Trigger Gospel

by Harry Sinclair Drago

  Chalk’s account was to the point.

  “He shouldn’t have done it, Bill,” he finished. “I told him so last night. It was n’t up to him to kick his life away for somebody else’s money—”

  “You’re wrong, Chalk,” Little Bill broke in. “He only knew one way to play the game. We mustn’t take that away from him. Luther and me will get the hombres that cooked this up. I don’t care how long it takes, we’ll square it in full!”

  He had ridden into Bowie ahead of Tascosa and the others, as he had said he would, intending only to linger for a few minutes. Martha Southard’s dark eyes had been haunting him for months. No word of his had yet acquainted her with his romantic devotion, for with becoming humbleness he believed himself quite unworthy of her. And yet, whenever he was in town, he found certain crumbs of comfort in her apparent happiness at seeing him again that sent him away to dream of her for another five or six weeks. On the trail or in some lonely cow camp he became bold enough in his thoughts to foresee the time when he would speak frankly to her.

  It had been in his mind to do so this trip. His run-in with Beaudry had changed his plans and he had come in this morning hoping for no more than a word or two with her.

  He had circled around town to reach home. All that had been temporarily erased from his mind. It came back to him now with startling clearness.

  “What about Beaudry?” he asked. “Is he back?”

  “Yeh, came in last night. Waco was talkin’ to him.”

  “So? Was anythin’ said about me?”

  “Only that he had seen your outfit on the river.” Chalk glanced at him shrewdly. “Was there anythin’ else that should have been said, Bill?”

  “Plenty, Chalk. Beaudry is out to slam me into jail.”

  He acquainted the old man with the facts.

  “Damn his yellow hide!” Chalk cursed. “He better go slow about startin’ anythin’ with you with yore pa lyin’ dead here! You got friends in this yere town—and that’s somethin’ Beaudry’s got none of!”

  “I don’t reckon that’ll stop him,” said Little Bill, his face grim. “It don’t matter; I ain’t runnin’ now —and nobody is slappin’ me into jail until I get the party or parties that did this.”

  “It’ll be around town in a few minutes that you’re here,” Chalk warned him. “The shootin’ must have been heard down the street.”

  “Let ’em come,” Little Bill ground out. “Is Pop’s mustang in the barn?”

  “He is. Why—”

  “You get him saddled pronto,” the red-headed one cut him off. “I want you to go for Luther. They must be this side of Cain Springs by now. You tell him what’s happened—that I want him in a hurry. Luther will know what to do. You get goin’ right now, Chalk. I’ll carry Pop up to the house.”

  He saw the old man glance at Six-gun, standing patiently, reins dangling over his head.

  “It would save time if I took him,” said Chalk.

  Little Bill shook his head.

  “You can’t ride him, Chalk.”

  “I could handle him. You don’t have to worry about my leg.”

  “It ain’t that. He’s my horse; nobody ridin’ him but me.”

  “Well, I ain’t hankerin’ to ride him,” Chalk said sharply. “I’m superstitious of them claybanks. Like as not this would never have happened but for you ownin’ that—”

  “Don’t say it!” Little Bill snapped. “No man’s turnin’ me against him! You get movin’!”

  Chalk clumped away, muttering to himself. Little Bill gathered his father’s body up into his arms and started up the arroyo, with Six-gun following a pace or two in the rear. The gelding nickered softly.

  “I’m puttin’ the blame for this where it belongs—not on you, Six-gun,” Little Bill thought aloud.

  Chapter VII

  FANNING the little mustang with his hat, Chalk Whipple dashed out of the yard and raced away in a flash of dust. Down the street, Sam Swift and some others appeared, running toward the house. Sam hailed the old man, but Chalk thundered on without waiting to answer. It was five miles to Cain Springs, and it was his intention to get there in a hurry.

  “That don’t look good, him dashin’ off that-a-way,” Sam panted. “He’s goin’ for the boys, sure as shootin’!”

  “Beaudry must be right for once,” one of his companions flung back as they ran on. “He said it was the Sontags—come in to get Waco. They must a fetched him or Chalk wouldn’t be tearin’ off like that.”

