Marshal Greer chuckled tolerantly. "Yeh, we all know you, Henry; that's just the trouble."
A roar of laughter answered this sally. It died away abruptly. A group of men was coming out of the Palace Saloon up the street, following the unimpressive figure of Cal Bascom. The shabby gunman approached the jail without haste. The men behind him had a look of drunkenness that, Burdick thought, was partly assumed; their slurred comments and laughter had a false ring. Later, if anyone questioned what they had done this day, they would claim to have been drunk and irresponsible.
Henry Flack had turned hopefully toward the disturbance. He spoke to Bascom as the gunman passed; but Bascom brushed past him without speaking, and stopped at the front of the crowd, and looked around lazily.
"You running for re-election, Marshal?" he asked. "I thought you was appointed to your job."
The men he had brought were fanning out behind him. Burdick heard the marshal address him in a low voice without turning his head, "I'm going to try to get this fellow. You stay right here. Never mind if my luck runs out, your job is this door. That's an order, Deputy." Then the stout man squared his shoulders and raised his voice. "Is your name Bascom?"
The gunman said, "That's right, friend. Cal Bascom. Why?"
"You're under arrest for the murder of Daniel Justice."
Bascom laughed harshly. "How are you going to make that stick?"
"I've got witnesses who'll swear in court they saw you—"
"Sure, friend." Bascom grinned. "Sure. But I don't reckon I'll be in that courtroom while they're doing all this swearing."
Floyd Greer sighed. "A difference of opinion, friend. I think you'll be there." He lifted his rifle 'and began to move out across the street. "Now, I want you to unbuckle that gunbelt and let it fall, Mr. Bascom..."
There was no sound now except for a quick shuffling of feet in the dust as the men behind Bascom hurried out of the line of fire. The marshal walked straight toward the waiting gunman. It was over in an instant. When Bascom's hand moved, the marshal swung his rifle into line and fired from the hip, but it was already too late: the sound of the gunman's shot was already in the air. Marshal Greer fell to the ground on top of his weapon in a loose, plunging motion. Bascom stepped forward, nudged the fallen body with his foot, laughed, and looked at Burdick. His brown eyes had a glowing look. "Well, pilgrim," he called, "what's it to be?"
Burdick drew back the great hammers of Deckerhoff's shotgun, one at a time. This weapon, he reflected, took a man to cock it. He could not remember how many times of late he had gone through this particular action, but it still retained a certain significance, changing an inert mass of wood and metal into something alive and deadly and waiting. He did not lift the gun yet. Heavy as it was, he would not be able to hold it at his shoulder for more than a few seconds; and to raise it and have to lower it again would be a defeat of sorts. He did not speak, letting the loud click of the muzzle-loader's locks speak for him.
He knew a kind of grief for the man on the ground, whom he had come to like, but he felt no particular anger. He waited.
It was Henry Flack who set it off. "Ah, he won't shoot!" the youth cried, "he's not fool enough to fight a whole town. Come on!"
They came at him in a roughly wedge-shaped formation headed by young Flack. He would have preferred to have Bascom in the lead; however, the gunman was coming along nicely to Flack's left and rear ... Burdick waited until the two were-in line, with Bascom slightly advanced. Then he dropped to one knee, lifted the big shotgun deliberately, and pulled the forward trigger....
32
The concussion of the shot rattled the broken window of Laura Nelson's room. A small piece of glass fell out of the frame and struck the sill with 'a tinkling sound. The girl glanced that way, and swung back to face Lou Grace triumphantly.
"You hear that? You're too late, my soft-hearted friend! They're storming the jail. Nobody can stop them now!
Grace was frowning. "That was no ordinary weapon. It sounded like a young cannon."
"Maybe they're using dynamite." She took a step forward, studying his face. "What did you come back here for, anyway? What's Tom Justice to you? Why do you care what happens to him?" She drew a long breath. "But it isn't the boy, is it, Lou? They could string him up twice and you wouldn't lift a finger to help him, if he didn't have a kid sister.... You're in love with the child. And you have the nerve to ask me to help!"
Grace shrugged his shoulders. "You may have it right, at that. Anyway, I've done the girl enough harm. Her dad's dead, but you're going to give her back her brother, for whatever he's worth. Then you'll pack your things while I head down to Romero's and get us a rig; and we'll leave this valley for good."
Her mouth was compressed. "You think I'd go with you now? With that little red-haired slut between us?" He said calmly, "If she's between us, you helped put her there." He shook his head. "There are many things between us, Laurie; but there's one thing that'll always keep us together. We're the same kind of people. Not very good people, but the same kind. You're coming with me. We'll work something out, somehow. But first you'll go over to the jail and speak your piece to the marshal or whoever's alive to hear it."
