by Lauran Paine
“Stupid?”
Knight gestured toward the narrow passageway behind them. “He was in there. There’s not even room enough between those two buildings for a man to turn around. When he fired at me, I saw the flame, naturally, so I fired back. The error he made was that he could not shoot, then duck away. Those buildings kept him stationary.” Knight shrugged. “Some bushwhackers live and learn,” he said, “and some don’t live long enough to learn.”
Kathy frowned. “Is that all you have to say? You’ve just killed a man.”
“Yeah,” Knight acknowledged, beginning to feel pain along his side, his thoughts already turning away from the defunct assassin. “But I think he looks better lying dead over here than I’d look across the road dead.” He turned his smoky gaze fully upon her, saw the look of horror, and smiled at her, lips wide.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you along,” he said.
“Why did you?” she asked haughtily.
“That’s easy. I wanted you to identify this man. I wouldn’t have known him.”
He methodically unshipped his six-gun, chucked out two empty casings, and refilled the cylinder from his shell belt. As he did this, he said: “Miss Howell, who was Will Holt? Who were his friends?”
“He Will Holt was a local rider. He worked for the big cow outfits from time to time. That’s about all I know about him except ”
“Yes?” Knight pursued.
“Except that he drank a lot.”
“What about his friends?”
“I didn’t know him that well. I’ve seen him with Colt Balfrey though.”
“Anyone else?”
Kathy moved back so that she would not see the body. “I can’t remember exactly Oh, wait. There was Slim Evans. I’ve seen him with Slim.”
“Who is Slim Evans?” Knight asked.
“He works as a handyman around Gunsight. People say he’s simpleminded.”
“Do you think he is, Kathy?” It was the first time he had called her by her Christian name. He turned to look down into her face.
The night light softened the hard look of resolve he had.
She nodded. “Yes, I think he is. I’ve known Slim since we were children. He didn’t graduate from elementary school. He was still playing with hoops and wooden dolls when the other boys were playing baseball and going hunting. Slim has always been good-natured, as far back as I can remember.”
“Yeah,” Ben Knight said with irony. “Good-natured simpletons are easily influenced. Tell me where does Evans live?”
“I won’t tell you,” Kathy said, with sudden spirit. She turned north and began to walk swiftly along.
For just a moment Knight was nonplussed. Then he rushed after her, brushed fingers over her arm halting her, and said: “I’m not going to kill Evans. I just want to ask him some questions.”
“I don’t believe you,” she flared at him. “You just killed Will Holt. And I think possibly, because of you, somehow, Colt Balfrey is also dead.”
“Kathy,” Knight said in protest. “I didn’t even know Colt Balfrey. As for Holt you saw him try to assassinate me. What was I supposed to do just stand there and be shot at? Listen, Kathy, I’ll give you my word, I won’t shoot Evans.”
“No. If he drew a gun against you, you’d kill him.”
Knight blinked. “Well, damn it all, a man’s got a right to—”
“Not,” interrupted Kathy angrily, “when he’s forcing the issue.”
Big Ben Knight’s mouth hung ajar. He sucked back a mighty breath and expelled it with a head wag. “You tell me where he lives, and I promise you I won’t lift a finger to hurt him. You got my word, Miss Howell.”
She appeared to momentarily consider this, then she said: “I don’t know how good your word is.” He flushed, and she saw this even in the silvery night and rushed on. “So I won’t tell you where Slim lives but I’ll guide you there.”
Giving him no chance to speak, she turned, beckoned, and started off along the walkway.
Knight’s brows drew downward. He hesitated a moment before following her. It was in his mind to protest, to overpower her will with his own force and power. But, watching her ramrod straight posture as she moved along, he had an inkling that he might not succeed in this, so in the end he went trailing along behind her, a tall, large and very deadly shadow for so small and shapely and lovely a girl.
Chapter Eleven
Slim Evans had a small shack east of town. It sagged wearily and appeared to be quite old, like other shacks on Gunsight’s outskirts. Some of these small buildings, having been abandoned, were taken over by men like Evans, who worked as handymen around the town, made habitable, and became residences by reason of occupancy. There was no vested title and a resident might move out as suddenly as he had moved in.
The Evans shack had a mound of carefully collected scrap iron out front. It was utterly worthless, but Evans, like others of his kind, had an overwhelming penchant for collecting things.
Kathy picked her way carefully around this heap of twisted metal, made her way to a door, beyond which showed lamplight, and raised her hand to knock.