  “ ’Fraid you’re right,” Sam muttered. “Beaudry will never overhaul ’em if it was the Sontags.”

  “Him and his depities was sure crowdin’ their ponies as they sailed out of town,” another volunteered. “Damn near run me down!”

  Through the window Little Bill saw the group of men approaching. He recognized Sam quickly. He had placed his father’s body on the bed. Pausing to cover it with a sheet, he stepped to the door.

  “Why, Bill, I didn’t know you had got in!” Sam exclaimed, heaving asthmatically. “Is—is anythin’ wrong?”

  He found the question almost unnecessary, for Little Bill’s grim face was an answer in itself.

  “He’s dead, Sam,” he said. “They got him down the arroyo a ways.”

  “No, you don’t say!” Swift shook his head sadly and made a little clucking noise with his tongue. Usually a garrulous man, he had no words with which to express himself at a moment like this.

  Save for a muttered curse or gasp of surprise the others were strangely inarticulate too. They had all been in the crowd that had shouted Waco’s praises in the Longhorn the previous evening. They found it hard to believe that he was gone so soon.

  “If there’s anythin’ we can do,” Sam volunteered soberly, “you know we’ll be only too willin’.” He glanced at the others for corroboration. They were quick to voice it.

  “I sent for Luther,” Little Bill told them. “We’ll have a look down the arroyo as soon as he comes and see what we can find.”

  “I guess it’s no question but what it was the Sontags,” said Sam. “Your pa didn’t have no enemies other than them. Beaudry and Chilton and a couple more have fanned it out of town already, saying they was goin’ to cut ’em off.”

  Little Bill’s head went up.

  “Beaudry? What does he know about this?”

  “Joe here can tell you more than me. He says he was talkin’ to him,” Sam replied. “What was it he said, Joe?”

  “Why, I reached for my pants as soon as I heard the shootin’,” the man explained. “It took me a few minutes to get down to the street. I was just turnin’ the corner by the Longhorn when Beaudry and Chilton fanned it out of the alley beside the sheriff’s office. I asked them what the shootin’ was about. Cash yelled back that the Sontags had come in for Waco and that he was goin’ to cut ’em off if he could.”

  “So that’s the way it was, eh?” Little Bill ground out threateningly. “I’ll sure look into that!”

  “Why, what do you mean, Bill?” Sam inquired.

  “I mean it don’t go with me at all! How did he come to be on the job so quick? Looks to me like he was waitin’ for it to happen!”

  “Well, I ain’t no great booster for Beaudry,” Sam remarked. “I know if I was the sheriff of this county and I heard gunfire I’d go to the scene of the shootin’ to catch my outlaws instead of tryin’ to cut ’em off somewhere.”

  “You wouldn’t if you was takin’ your orders from them same outlaws,” Little Bill exclaimed.

  “Now, Bill,—” Sam started to protest feebly.

  “Don’t stall, Sam! You know you’ve been thinkin’ it! All of you have! So why not say it? You know it’s true!”

  “No one’s proved it yet,” Swift argued.

  “I’ll come damn close to doin’ it,” Little Bill assured him, “and if I ever find out that he knew they were comin’ in for Pop I’ll drag his dead body through the streets of this town!”

  “And I’ll help you do it if you ever p
rove that on him!” said Sam.

  By now Little Bill could see a score of men hurrying toward them.

  “I don’t want to talk to these people,” he told Swift. “If you will, Sam, keep ’em out of here. You can tell ’em what’s happened.”

  “Why, sure, Bill. And I’ll be glad to take care of all the funeral arrangements if you’ll let me. We want to pay our respects to Waco in a way that will do him proud.”

  “Sam, I’ll sure appreciate it,” Little Bill said gratefully. “I’d like to have a word with you if you’ll step inside.”

  Swift removed his hat in respect to the dead as he entered the house.

  “Sam, Beaudry doesn’t know I’m here,” Bill said as soon as he had closed the door. “I had some trouble with him last night. I know he’s goin’ to get me for it if he can. I’m goin’ to tell yuh what happened.”

  The mayor did not attempt to hide his concern at the tale Little Bill told him.

