"I'm sorry, Janet," he said, "I did what I could, but I'm sorry."
The girl nodded, but did not speak. The doctor turned toward Burdick and displayed his hands. Burdick poured water into a tin basin and produced soap and a towel. The doctor washed his hands in a methodical and practiced way, dried them, and held one out to Burdick.
"You'll be the new camera-artist," he said, as Burdick met his grip. "My name's Pardee. . . Well, I can do no more here." He glanced toward the seated girl. "See that she gets some rest."
Burdick asked, "Who did it?"
Dr. Pardee glanced at him reprovingly. "I make a habit of ignorance in these matters, Mr. Burdick," he said. "I'll patch them up if I can, but avenging them, either by word or deed, is not within the scope of medicine as I see it. Good day, sir."
He went out. A moment later, the four men who had carried Dan Justice into the gallery, and one more, presumably the man who had summoned the doctor, all filed into the kitchen, holding their hats in their hands. They were dusty and whiskery men, and they looked grim and angry, and at the same time embarrassed and uncomfortable. "Miss Justice," the oldest one said, "we got a wagon outside. We're taking him down the street to the undertaking parlor, unless ..."
"No," she said without looking up. "No, that's fine, Pat. Thank you."
"If there's anything else we can do, ma'am—"
"Where's my sister?"
"Why," the man called Pat said, "when she saw her dad was shot badly, she grabbed my Winchester and set off up that alley after the boys."
"Please find her and bring her here," Janet said, "and the rest of the crew as well."
"Yes, ma'am."
They filed out, leaving silence in the room. Presently Burdick said, "Your coffee's getting cold."
She picked up her cup, holding it with both hands, and drank slowly. When the cup was empty, she set it down carefully, and buried her face in her hands. Burdick stood looking down at her for a long moment, fighting a silent battle against the appeal her grief and helplessness made to him. He had not, he told himself irritably, traveled two thousand miles across the continent to become emotionally involved with another woman. Much better to have accepted the frankly commercial offer of the dark girl who had approached him outside, the evening before.
He picked up the empty cup, refilled it, and set it back on the table. He took down a skillet, produced bacon, and located some eggs he had bought from a Mexican woman who had come to the door the previous day. When the food was ready, he divided it between two plates and carried it to the table. The girl did not raise her head from her hands. Burdick sat down facing her. Presently she dropped her hands, looked at the plate before her, and at him. "I couldn't eat," she said.
He said, "You don't have to starve yourself to prove the depth of your sorrow, Miss Justice. I'm sure your father would be satisfied to have you mourn him on a full stomach."
She frowned. "Why are you angry?"
He asked, "Why did you have to come here?"
She said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ... I don't know," she whispered. "I just ... tried to think of someone... I remembered seeing your light. There wasn't anybody else..." Her eyes widened slightly as she looked at him across the table. "That's odd, isn't it? There wasn't anybody else..."
27
Sally Justice came into the room with a rush, carrying a short, businesslike carbine with as little care as if it had been a parasol. Her face was streaked with tears and she was sobbing. "Oh, Janet, Janet!" she gasped, running forward.
Burdick ducked the waving barrel of the carbine, as Janet rose to take her sister in her arms. He stepped for. ward, drew the weapon gingerly out of the younger girl's grasp, and set it safely in a corner.
"It's all my fault!" Sally whimpered, burying her face in Janet's shoulder so that the words were indistinct. "I've been a fool; a silly, treacherous fool—"
With someone else to think about, Janet had regained her, composure. She stroked her sister's bright hair and looked toward Burdick, silently requesting privacy.
"I'll be out front if you need me," Burdick said.
Janet said, "Tell Pat Crothers I'll see him in a minute."
Burdick went out of the kitchen, leaving the two girls together. At the front of the gallery, the whole Flying V crew seemed to be congregated in the street outside. The older man who had acted as spokesman earlier was waiting in the anteroom, looking out the open door. He turned quickly as Burdick. entered. "Where's Miss Justice?" he asked.
