The Two-Shoot Gun

by Donald Hamilton

He turned on his heel and walked away from her. As he passed through the lobby, Mrs. Betterson called to him from the desk. He Saw that Howard Wellesley and young Henry Flack were with her. He shook his head and kept on walking. As he came outside, and started for his horse, he saw a number of people standing before the jail in an idle and purposeless fashion. He felt no pity for Tom Justice, or desire to help him; butt there came a time, with liquor, or women, or vengeance, when a man had had enough....

  29

  They were sitting in the kitchen, a place with less unpleasant associations than the anteroom in which her father had died. Janet said abruptly, "There's something I have to tell you. It's about what happened here the day I came to get my photographs from Mr. Nelson." She glanced at Burdick in a half-embarrassed way. "Please remember I wasn't much over sixteen and . . . and, well, quite prim in many respects, the way girls that age often are. And I could tell the minute I stepped in the door that he'd been drinking more than was good for him. He watched me strangely all the time I looked at the proofs. And then suddenly he began to talk, almost incoherently. He told me—" She flushed slightly. "He told me I was beautiful, and that he'd admired me for a long time. He asked me if I'd do an old man a special favor. He was quite humble, but he frightened me—"

  "What did he want?" Burdick asked, when she hesitated.

  "He wanted . . . he wanted to take my picture again," she said. "But this time, he wanted me to take off my clothes..." Her face was pink, "It's silly, but it still makes me uncomfortable to remember. . . .There was a kind of costume he wanted me to wear... It Was well, quite scanty; and what there was of it, was practically transparent. I think he wanted to photograph me as a wood nymph or the spirit of spring... I should have laughed, of course. Instead, I lost my head completely, Alex. The idea of being asked to parade myself in front of a camera like that ..."

  She was silent for a little while, and he did not speak. Presently she went on. "I thought he was crazy. I backed to the door, managed to get it open without taking my eyes from him, and rushed out. Dad was just coming across the street. I was practically in hysterics. It's no wonder he thought . . . He was raging mad. When I collected myself and tried to explain, he wouldn't listen. Even afterward, when he understood that I had not actually been molested, he still insisted that Mr. Nelson only got what was coming to him."

  "He could have been right," Burdick said.

  Janet shook her head. "I'm sure the poor old man meant no real harm. I made Dad promise we wouldn't tell anybody what had happened. Some story got around afterward that made us out to be dreadful monsters, but I felt that I really should have prevented ... I'd done enough harm without ruining the poor man's reputation, too. Of course Laura hates me. You can hardly blame her. I've been tempted to tell her the truth, but I couldn't see what good it would do. Even if she believed me, she'd hardly hate me less for learning that I'd been the object of ... of her dad's drunken aberration."

  "The object, maybe," Burdick said, "but not the only object. Don't feel too guilty, Janet. I have reason to believe Mr. Nelson didn't confine his attentions to you. There was a Mexican girl here the other night—"

  There was a knock at the front door, followed by the sound of the door opening and hasty, feminine footsteps coming through the house. Burdick, who had picked up his shotgun, stepped forward and opened the door leading into the operating room. Carol Wellesley almost fell into his arms. He steadied her, and stepped aside to let her enter the kitchen.

  She cried breathlessly, "There must be hundreds of people in front of the jail! I don't know where they all came from; I haven't seen so many folks in town since the last fiesta!" Her voice caught, and she turned to Janet. "They're saying terrible things about Tom. Oh, Janet, I'm frightened!"

  Burdick said, "Stay here, both of you." He looked at the gun in his hand, and held it out to Janet. "Keep this handy. Be careful, it's loaded."

  Janet hesitated, and took the Purdey, looked at it briefly, and raised her glance to Burdick's face. "What are you going to do?"

  He grinned. "I know where there's something that'll impress a crowd more than a measly little twelve gauge." He hesitated. "You'll be here when I get back?"

  "Yes," she said. "I'll be here, my dear."

  They looked at each other for a moment; then he turned and walked quickly out of the house.

  30

  Deckerhoff said, "You want to be standing free when you pull the trigger, Mr. Burdick."

