Carol said, "Well, I'm surprised that you'd even speak to the man, after what he did to Tom.. Of course, it's nothing to me, you understand."
"No," Janet said, "of course not."
There was a little silence; then Carol Wellesley said in a tragic voice, "I'm just so miserable I could die! Janet, what am I going to do?"
Janet said, "Why, I presume you're going to make up your mind before next week, one way or the other, Carol. Don't ask me for advice. Tom's my brother, and while I admit he's far from perfect, still I'm rather fond of him, in a sisterly way."
Carol squared her small shoulders; and there was hardness in her voice when she spoke: "Well, my mind's made up," she said defiantly. "I've promised to marry Henry and I'll do it!"
"Fine," Janet said. "That settles that. I wonder what Sally's up to, going to Romero's. That man's had no use for Flying V since Dad ran some of his relatives off our land for stealing.... Here comes Dad now."
She started for the front door, as the street gate opened and Dan Justice's voice called, "Janet! Sally! Tom!"
The voice was sharp and commanding, and, Janet hurried out, to meet her father coming across the little front patio.
"What is it, Dad?" she asked.
He looked at her in a strange and unseeing way. "Get your brother and sister, miss. We're riding.
"But—"
Carol Wellesley said, "Aren't you staying for lunch, Uncle Dan?"
Dan Justice wheeled to look at the small, dark girl in the doorway. He said, "With all due respect, girl, I wouldn't eat at your dad's table if there was no other food in New Mexico Territory! You can tell him that from me!"
Janet, shocked, cried, "Dad!"
Her father swung back to look at her. "Howard Wellesley refused me the loan, Princess. Not only that, but—"
Carol stepped forward and said indignantly, "Well, that's certainly no excuse for speaking like. . . . I'm sure whatever Father did, it was for good business reasons!"
Dan Justice smiled crookedly. "You Wellesleys are real fond of good business reasons. You even get married for good business reasons, don't you, girl?" Carol flushed. Dan Justice said, looking down at her, "You also give aid and support to thieves and rustlers, don't you? All for good business reasons! I've wondered a little at your dad's generosity these last years while Flying V was losing money from organized depredations that many people claimed existed only in my own mind. But Howard Wellesley's bank was always glad to extend more credit, for friendship's sake. Friendship! What does a cold, calculating fish like that know about friendship! No more than you know about love, girl! What he knows is that he'd like to get his hands on my ranch and that I'd never sell in a million years. I should have known better than to trust ... He's had his partners out in the brush rustle us poor. Now that Flying V is in his hands completely, he's calling in all his notes. I have two weeks to pay, and he knows quite well I can't do it."
Carol Wellesley drew herself up. "Father's first responsibility is to the bank," she said coldly. "I'm sure he hated having to refuse you, and I know how you must feel, but it's no reason to accuse him of deliberately—"
"Don't talk until you know what you're talking about," Dan Justice said curtly. "Your dad was afraid how I would take it, when he sprung his little trap on me. So he had a man there in the bank to protect him, waiting in the next room. And who was the man? Why, it was the fellow who killed Pete Hankey yesterday morning, Cal Bascom, a gunman recently from Taos—I've been doing a little checking—who's been living up at Lou Grace's place this past week! My information is that the ranchers of the south end of the valley put up the money to send Grace to Taos to hire this man, but from the way your dad ordered the fellow around, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if some of his money—or the bank's—had helped to sweeten the kitty. If that doesn't tie your dad in with Grace and Price and that pack of thieves, girl, what does?"
Carol licked her lips. "I don't believe for a minute what happened? Is Father all right?"
"Yes, he's all right," Dan Justice said. "Oh, he'd have liked for me to tackle his hired killer; I could see it in his eyes—he'd be relieved to see me dead, now. With good reason: he knows damn well his little bits of paper will never get him Flying V while I'm alive. He'll pull none of his moneygrubbing banker's tricks with my range! Any way, I wasn't wearing my gun, as you can see. I didn't think it was necessary, making a business call on a friend. But I'll wear it in the future; and you can just tell your dad he'd better keep either his gun or his gunfighter real handy, because he's going to need them. .. . Come on, miss, let's go."
