The Law of the Trigger

by Clifton Adams

  The nearest doctor was in Reunion, nearly forty miles away and most of it straight down. Likely the girl would be dead by the time he could get her there, should he decide to try such a fool stunt. What was even more likely, Ike Brunner would catch them and kill both of them before they'd gone a mile.

  But these were only two of many considerations to be worked out in Dunc Lester's mind. Ike wanted this girl dead—and if he went against Ike's wishes, that was going to turn the gang against Dunc's family.

  This was an important consideration. There weren't many hill families that didn't have some kind of tie-up with the Brunners, directly or indirectly, through brothers or cousins or uncles who were members of the gang. Turn against the gang, and the Lester family would have all the hills against them.

  And of course, there was always the probability that the lowland law would be waiting to grab him the minute he came out of the timber—providing Ike let him get that far.

  Dunc considered all these angles and liked none of them. But the longer he waited and the longer he looked at the girl, the more sure he was that he would try to save her.

  Perversely, when the decision came, it angered him. I must be crazy as a coot! he thought savagely.

  And while he thought it he was hacking at two tough saplings with his pocketknife. He found the work too slow with a knife, so he went to Mort's cabin and found an ax and while he was at it, a blanket, and came back to the edge of the clearing and went to work in earnest.

  Chapter Six

  It was directly after dinner, and Owen Toller was in the barn mending his work harness when he saw the two Stanley boys running across the fields toward the house. Bruce, the older boy, carried a long-barreled squirrel rifle across his chest as he ran. They seemed in a hurry.

  Owen stepped outside and waved to them, and then the boys veered toward the barn instead of the house. “What's the rush?” Owen asked as they stopped in the barn doorway, blowing like horses.

  “We was huntin', Marshal,” Bruce said, fighting for breath.

  “For squirrels,” Bud put in. “Up in the woods.”

  “That's where we saw them,” the older boy began again. “The woman looks like she's dead to me.”

  “Wait a minute,” Owen said calmly. “You were up in the hills hunting and saw somebody. Bruce, you take it from there.”

  “Well, Marshal,” Bruce panted, his breath gradually coming back to normal, “we was up by Indian Rock when we first seen them. There was this man on a horse, and there were two long poles lashed to the saddle, dragging in the dirt behind the horse.”

  “An Indian travois,” Owen said.

  “That's what it was, I guess. Anyway, there was a blanket fixed between these poles and the woman was tied down on the blanket.”

  “She was dead,” Bud put in.

  Bruce nodded. “She sure looked like it. Course, we didn't get too good a look. We was up on the rock lookin' down when they came past.”

  Owen frowned slightly. “Did this man see you?”

  “I don't think so, Marshal. We yelled, but he looked like he was asleep in the saddle. By the time we climbed down from the rock he was already at the bottom of the slope.”

  “Where was he headed?”

  “Toward Reunion, it looked like.” Then the boy thought of something else and said, “The man had a pistol and a shotgun. You think he's one of them hill outlaws, Marshal?”

  “That wouldn't seem likely.” Owen smiled. “But if the woman's as sick as you say, maybe I ought to cut him off and see if I can lend a hand.”

  The boys stared bug-eyed with excitement as Owen threw a saddle up on one of his big-bellied work horses. “Ain't you goin' to take a gun, Marshal?” Bruce asked. “That man looked pretty mean to me.”

  “Me too!” Bud said quickly.

  Owen laughed. “I don't think that will be necessary, boys.” He rode across the yard and called, “Elizabeth, the Stanley boys claim to have found a sick woman in the woods. Guess I'd better take a look.”

  Elizabeth, holding Giles over her left shoulder, came outside on the back step. “A sick woman, Owen?”

  “A man was bringing her down from the hills on a travois. I'd better see if we can give them a hand.”

  Elizabeth frowned slightly, knowing that the hill people seldom came down toward Reunion. Then the frown disappeared and she smiled at her husband. “Of course, Owen. We can fix up the boys' room for her if you think it's necessary.”

  “Probably it's not as bad as the boys made it out.” Then he waved to her and rode the awkward, iron-gaited mare around their small vegetable garden and toward the north.

  He spotted the dusty, brush-scarred little bay through the trees, about a half hour's ride from the house. The saddle was empty. When Owen got closer he saw the man kneeling beside the pole travois. Why, he's not much more than a kid, he thought. And the girl, she can't be more than seventeen.

  But when the man looked up, Owen saw the hard young face and dangerous eyes and knew that here was no mere boy. Quickly the man grabbed his shotgun and leveled the big bore at Owen's face.

  “Stay where you are, mister!”

  “I came to help,” Owen said.

  “You a doctor?”

  “No and from the looks of the girl I'd say she stands little chance of living till you get her to one.”

  “That's my worry, and hers,” the young man said harshly.

  Owen shrugged. “All right, if you want her to die. It seems a shame, though, after you've brought her so far.”