  Burdick looked at the great, muzzle-loading fowling piece in his hands. It was the weapon that had hung on the gunsmith's wall, freshly loaded now with powder and buckshot.

  "Do not try to shoot this weapon prone," Deckerhoff cautioned him, "and do not, for the love of God, lean back against a wall as you fire, or the recoil will smash your shoulder. But you are a big enough man; if you stand free and relaxed so your body can yield with the blow, you will take no harm ... You are sure you do not want more powder and shot?"

  Burdick shook his head. "l hope I don't have to fire it at all," he said. "And if I'm forced to, and two barrels don't turn the trick ... well, I don't know much about mobs, but I suspect there won't be time for ramming home any fresh loads."

  Deckerhoff said, "I take no part in these things. I only repair guns. But I wish you luck."

  Walking back up the street toward the plaza, Burdick glanced at his own place as he passed. The two were standing in the doorway. Janet was holding the Purdey. It looked slender and beautiful compared with the monstrous piece he was carrying. She looked slender and beautiful, too; and the clean morning sunshine awoke reddish lights in her hair. She raised a hand slightly as he went by, and he nodded to indicate that he had noted the greeting. It was no time for greater expressions of affection or sentiment.

  As he went on, he was aware of a certain sense of loss: he missed the grim bitterness he had brought to this town —the murderous readiness that had been in him when he came here. Now, when he needed it most, it was gone. He had a kindly and tolerant feeling toward all humanity. If Tom Justice had tried to ride him down today, he would have picked himself up, dusted himself off, laughed, and gone on about his business. If Jack Mort had come looking for him, he would have stayed out of Jack Mort's way. He had never felt less homicidal in his life.

  The people in the plaza, mostly men bearing weapons of one kind or another, altered his feeling of well-being somewhat. There was a hungry look about them. He heard the murmurs behind him as he walked up to the jail without looking to either side. There was an unpleasant moment while be stood with his back to the crowd, knocking on the marshal's door; then the door swung back and Greer stood in the opening, rifle in hand.

  "I was told there was a deputy's badge looking for a wearer " Burdick said.

  The marshal said without smiling, "Come in." He stepped aside to let Burdick pass, closed and bolted the door, and turned to look at his visitor. His face was gay and tired. "What's happened to you?" he asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You look like a man drunk or In love, Mr. Burdick." Greer's voice was expressionless. "They tell me your place has been serving as headquarters for Flying V this morning; that Miss Justice chose to have her father taken there after he was shot. That would seem to make you somewhat less impartial in this matter than I thought last night when I offered you the badge."

  Burdick moved his shoulders slightly. "Does it matter? I think you have your preferences, too, but you don't 'let them interfere with your duties."

  The stout man looked at him narrowly, "That is correct, Mr. Burdick. I do not enforce the law in anybody's favor. Barring new evidence strong enough to justify his release, the boy stays in jail. The fact that somebody may want to hang him illegally is neither here nor there as far as his innocence or guilt are concerned." Greer paused, and went on, "I want everything perfectly clear, son. When I pin a badge on you, you're working for the law, not for me. You'll be paid for your work as the town ordinance provides. That's all the payment you'll get. Maybe
you'll have helped me out of a hole and maybe not, but it won't earn you one bit of extra consideration where one of my prisoners is concerned, and you can go back to the sister and tell her so from me."

  Burdick grinned, "I'll do it," he said, "after her brother is safe."

  The marshal sighed. "Yeh, that's the rub, isn't it?" He walked to the barred window and looked out. "They keep coming," he said, "but I'm not worried about the ones I can see out there so far. They'll stand there all day, and throw a few stones maybe, and wait for something interesting to happen. If it doesn't happen, they'll drift away to their homes... I see you've got Deckerhoff's pet cannon."

  "Yes."

  "What did he say when you asked for it?"

  "Why," Burdick said, "he told me that he was strictly neutral and would have no part in this business and rd better watch out for the recoil when I pulled the trigger."