Janet looked at Carol Wellesley with some regret. This was the last friend she had here in town. One after another, the girls she had known as a child had drifted away into the kind of hostile neutrality encouraged by their families, who wanted no part of the local conflict. Now the small girl in the doorway looked at Janet briefly, with cold eyes, and turned away. Janet sighed and followed her father into the street.
As the gate in the adobe wall closed behind them, her brother came riding up and swung out of the saddle.
"Well," Dan Justice said, "did you find him? With this fellow Bascom around, we can sure use him."
Tom said, in a flat voice, "I found him, sir."
"What did he say? Did he accept my apology? Is he coming back to Flying V?"
"Why," Tom said evenly, "Jack Mort isn't saying much these days. Not with a load of buckshot in the chest, he isn't. He went looking for the dude, and the dude gunned him down." The boy frowned. "I reckon owe old Jack an apology, too, and maybe a little more. Anyway, it's about time something was done about that fellow." He took his pistol from the holster and spun the cylinder to check the loads.
Janet, shocked by the news, nevertheless looked toward her father in quick protest. "Dad, I don't think this is any time for Tom to go looking for trouble!"
Her brother looked at her angrily, but Dan Justice said, "That's right. Never mind Burdick right now, Tom. I want you at the ranch." He glanced around impatiently.
"Where's Sally?"
'"Here she comes now," Janet said.
"Tom, get the crew together. Let's go!"
21
As Burdick walked along the plaza toward the hotel, he was greeted by young Henry Flack, standing in the door way of his father's store.
"Good evening, Mr. Burdick. I've something here to show you, if you have the time." Without waiting for a reply, Flack stepped back into the store and came out a moment later with a shotgun in his hands. "I've got the old Greener all cleaned up and loaded," he said proudly. "When the time comes to wipe out that whole arrogant crew, I'll be ready. Just you say the word, Mr. Burdick; and we'll make this valley a peaceful place for decent people to live in, even if we have to do it with gun and rope!"
Burdick looked at the plain, heavy, businesslike weapon, and at the eager face of the young man holding it. Peace and decency had a noble sound, but he could not help remembering that this was the young man who was to marry Carol Wellesley, who had shown some interest in Tom Justice. It made his motives, Burdick reflected, slightly suspect. "It looks like a good, sound weapon," he said noncommittally, and moved on.
Laura Nelson came from behind the desk to meet him as he entered the hotel lobby. There was something in her face, as she looked at him, that had not been there before.
"Alex!" she cried, "I was so afraid for you when I heard Mort was looking for you—"
"I'm all right," he said.
She took the hand that was not carrying the Purdey, and said happily, "Well, I'll bet there are some long faces out at Flying V today."
Burdick said, "l was under the impression Mort was no longer working there."
"They were trying to get him back," she said. "Tom Justice was looking all over town for him, just before noon." She laughed. "Well, they can have him back now, for all the good he'll do them! And did you know the bank is calling in all of Dan Justice's loans? The old wolf will fight, but he's almost through! Ah, it's been a long t
ime, Alex, but you've brought us luck. I knew the minute I saw you—"
She pressed his hand between both of hers„ and her eyes were warmly approving, and more friendly than he had seen them. Without her customary cool reserve, she looked desirable and almost beautiful, but he could not help remembering that this change in her had been brought about by a man's violent death.
He said dryly, "You knew nothing of the kind, Laura. In fact, you flatly refused to sell me the gallery, the first time you saw me."
She laughed, and pressed his hand again, and let it go. "All right, I didn't know, but can you blame me for wanting to take the credit? It's like a dark shadow lifting from the whole valley—"
Burdick said, "Perhaps. But what will you people do with yourself when you no longer have Flying V to hate?" She looked at him, startled; then she laughed again. "Ah, you're feeling bitter this evening, aren't you? It's a natural reaction. Go in the bar and have a drink. Lou Grace is there; he wants to talk to you."
Burdick said, "I want to talk to him." He started to move away.
"Alex," she said.
He looked back. "Yes?"
