She cried scornfully, "Your place of business is where that gun is. You're a gunman and a killer. I don't think you know one end of a camera from the other. It's nothing but a trick to cover your real purpose in coming here!"
He said, "Since I haven't the slightest intention of leaving town at his command, your father will presumably order me killed tomorrow evening. I was merely attempting to forestall him by killing him this morning while I had him under my gun. Why should I wait until the advantage is all on his side?" He drew a long breath. "I knew a man like your father once, Miss Justice. He also thought the sun rose and set at his command. He was a senator in Washington, and my father-in-law. I had to put up with him, for a while, at least. I don't have to put up with your father, and his orders and ultimatums, and I will not do it!"
Janet Justice started to speak; then she looked around quickly, and there was a stir among the Flying V crew. The two men who had dismounted to kneel by the body of Pete Hankey rose to their feet, as a rider came into sight at the end of the street. He was using his quirt ruthlessly to keep his lathered horse at a run. The Flying V hands made an open lane so that he could reach Dan Justice, who frowned at the sight of him.
"What the hell are you doing here, Crothers? You had orders to stay with the herd at the Meadows."
The man called Crothers drew a rough breath, and said, "You ain't got a herd at the Meadows any longer, Mr. Justice!" There was a sudden silence. The man's voice went on: "They hit us right after midnight, like they knowed you'd taken the hands to town and there was only the two of us. Rance Whittacker's back there with a busted leg; his horse went down in the mixup. I saw him safe, and came here to let you know."
"Damn it, man," Dan Justice said angrily, "why waste your time coming here? You could have been on the trail two hours already! Now it'll be noon before we can start tracking—"
The man licked his lips. "You'll have no trouble tracking them this time, Mr. Justice. Or finding them either."
"What do you mean?"
"They didn't try to get away with the herd this time, They just stampeded it over the bluff. Every last damn steer."
Burdick heard Janet justice gasp. There was a gray look on Dan Justice's face. To the left, Cal Bascom laughed softly. "Looks like you spent your night in the wrong place, Mr. Justice."
The whitehaired rancher stiffened in the saddle. Angry color swept away the grayness, and the Flying V owner reached for the pistol he had put away. He checked the motion abruptly, as a shot sounded from across the street, behind him. The bullet kicked up dust at his horse's feet. Dan Justice looked slowly around, his hand still poised over the butt of his revolver.
On the roof of a building across the street, the head of a man and the barrel of a rifle showed above the parapet that was characteristic of this adobe architecture.
"Jack Price here," the man called. "Stuart and Primrose are around, if you look for 'em. Start anything, and we'll cut you and your crew to pieces, Dan. Just ride out while you're still healthy."
Dan Justice swept the roofs of the neighboring buildings with his glance. There was no difficulty in locating two other riflemen against the morning sky.
After a moment, Dan Justice said in a slow and grating voice, "Very well. It's your play—for the moment. Just give me time to see to my daughter—"
Janet Justice leaned down and snatched the reins from Burdick's hand. "I'm all right," she said quickly. "I'm all right, Dad! It's only a scratch; we can look at it on the road."
17
Lou Grace hooked the coffeepot off the fire with a green willow fork, filled a tin cup with the steaming liquid, and held it out, grinning.
"Hankey?" he said to the smaller man before him. "You want a thousand dollars for Hankey? Why, that big wind wasn't worth that many cents, not the best day he ever lived. None of those barroom bullyboys can stand up to lead, and if they could, they've busted their knuckles on so many hard heads it takes them all day to grab hold of a gun. I never had a moment's worry about Pete Hankey. Mort, now, that's a different matter." He glanced aside. "Feeling better, Joaquin?"
At the other side of the fire, a slender, darkfaced man of middle age looked up and shook his head. He extended both hands, palm up, in a graceful and dramatic gesture, and said, "I grieve, Señior. All those beautiful cattle, murdered with these hands. I am no longer Martinez, the rustler. I am Martinez, the butcher."
"It's war, Joaquin."
"I fight men, amigo. I do not fight cows. Never again. I will hear them crying in my sleep."
