Blood on the Hills

by Matt Chisholm

  “Bret and Shawn.”

  “By God,” Charlie said, “you got “em the both.”

  “No, Charlie,” Jody explained, “Bret helped me bring Shawn in.”

  “He did?” The deputy sounded amazed.

  He came out and looked up at Shawn.

  “By crackey,” he said, “you ain’t a-goin’ to tell me you brought Shawn in backwards on a mule. You ain’t a-goin’ to tell me that.”

  “I am and we did,” Jody told him.

  Charlie slapped a thigh and cackled with delight—”Wait till I tell the fellers. They’ll jist about laugh theyselves silly.”

  “Shut up, you old fool,” Shawn said.

  “Old fool am I?” Charlie said. “By Christ, I’ll show you who’s an old fool afore I’m through, you child-murderin’, yeller-bellied ...”

  He seemed to choke.

  “Get him down off that mule,” Jody said.

  Charlie cut the bonds that held Shawn’s legs under the mule’s belly and Shawn kicked Charlie in the chest, sending him sprawling. He jumped over the far side of the mule and ran suddenly into the darkness. Bret pulled a gun and cocked it, Jody yelled: “Don’t fire,” and went after the escaping man. Shawn was slowed by the stiffness of his limbs and the fact that his hands were bound. Jody caught him after twenty paces and brought him down with a flying tackle. After that, Shawn walked into cells with the docility of a bottle-fed foal.

  They put him in his previous cell and walked into the office.

  Froud was sitting up against a couple of pillows and he was looking pretty chipper. Consuelo was cooking a meal on the stove. She greeted them with a wide smile. Even Froud found something resembling a smile.

  “That Shawn you brought in?” he demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “You took your time.” He put his gaze on Bret. “You got him too?”

  “No, I signed him on as a deputy,” Jody said.

  Bret looked surprised and Froud said: “You what?”

  “You heard. I signed him on as a deputy.”

  “You can’t do that,” Froud said. “Only I can do that. You ain’t sheriff.”

  “If I ain’t, nobody is. I sure been actin’ like one. You ain’t no more use ‘n a sucking babe lyin’ there on your backside.”

  Froud was so mad he couldn’t speak.

  Finally, he growled through his teeth—”You’re fired. Hear? Fired.”

  “Consuelo,” Jody said, “you’d best come and wipe his brow with a damp cloth. He looks like he’s goin’ to bust a blood vessel.”

  “You should not make him mad, Jody,” she reproved him. “He’s still sick.”

  “He ain’t sick,” Jody said. “He’s just lyin’ there wallowing in sympathy.”

  “I ain’t havin’ that Bret a deputy in my office,” Froud said. “First thing you know he’ll make another try at killin’ the prisoner. He led that hangin’ bee, didn’t he?”

  “He could of killed him a dozen times comin’ back here,” Jody said.

  “I don’t trust him. You hear that, Bret? I don’t trust you.”

  “I heard, Mr. Froud,” Bret said. “But this Jode Storm he’s a mighty strong-willed feller an’ if he says I’m a deputy, I reckon I’m a deputy.”

  Froud growled: “I’m a pretty strong-willed feller myself or didn’t you notice.”

  “Yep,” said Bret, “that’s true enough. But you’re a-lyin’ there sick and Jode, why he’s up and around. I reckon I’m a deputy, Mr. Froud.”

  “Aw, hell,” said Froud, “what’s the use? AH right, you’re a deputy. But you keep your nose clean while you’re in my office.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Froud. Jode, all right with you if I go pay Lou Mary Ann a visit?”

  Jody thought a little. Shafter and his daughter were on opposite sides.

  “I’ll give you thirty minutes. I have to go see a man an’ this place has to be guarded. Charlie, make yourself a bed up in the last cell on the right. Lamp burns in front of Shawn’s cell all night. Out of his reach.”

  Charlie muttered something about teaching his grandmother to suck eggs and went morosely off to the cells carrying his shotgun. Jody let Bret out by the street door and propped the door to the cell-block open. That gave him a clear field to shoot at both the rear and the street door.

