The Law of the Trigger

by Clifton Adams

  “Where would you have gone?” Owen asked quietly.

  “Anywhere. A man doesn'thave to live in these hills.”

  “And what about Leah Stringer? She knows that Ike killed her father; she could testify to it if Ike ever came to trial. Do you think Ike is going to forget a thing like that?”

  “I don't care whether he forgets or not! Leah and I can go where he can't find us.”

  Owen looked at him. “Yes,” he said quietly, “I guess maybe you could.”

  “All right,” Dunc went on, dropping some of his anger. “This is what I've been thinkin'. Harve had his brother take a load of the stuff and the womenfolks down to the foothills yesterday, and he's supposed to bring the wagon back today and pick up the rest of it. The furniture and stuff they've got piled outside. Now Ike's got nothing special against Harve and Morris, so he'll probably let them get through. What's to keep us from hidin' in the wagon and goin' with them?”

  “The ride would kill Arch,” Owen said.

  “He's goin' to die anyway, Marshal! I tell you this is our one chance to get out of these hills alive!”

  Owen walked to the door and stared out at the green peaks. They did not frighten him now, and he knew that he was not going back without Ike Brunner. He had reached a point—because of exhaustion, perhaps—where he was no longer angered at people who would not fight for their own rights, but this did not lessen the drive within him. The actions of the Coopers and the Lesters could not change him from the kind of man he was. “All right, Dunc,” he said. “You go with the Coopers.”

  “What about you?”

  “I'll come later.” He was weary of explaining his actions and motives to others who never understood. Elizabeth had understood; that was the only thing that counted. He said, “There'll be no hard feelings, son. You go on with the Coopers.” And he walked outside.

  Dunc Lester felt a slow, warm shame crawl over him. He hated what he could not understand, and he could not understand the first thing about this man Owen Toller. And the old deputy who lay dying—why? For what reason?

  Slowly his sense of shame overrode and subdued his hatred. He thought of Leah and wondered what he could say to her if he went back. How would it be, living out the rest of his life looking over his shoulder and expecting to see Ike Brunner there?

  Several minutes must have passed before he became aware of a certain uneasiness, a kind of unnatural silence in the cabin that made his skin crawl. Some slight, unnoticed sound that had been in the cabin a few seconds before was now absent, and a long moment passed before he realized that the old deputy had stopped breathing.

  Dunc stood very still. He had expected this, but you had to meet death face to face before you could actually believe it. Good-by, old man, he thought, and he felt a bit harder and older than he had an instant before.

  Dunc stepped to the door. “Marshal,” he said quietly.

  Owen turned and from the expression on his face Dunc knew that Owen understood without being told that his friend was dead.

  Dunc stood to one side as Owen walked heavily into the cabin. Very gently Owen covered the old deputy's lax, gray face with the piece of tarp that had formed the stretcher, and then he stood quietly for a long while, saying nothing.

  Dunc Lester moved uneasily. “Anything you want me to do, Marshal?”

  “Yes. See if you can borrow a shovel and a grubbing hoe from the Coopers.”

  The Coopers knew that they had no part in this play, and they stood quietly beside the cabin as Dunc and Owen hacked and dug in the root-filled ground beyond the clearing.It was a long job and a hard one, but both men worked steadily, pausing only to wipe the sweat from their eyes. As he labored, Owen did not let himself think beyond the immediate present. The very least that Arch deserved was a good grave, and he meant that he should have it.

  When at last the job was over, when the grave was deep enough and the sides reasonably even and smooth, the two men stood swaying, resting on their tools.

  At last Owen broke the silence. “I never heard Arch say where he wanted to be buried, but I think he'd like this place as good as any.”

  “It's just as well,” Dunc said. “The sooner the buryin's done, the better. In this kind of weather.”

  When they got back to the cabin they found that the body had been neatly wrapped in glistening white sheeting and that Arch's boots had been removed. Harve Cooper said, “I could have made a box if there had been more time.”

  Owen nodded his thanks for the wrapping, for he knew that white sheeting was rare in the hills. Gently they lifted the body, which was amazingly light, and carried it slowly across the clearing, but the Coopers kept their place and made no move to follow.

  While Dunc and Owen were filling the grave they saw a rickety mule-drawn farm wagon rattle noisily up to the Cooper cabin. As Owen rounded the grave mound with the shovel, the Coopers were hurriedly loading their belongings into the wagon.

  Dunc Lester gazed thoughtfully at the hills, and then at the wagon. He recognized the driver as Sam Contrain, a distant cousin of the Coopers' from the south. Ike had nothing against the Contrains, and nothing in particular against Harve Cooper, so there was no reason why the gang should try to stop them. It would be the easiest thing in the world to hide in the bottom of that wagon and get out of these hills alive.

  But, for Dunc, the prospect of running had lost its glitter. He couldn't explain why, except that somehow he had got himself in debt to Owen Toller, and he knew that the time for paying was at hand.