Among the group of riders seated behind him, a man laughed. Martinez wheeled sharply and the laughter died. Martinez stared darkly at his men, strode into the group, snatched up a bottle, and walked away toward the river, disappearing among the trees of the bosque, a lean figure in clothing a little more ornate and elegant than was customary in this country.
Lou Grace shook his head ruefully, and turned his attention back to Cal Bascom, who was sipping his coffee in silence. "Be reasonable, Cal," he said. "I'm not in this alone, you know. My partners would never agree to paying you for taking care of Hankey. It solves none of our problems."
Bascom said gently, without looking up, "The deal was a thousand for the foreman of Flying V. He's dead." Grace shook his head again. His voice was equally .gentle when he spoke. "You're trying to run a bluff, Cal, It won't do. The deal was Jack Mort, as long as he stood in our way. You say he's quit?"
"That's what Hankey said."
"It's a break. And this shotgun-packing tenderfoot is another break."
"I'm happy for you, friend," Bascom said. "You get enough breaks, maybe you can save yourself a thousand dollars and let Cal Bascom have his trouble for his pains. Is that how you're figuring now?" The man's muddy brown eyes were narrow and watchful. "I should have known better than to take the job. One big man with gun work to do and the money to pay for it, okay. Four or five scared little men choking down their scruples and scraping up their pennies . . . I should have known it was no place for Cal Bascom. I've seen it work before. These small fellows with big consciences and little pocketbooks, they'll doublecross a man like me without a second thought, and feel righteous as hell while doing it!"
Grace said, "Nobody's doublecrossing anybody. On the other hand, nobody's paying any thousand for Pete Hankey either. You're tough, but you're not tough enough to make that stick."
"No?"
"No." Grace chuckled, facing the smaller man in a relaxed way. "Don't make a mistake, Cal, Joaquin Martinez is in the brush thirty yards behind you. Don't count on him weeping so hard for those cattle he can't see to shoot."
Bascom did not move. "So that's the way it is."
Grace shook his head. "Just a precaution. Eleven years ago I made a promise on my father's body: that I'd see his murderer broken and dead. I'm well on my way to keeping that promise; and I'm letting nothing interfere with finishing the job. I don't say you're the better man with a gun, and I don't say I am; I just say we're not going to settle the question today. When all this is finished, if you can't bear to ride away without knowing, I'll be glad to oblige you. Right now, Martinez will cut your spine in two if you make a bad move."
"I'm sorry for you, friend." Bascom's voice was very soft. "Nobody backs out of a deal with Cal Bascom. Tell the greaser to shoot. It's the only way you'll keep on living."
Grace laughed. "Don't rush your funeral. Let's talk some sense. You're just trying to see how much you can get away with. Now, if you still want to earn that thousand ..."
Bascom said harshly, "What thousand? After seeing your ranch, I made kind of a point of looking over the spreads of your three partners—hardluck outfits, all of them! If the four of you ever had a thousand pesos cash between you all at one time, I'll eat it in silver. I think the two hundred you paid me in Taos was all you could scratch together; and I think you always meant to wind up the deal like this, with lead in the back. . ."
"Easy, Cal, easy," Grace said. "Don't work yourself into a lather about s
omething you know nothing about."
"I know I'm standing here with a gun in my back and two hundred dirty little dollars in my pocket. That's what I know. The rest is just talk and I was a fool to listen to it. Well, they'll laugh to hear how Cal Bascom went down, tricked by a bunch of little hardscrabble ranchers, but you won't be laughing, friend. The greaser don't live can shoot straight and fast enough to keep me from finishing you before I fall—"
His voice had risen only slightly; but it was enough to signal raging fury, in this soft-spoken man. Grace said quickly, "There's another partner. One you haven't met who's putting up half the money. Price, Primrose, Stuart and I are putting up the other half."
"Who is he?"
"The hell with you," Grace said. A movement on the far riverbank, just visible through the trees, caught his eye. He frowned in thought; then grinned quickly and said, "I didn't say it was a man, Cal. Now get out of sight and stay there—and for the love of God, calm down! We'll call the two hundred you've already got fair pay for Hankey. If you still want a crack at the rest, I'll show you how to earn it—"
"Señior Grace!" A man hurried up. "A rider comes over the woman with red hair!"