"I'm a bloodthirsty vixen. That's what you're thinking, isn't it? A man is dead, and I'm gloating... Well, I am! I make no apologies for it. It's been a long fight, remember that. Ever since I was fifteen, I've dreamed of the time... Well, it's almost here, thanks partly to you; and believe me, I'm very grateful!"
He looked at her standing there tall and straight in one of her plain blue gingham dresses—it occurred to him that he had never seen her wear anything else. Perhaps there had been no occasion for her to dress more attractively in the short time he had known her; and it was quite possible, also, that she did not have the money to do so. Yet he had the feeling that her plain costume and severe manner were a form of penance. Once Dan Justice and his family were broken, and her revenge was complete, he sensed, this girl planned to bloom like a desert flower after a rain. On the whole, it seemed like an unhealthy idea.
He said, "No gratitude is necessary. I've been acting strictly in my own interest, Laura. Don't think anything else."
She smiled. "You're as prickly as a porcupine this evening, aren't you? Go have a drink; you need one."
As Burdick moved in the direction of the bar, the doors opened and a stout man came toward him. He recognized the heavy, blackmustached face of Marshal Greer.
"Evening, Mr. Burdick," the marshal said, stopping short before him, "I was just looking for you."
"To arrest me?" Burdick said. "I expected to see you earlier."
The marshal shook his head. "The way I figure it, fellows like Mort are way overdue, and there's no sense harassing the honest citizen who manages to get the better of one. No, I just wanted a little talk with you." Greer pursed his lips and blew gently through his mustache. He said, "A man in my position leads a lazy life at times, wasting the taxpayer's money, it seems like. And then there's times when there ain't enough money in the world to make up for what a law-officer has to carry on his mind, and he wonders why the hell he didn't buy himself a little ranch somewhere with nothing but cows to worry about." He looked at Burdick thoughtfully. "Looks like I'm going to be needing a deputy, son. I see more trouble ahead than one man can handle. There's a badge over at the jail. I'd like to take you over there right now and pin it on you, but you'd be a fool to let me."
Brudick frowned, surprised. "I know nothing about law enforcement."
"You can shoot that pretty piece." Greer said with a glance at the Purdey. "That's all that's required—that, and knowing when not to shoot it." He sighed lugubriously. "I'm a tired, fat old man with a job too big for me, son, and there's no one else I can ask for help, that's a fact. You're just about the only man around here who can be considered neutral."
"I doubt you'll find many people who'll agree to that," Burdick said.
"I'm the law here," the marshal said evenly. "It's a lonely job, and you don't run it by taking votes on what a lot of idiots think. I see you as a man still trying to make up his mind which way to jump. I want to save you the trouble. I'm offering you a place right smack in the, middle where both sides can shoot at you. Save you a lot of heavy thinking, Mr. Burdick."
Burdick laughed. "I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Marshal, but—"
"Now, I could ask Dutchy Deckerhoff," the marshal said, "but J know he'd be too smart to let anybody pin a badge on him in the middle of a neighborhood feud like this. I'm hoping you'll be dumb enough to accept, as a favor to a doddering old fool who's outlived his usefulness. If you don't give me a hand, son, people are apt to catch on to me, and I'll lose my job. You wouldn't want me to have to go back to work after all these years."
Burdick grinned. "My personal opinion, Marshal, is that you're just about as foolish as a fox. What's the real reason you want to make a deputy of me?"
Floyd Greer sighed. "All right," he said. "Young Tom Justice rode back into town half an hour ago. He was asking for you down the street, which is why I thought I'd better look you up."
Burdick was silent for a little while. "I see," he said. "Did the boy happen to mention what he wanted with me?"
The marshal shrugged his meaty shoulders. "No, but I reckon I could hazard a guess. He's a hothead like his pa, and it was Jack Mort who taught him most of what he knows about riding and shooting—he was right fond of Jack Mort. And he already owed you a little on account. I don't reckon we have to ask what he wants with you, Mr. Burdick." After a moment, the stout man went on gently; "This is no Jack Mort, son. I felt no call to interfere in that, since you did not ask me to. But this is just a wild boy with a notion to prove his courage and his loyalty to a dead friend. "
Burdick hesitated. "What do you want me to do?"
