The Man Without a Gun

by Lauran Paine

  “Buck?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s something I’ve got to do before I leave.”

  “I can guess,” the old man grumbled. “You got to see Amy Southard.” He started for the harness room. “Go ahead and see her...just be gone before sunup.”

  By the time Buck returned with the saddle Jack had led the horse out into the alleyway where a wet wind was running. The overhead sound of rain was loud and steady.

  As the old man heaved the saddle up, he grunted: “There’s a slicker tied behind the cantle. You’d best put it on now.” As an afterthought he added: “It’s a black one...not yellow.”

  Jack got the slicker, shrugged into it, and reached for the reins Buck was holding out. For a moment they looked into each other’s eyes, then the old man cleared his throat and spat aside.

  “Now, listen, boy. There’s a little juniper and oak knoll three miles east of town on the Lighthill Grade. It’s the only knoll around there with trees on it. I’ll either bring you some grub up there or send you some by noon tomorrow...I mean today. If there’s any news, I’ll put a note with it.” Buck sighed. “After that, though, you’d best leave the country. And...don’t write me no letters. At least not for a couple of weeks. You understand?”

  “Listen, Buck, I’m not leaving the country. I’ll hide out for a few days but I’m not....”

  “You idiot! Logan’ll have posses all over the place!”

  “Let him. I didn’t come down in this rain, either. I’ve ducked posses before. The thing is I can’t leave you with the short end of the rope.”

  “Jack, you damned fool. I’ve got....”

  “There’s another thing, too, Buck. I can’t run out...not after telling the boy that a man doesn’t run from his troubles, he faces up to them.”

  Buck’s mouth remained open. A long rush of air came out of it. His shoulders slumped a little, then he made a weary hand motion. “All right, son. All right. You do what you think’s right...and I’ll do what I can...and I expect the rest of it’s up to the Big Spirit.” Buck’s jaw thrust out. “Now git!”

  VII

  Jack rode through the driving rain as far as the Southard place. There, while his horse stood humped up against the cold, he went up to the door and knocked. It seemed an eternity before an elderly woman answered. She was holding a blue-black revolver in one hand. He affected not to see it.

  “Could I see Miss Amy for just a moment,” he asked. “It’s important, ma’am, or I wouldn’t be here at this hour of the morning.”

  The older woman studied his face a long time before turning away. “I’ll get her,” she said, then the girl’s voice, unmistakable, came from the gloom beyond.

  “Who is it, Mother?”

  “A young man, honey. He wants to talk to you.”

  Amy pulled the door open wider and peered out. She had a voluminous blue wrapper around her. She reached out suddenly and pulled at Jack’s sleeve. He resisted.

  “I’m wet and muddy,” he said. “Besides, this won’t take long.” He held out a key and an envelope. “The key’s to my saddle shop. You keep it. In this envelope is eleven hundred dollars. You keep that, too.”

  “But, Jack....”

  “Let me finish. I got Rob. He’s in hiding at Buck’s barn. I’ve got to disappear for a spell until his uncle’s cooled down. Miss Amy, you and Buck and I are the only friends that kid’s got. You use that money to keep his uncle from getting him...use it any way you have to or any way you want to. The shop...well, if the money runs out, sell it and use that money, too.”

  “You’re...running...away?”

  He saw the disbelief in her face and drew in a big breath. “I’m an ex-convict, Miss Amy.”

  She murmured something that sounded like — “I know. — but he wasn’t sure what it was and he didn’t give her a chance to repeat it.

  “Logan can frame me back into prison. He once told me how easily he could do it. Well, that’s why I’m leaving now. I’m not running...not away, anyway. I’ll be back. All I’m asking of you is a little help...for a time.”

  The words trailed off. Beyond Amy her mother stood rock-like with the pistol in her hand. She seemed to be an aged duplicate of the girl. A big gust of wind tore at the roof of the porch and hurried on. Amy took a big breath, reached for the key and envelope, and held them without looking away from the big man’s face.

  “All right, Jack, all right. But I think you’re wrong. I don’t think Josh Logan could railroad you.”