She said, "You're crazy! Anyway, it's too late," She swung her arm toward the window, "Can't you hear them? It's too late! It's all over!" There was satisfaction in her voice.
He listened to the growing murmur of sound out there, and smiled crookedly. "I can hear them, Laurie. It's all over, as you say. They're running in panic."
She took three quick steps to the window, listening. Footsteps hurried past, and a man's voice said breathlessly, "It was murder, that's what it was; deliberate, coldblooded murder! Damn, the buckshot cut them down like shrapnel; I've seen nothing like it since the war! That easterner ought to be hanged—"
"Ah, shut up!" another voice said. "I've had a bellyful of hanging talk! Who started this, anyway"
Lou Grace chuckled softly. "Sounds like our shotgun specialist, friend Burdick, took a hand in your little game. Laurie. There's A man I'm going to miss. Now get your bonnet And let's go talk to somebody."
He took a step forward, but she drew away. "I won't go, I won't tell them. Tom Justice will stand his trial. And when get on the stand—"
Grace sighed, watching her. "You're sick, Laurie he said. "You'll always be sick, as long as you stay here, so will I, a little. That's why we're leaving Maybe somewhere else, some place without memories You won't tell the marshal the truth?"
"No!"
"I think you will," he said "I'm sorry. I didn't want to have to do this ... He walked to the door and opened it. "Come in, Rosa," he said. The Mexican girl came in with a defiant swing of her hips. "Rosa will tell you what kind of a man your father was, and why Dan Justice ran him out of town," Grace said. facing Laura. "Don't call her a liar. She carries a knife; besides, there are several other local young ladies who can corroborate her story. After you've heard it, you can decide whether you want the whole valley to know it, or whether you'd rather keep your parent's memory fresh and clean in the minds of these people. It will cost you a walk across the plaza and a few truthful words..."
33
Deckerhoff was standing in the doorway of his shop. when Burdick came wearily up the street. The two men faced each other for a moment. Burdick set the big muzzleloader against the wall off the building. "There's still a charge in the right barrel," he said. "The left one's been fired. Thanks for the loan."
He turned and walked back toward the gallery. The door opened as he approached, and he looked up expectantly, but instead of the person he had hoped to see, Carol Wellesley stood before him.
"What happened?" she cried. "I was so afraid; I heard shots.... Is Tom all right?"
Burdick said heavily, "Yes, he's all right. But I'm afraid young Flack is going to lose a leg,€ if he survives at all." He could hear his own voice distantly. His head was still ringing from the terrible recoil of the one shot he had fired. "Dr. Pardee doubts that he can save
Bascom. I suppose, being a doctor, he's obliged to try. There are half a dozen others...." His voice trailed off. After a moment, he asked irritably, "What made them think I wouldn't shoot? I haven't bluffed since I came here. Where's Janet?"
The girl in the doorway hesitated. "Why, she .. . What happened to your face?"
He rubbed his bruised jaw gingerly. "I wanted to keep the charge low, so I shot. kneeling. It was a little too rigid a position for the brute; she almost kicked me back through the door."'He shook his head, feeling dazed and tired; and moved past Carol into the house. He saw the Purdey standing by the door and picked it up, It had a light and pleasant feel. "The jail's pretty much a hospital at the moment," he said. "The marshal's got a bullet in the chest, but Pardee says with a little luck he'll pull through all right." He glanced toward the rear of the building. "Is Janet in the kitchen?"
"Why," Carol said, "no. No, she isn't."
He frowned. "She said she'd be here—" His thoughts were moving sluggishly.
"A boy came with a message," Carol said.
"A message? From whom?"
"I didn't hear," Carol said. "She didn't say. She just said she had to run over to... to Romero's for a few minutes." There was an odd hesitancy in the girl's voice, Burdick noted, as if she was not quite sure she was supposed to be telling him this. "That's down at the end of the street."
"I know," he said.
"She said ... she said she'd be right back."
Burdick said, "I'll go down there. I haven't said hello to my mules for a couple of days." He balanced the shotgun idly in his hand, and glanced at her. "I'll have your pictures ready in a day or two. I haven't had a chance to—" She said, a little stiffly, "I'm sorry for your trouble, but I won't want them."
"Oh?" After a moment, Burdick said casually, "A funny thing happened while we were patching up the wounded. Laura Nelson came over and asked to speak to the marshal—he was conscious by that time. I don't know what she told him, but he had her write it down and sign it, and then he gave me the key and told me to turn Tom Justice loose. He's busy helping Dr, Pardee at the moment."
Carol looked at him wide-eyed. "He's free?"