"Why, take the badge I just offered you," Greer said. "As an officer of the law you can stand your ground and refuse to be badgered into a fight on personal grounds. That's why I made the suggestion. You don't really want to kill this young fellow, or you'd have shot him down in the Palace when you had the chance, And I don't want him killed, if only because that'll bring his dad into town looking for you, and a lot of men I know will jump in to give you a hand for their own reasons, and it's apt to make a pitched battle—"
Burdick said slowly, "Speak to the boy."
"And have him call me an interfering old bastard?" The marshal shook his head. "You're the only man who can stop this. And here's where you go one way or the other, son. I've been watching you. You came into my town with a chip on your shoulder and a twoshoot gun in your fists, wanting to try your luck for some reason I know nothing about. Well, you've tried it. You killed a man this after noon. Whatever you were wanting to prove, you've proved it. You know you can stand up to another fellow and fill him full of buckshot when the necessity arises. It's a useful thing to know, I don't deny it. But I'm guessing by the way you look tonight that Jack Mort was your first; and I'm asking you, son, where do you go from here? Nobody 'weeps for Jack Mort—he was a man who took the wrong road too long ago to change. but they'll weep for Tom Justice, if you kill him. I'm not asking you to run or hide. I'm just asking you to take the badge and send the kid home to bed. He already has reason to respect you; he'll go, if you put it to him right."
Burdick looked into the marshal's face for a period of seconds; then he shook his head abruptly. He said, "I'm going into the barroom to have a drink. Without a badge, Marshal. After that, I'll have my supper in the dining room. Without a badge. I'm looking for no one, and I'll fight with no one who leaves me alone, But I am not hiding behind a piece of tin, and I am not taking one step out of my way to avoid trouble, for my own sake or anybody else's. It's a promise I made to myself on a certain occasion. I used up all my generous and magnanimous impulses some time ago, Marshal; there are none left. If you want young Justice alive, make him behave himself. Don't use the weight of your office on me. I am causing no disturbance that's not forced upon me."
"You're making a mistake, Mr. Burdick."
"Perhaps.
But right now, I find that the memory of a man I did not kill is still considerably harder to live with than that of the man I did."
"So?" Greer shrugged. "Well, I suppose I could arrest you, but it would leave the problem unsolved. Of course, the boy's supposed to be pretty good with a gun. I don't know why I'm assuming that you'll be the one left standing when the smoke clears."
"You can hope I'm not, if it makes things more convenient for you."
"Why, son," the marshal said quietly, "I've never yet hoped for a man's death, and I don't reckon I'll start now." He nodded curtly, and walked away.
22
Lou Grace and Cal Bascom were at the bar when Burdick entered. They had the dusty look of men who had been riding, and the tense, cocked look of men expecting trouble. They relaxed when they recognized him. Grace gestured to the bartender who put a fresh glass on the bar. Grace filled it from the bottle at his elbow and pushed it toward Burdick. "On me," he said.
Burdick pushed the glass away. "Not yet," he said. "There are a few matters to be cleared up, Mr. Grace, be, fore I'll drink your liquor."
He noted that Bascom had suddenly stepped clear, his hand swinging free, but Grace merely laughed and pushed the glass back again. "Whatever I've done to offend you, Professor, I'm sorry," the blond man said. "Don't be hos tile, you can't afford it. You need us now, just like we need you."
Burdick said, "You've made sure I would need you, haven't you? Who started the rumor that I was a hired gunfighter from Taos?"
"How do rumors start?" Grace asked, smiling. "People put two and two together and make three or five. If they picked you as the man, instead of friend Bascom here, it was not my fault."
"You didn't do much to disabuse them of the idea."
"'Should I have? Could I have? If I'd announced publicly that I'd never seen you before met you on the road that day, who'd have believed me?" Grace chuckled. "Ah drink the whisky, Burdick. Perhaps I have used you a little, to draw attention away from Bascom, but as it turned out, we gained little by it. And I did my best, you'll admit, to see that you weren't hurt by it. Most of the trouble you've got is of your own making. don't blame me for it—"
The Two-Shoot Gun Page 12