  He shook his head with impatience. “Listen, all Logan has to do is have witnesses testify in court they’ve seen me wearing a gun. That’s all. It’s against the law for ex-felons to pack guns, Miss Amy.”

  “But you’ve never carried a gun in Herd. The people could swear to that.”

  “You still don’t understand,” he said a trifle sharply. “Logan could have ten of his railroaders swear they saw me armed. That’s all it’d take to send me back to Yuma. He’d do it. I know he would.”

  He shook his hat, struck his slickered leg with it, and put it back on his head. Amy moved across the porch and stopped close, looking up into his face.

  “Jack, you’re not running out, are you? You’re not being frightened off...?”

  He made a bitter smile. “Amy, I don’t scare worth a damn. That’s been one of my troubles. No, I haven’t begun to fight back yet. All I need now is a little time. I’m relying on you and Buck to help me get that by keeping Logan away from Rob.” He reached out and touched her. “I’ve really got no right to get you involved, though, have I?”

  She took his hand and squeezed it. “You’re not getting me involved. I’m the one that dragged you into this.” She let his hand go and stepped back. “You can trust me, Jack. I’ll do everything that can be done.”

  He touched his hat to them both and turned away. Wet earth squished underfoot as he went back to the horse, swung up, and rode northerly out of town through the wind and rain.

  By the time he got to the easterly cut-off the day was paling in the east and the rain was diminishing. By the time he located Buck’s tree-topped little knoll, steel gray morning was close. He topped the little hill, rode into the screen of dripping trees, got down, and took off the slicker. The rain was passing, only a heavy mist remained, and, as daylight grew, the desert warmed up.

  He tied the slicker behind the cantle, then made a leisurely reconnaissance of the land around Buck’s hill. A mile beyond, hidden from the knoll by a square-hewn granite bluff, was Logan’s railroad camp. He rode there, got down, and rolled a cigarette, watching the men and the camp below the ridge.

  Rain had of course slowed the railroaders’ progress. A freshly laid roadbed ran out ahead of the steel ribbons, which came out of the northeast, and terminated where shacks, Sibley tents, and an army of wagons stood. Men were working down there, but half-heartedly; the ground was too wet to do much. A span of mules came from the west, probably from a tie camp back in the mountains, laden with squared logs. Profanity from the teamster rose into the air. The mules slithered, chain harness rattled, and section hands, turning to watch the wagon’s progress, called encouragement. Finally, when the wagon halted beyond the steel lines, dozens of men went forward to unload the ties. While they were working, a small work engine puffed up, pushing four flatcars laden with gleaming steel, new track rails. A mounted man came from behind the shacks and bellowed orders. Most of the section hands left the wagon and went back to unload the flatcars.

  There was smoke rising from a black pipe in the center of Logan’s camp. Jack surmised the big tent where this came from was the mess hall. Far out, a goodly distance from the other residences, stood a small, square hut with a bright red door. The powder cache. For a long time Jack’s gaze lingered here. Finally, satisfied that he had seen all there was to see, the big man stubbed out his cigarette, mounted the horse, and headed
back toward the far knoll. It was close to midday by then and the sun was just beginning to break through the overcast.

  He hadn’t been there an hour when a moving speck coming from the direction of Herd caught and held his attention. The rider turned east at the cut-off and headed straight for the knoll. He was too far away to identify, but he wasn’t so far away that Jack didn’t move his horse back farther into the trees, and remain with him, watching.

  The stranger rode past the knoll and Jack relaxed, thinking he was a railroader going to the camp. Then he left the road and made a big half circle of the knoll, and uneasiness touched the big man. Clearly the stranger was studying the wet earth for tracks — and just as surely he would find them.

  He did. He found Jack’s tracks going toward the granite ridge and returning. He stopped, stoked up a pipe, lit it, puffed up a head of smoke, then shook out his reins, heading straight for the hilltop.

  It would be useless to flee. The oncoming rider would be able to see him easily if he rode down off the hill, and, since the stranger was armed and Jack was not, pursuit could only end one way.