From over her shoulder came the arm of Ben Knight to catch hold of her fingers. “Not just yet,” he breathed into her ear.
He moved slightly away to peer into a grimy window. Within the shack, clearly visible, was a tall, gaunt man working at a cook stove. He wore no six-gun and his back was to the door. Knight returned to Kathy, saw her quizzically watching his expression, reached forward, and opened the door without knocking.
The man at the stove turned toward the door in a flash. He saw Kathy first and instantly smiled. Then he saw Ben Knight, and his eyes darkened with apprehension.
“Easy,” said Ben Knight. “Just stand easy.”
Knight closed the door after himself, shot a look around for firearms, saw none visible, and went closer to the stove. Kathy, standing back, was watching him.
“My name is Knight,” he said, “and you’re Slim Evans.”
“Yes,” husked Evans, his voice scarcely audible, and fear like a banner in his gaze. “I’m Evans. I know who you are, too, mister.”
“Fine, Slim. I want you to answer some questions for me.”
“No,” Evans said, shooting his gaze past Ben at Kathy. “I ain’t goin’ to. I know what you’re after and I don’t have to tell you nothin’.”
“Colt Balfrey is dead,” said Knight.
“Colt?”
“Yes. And Will Holt is dead, too, Slim.”
Evans leaned upon the wall, his mouth hanging slack, and his fear-scored eyes nearly black as he stared at Ben Knight.
“Bob Hogan’s in bad trouble, too.” Knight nodded toward Evans. “Now it’s your turn.”
“You goin’ to shoot me?” asked the quaking man, saliva forming at the outer edges of his lips. “Don’t do it, Mister Knight. I didn’t want to go along with them. I didn’t hardly know that fellow. Bob said we had to do it.”
“Had to why?”
“Well,” mumbled Evans, “he said we had to teach old Hobart a lesson.”
Ben looked around at Kathy where she still stood by the door. He said nothing at all, but he did not have to. The girl was watching Slim Evans.
Now she said: “Slim, please tell me what happened that night.”
“I don’t think I better, Miss Kathy,” Evans said, and jerked his head sideways indicating Ben Knight. “He’ll kill me if I do.”
“No, he won’t, Slim. He gave me his word he wouldn’t.”
“You plumb sure, Miss Kathy?”
“Plumb sure, Slim.”
Evans gradually relaxed upon the wall. He eventually faced Ben Knight again. “You give your word now,” he said in an admonishing way. “You got to honor your word, Mister Knight. You can’t shoot me now.”
Ben nodded.
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Evans swallowed. He looked closely at them both again, then he began speaking. He told the story of the lynching as exactly, as precisely and vividly as it had happened. When he finished speaking, he ran nervous palms down his trouser legs, waiting.
Kathy spoke first. “Bob Hogan, Colt Balfrey, Will Holt, Frank Bell, and you. Are you sure there were no more, Slim?”
“Plumb sure, Miss Kathy. I was right there. I’d have seen ’em had there been others.”
“And it was Hogan who shot the sheriff?”
“Yes ma’am, Miss Kathy. It scairt me pretty bad when he done that. It scairt the others, too. Hogan told us the town would thank us for hangin’ that feller. We figured it would, too. But when Sheriff Mike got shot well, that was different. Folks wouldn’t like that at all. Sheriff Mike was—”
“Where’s your mask, Slim?” Ben Knight cut in to ask.
“I burnt it,” Evans replied instantly. “Hogan told us to burn ’em.”
Ben removed the flour sack from his pocket and shook it out to hold it up. “Who wore this one?”
Evans and Kathy stared. Kathy in astonishment. Slim Evans in fascination.
“I don’t rightly recollect, Mister Knight. All them masks looked alike. We made ’em out of—”
“I know,” Knight said, putting the mask away again. “Slim, hang around town for a few days, will you?”
As Knight said this, he began to frown thoughtfully. Then, before Evans could reply, he said: “On second thought I have a better idea. I’ll lock you up in Mulaney’s office.”
“Lock me up, Mister Knight?”
“If Hogan or the others learn you’ve named them, Slim, they’ll hunt you down and kill you. You can see that, can’t you?”
Whether Evans could understand this or not he did not say, for at that moment Kathy smiled at Evans.
“Please trust us,” she said, and Slim reddened violently.