  Consuelo gave him something to eat. It was good to fill himself with a good meal again. Froud dozed. Consuelo sat beside the sheriff and darned a pair of his sox. They made a domesticated picture. Jody wondered why they didn’t marry. Was it because Consuelo was a Mexican and marrying her might hurt his office? There were men who felt like that. He watched her face in the lamplight. He reckoned she was some woman. Froud was a fool.

  “Consuelo,” he said softly, “how’s he comin’, really?”

  She said softly, after a glance at her man—”He is a little stronger. The wound is clear. He will be stomping around his county inside a month. Then he will not need me so much.”

  “I reckon he’ll always need you,” Jody said.

  He was tired. He sat behind the desk and almost dozed off. He hadn’t seen to the horses. As soon as Bret came back, he would take them to the livery. Then he had business in town.

  His chin was resting on his chest when he heard the shot. It was muffled, for there were walls between him and it. But he heard the bullet strike. It hit the bars of the cells and ricocheted like crazy.

  He was on his feet in a second. Somebody shooting into the jail...

  Froud was awake—”What in hell was that?”

  Consuelo jumped forward.

  Jody shouted: “Stay where you’re at.”

  In the cell Shawn was yelling—“They’re tryin’ to kill me.”

  Jody ran into the cell area and saw Shawn lying on the floor against the far wall and he was scared. Charlie ran into the space between the cells, shotgun in hand.

  Jody said: “That shot came from the store out back?”

  “Could be.”

  “I’m goin’ out. Lock the door behind me.”

  Charlie told him he was a damned fool, but he opened the door and Jody ran out into the dark. The horses were startled and pulling on their lines, the mule was braying frantically.

  Jody looked around.

  The store was a tall building with a high loft above it.

  Even as he looked he heard the report and saw the muzzle-flash. He threw himself sideways and down and drew the Colt’s gun. The bullet struck the door Charlie had just closed.

  Jody fired two shots, then drove himself to his feet, running around the horses and throwing himself close up against the store. The rifleman was almost directly above. Jody fired another shot upward and ran around the building, hugging the wall. If the marksman was to make his escape, he would have to go out the far end. He could hear booted heels thundering on timber.

  He reached the far end of the building and backed up close against the wall.

  Jody reckoned the man had caught sight of Shawn silhouetted against the light of the lamp on the jail floor. The foot-beats stopped. The fellow had reached the ladder.

  From the darkness a voice said: “Raise your hands, deputy.”

  Jody felt sick to his stomach.

  Suckered again! When would it end?

  The hidden man was some forty paces away out there in the darkness. Did he hold rifle or belt-gun? Jody’s action hung on the man’s choice of weapons.

  He raised his hands, wondering if he could risk a shot on sound alone.

  The man said: “Drop the gun, Storm.”

  Jody hurled himself to one side and fired as he went.

  The man must have been surprised out of his wits because Jody had time to hit dirt, roll a couple of times, reach his feet and run ten paces before the shot came. It went wide. Jody reached a pile of trash and flung himself down behind it.

  His brain raced.

  He couldn’t catch the man inside the store. But he might get his hands on the fellow out here. Better a bird in the hand ...<
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  He’d saved his life by taking the man completely by surprise. Who would be crazy enough to jump a cocked gun?

  So he must do something even crazier.

  He darted north, outflanking the man. The gun roared again and now Jody was certain that it was a revolver. He fired on the flash, changed direction abruptly and charged. The man fired again and Jody dropped flat.

  Now he asked the question—Did the man start out with five rounds in his gun with an empty chamber under the hammer or did he load it with all six if it was a six-shooter?

  The man either had two or three shots left and the alternative was crucial. He reckoned if he himself was out on a mission like this, he would have his gun loaded in all chambers. So he calculated that the man had three shots left.

  The door of the store was wrenched open and a man ran out. The nearer man shouted something. The other man didn’t wait. He ran west and disappeared into the night. Thus deserted by a man he had been guarding, the nearer man cursed wildly.