Grace looked at Bascom for a moment longer; then he turned away, deliberately putting his back to the smaller man, and walked to the edge of the little clearing. When he glanced over his shoulder, Bascom had disappeared. Then a slim figure on horseback approached through the trees before him. The girl slipped from the saddle into his arms, but drew back before he could kiss her, looked searchingly up into his face, and threw a quick and fearful glance around.
"You shouldn't be here!" she said breathlessly. "If I can find you, so can Dad; and he's given orders that any body who sees you is to shoot to kill! Oh, Lou, did you have to—"
"You know I had to, Sally," Grace said.
"I don't know anything about it," Sally Justice said, holding him tightly. "All I know is that I love you and couldn't bear to have you hurt. You've got to get out of here."
Grace laughed. "Perhaps your dad isn't quite as smart as you are—not smart enough to look for us down here along the river, right under his nose. So he's given up trying to catch me legally, and it's to be lynch law now? I reckon he figures what's good enough for the father is good enough for the son. Well, I've waited a long time for him to drop the pretense of being a law-abiding citizen; he only uses it when it suits his fancy, anyway. Now we're all outside the law together." He glanced at her. "What's this I hear about Jack Mort?"
"Mort's quit, or been fired, depending upon who tells the story."
"Why?"
She moved her shoulders in a disinterested way. "Dad thinks he's scared of this fellow with the shotgun."
"It doesn't sound like Mort. Are you sure it's not a trick?"
"I don't think so."
"Where's your dad looking for us now?" "He's got crews out all over. . . . Stop pumping me for information, Lou, or I'll begin to think—"
"Think what?" he asked when she paused.
"That you .. . pretend to like me only for what I can tell you."
He laughed, kissed her lightly, and led her away from the camp. "Don't be a fool, Sally," he said as they walked, his arm about her, "you know better than that."
"Do I?" she asked. "What about Laura Nelson? . . . Yes, yes, I know you've told me you're just nice to her be cause you need her cooperation. But what do you tell her about your reasons for ... for being nice to me?"
He laughed tolerantly. "Why, you're jealous!"
"That's jealousy, to be sure," she admitted frankly.
"But all day, since I heard what you'd done, I've been thinking about you and the way you hate... Any man who'd pile up a whole herd of fine cattle at the foot of a cliff just to hurt another man ... He hasn't many scruples, has he, Lou? Even about women?"
He released her and turned to face her. "Well," he said slowly, "if that's the way you feel, Sally ..."
They looked at each other for a long moment; then the girl's breath caught in a sob, and she returned to his arms, pressing her face against his shoulder.
"I'm sorry!" she gasped. "I'm sorry; I don't know what I'm saying or doing..."
After she had ridden away and some time later, a man emerged cautiously from the brush along the riverbank and made his way upstream for half a mile before exposing himself by making the crossing. He proceeded to a horse tied in a clump of trees; mounted, and rode directly to the Flying V ranch house, but waited there just over the ridge until Sally Justice had put her horse away and gone inside. Then he rode up to the kitchen door and spoke to the stout Mexican woman inside. She disappeared. Presently Janet Justice came to the door. She looked surprised when she saw the face of the waiting rider.
"Why, Jack," she said, "I thought you'd be far away by this time. Have you seen Dad? He's up beyond the Meadows somewhere, if you want to—"
Jack Mort shook his head. "A man don't have to fire me more than once, Miss Justice."
"Then why have you come back?"
"There was something I wanted to check on before I left," Mort said. "There's been some funny things going on here, and I had a hunch ..." He stopped, and went on in a different tone, looking down at her steadily, "I never had much of a family; my kind seldom does. Watching you kids grow up has been a pleasure, Miss Justice, these last years—anyway, you grew up. The other two have got a ways to go yet. I should be speaking to your mother, but we both know, with all due respect, that it would do no good...."
"What are you trying to say, Jack?"