  Now he looked at Toller and saw a thin, tight line of a mouth, a steellike glitter to his eyes. Dunc Lester thought that he had never before seen a face so grim and hard, and yet there was little bitterness in it. Once before, when he had first seen Owen Toller, the dangerous potential of the man had occurred to Dunc, and it occurred to him again now. But he knew that it was no longer a potential, but a reality. As Owen stood there gazing at Arch Deland's grave there was a deadliness in his eyes that made Dunc cringe a bit within his own conscience.

  At last Owen turned away from the grave and said quietly, “You'd better get started, son, if you want that ride.”

  Dunc wiped his face, more from nervousness than because it needed wiping. “I guess I've changed my mind, Marshal.”

  Owen stood almost painfully erect, his head thrown back. “Why?”

  “I... I don't know exactly. You and your wife were decent to me and Leah, so I guess I wouldn't feel right about pullin' out on you.”

  “That's a poor reason for a man to risk his life,” Owen said flatly. “Is that the only reason you can offer?” What the hell! Dunc thought with the beginnings of anger. It's my life, ain't it? Do I have to have a reason for it?

  But the stone-cold features of Toller's face stopped the outburst before he could put his thoughts into words. Instead, he swallowed nervously and said, “Well, Ike Brunner's lookin' to kill me. He'll do it, too, if I don't kill him first.”

  And Owen said coldly, “If anything, that's a poorer reason than the first. I think you'd better go back with the Coopers.”

  Stiffly Owen turned on his heel and started back toward the cabin, and Dunc stood stunned at this sudden turn of things. He had expected Owen to beg him not to go, but now things were turned around completely and he found himself begging for permission to stay. “Marshal!”

  Owen paused and looked back. “Yes?”

  “My common sense keeps tellin' me it's a fool thing to do, but I'd like to help out, if I can. Does the reason make any difference?”

  “Yes,” Owen said, and the hard lines around his mouth seemed to soften just a little. “Arch Deland died without a reason. Anyhow, the reason he had wasn't good enough. I don't want that to happen again if I can help it.” He smiled the smallest smile that Dunc had ever seen. “You'd better catch the wagon, son.”

  Owen started again toward the cabin, and once again Dunc called out. And he walked up to him, staring up into the bleakness of those pale eyes. “Marshal, I'm not v
ery good at sayin' things, but not long ago my folks were run out of these hills, and they hadn't done a thing to be run out for. Now it's the Coopers, and tomorrow maybe it'll be somebody else. It makes me mad when I think about it; it ain't right. And still I can't hate every member of the gang that burned us out. Maybe Gabe Tanis set the fire with his own hand, but Gabe was a good man until a few months ago, and it don't stand to reason that a good man can change overnight.”

  Dunc shook his head, as if puzzled by his own thoughts. “I don't know. Most of the gang members were hard-workin' farmers before Ike stirred them up. Ike told us that all outsiders were workin' to ruin us, and I guess most of us believed him. But you and your wife are outsiders and you don't want to ruin us, so Ike might be wrong about a lot of things. I don't know,” he said again. “It looks like one bad apple is ruinin' the barrel. Sooner or later the railroad people or somebody is goin' to bring an army up here and they're not goin' to know good people from bad; they'll clean us out like they did the Indians. Everybody but Ike, that is. Ike'll have plenty of time to get away if they try to take him with a big posse.”

  It suddenly occurred to Dunc that probably this was the longest speech he had ever made in his life. It was not the incredible spring of words that amazed him, but the thoughts that had come out with the talk. And still there were other thoughts in his mind, about Leah, and the place of his own that he wanted. But these things he had held close to himself and did not attempt to put into words. He finished rather lamely, “Well, Marshal, I guess that's all I've got to say.”

  And Owen looked at him in a strange way, a way in which no man had ever looked at him before, and he said, “All right, Dunc, we'd better get started.”

  A few minutes later the two of them watched the wagon pull away from the cabin and rattle over the deep-rutted trail toward the far end of the draw.

  Owen went into the silent cabin, where the venison still simmered in the fireplace, and with precise, machine-like movements he checked Arch's carbine and his own revolver. The two men ignored the packs, but filled their pockets with jerked beef and ammunition.

  “It's up to you, Marshal,” Dunc said. “Do we head back toward Killer Ridge?”

  “I don't think that will be necessary,” Owen said, gazing steadily through the open doorway. “Ike has his men up there.” He nodded toward a stone-capped bill perhaps a mile to the north.

  “What?” Dunc went to the door and stared hard for several seconds before he saw the wisp of dust that indicated horses. “How long have you known about them?”

  Owen shrugged. “Almost from the minute we reached this cabin. I doubt that Ike even bothered to trail us; he knew we had a wounded man and would make for this place.”

  Dunc was vaguely worried but not frightened. “Why didn't they make their move long ago?”

  “Waiting for the Coopers to leave, I suppose. Now Ike's got us where he wants us. From his position on the hill he can see every move we make, and I suspect that he has some of his men down watching the lower end of the draw. Are you sorry you didn't go with the Coopers, son?”

  “I'm not sorry about anything,” Dunc said stiffly, “but I would like to have a fightin' chance. Do you aim to hole up in this cabin?”