"She'll be along," Burdick said.
"She'd better be," Pat Crothers said. He was a lean weathered man with hair, eyebrows, and mustache bleached pale by the sun. Even his blue eyes seemed to have lost most of their pigment over the years. "She'd better be," he repeated, "if she expects to have a crew much longer. The boys are starting to do some thinking, now that she's called them off the manhunt. They're thinking about the old man dead, the boy in jail, the ranch mortgaged to the hilt, and the valley hating their guts. And three women to work for—"
"Tom Justice in jail?" Burdick said, surprised. "What for?"
Crothers glanced at him sharply. "Why, where have you been all this night, Mr. Burdick?"
"In bed asleep, like a respectable citizen."
"Well, this town seems to be getting mighty short of respectable, sleeping citizens. That fool boy's gone and stirred up a real hornet's nest this time, for a fact—"
He broke off and looked around as a wave of movement passed through the group outside the door. A girl's voice cried pleadingly, "Oh, please! Please let me through! I have to—"
Then she was in the doorway. Burdick recognized Carol Wellesley, whose picture he had taken the previous day—but then she had been a poised and fashionable young lady, very different in appearance from this bareheaded and breathless girl.
"Where's Janet?" she demanded of Pat Crothers. "Where's Miss Justice? We've got to—" She saw Burdick, and turned to him quickly. "You can't let them do it, Mr. Burdick! You tried to help Tom last night, the marshal told me; you can't just stand by now and let them.... They're going to take him out of jail and hang him!"
Crothers, behind her, asked, "Who is, Miss Wellesley?" She did not turn her head. Still looking at Burdick, she hesitated; and a little more color crept into her cheeks. "My my father's one of them," she admitted reluctantly. "They were talking at our house ... I couldn't sleep last night, after I'd heard what had happened, so I got dressed again and came out of my room. They were talking in the parlor.... Oh, I don't know how I could ever have brought myself to even look at Henry Flack!" she cried. "Why, he's nothing but a blood-thirsty beast! And a hypocrite, too! Making fine speeches about innocent, outraged womanhood; about cleaning up the valley once and for all; when all he's really thinking about is how jealous he is of Tom! And as for that Laura Nelson, if she thinks she's ever going to set foot in my house again I don't for a minute believe that it happened the way she claims, and if it did, she undoubtedly led him on, and he was lonely and unhappy, and I don't care! I don't care, I tell you! I just ... I just couldn't stand it if anything happened to him, Mr. Burdick; I'd kill myself!"
She began to cry into a small, crumpled handkerchief. Burdick could-not help reflecting wryly that his place of business seemed to have turned into a refuge for weeping females. Then the door to the operating room opened, and Janet Justice came in, followed by her sister, carrying the carbine. Sally's face, Burdick noted, had a transformed and peaceful look; it was the face of a child who had solved her problems by the simple expedient of confiding them to someone older and more responsible. She was now handling the weapon with reasonable care.
Janet looked pale and calm. She glanced at Carol Wellesley in a questioning way: The smaller girl turned to face her, and there was a slight, embarrassed pause—apparently, Burdick thought, these two girls had had a disagreement of some kind since he had last seen them together.
Carol stepped forward impulsively. "Oh, Janet, I was so sorry to hear ... Janet, it's Tom! T
hey want to lynch him! You've simply got to get all these men over to the jail right away to protect him. Marshal Greer will do his best, no doubt, but he's just one fat old man all alone."
Janet hesitated. "Have you been to the jail this morning?"
"Yes, of course."
"Did the marshal tell you he wanted help from us?"
"No, but—"
"Did you talk to Tom? What did he have to say?"
"I saw him, but he wouldn't talk to me. He's being silly and proud—"
Janet asked crisply, "Mr. Burdick, you seem to have got to know a lot of these people in the short time you've been here. What's your opinion of the best way to protect my brother from their violence?"
