sneered at their backs. Low killers! They didn’t have an ounce of sand between them when they faced a cold-nerved man.
As Latimer neared the deeply shadowed porch of the great house, his eyes flickered over the building, taking in every sumptuous detail. A man, he thought remotely, living in such comfort, would surely be a weak man. He heard that Stott could not sit a horse because he was too heavy, so he wouldn’t be a saddle-hardened rancher. Latimer reined in at a hitch rail. He turned to his prisoner.
‘You can get down. Stay here by the horses. If you try to get away I’ll shoot you. That’s a warning.’ Latimer dismounted stiffly and looked across at the seven riders he had bested. They were standing around watching the house, hoping, he guessed that Colley Rand would be able to take him down a peg, but he doubted that. Colley Rand was very fast with a gun, Latimer remembered. He had seen this soft-voiced gunman in action. But Latimer, knowing they were closely matched for speed, believed he had the edge on Rand.
They had been fairly good pards in the old days, and Rand the man was good. Rand the gunman was an enigma. He wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. When Rand fought, he did it to rules. He would not take an advantage if it was unfair. There had been a lot of gentleness in Colley Rand in the old days.
Latimer stepped on to the porch. He paused and looked round. There was an air of peacefulness in the basin, but it was a false atmosphere, he thought. There was a stiffness in the attitudes in the watching gunmen, a tension in Latimer’s captive, who stood by the horses, kicking his feet in the dust and not knowing what to do with his hands. Latimer shook his head slowly. It beat him why a man of ability, as Stott certainly was, should waste his time fighting and grabbing when there was so much honest work to be done. He grinned at that. Who was he to mention honest toil?
He turned to the door of the house, which stood open, and hammered upon it with his fist. He looked inside and saw a highly polished wooden floor covered here and there with thick carpets. He had a glimpse of a richly ornate chandelier hanging above the foot of a broad sweep of dark wood stairs leading to the upper rooms of the house.
He repeated his knock and waited. Presently he heard foot-steps somewhere deep in the house. He waited, whistling soundlessly through his clenched teeth. A young girl wearing a light blue dress came forward. She paused near the stairs and looked at him, then turned her back and ascended the stairs. Latimer pulled a face. If that was a sample of Stott hospitality then this would not be a very pleasant visit. He knocked again.
A man dressed in a store suit appeared. He was tall and white-faced, looking as if he had never been out in the sun. The coat of his suit was unbuttoned, and Latimer could see the butt of a Colt sticking out of the waistband of the man’s trousers. Latimer stared critically. This was the notorious Colley Rand, looking just about the same as Latimer remembered him from ten years back.
‘Link Latimer,’ Colley Rand ejaculated in his quiet voice. ‘What are you doing in this neck of the woods? You haven’t changed much in the last ten years. Still on the run?’
‘Howdy, Colley? You ain’t changed much neither. I heard tell a while back that some kid had beaten you to the draw and you’d cashed in. No truth to that though, I can see.’
Rand spread his hands. His keen eyes travelled over Latimer, taking in every detail of the very tall, dusty, ominous looking caller. He pointed a finger at the star Latimer was toting.
‘Is that some kind of a joke?’
‘No. I took the job this morning. I want to see Stott. It’s law business.’
‘Make a change for you.’ Rand laughed softly. ‘I heard yesterday that we lost a few riders to some gun wizard. From the description I was given, I figured it might be you handing it out. I told my boys to lay off you. Did you have any trouble getting through the gate?’
‘Nothing I couldn’t handle. I sent one of your riders back to town under arrest for obstructing me. The fool tried to draw on me. The other galoot over there by the horse is the other of the two guards. He’s going back with me. What’s the matter, Colley? Can’t you control your gunnies?’
‘They’re a little wild, Link. But that’s how they should be. We’ve had a rough time of it lately. People aren’t honest like they were a few years ago.’
‘You don’t look as if you do much riding.’
‘No. I have other duties. As I’m number one gun in this outfit I have the unenviable job of guarding Stott’s daughter Glory.’
‘Un
enviable?’ Latimer smiled. ‘I take it she was the filly wearing the blue dress who just went up those stairs. I don’t see where you’ve got any cause for complaint, Colley.’
‘You know women,’ Rand replied.
‘Now where do I see Stott? I can’t afford to waste any time. I’ve got a long ride back to town, and I want to be clear of Stott range before sundown.’
‘Come on in and I’ll take you to Stott. I’ve told him all about you, guessing it was you who did the shooting yesterday. He’ll offer you a job for sure. We can always use another fast gun on this range.’
‘I’ve got a job, Colley, and it suits me.’
Latimer looked around carefully as he followed the gunman into the house. He was wary of a trap. He would not let Rand’s apparent friendliness throw him. He guessed he was really up against it. But it did not matter. If he had walked into trouble, he could always fight his way out.
FOUR
Rand led the way into the house, opened a door and ushered Latimer into a large study. A wall lined with books caught Latimer’s eye, and he immediately realized that Stott was different from the other land-grabbing, murdering ranchers he had come across. His attention was attracted to the grossly fat man sitting behind the large leathertop desk. Latimer stood and stared at Kenton Stott. The rancher was huge, big boned as well as fleshy. His moon face was wrinkled and lined, baggy with little rolls of fat. His massive neck bulged over his collar, and to Latimer it looked as if Stott was choking to death. The rancher’s face was bloated and mottled, purple, red and pasty white around the mouth. There was something peculiar about Stott’s cow face, and it was several seconds before Latimer spotted it. Stott had no eyebrows or eyelashes, and the light coloured hair on his wide skull was sparse and patchy.
‘This is Link Latimer,’ Rand said.
‘He’s wearing a law badge.’ Stott spoke in a deep voice that growled and rumbled in his barrel chest. ‘I thought you said he was an outlaw.’
‘Ask him yourself.’ Rand smiled and spread his hands.