  Greer smiled briefly. "Well, don't pull the trigger unless you have to. A load of buckshot from that blunderbuss is going to cost me too damn many taxpayers. All right, come on over here and raise your right hand ...."

  The murmur of the crowd outside grew louder as the morning passed. Around ten o'clock, a stone shattered the window nearest the door.

  Marshal Greer looked at the broken glass on the floor. "You know, son," he said, "sometimes I have to work awful hard just to keep remembering them as human beings out there. When they start running in packs, like wolves, it does something to my tolerant nature." He raised his head and listened. A slight tapping sound came from the rear of the building. "Excuse me a minute," he said, and went out of the room.

  Burdick rose and walked to the broken window, approaching it cautiously from the side. The crowd had grown denser. He did not recognize any of the faces he could see—hardly surprising, since he had, after all, been in town less than a week, although it seemed longer. He turned as Greer came back into the room.

  "Well, things are coming to a head, I reckon," the marshal said. "That was a fellow I know sneaking up to the back window to tell me Mrs. Betterson is setting up free drinks over to the hotel, and Wellesley and young Flack are doing a lot of reckless talking.. Well, I can handle those fine, righteous citizens; but this imported gun from Taos, Bascom, is apt to cause us a little trouble. He's taken over the Palace, and he's spending money, too—I'll wager it's not his own—and he's got a bunch of local roughnecks drinking it up and listening to him. Well, I've got a lever to use against him, but it's apt to be a little risky.... You haven't said hello to our guest yet, Mr. Burdick."

  Burdick grinned. "I didn't want to ask, or you might have thought we were conniving against you."

  "He's wide awake back there. Go on. There's something funny about this business; but the boy won't talk to me. If he says anything you feel free to pass along, I'd appreciate hearing it."

  Burdick went into the rear of the building where two small barred cells faced each other across a narrow passage. One cell was empty. In the other, Tom Justice was standing, looking out the tiny window. He turned slowly at Burdick's approach. His eyes showed recognition and puzzlement. "What are you doing here?"

  Burdick opened his coat to display the deputy's badge, He said, "Your sister Janet sends her regards. Miss Wellesley also."

  "Carol? You've seen her?" The eagerness faded from the boy's voice." She's a fool to bother with me," he said bitterly.

  "Isn't that her privilege? She said you wouldn't talk to her."

  Tom Justice drew a long breath. "Mr. Burdick, when a man makes a goddam fool of himself, the only decent thing he can do is keep his mouth shut and take his medicine."

  "It's one point of view," Burdick agreed. "Well, I'd better be getting back up front." He turned away.

  "Mr. Burdick."

  Burdick looked back. "Yes?"

  "I want to thank you for giving me a break last night And tell the marshal ... Tell him, if they come for me, just to open the door and stand back. I've got away with a thing or two the past few years; I reckon it's only fair I should be strung up for something I didn't do."

  Then he looked startled, as if he had not meant to say so much, and turned quickly back to the window. Burdick regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, and returned to the office, where the marshal's wide figure was then posted at another window.

  Greer turned his head. "Well?"

  "He says he didn't do it."

  "Do you believe him?"

  "I believe him," Burdick said. "He didn't mean to say it—he's decided he's going to be a martyr going to his fate in grim silence—but it slipped out."

  "I believe him, too," the marshal said. "I know a vindictive woman when I see one. Besides, a man assaulting a girl isn't going to rip her dress to shreds without leaving a few scratches on her skin—her shoulders were as white as milk. But it's going to be a hard thing to prove to a jury. He's got a wild reputation, most of it deserved." After a pause, he said, "There's only one person who can prove it. The girl herself."

  "Yes," Burdick said. "And that's not something that's apt to happen very soon, the way she feels about the Justice family." grinned at the older man, "The boy says, if they come for him, we're to open the door and let them have him."

  The marshal grunted. "I've been a lawman for thirty-five years. I don't need a fool kid to tell me my business." He glanced at the window. There was no change in. his voice when he spoke again. "Looks like they've drunk enough now. Here they come. We'll go outside and greet them. Keep your mouth shut and don't shoot unless I tell you. That's just a deputy's badge you've got there, son. Don't forget it."