He looked at her across the room, and found that he was pleased that she should single him out to ask for advice: the discovery annoyed him. He said curtly, "I doubt that Mr. Greer wants a lot of Flying V employees hanging around his jail to inflame the feelings of the townspeople. You might send over and ask if he wants reinforcements; otherwise I think you'd better leave him to handle the situation as he sees fit. He's a competent officer."
"Pat, what do you say?"
Crothers hesitated, and said reluctantly, "Miss Justice, you're talking about something you ain't got."
"What do you mean?"
"Those men out there," Crothers said, "they fought for your dad; and it's possible they might have fought for your brother if he hadn't got himself in trouble, but with him in jail on this kind of a charge and not even denying it—"
"You don't think they'd obey me?"
"Not to face a hanging mob, ma'am, if it should come to that; not to save a woman-crazy kid who, half of them figure, most likely has it coming—and not for a ranch that may be up for auction next week. They'll still work cattle for you, as long as you got money to. pay them; but when it comes to a fight, a man wants to know that his outfit's going to be in a position to back him all the way." There was a little silence. Crothers said uncomfortably, "No offense, ma'am, I hope. I thought you'd want the truth."
"Yes, of course." Janet regarded him for a moment. "If I should ask you to stand guard over at the jail, Pat, would you go?"
"Me?" The man scratched his head. "Why, I reckon I would, Miss Justice; but then I've been with this outfit longer than most."
Janet smiled. "Thank you," she said. "Take the crew on home—and, Pat, when you get them there, you can fire about half of them."
"Fire them, ma'am?"
"That's right. Dad hired most of them for fighting. If they won't fight, they can go." There was an edge to her voice. "Anyway, we might as well save their wages; at the moment we've got more riders than we've got cows, almost. Get them out of town right away."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And, Pat—"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Those you pick to stay on," she said quietly, "the steady ones, you can tell them Flying V won't be up for auction next week, or the week after. If Dad could build it, I guess we can manage to hang onto it, somehow."
The man looked at her with his pale and steady eyes. He cleared his throat and started to speak, but changed his mind. He merely nodded, wheeled, and marched out, setting his hat firmly on his head as he passed through the door. They could hear his voice outside, speaking with authority.
Janet said, "You go with them, Sally. And, Sally—"
"Yes?"
"Be kind to Mother. The news itself will be hard enough for her to bear."
"All right Janet."
The younger girl ran outside. A moment later, the whole group of riders set off along the street in a body, and dust drifted past the door and window.
Carol Wellesley said abruptly, "Well, I can see that I've come to the wrong place for help! Are you just going to stand here and do nothing, Janet, when your own brother ..."
Janet's face was very pale; and her eyes looked pleadingly at Burdick, who stepped forward and took the smaller girl by the arm, leading her to the door.
"Tom Justice is going to be all right," he said, "at least until a jury's had a chance to decide whether he's innocent or guilty." He pushed her outside and closed the door behind her and turned to look at Janet Justice. The room seemed very large and empty with only the two of them in it.
Janet said, "And how are you going to manage that, Mr. Burdick?" Her eyes showed a faint smile.
"Manage what?"
"Keeping Tom safe for trial."
He grinned abruptly. "The same way you're going to hang onto Flying V, I suppose. By faith and inspiration, perhaps."
She smiled at him; then her smile faltered and died. He was across the room in an instant, and he caught her as she swayed. She steadied herself, and looked up into his face, and sighed, and pressed her forehead against his shoulder.
"Mr. Burdick," she murmured, "you came out here to forget a broken heart and a faithless woman, remember?"
"I remember," he said.
She lifted her face again, and he kissed her gently. She said, after a little. "You're being very foolish, Alex. I'll ask so much of you. I've nothing but trouble to bring you..."
28
After Lou Grace finished speaking, the hotel barroom way quiet for a space of time; then Martinez drained his glass, kicked his chair back, and rose. His glance swept over the handful of men at the table, and the single woman, and settled on Grace. "I say no, Señior."