  Jack found a stout oak limb, leaned it against the white-oak tree he was using for cover, and waited until the stranger got to the top of his hill.

  There was something familiar about the stranger’s horse, and even about the relaxed, easy way the armed man sat the saddle, but until he reined up and swung his head in a slow study of the knoll and the trees where Jack was watching, he hadn’t recognized him. Now he did. It was Sheriff Hoyt Farmer. The badge on his coat and the hat-shadowed roughness of his face showed at the same time.

  The sheriff knocked dottle from his pipe, stowed it in a coat pocket, thumbed back his black hat, and called softly: “Swift?”

  Echoes came back from the trees but there was no answer. For a while Sheriff Farmer sat perfectly still, then, very methodically and almost as though he were sighing from the effort, he swung out and down, bent a long look at the ground, and started forward. Jack knew his tracks would betray him, and, resigned to being arrested, he stepped out into plain sight. It was the movement that halted Hoyt Farmer. He looked up slowly, rocked his head slightly to one side, and nodded.

  “Guess you didn’t hear me call,” he said mildly.

  Jack came forward. “I heard you,” he replied.

  The sheriff nodded. “Sure,” he said, and turned toward his horse. “Amy sent you some vittles.”

  Jack watched the sheriff take a tied bundle from his saddle and walk forward with it. He made no move toward the gun at his hip, nor did his unwavering, deceptively drowsy gaze look other than friendly.

  Jack accepted the bundle and spoke at the same time. “The way I heard it Logan has a warrant.”

  “He had it. And I reckon he wanted to serve it himself, too. But this morning it’s no good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, to start with, that warrant was only good for twenty-four hours. To finish with, after Logan heard that you’d left the country...alone...he threw the warrant away.”

  “If he thought I’d left the country, how come you’re here?”

  “He thought you’d left. I didn’t.”

  Jack went to a deadfall and sat down. While he ate, Sheriff Farmer lit his pipe again and smoked, admiring the way afternoon sunlight flashed and sparkled off the damp countryside. After a while he faced Jack and spoke. “Y’know, Logan’s still lookin’ for Rob.”

  “Is he?”

  “Yep. He doesn’t even know Merton’s stud horse come back, unsaddled himself, and put himself back in the corral.”

  Jack saw the faint twinkle in Hoyt Farmer’s eyes. He continued to eat and said nothing. The sheriff went to the deadfall and sank down beside Swift.

  “Damnedest thing,” he said. “You try an’ keep a secret and folks’ll find it out before you can say scat. You sort of bungle things, like finding the kid and putting the stud horse back, and folks don’t pay much attention.” Sheriff Farmer cleaned his pipe stem with a stalk of dead grass. “Maybe folks’re more influenced by the way they feel, than by the way they should feel. You reckon, Swift?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sheriff.”

  “Maybe you don’t.” The sheriff finished cleaning his pipe and puffed contentedly. “The thing is, Herd’s a small town. Folks take sides on just about every issue. And being human, I expect they’re pretty much influenced by what they see...not what’s legal or illegal.”

  Jack finished eating, folded the cloth on his leg very carefully, smoothed out each wrinkle, and held it out. “Tell Amy I’m obliged, will you?”

  “Sure. She’ll be glad to know that, too. Now...as I was saying...folks around Herd are pretty fair judges...not about what’s right according to law, but about what’s right by human understanding.”

  Jack made a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled. He bent a long, ironic stare at the sheriff. “It’s sure taking you a long time to shake out your loop,” he said.

  Sheriff Farmer straightened up on the log. “I guess it is at that. But it’s that kind of a day. A feller likes to sort of ruminate now and then. The older I get, the more of it I do.” He looked squarely at Jack. “There’s a lot of feeling in town, Swift. Folks couldn’t help but see how Logan’s hurt the kid an’ how you stuck up for him. They favor you over Logan. That’s about what it adds up to.”

  “I see. Well, it’s good to know, sure, but it doesn’t help the kid much.”

  “How about you?”

  Jack shrugged. “I’ll get by. I always have.”