  The young man scowled, his quick eyes shifting about the woods and hills. He seemed angry and worried, and when he glanced at the girl there was fear in his eyes. At last he lowered the shotgun, but kept it at the ready. “You think you could help her?” he asked.

  “I can't say without knowing what's wrong with her.”

  “She's been shot.”

  Owen felt a little ripple of warning but kept his voice even. “I see,” he said. “How bad is it?”

  “The bullet went in under the ribs but I got it out. She's bled a lot and been out of her head. Is there a doctor between here and Reunion?”

  “No.”

  The hard young face sharpened. “I don't hanker to go to Reunion,” he said, as though he were thinking aloud, “unless I have to.”

  “Then I suggest that you turn around and bring the girl to my house. My wife and I will do what we can for her, and then I'll ride for a doctor.”

  After a moment of sober thought, the man booted his shotgun and climbed on the stubby little bay. “First,” he said, “we'll make sure that a doctor can help her.” And he nodded for Owen to move out.

  Owen kneed his big-footed mount to an awkward trot as they neared the house. Swinging down from the saddle at the back door, he called to his wife.

  “Elizabeth, looks like we're going to need that room after all.”

  When she appeared in the doorway he saw the look of uneasiness in her eyes. “Owen, is she... hurt badly?”

  “Yes/' he said gently, “she is.”

  “Oh.” After a moment she said, “I'll get the bed ready.”

  Owen helped the young man untie the rough hemp rope that held the girl in her blanket stretcher. She opened her eyes for a moment and stared glassily at Owen. “Cal....”

  she said, her mouth working several times before the sound was made. “Cal... don't let him kill me.”

  The young man said harshly, “Give me a hand!”

  Frowning thoughtfully, Owen helped him lift the girl from the travois, and they carried her between them into the house. Elizabeth had the bed ready in the boys' room and they laid her down as gently as they could.

  “If you've got some whisky,” said the hard-faced boy, “maybe you could pour some over the wound.”

  “Too late for that,” Owen said, taking off the belt and blood-soaked bandage. “Elizabeth, get some blankets, all we have, and cover her up. She'll be going into chills soon.” He glanced up at the young man. “What's
your name?”

  He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Dunc Lester.”

  “When was this girl shot, Dunc?”

  He frowned. “About this time yesterday, I guess.”

  Owen wiped his forehead on his sleeve, holding his curiosity with a heavy hand. “I see. The wound doesn't look too serious, but she's lost a lot of blood. She'd better have a doctor.”

  Dunc thought about this, saying nothing.

  “What kind of condition is your horse in?” Owen asked.

  “It's an Indian horse; it'll run till it drops dead. That won't be for a while yet.” When Owen turned to leave the room, Dunc said sharply, “Wait a minute, mister. You aimin' to use my horse to get a doctor?”

  “I don't have a saddle animal of my own.” Then he added with elaborate casualness, “Of course, you could make the trip to Reunion as well as I could.”

  “No!” Anger and confusion showed on his face. “I mean, I guess you know the trail better than me. You sure she has to have a doctor?”

  “If you want her to live.”

  Dunc swore harshly under his breath, then glanced sharply at Elizabeth and murmured, “Pardon me, ma'am. But I don't know what to do. I just don't know!”

  The two Stanley boys, jumping with curiosity, had come through the back door and were now looking in through the parlor doorway. “Marshal,” Bruce blurted, “my pa's got a saddle horse you could use.”

  Dunc Lester wheeled as though he had been struck from behind, glaring at the two boys. Owen did not miss this animal-like reaction, but he merely said, “Thank you, Bruce, but I think we can do with Mr. Lester's animal. Now you boys better go.”

  Dunc wheeled back on Owen, his eyes dangerously narrow. “That kid called you 'Marshal'!”

  “I used to work for the government,” Owen said easily. “That was five years ago.”

  He left the boy standing there and went to the other bedroom, where his wife was taking bright patchwork quilts from a cedar chest. Elizabeth looked up, frankly worried. “Owen,must you go after the doctor?”

  He nodded.

  “But why can'the go?” Suddenly she flung her arms around her husband and held him hard against her. “Owen, I don't want to be left alone here with him, just me and the children!”

  He held her to him, speaking softly and gently, as he often spoke to Lonnie when the boy was frightened. “You and the children will be safe. I wouldn't leave you here if I wasn't sure of that.”

  “But he's so hard!” Elizabeth protested. “Owen, is he an outlaw? Is he one of the Brunner gang?”

  Owen wanted desperately to comfort her, but he could not lie to her. “I'm not sure,” he said at last. “Perhaps he is an outlaw—I don't know. But I do know how he feels about that girl in the other room. He won't hurt you or the children because he knows we're doing our best to help the girl.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I am sure.” He smiled faintly and released her slowly from the strong circle of his arms. “Don't worry. I'll be back sometime tonight.”