"You can't do nothing with Tom," Mort said. "He's a boy and he'll have to find his own way to manhood, if he can. All you can do is wait and hope he makes it. I've put in some hard work on the lad; maybe it'll pay off eventually. But Miss Sally, now, she's a girl like yourself, and right now she's in need of help, real bad. That's what I came here to tell you. Keep your eye on her, Miss Justice; stay near her; and if she wants to talk, you listen. Listen real careful. Maybe there's nothing you can do for her, either —sometimes it seems there's not much any of us can do for each other, or for ourselves, for that matter—but you might get a chance and it might just make the difference. You never know."
He lifted his hat politely, and gathered up the reins to ride away.
"Where are you going now?" Janet asked.
The darkfaced man laughed shortly. "Who knows, Miss Justice? I have one more thing to take care of in Santa Clara; a man like me never likes to leave unfinished business behind him. After that ..."
He shrugged his narrow shoulders, wheeled his horse, and rode off to the south.
18
The following morning, there was a knock on the kitchen door while Burdick was preparing breakfast. Opening the door, he found a small, ragged, barefoot boy with a dark and dirty face and very bright brown eyes. "Many riders come into town, Señior," the boy said. "Adolfo said to warn you."
Burdick nodded, found a coin and passed it over and, as the boy ran off, checked the loading of the shotgun. It occurred to him that he was getting a little tired of this constant vigilance and seven pounds of shotgun got to be a nuisance after a while. He walked to the front door of the gallery, and leaned in the opening with the Purdey over his arm. It was broad daylight and he was not in a mood for subtle maneuvers—besides, Dan Justice had given him until evening to leave town, and would probably stand by his word, since to do so seemed to be the fashion of the country.
He saw the first four riders swing into the end of the street and recognized them immediately: Dan Justice and his three children, riding abreast. Behind them, taking their dust, came the Flying V crew. They passed the gallery at an easy pace. Tom Justice's face carried a few visible bruises and abrasions, Burdick noted, The boy must have received orders to stay out of trouble; he did not even glance aside. Neither did his father.
The two girls rode side by side. The older one managed her horse righthanded, and favored her left arm slightly.
Directly opposite Burdick, she turned he
r head to give him a grave and deliberate look: her glance rested briefly on the shotgun over his arm. Then she was past, and the whole cavalcade was turning the corner onto the plaza, leaving dust in the air behind them.
"A brave show," a voice said. Burdick looked aside to see the stout shape of the town marshal leaning against the corner of the building in a casual manner. "A brave show," Floyd Greer said, "for a man on his way to beg for money."
"You think that's why Mr. Justice is in town?" Burdick asked.
"Why else? His herds have shown no increase for several years; instead they melt away. Now this loss ..." Greer shrugged his heavy shoulders. "Did you ever see coyotes bring down an old buffalo bull? It is not a pleasant sight. But then, coyotes must live and eat, too, I suppose." The marshal frowned. "Jack Mort is in town, to, They tell me he had a disagreement with Dan Justice and quit. I have even heard it said, Mr. Burdick, that the disagreement concerned you."
"I hadn't heard that," Burdick said.
"Those oldtime gunfighters have a twisted pride, Mr. Burdick," Marshal Greer said. "They do not think like other men. I have known one to ride a thousand miles out of his way to look up a hombre who was doing him no harm—just to find the answer to a question that existed only in his own dark mind. Well, it has been a pleasure meeting you again, Mr. Burdick. Good day, sir."
He crossed the street and. disappeared onto the plaza. Burdick looked after him, shrugged, and went into the operating room. The skylight was repaired now, and the woman scrubbing the floor had almost finished. Burdick went into the darkcloset, lit the lamp, and began to arrange his chemicals and equipment in this windowless place. Fortunately, the thick dirt roof and the heavy mud walls kept it reasonably cool, in spite of the sunshine out. side.
He was still at work half an hour later, when the scrubbing woman, who had shifted her activities to the reception room, came to the open door of the closet.
"Yes?" he said. "What is it?"
The woman gestured toward the front of the building and spoke rapidly in Spanish, illustrating her meaning with more gestures that were surprisingly graceful considering the fact that she could not have weighed much less than two hundred pounds. Then she laughed at his expression. "Two," she said. "Two señioritas. They wait." She pointed.
The Two-Shoot Gun Page 10