"Of jail," Burdick said. "But he seems to be rather shame-faced about something. He muttered something to me about giving you his regards."
The girl's eyes flashed. "His regards, indeed! We'll see about that!" she snapped, starting through the door.
Burdick followed her out. "Miss Wellesley."
"Yes?"
"About those wedding pictures ..."
"I... I'll let you know."
Burdick said deliberately, "It would make it rather awkward for your dad, of course, foreclosing on a ranch that was practically in the family."
He saw her chin come up, and knew that Mr. Wellesley was going to run into considerable trouble if he tried to collect any debts from Flying V. Burdick ginned to himself. The girl was already running up the street, her skirts flying. Burdick watched her for a moment, and walked the other way, feeling better. He looked respectfully at Deckerhoff's door as he passed. Any man who would voluntarily absorb the recoil of the big fowling piece for the sake of a duck dinner was a bear for punishment. He tried not to think how the street had looked after the shot. Well, there were times in a man's life when he had to choose between fairly unpleasant alternatives. Watching a boy hanged for a crime of which he was innocent would not have been very agreeable either.
There was no one in sight. when he reached Romero's, but a saddled horse was tied to the rear of a buggy standing by the corral, inside which were his mules. They recognized him, and came toward him as he approached the fence. He searched his coat pockets, found some linty scraps of sugar, and dispensed them fairly.
The horse near by stirred impatiently, asking for similar attention. Looking that way, Burdick frowned suddenly, as he recognized the saddle. It was a saddle he had first seen the day he arrived in Santa Clara, when it had been carried by a blond man on foot.
Burdick stood there for a moment, remembering suddenly the uneasy way Carol Wellesley had acted when telling about the message Janet had received, almost as if she had known or suspected more than she was telling—more than he, Burdick, was supposed to know. He tried to dismiss the ugly thought; but he could not forget that once before in his life he had gone trustingly to meet a woman he loved...."
He looked down at the shotgun in his hands. It had been his companion on that other occasion as well. He walked across the hoof-marked yard and into the barn. The sound of voices reached him from beyond the closed door of what was presumably a harness room or workshop of some kind. He strode up to the door, put his foot against it, and kicked it inward.
They were standing close together. Janet's hands were on Lou Grace's arms in an affectionate way and she was leaning forward.... Burdick felt the black sickness go through his brain; and the gun started to his shoulder, but it never reached its destination. He had lived through this scene once before in reality and many times in fancy, giving it different endings. Now, suddenly, he knew that the ending, for him would always be the same. He turned and walked blindly out of the room.
Presently he found himself leaning against the corral fence. The mules were nuzzling him, eager for more sugar. He heard her footsteps behind him, but he did not turn. She stopped beside him. "What are they called?" she asked.
"What?"
"The mules. What are their names?"
He turned to look at, her, After a moment, he said, "This one's Hypo. That's Collodion over there. Colly for short."
Her eyes were steady on his face. "Why didn't you shoot, Alex?"
"I don't know." She said, "I should be angry. That you'd think ... But you never would shoot, would you, my dear? Not even now, when you know yourself to be quite capable of killing when it's necessary. Not someone you loved. No matter how much they hurt you. Not for revenge, because you're not that kind of a man."
He said flatly, "You were holding his wrists to keep him from reaching his gun."
She nodded. "Are you all right? He told me what happened at the plaza."
"I'm all right," Burdick said. "Your brother's all right, too."
"Yes, l know." After a moment, she said, "Grace sent a message for Sally—they've been seeing each other secretly. He'd heard there were two girls waiting at the gallery; he assumed Sally was with me. He said to deliver the message to the red-haired one. The boy was a little puzzled, but my hair's certainly redder than Carol's... I went because Sally had asked me to let him know she wouldn't be seeing him any more. It turned out that he'd sent for her to say good-by. He's leaving the valley with Laura Nelson. He had a message for you."
"For me?"
"Yes. He said to tell you he was sorry about the hunting trip you never got to take together, He's a strange man." She glanced at Burdick, and laughed softly. "But then, most men are, aren't they?"
She took his arm, and they started walking back up the dusty street, quite slowly. Presently a buggy went by with a led horse following along behind, The driver raised his whip in a salute as he passed. They watched him turn onto the plan, out of sight.
Janet said, "It's been less than a week. I remember you standing by the gallery that first day, with the shotgun in your hands."
"I remember you," he said, wanted to take your picture."
She smiled. "And now?" she asked.
He stopped walking, and turned to face her, and grinned. "Why, I still want to," he said. "But it can wait, until we've attended to matters of greater urgency."
A little color crept into her cheeks as she looked at him; then she laughed and came into his arms.
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The Two-Shoot Gun Page 17