  Jody called out: “That’s your kind for you. Wide yaller down the back.”

  He rolled as the man fired, hit a dip in the ground as the bullet blasted an empty can along the ground. That left two shots. He found a large rock and threw it back at the pile of trash. Somebody else’s turn to be suckered. The man fired again and again some can suffered.

  That meant an empty gun or one shot. Jody fired and no shot came back.

  The man’s gun was empty.

  Jody was on his feet charging.

  Up till then, Jody had been unaware of his wounded leg, except for a sharp twinge every time his foot hit ground. But now, perversely, the leg failed him.

  In the same instant, as he went down, he knew he’d been suckered again.

  The man fired.

  But the leg had saved Jody. The bullet passed close over his head.

  Get up, you damn fool, Jody’s brain ordered him.

  Wait—the man could think he had made a hit. Jody braced his sound leg under him.

  He listened.

  The man was on his feet, walking slowly forward. Jody craned back his neck. He could only see the man dimly against the starlight. It seemed to him that the man was emptying his gun of used shells.

  When the fellow was within six paces of him, Jody launched himself. Going forward low and hard. His wounded leg tried to fail him, but he succeeded in ramming his head hard into the man’s belly.

  The fellow went over backward with a cry of alarm. Jody was lying across his legs. He knew the fellow was winded. He reached up and shoved the muzzle of the Colt hard into the man’s belly.

  “Move an’ I’ll blow a hole in you big enough to drive a stage through,” he said.

  Weakly, the man said: “Count me out.”

  Jody reached up for the gun and took it from the man’s hand. He crawled back of him and stood up.

  “On your feet.”

  Slowly, the man rose.

  “Use your head, Storm,” he said. “Shawn’s goin’ to hang any road.”

  Jody said: “You’re forgettin’ the smart lawyer.”

  “If that’s the case, you should of let us kill him.”

  “Save it and walk to the jail.”

  They walked to the jail, Jody wary for fresh trouble. But they reached the rear door and Charlie opened to his hail. Inside, with the door locked, Jody said: “You know this buzzard?”

  Charlie looked at the man.

  “I never saw him before in my life.”

  Jody gave that a little thought. If the fellow belonged to the local hanging party, Charlie would have known him. Strange.

  “You sure?” he said.

  Charlie looked a little mad.

  “I know ev’y manjack in this hull county,” he declared.

  Jody pushed the man toward Shawn’s cell. The outlaw was sitting on his bed now.

  “Shawn,” Jody said, “you know this man?”

  Shawn came to the bars and looked at the thin face with its uneasy eyes.

  “Sure,” the prisoner said. “I know him. This the feller that tried to kill me?”

  “His partner,” Jody told him. “Who is he?”

  “Small-time gun-handler,” Shawn said. “Cut his mother’s throat for a dollar. Who’d hire a cheap punk like this?”

  “Somebody who would want a punk cheap, I suppose,” Jody said. “What’s his name?”

  “Jack King. Used to run with Abe Morrison up in Nebraska.”

  Jody said: “Lock him up, Charlie.”

  Charlie shoved the new prisoner into a cell and turned the key on him.

  There was a pounding on the street door. Jody walked through into the office and saw Consuelo sitting beside Froud with a pistol in her hands. Froud was awake and his gun lay on the bed beside him.

  At the door, Jody demanded: “Who is this?”

  “Bret.”

  Bret.

  That raised a big question in Jody’s mind and it disturbed him profoundly. Bret could have fired those shots at Shawn. Did he?

  He opened the door and Bret stepped inside. The cowhand was breathless from running.

  “You’re outa breath,” Jody said.

  Bret looked surprised.

  “Sure, I am. I legged it all the way from Shafter’s when I heard the shootin’.”

  Jody didn’t know what to think. Charlie was standing in the doorway to the cell-block, staring at Bret.

  Jody asked: “Where’s your rifle?”

  “On my horse.”

  Jody put it to him straight—“Bret, you could have fired those shots at Shawn.”

  Bret said: “You mean somebody tried to kill Shawn.”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “I was with Lou. She’ll vouch for that.”