Laura Nelson said quickly, "But why not, Joaquin? This is our chance to finish—"
"Finish? Perhaps," the Mexican said. "But me, I have been thinking that perhaps it is not good for Flying V to finish."
"What do you mean?"
"l have been thinking," Martinez said, "that I am not so smart, maybe. What is left for Martinez when there are no more Flying V cattle to steal?" He turned from the girl. "Señior Grace, we lived happy in this valley until we listened to you. A cow here, a cow there ... We had and understanding. If we were not greedy, if we did not take more than we needed, they did not chase us very hard or shoot very straight. Now the old patron is dead, murdered from glance touched Cal Bascom coldly—and you want me to help you hang the young patron from a tree. And when he is dead, what happens to Martinez and the people in this valley who depend on him for food? You say this hombre at the bank will take the big ranch. I say he does not look like a man with whom Martinez can make an understanding. He looks like a man who would count his cows too carefully. He looks like a cold man; a man without blood in his veins. The boy who is in prison is young and foolish, perhaps; he is quick to anger, like his father, but he is not a banker. One day, if he lives, he may become a man of understanding, who will look the other way when a hungry man takes a little beef. And then I will let him know that I have sent away this trash that came into our valley to ride with Martinez when he let himself listen to the voice of hate and ambition. I will let him know that the few animals that disappear from his herds will not be wasted upon strangers or driven over cliffs to rot!"
He started to turn away. Laura Nelson asked sharply, "Are you deserting your friends, Joaquin, now that the fight is almost won?"
The Mexican smiled, with a kind of gentle sadness. "Whose fight, señiorita? And what friends? I think you and this man, you have no friends, you have only tools that you use for your vengeance." He drew himself up. "I am Martinez, the rustler. You have made me Martinez, the butcher. But you will not make me Martinez, the hangman! Come, amigos!"
He signaled to the men stationed to guard the two doors. They fell behind him as he strode out of the room. There was a moment of silence; then Jack Price rose and looked around.
"You can't hardly call him a man of few words," he said dryly. "Just the same, he made a lot of sense. Reckon I'm riding south; who's with me?"
Laura cried, "Jack!"
"I draw the line at a lynching," Price said. He glanced at Bascom. "I'd have drawn the line a little before that, if I'd known what was in the wind."
Bascom said, "Listen here, friend—"
"A bargain's a bargain,"
Price said, "and you'll get your money; but it was my understanding we were bringing you here just to kind of balance the scales against Jack Mort, not to ... well, I agreed to hiring you, and I'll bear my, share of the responsibility, but I'll take no further part in this murderous business. And if I should ever learn—" he stopped, and looked directly at Grace.
"Learn what, Jack?" Grace asked quietly.
"Never mind. It's a poor sport who cries that the cards were marked. If he did not trust the players, he should not have sat in on the game. But there's many things about this affair that I do not like. Don't come to me for help again." He looked around. "Well, gentlemen, do I ride alone?"
After a moment, Stuart and Primrose got up. The three ranchers walked out of the barroom by way of the lobby door. Lou Grace chuckled softly.
"You see, Laurie?" he said. "l told you they'd have no part in it, but you insisted...."
"We don't need them!" she cried. Her face was white and hard. "There are enough loafers around this town to do the job; all it'll take is a little whisky and a few words..." She watched him rise, her eyes widening. "Where you going, Lou?"
He did not answer, but looked down at Bascom. "You have your money, Cal," he said, "what are you waiting for?"
"Not that it's any of your business, friend," the gunman said lazily, "but the lady hinted that she might put me in the way of a little more profitable work, while I'm here."
Grace glanced at Laura. She said stiffly, "I kind of thought you men might start getting soft-hearted, now that Dan Justice is dead. Well, I'm not through with that family yet! I have the money Burdick paid me for the gallery. What I do with it is my affair, Lou."
"I don't dispute it," Grace said. "However, it happens that I've already bought one murder; and I'm taking less pleasure in the purchase than I thought I would. I don't really need another, Laurie. You can keep this one for your very own."
The Two-Shoot Gun Page 15