  Farmer pocketed his pipe and looked thoughtful. “Not without a gun you won’t...not this time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This. In simple language, Swift, you’re a sitting duck. You’ve crossed Josh Logan. I’ve never yet seen anyone do that and stay healthy. His own brother crossed him....”

  Jack felt a sudden jar. He stared at the lawman. “Go on.”

  Farmer looked away. “Nothing much more worth saying.”

  “Why did you mention Logan’s brother?”

  “The summer after he crossed Josh he died.”

  “Sure. In a flash flood,” Jack said. “Flash floods happen.”

  “They sure do,” Farmer replied, getting to his feet and stretching mightily. “Well, I expect I’d better get back to town.” He dropped his arms and looked down. “Where’s the kid?”

  Jack got up, too. He didn’t answer the sheriff’s question. The other thing was still on his mind. He studied Hoyt Farmer’s serenely impassive face. He would get nothing from the sheriff that Farmer was not willing to volunteer. But he could try.

  “The way you said that...about Logan’s brother....”

  “Forget it. It stuck in my craw for a long time. Coincidence is one thing. Too much coincidence is another. That’s all there was to it. You can’t talk your way around a flash flood. It’s an act of Nature and Josh Logan or nobody else could direct it or predict it. Nature just happened along to do Josh’s killing for him.” Farmer looked out where his horse was drowsing. “Now tell me where you got the kid hid?”

  “I don’t have him hidden.”

  “But you found him.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you put the stud horse back.”

  “Yes.”

  Farmer ran a hand under his jaw and sighed. “And you know where the kid is, too.” He turned. Jack traded stares with him without answering. The sheriff nodded. “I’m going to give you a little unofficial advice...for Amy’s sake, you understand...get yourself a gun if you figure to stay around Herd. If you don’t figure to stay...don’t waste another day being on your way.”

  “I’m going to stay.”

  Sheriff Farmer’s voice dropped slightly. His eyes brightened with irony. “And the gun?” he asked softly.

  Jack understood both the t
one and the look. He smiled without mirth. “You know I can’t pack a gun.”

  For a time Farmer said nothing, then he slumped, stood with his weight balanced on one leg. And he frowned. “Yeah, I know...Yuma.” He continued to frown. “Swift, you’re walking right into it. You know that, don’t you? Logan’ll know the kid’s been found by tonight. If he finds him, you can get away...probably...and he might not try to find you. If he doesn’t find him...he’ll have your scalp.”

  “I know.”

  Farmer looked up quickly. “What’re you going to do about it?”

  “I’m staying, Sheriff, and, if Logan gets my topknot, he’s going to earn it.”

  “You got a plan?”

  “I’ve got one. I just thought of it.”

  Farmer waited patiently but Jack said no more and finally the sheriff turned and walked to his horse. After mounting, he said: “Better change your rendezvous. Right now you’re not wanted, so what you do is none of my business. But if Logan swears out another warrant...and I expect he will...it’ll be my job to find you and bring you in.”

  “Thanks,” Jack said roughly. “And tell Amy thanks, too.”

  Farmer reined toward the road. “I’ll do that,” he said.

  Jack watched him ride down to the road, swing west, and grow small in the sparkling distance. He continued to study the land toward Herd for a long time. Except for some distant, crawling wagons, there was no traffic.

  The sun sank lower, Jack smoked a cigarette, lost in thought, then he got his horse, mounted, and started toward town. Long before he got close the shadows were lengthening. It was going to be a pleasantly warm night; he could tell from the high warmth of a clear sky.

  He had to see Buck. As the sheriff had said, it was no longer safe for him to use the hilltop near Logan’s camp for his hide-out. If Farmer had tracked him there, so could others.

  Herd stood out, rain-washed and vivid, in the dusk. He angled westerly to hit the alleyway leading to Buck’s barn and made the last hundred yards on foot. Fortunately the old man was tallying sacked grain at the rear of the barn when Jack came out of the shadows of the alley. He sucked in a quick, sharp breath of air and pulled the big man deeper into the shadows.