  Dunc came outside as Owen was tightening the cinch on the bay. “Just one thing, Marshal,” he said. “Don't come back with anybody but the doctor.”

  Owen looked at him. “All right.”

  “And don't say anything to anybody.” Owen nodded.

  “In case you decide to bring back some law, you'd better think a long time about your wife and children.”

  Owen felt the heat of unreasonable anger in his throat. He wheeled on Dunc Lester, grabbed him by the front of his filthy shirt, and slammed him back against the house before he could make a move for his pistol. “You listen to me!” he said in a hoarse, savage whisper. “If you even think of hurting my wife or children I'll hunt you to the end of the earth and kill you by inches! As for bringing back the law—do you think I'd need any help bringing a barking young pup like you to heel?”

  With a savage twist, Owen let the boy go. Dunc stumbled two steps and fell to his knees in amazement.

  “So don't you ever threaten me again!” Owen said tightly. “I didn't ask you where you came from, because I don't give a damn. I didn't ask if you were a member of the Brunner gang for the same reason. I took you and the girl into my house and now I'm going after the doctor simply because it's, the decent thing for a man to do. Can you get that through your head?”

  Dunc rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. He nodded. It would have been an easy thing to draw his pistol and kill this ex-marshal on the spot, but this thought did not occur to him.

  “All right,” Owen said roughly. “Get up. My wife will fix you something to eat while I'm gone.”

  Still amazed, Dunc Lester watched Owen ride off to the west. He shook his head, filled with sudden respect for this gentle, soft-spoken man with the hidden strength and violence of a timber cat. There goes no dude sheriff or lowland deputy, Dunc thought. When the time comes to be afraid, there goes the man to be afraid of.

  It was a wiser, quieter young man who turned slowly and went back into the house.

  Shortly after midnight Owen returned from Reunion with Doc Linnwood. Elizabeth was asleep on the parlor couch, and Owen smiled faintly as he sat beside her and smoothed a strand of fine silken hair back from her forehead.

  “Owen?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “You were right,” she said, still partly asleep. “That young man was quiet... almost nice. He put away his guns and made no trouble at all.”

  “That's good.” Owen smiled. “Now why don't you get to bed? There's nothing you can do now; Doc Linnwood's with the girl.”

  Owen himself was exhausted. I'm getting too old for this kind of work, he thought. But he stayed on the couch and smoked a pipe and did not follow his wife to their bedroom until Doc Linnwood had finished his inspection.

  At last the doctor came out, wiping his clean hands on one of Elizabeth's best linen towels. He was a young, strong man, big in the shoulders and small in the hips, like a bull buffalo. Without looking at Owen, the doctor went straight to the kitchen and poured himself some black coffee from an iron pot, then returned to the parlor and dropped into a bulky hair-padded chair.

  “How was she shot?” he asked bluntly.

  Owen shrugged and smiled. “Accident, I suppose.”

  “I suppose so,” Linnwood said dryly. “Anyway, I'll have to make a report to the sheriff's office when I get back, but I guess that can wait.”

  “How is she?” Owen asked.

  “We'll know better tomorrow. If she gets through the next twelve hours she'll be all right. You'd better get some sleep; that's what I'm going to do.”

  Owen got necessary bedding from the other room and made a sleeping place for the doctor on the couch.

  “Who's the young man?” Linnwood asked, pulling off his heavy shoes.

  Owen shrugged. “A hill boy called Lester.”

  “The girl's husband?”

  “I don't know. I don't think so.”

  Scowling, the young doctor unbuttoned his collar and cuffs and stretched out on the couch. He was asleep almost instantly, but before he dropped off he shook his head and said, “Owen, you and Elizabeth sure do take in some strange boarders!”

  Owen went to the sickroom and looked in before going to bed. The girl lay pale and motionless beneath the small mountain of quilts. The boy sat slumped in a straight chair near the head of the bed, his eyes closed, his face sagging with fatigue.

  Within Owen's mind a well-developed professional curiosity clamored for attention. The girl had mentioned “Cal.” Had she meant the younger Brunner brother? Wasshe a member of the gang? Was the boy?

  At last he shook his head. What did it matter who they were? The Brunners were none of his business; he'd made that clear to McKeever and Judge Lochland and the whole county. He didn't want to get mixed up with them now.

  However, Owen Toller did not sleep too well that night. Several times he heard the doctor get up and go to the sickroom, and once he heard Dunc Lester
and Linnwood talking quietly. He was on edge and restless, and his tossings and turnings disturbed his wife.

  “Owen, is anything the matter?” she asked sleepily.

  “No. Everything is all right.”

  “No, it isn't.” And now she turned to face him, awake. “It's that girl, isn't it?” she said. “It's an awful thing. What kind of person would want to kill a young girl?”

  Owen thought for a moment. “The same kind of person that shot Edith Ransom,” he said flatly.