  “Sure she will. She wants Shawn dead.”

  “Jode, I swear ...”

  “You’d swear anythin’ if you wanted Shawn dead bad enough an’ we all know it.”

  From the alcove, Froud’s voice came—“Put Bret in a cell, Jode. Maybe he didn’t do it. But for a while we can’t take no chances.”

  Jody still had his gun in his hand. Bret looked at it. His eyes were desperate.

  “You can’t do this, Jode,” he said pleadingly. “God knows you need me right now.”

  “I know I need you,” Jody agreed, “but see it our way, Bret. Can we take the risk?”

  Reluctantly, Bret shook his head.

  “No,” he said, “I reckon you can’t.”

  Jody lifted Bret’s gun from leather and jerked his head toward the cells. Charlie stepped back to let him pass. At the door Bret turned and said: “My word I didn’t do it, Jode. I ain’t a rat.”

  When the cowhand was locked in a cell, Charlie let Jody out onto the street and barred the door behind him.

  Jody stood for a moment in the cool night air. There were some curious bystanders on the opposite side of the street. He ignored them and walked around the courthouse to the rear. He looked at Bret’s rifle-boot.

  It was empty.

  That wasn’t conclusive proof, but it looked bad for Bret. But he could have killed both Shawn and Jody on the way back to town. It didn’t make sense.

  But Jody had to make sense of it.

  He walked down Main, crossed over and came to the Rest. There were men outside discussing the shooting. They asked Jody what had happened. He told them he had been braced by a gunman and the fellow was now locked in the jail. Who was he? Jody said he didn’t know. He was becoming quite a liar.

  He walked into the dining-room. The Chinese and Lou were there, but there was no sign of Shafter.

  Lou smiled at him a little doubtfully.

  “You seen Bret around any place?” he asked innocently.

  “Sure, he was right here,” she told him. “He ran out when he heard the shooting.”

  “Did he have his rifle with him?”

  “No.”

  “Where’s your old man?”

  “I think he’s in his office.”
r />   “Thanks.”

  He walked out, went back to the courthouse and fetched the animals. At the livery stable the owner was all curiosity about the shooting. Jody told him what he had told the others. He walked back to the Rest and entered it by the rear. There was no light in the passageway, but he saw a crack of light coming from Shafter’s office.

  He pushed the door open and entered.

  Shafter’s back was to him as the man busied himself at his desk. Without looking around, the man waved a hand and said: “Be with you in one little minute.”

  Jody reached for the back of the chair and whirled it around. They came face to face.

  Jody said: “You’re with me now, Shafter.”

  For one very brief second consuming rage washed across the man’s eyes. Then he commanded it to be gone and the yellow-toothed smile took its place. The little eyes crinkled up at the corners.

  “Why, young man,” he cried. “Jode, my friend. You’ve gotten back safely. We were all wondering what happened to you.”

  “Had me quite a trip,” said Jody.

  He found a chair and sat down.

  “How’ve you been, Shafter?”

  “Fine, just fine. I heard you brought Shawn back. The whole community will be grateful to you. A magnificent feat for one so young. I hear Bret helped you.”

  Jody shook his head.

  “Yes,” he said, “that’s kinda sad. About Bret, I mean.”

  “Sad? How do you mean?”

  “I just put him in a cell alongside Shawn.”

  “You what?”

  “You heard the shooting didn’t you?”

  “I did think I heard shooting. But I don’t hear too well way back here.”

  “Bret tried to kill Shawn.”

  Shafter looked horrified.

  “You’re not telling me that…?”

  “I’m tellin’ you all right.”

  Either the man was a consummate actor or he was in the utmost confusion. While he was in this state, Jody shot at him: “What was your arrangement with Shawn?”

  Now Shafter was truly shaken. His eyes, which had been searching the room for something he couldn’t find, widened and fixed on Jody.

  “Arrangement with Shawn?”

  The question could have meant or indicated anything—his total disconnection with the outlaw, his total involvement with him, complete surprise at the mention of such a thing. Jody allowed silence to do his work for him.