  31

  The sun was much higher and hotter now; and the crowd had gathered into clumps and clots of humanity, clustering about the shade trees of the plaza. There was no shade in front of the stark jail building, and the dust of the street reflected the light like snow.

  "The fellow who built this jail knew his business," the marshal said without turning his head. "There's no other door, so they'll have to come at us this way, unless they want to tackle one-inch iron bars, or tunnel through about two feet of adobe." After a moment, he said, "I'm a Christian, I hope, but there's something about a mob ... If you have to shoot that cannon, aim low and lay your pattern along the edge of the crowd. We don't want to depopulate the town entirely. But if you cut off a few stray arms and legs, you have my forgiveness in advance. Look at the miserable varmints! It's enough to make me lose my appetite for a week, and that's saying something, for a man of my build."

  Then they stood there in silence, waiting, as men joined the crowd from the direction of the hotel, among them Howard Wellesley and Henry Flack. These two made their way across the plaza in a deliberate fashion, pausing to speak to men in the various groups. They seemed to give the crowd a new feeling of purpose, and it closed in behind them and followed them toward the jail.

  "That's far enough, Howard," the marshal said, as the banker reached the opposite of the wide, glaring street. "What's on your mind?"

  "You know what's on my mind, Floyd," Wellesley said. He had come this far purposefully enough; but now he looked a little uneasy, and his voice lacked conviction. He sounded like a man trying to overcome his own scruples. "This town's suffered enough at the hands of one family," he said with an effort at firmness. "Well, we're going to finish it now! Dan Justice is dead and good riddance. Now we're going to take the cub out and hang him!"

  "Are you planning to string up the three women, too?" Greer asked casually. "I mean, you don't want to do a halfway job.... Now you listen to me, Howard Wellesley! You leave my jail and my prisoners alone. How'd you like somebody treating your bank and your money this way?"

  There was a plaintive note in his voice, and a ripple of laughter ran through the crowd., Standing beside Wellesley, Henry Flack reddened. His hands tightened on the shotgun he had displayed to Burdick the day before.

  "You're not going to josh us out of this, Marshal!" he snapped. "We've waited a long time for you to do something; now it's our turn!"

  Fl
oyd Greer looked at the younger man facing him; then he pursed his lips and spat into the dust before him.

  "You know, son," he said deliberately, "I got to hand it to you, I really do. I don't know as I'd have the nerve to stand up before my fellow-citizens and advocate lynching a man for this reason and that, all the time knowing that I wanted him out of the way just so I could marry his girl. Yep, I got to hand it to you. It takes a lot of gall, that does."

  There was a moment of silence. The color drained from young Flack's face, and his knuckles grew white with the strength of his grip on the shotgun, but he did not speak. The marshal took a step forward.

  "Now I think it's about time you folks went home," he said gently, speaking to the crowd in general. "If you want Henry Flack here to get his girl, why don't you get him a nice bunch of flowers to give her? And I hear tell Mr. Wellesley's got some money tied up in Flying V, and I'm sure he appreciates the way everybody's turned out to help him put his deal across; but when you come to think of it, folks, hanging a man is mighty serious business ... and hanging a boy is more serious still, since you're taking more living away from him. So I'd think a while before I got into anything like that account on Henry's girls or Howard's loans and I reckon I'd do my thinking at home, instead of cluttering up the plaza...."

  He talked on, drawing occasional laughter There was a general feeling of slackening tension as he talked. Presently Howard Wellesley glanced about him uncertainly, hesitated, turned on his heel, and plunged away through the crowd. For a moment it seemed as if young Flack would follow; but he gritted his teeth and stood his ground, clutching his shotgun awkwardly. But the crowd had fallen back, leaving him alone at the edge of the street. The marshal continued to talk, smoothly and easily, and Burdick saw one man and then another break away from the crowd and drift around the corner out of sight, going home.

  Henry Flack apparently saw it, too, because he turned desperately to face the plaza and shouted, "Listen, folks, listen to me! You all know me—"