  Owen shook his head. “I'd guess that's just what Ike wants us to do; he could take his time and finish usoff as he pleases.” He pointed to the west, where ragged sandstone shelves jutted out from the sides of the hills. “I think we can make it. Ike's horses won't do him much good on those cliffs.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ike Brunner grinned savagely as he watched the Cooper wagon pull away from the cabin. It angered him to see the Coopers getting away scot-free, for he realized that it was a dangerous precedent to set. First the Lesters, now the Coopers, and maybe tomorrow some other family would take a notion to defy his hold on these hills. That could be a dangerous thing.

  But Ike had not gained control of these people by acting on angry impulses. There came a time when a man had to give a little and gather his strength before rushing in for the kill. He could feel the gang's nervousness through the reins of fear and obligation with which he held it together. It was no longer a game of hit and run with them; it was deadly serious. They were thinking of Wes Longstreet, quick with a gun and completely game. But Wes and two others had died during the night, and that was something to think about.

  Ike lifted his hand. “Gabe!” he said sharply, and Gabe Tanis rode up to the sandstone crest where the gang leader sat his gaudy paint. Now that Ike's brother and Wes Longstreet were dead, Gabe Tanis had gravitated to the position of second in command. “There go the Coopers,” Ike said. “They don't know how lucky they are to be alive.”

  Gabe glanced over the distance at the wagon, then looked at Ike. “You can push the boys just so far. They don't take to the notion of killin' their own kind.”

  “All right,” Ike said grudgingly, “the Coopers go.” He fixed his cold eyes on Gabe. “But not Dunc Lester.”

  “I reckon,” Gabe said stiffly, “Dunc ain't one of us any more. A man that would kill a preacher, and then bring in the Reunion law to hunt us... I guess he ain't a hill boy any longer.” He paused, wiping the corners of his tobacco-stained mouth. “Looks like they got the buryin' done.”

  Ike grinned. “All done. That leaves just two of them. Are the boys ready?”

  Gabe nodded.

  “You and Jed Hefflin take half the men,” Ike said, “swing around this ridge, and come up the draw on the east side of the cabin. I'll take the other half and cut them off from the other side.”

  Gabe nodded again and started to rein around.

  “Just a minute,” Ike said. “Tell the boys they've got nothin' to worry about. There are just two of them down there and we've got them all to ourselves. We'll take our time; I don't want anybody else to get hurt.”

  As Gabe got the gang together, Ike studied the small green valley with satisfaction. The gang could cover the house from either end of the draw; with torches they could burn the cabin down and force Dunc and the Reunion marshal into the open. It would be like shooting rabbits in a trap.

  For a moment Ike turned his attention on the gang— what was left of it. It was less than half the size it had been once. From Ike's cold face, few of the men could guess at the storm that raged inside him. From the day he had looked upon Cal's dead face, anger had boiled within him, ready to explode. Common sense had warned him that he shouldn't have burned Manley Cooper out, but rage had made him half crazy. It had to have an outlet, and Manley Cooper had been close at hand.

  Now he had his rage under control, but not even Ike Brunner could tell when it would get out of hand. He could think of nothing but Cal. He had no plans for future raids, the gang was becoming hard to handle, and he had turned some of the hill people against him—and yet he could think of nothing but Cal, and of the sweet taste of revenge which would come only when he killed Dunc Lester with his own hands.

  And this, he thought with grim pleasure, is the day. Maybe then, with Lester dead, he would think clearly again and pull the gang together.

  By this time Gabe Tanis had split the men into groups of seven. One rode with Gabe and Jed Hefflin to the bottom of the slope and started the long swing to the east. The others, silent and sober, reined in around Ike.

  “We'll circle this hill to the west,” Ike told them, “and come into the valley at the near end of the draw. The Coopers are gone. Are there any questions?”

  There were no questions.

  “All right,” Ike said coldly. “There's a Reunion marshal down there, but he won't amount to much. If we kill this one, it'll likely be the last county law dog we'll see up here.” He paused, then added, “Dunc Lester's something else again! He killed a preacher; don't forget that. And he killed my brother, and he turned against his own people. I want him dead!”

  The men stirred uneasily but made no comment. Ike pulled his paint around and the others fell into line behind him.

  Strangely
, it did not often occur to Ike that he was a rich man, that in various caves he had hidden enough money and loot to keep him in fine style for the rest of his life. He had wanted money once, he had even made plans to quit the gang and head for California or Mexico, where nobody knew him.

  But, in these hills, he had found something that pleased him more than money. He had come to know power. He had gradually forgotten the plan for retirement; his ambition was only beginning to grow. Before I'm through, he thought, they'll forget that Bill Doolin ever lived! Or the Daltons! Or the Jameses!

  Suddenly Ike came erect in his saddle, jarred out of his thoughts. Far below he saw the tiny figures of Toller and Dunc Lester racing across the clearing to the west. The gang leader blinked, unable to believe that the two men were deserting their log fortress. His entire plan was based on the assumption that they would hole up in the cabin and try to fight it out.