  “No question but he can make it pretty hot for you, Bill,” he declared soberly. “From what I know of the law, he had a right to take your horse. I appreciate how you felt about it, but that didn’t warrant your openin’ up on him with a rifle—in the eyes of the law I mean. All the rest of it won’t enter into the case.”

  “What do you think he can do?”

  “He can claim an assault with a deadly weapon with intent to kill. That will mean upwards of five years for you if he makes a jury believe it. I don’t figure he’ll do anythin’ until after the funeral. He knows how folks would take it, and there’s enough feelin’ against him already without that. I’ll speak to him if you say so, but I don’t think it would do any good, bein’ the ornery skunk that he is.”

  “I don’t want you to speak to him,” Little Bill said flatly. “I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of lettin’ him think I was lookin’ for an out. I reckon if he didn’t have a reason last night for wantin’ me locked up he’s got one now. If he’s got a lick of sense he must know I won’t quit until I know who handed it to Pop.”

  A wild tattoo of driving hoofs brought him to the window. Six riders were sweeping up the road in a swirl of dust, their horses flecked with foam.

  His first thought was that it was Beaudry and his deputies. He saw now that it was Luther, Chalk and the whole Sawbuck bunch, with the exception of Maverick.

  Chalk had met up with them a short distance out of town, for they had come on ahead of the wagon, anxious to know what was happening to Little Bill. Chalk’s news had brought them into town on a slashing ride.

  The crowd gathered in front of the house scattered hurriedly as they swept into the yard. They were riding the horses Beaudry had left them. They brought them to a slithering stop and slid out of their saddles with an angry flourish.

  Luther looked around for his brother.

  “Where’s Bill?” he jerked out.

  “He’s inside,” two or three in the crowd answered.

  At that moment Little Bill opened the door. Luther and the others made a rush for it.

  “Where is Pop?” Luther demanded huskily. His face was haggard-looking.

  “I put him in on his bed,” Little Bill answered.

  Luther and Tascosa went into the bedroom together. The others stood about uneasily, their faces hard.

  “You know what we all think about this,” said Link Appling. “We’re here to help you square it, Bill.”

  “We ain’t got nothin’ else to do until it is squared,” Scotty Ryan seconded.

  Their loyalty touched Little Bill. He nodded his head in token of appreciation.

  Tascosa and Luther stepped out of the bedroom. There was a steely glitter in Tas’ eyes.

  “ ’T ain’t for me to say what should be done,” he remarked somberly, “but Oklahoma wouldn’t be big enough for the Sontags to hide in if it was left to me.” He wiped his tobacco-stained mouth with the back of his hand. “You and Luther talk it over, Bill. We’ll go along with yuh whatever yuh decide.”

  “I’m goin’ to have a look down the arroyo,” Little Bill informed them. “We may find some sign that will tell us what we want to know. Sam is goin’ to take charge of the funeral for us, Luther. You and me can be runnin’ things down a little in the meantime.”

  “I’m agreeable to that,” said Luther. His face was wooden. “Have you seen anythin’ of Beaudry?”

  “Not a thing.” Little Bill told him why. “He’s overplayed his hand this time, Luther.”

  “I’ll say he has!” Luther got out accusingly. “He knew it was the Sontags the moment he heard a gun bark, eh? I reckon that ain’t all he knows! I figure to find out the rest of it! Ridin’ out of town to cut ’em off!” he spat out with supreme contempt. “That ain’t foolin’ me!”

  “He’d have to bring me their scalps before I’d believe him,” Tascosa growled. “I’ll have somethin’ to say to him.”

  “Take my advice and go slow, Tas,” Sam counseled. “He’s got Bill in a bad jam if he wants to prefer charges against him. I’d kinda hold in for a day or two until you see what he intends to do about that.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Tascosa admitted grudgingly. “But things is jest nacherally workin’ toward a showdown. It can’t be put off long. If you’re goin’ to have a look at that arroyo, I’ll trail along. I ain’t forgot all I knew about trackin’.”

  “We’ll go now,” said Little Bill. “Chalk and Sam can take charge of things here.”

  Chapter VIII

  THEY found Waco’s hat and then quickly found where he had rolled down into the wash. In the sandy soil it was no difficult matter to follow the way he had taken over to the cut bank.

  “There’s where I found him,” Bill told them. “You can see the empty shells lyin’ around. Blood on the bank there …. He must have propped himself up against it.”

  “No question about it,” said Tascosa. He sat himself down as he imagined Waco had done. “Just what I thought!” he announced. “Your pa must have stumbled or thrown himself down before he got here. I examined him and I know the slug that killed him got him through the back.”

  “Looks like this is where he fell,” Luther declared after moving a few feet out into the draw. “A man concealed up there on the bank couldn’t have missed him at that distance.”

  “That’s the way it was,” Tas muttered gravely. “Waco figgered if he reached here he had a chance. The bank overhangs so that to git him from above a man would have had to show himself, and your pa would have marked him at least.”

  “We’ll get up there now and see what we can find,” said Little Bill.

  They had to drop down the wash before they could find a place their horses would climb. Empty cartridges and the broken-down grass showed them where the killer had lain. Luther compared one of the brass shells with his own. They were identical.

  “That won’t tell us anythin’,” he said. “Regular Remington .45 calibre shell. No blood stain up here either.”

  “I didn’t expect to find any,” Bill told him. “I want to find out how that hombre got in here and which way he went in gettin’ out—and if there was some others waitin’ to cover him.”

  “You follow me,” Tascosa ordered. “Shouldn’t be no trick to follow signs as plentiful as this.”

  On foot, leading their horses, they began moving across the flat toward a little grove of old cottonwoods that marked the site of what had once been Bowie’s original boot hill.

  They were not over forty minutes in reaching the trees. There they found the tracks of three or four horses.

  “They was sure here to cover him if he got into a jam,” Luther observed. “If you’d come in this way this mornin’, Bill, you’d have run smack into ’em.”

  “I wish to God I had,” Little Bill rasped bitterly.

  Tascosa said nothing, but the glance he directed at Six-gun said eloquently enough that he held the clay-bank to blame even in this.

  Mounting, they followed the tracks of the horses until they found themselves on the
heavily used road that ran from Bowie to Kingfisher. In the past few minutes a three-wagon freight outfit had passed. They could see it moving into town now.

  “That stops us,” Little Bill fumed, “‘cause they sure turned into the road.”

  “And we can’t tell now how far they followed it before they turned out—”

  “I don’t care about that,” Little Bill interrupted. “All I hoped to learn was whether one of ’em went right on into town. I don’t believe Beaudry ever went out lookin’ for ’em until he knew where not to look.”

  “Well, let’s jog along as far as the old ‘dobe anyhow,” Tascosa suggested. “Anybody headin’ for the west would most likely turn off about there. We may pick up somethin’.”

  Little Bill was about to consent when he became aware of a horseman hurrying in their direction.

  “Whoever he is he ain’t losin’ no time,” he murmured with growing concern.

  “Yeh, usin’ the quirt all right,” said Tas.

  In a few seconds Little Bill recognized the rider.

  “Why, it’s Martha!” he exclaimed with a start. “There’s somethin’ wrong. I never saw her crowd a horse like that before.”

  “Only bad news travels fast, they say,” Tascosa muttered to himself.

  The tenseness that tightened Martha Southard’s face told them even before she spoke that she came on an urgent errand.

  “Please, Bill,” she interrupted as the red-haired one started to voice his surprise at seeing her there, “let me do the talking; you haven’t a minute to waste! The sheriff has a warrant for you and he’s at your place now trying to serve it!”

  Little Bill stared at her speechlessly for a moment. The spell of her presence was enough in itself to tighten his throat. In her excitement he found her more beautiful than ever, and he had only to gaze into her eyes and see the concern in them for himself to be rendered helpless.

  “But, Martha—” he protested weakly, “I can’t go now with Pop lyin’ dead at home—”

  “But you must go,” Martha insisted. “Sam has told me all about last night. I’d just heard about your father and was going to your place when Sam came hurrying out of the courthouse. He told me where to find you—to tell you to go; that he would look after everything … Beaudry hates you. If he ever gets you into jail you’ll never get out—and you’ve got to get justice for your father.” She turned to Tascosa. “You make him go, Tascosa; Beaudry will not be sheriff long; Bill will soon be able to come back.”