“I always did trust you, Miss Kathy,” he mumbled. “I reckon you’re right about the others, too. They’ll try and shoot me for namin’ ’em. Hogan told us never to ever talk about that there lynchin’ with anyone as long as we lived.” A random and irrelevant thought came to Evans. He gazed at the rusty stove. “Will I get fed in jail?”
“Yes,” Ben Knight assured him, feeling pity for this gaunt man with the troubled face. “You’ll be fed as often and as much as you like, Slim.”
“That’s good because that there stove don’t work about half the time.”
Knight looked across at Kathy. “Let’s go,” he said, and crossed to the door, opened it, and held it for them both to pass out.
* * * * *
On their way to the sheriff’s office Ben and Kathy were particularly aware of the silence of this night. The only visible light was shining into the dark roadway from up near Gunsight’s northernmost extremity. The light came from the Cross Timbers Saloon, in fact, where a few saddled horses stood drowsily at the hitch rail. But even there, where noise and music ordinarily echoed over the town, not a sound was audible.
Ben had to light the lamp on Mike Mulaney’s desk to find keys to the strap-steel cells.
This light drew Richard Blakely and Jacob Howell. Old Jacob was carrying a short-barreled old .45-70 carbine in the crook of his arm, and his seamed face was grimly set in an uncompromising manner.
When he caught sight of Kathy though, he went loose with relief.
“Thought you’d been carried off,” he told the lovely girl. “You scairt me nigh to death, girl.”
Kathy explained to her grandfather what had transpired. Jacob and Blakely listened to this recital with interest, then turned to watch Knight lock Slim Evans in a cell.
Speaking to Kathy in a tone too soft for Knight to hear, Blakely said uneasily: “I thought he wanted to kill the lynchers.”
Kathy, also gazing at Ben Knight, said in a voice equally as quiet: “There is much more to this man than you think, Mister Blakely. Tell me do you know what happened to Mike Mulaney’s badge?”
“Why yes. I’ve got it right here. I’ve been carrying it around, hoping to find someone to ”
“Will you give it to me, please?”
The badge was passed from Blakely to Kathy Howell.
While her grandfather and Blakely watched, she crossed to Ben Knight, turned him toward her with both hands, then stood very close while she pinned the badge to Knight’s shirt front. She did not raise her eyes or speak until she had finished, then she stepped back to shoot a look up into his face.
“I’ve helped you twice now,” she told the frowning tall man. “You can do this much for me.”
“Ma’am,” Knight began, his voice flatly antagonistic, “I told you I wanted to do this—”
“Please, Ben ”
Knight, caught and held by the violet eyes, hearing the plea in this beautiful girl’s voice, and sensing behind her the impassively watchful and hopeful looks of the older men, hesitated, and in that moment, he was lost, for Kathy was again appealing to him.
“You aren’t going to challenge them, Ben. You have Slim in jail. You know who the others are. And now you are the law in Gunsight. The entire town will support you. For your own sake—and for mine—please do it this way.”
Ben Knight’s features softened with a little wry smile. He was on the verge of speaking when Jacob jumped in first.
“I know you got no call to love Gunsight, boy,” he said, “and I don’t rightly blame you for the way you feel, but you can save this town and no one else can.”
Ben looked quizzically at old Jacob.
“Diamond H is coming to burn us out. Gus Cawley told me Dwinell was bringing the crew and didn’t anyone have to tell me why. I was there the night Hobart said he’d burn Gunsight.” Jacob paused to let this sink in, then he said: “And, boy, except for you it might not have happened. You shot Hobart, remember.”
Knight made a broad gesture of resignation and dropped both arms to his sides. To Richard Blakely he said: “Do you swear me in?”
Blakely looked puzzled. “I don’t know how,” he said. “Mike always wrote the oath out and I just read it back to him.”
Jacob grounded his buffalo gun and grunted. “Never mind that monkey business,” he growled. “You’re the law in Gunsight from here on amen.” He squinted at Blakely. “You second the motion?”
“I second it,” gravely intoned the merchant.
“That’s it, then,” said old Jacob, then he fastened a stern look on his granddaughter. “Now you go home,” he told her, and stay indoors. And just for once don’t argue do like I say, girl.”
Kathy considered her grandfather over an interval of impassivity and silence, then she smiled at him. It was a smile that would have melted stone. She demurely murmured: “Yes, Grandfather.”
Ben Knight’s repressed smile showed less on his face than in his eyes; they twinkled down at the girl. “Do you always get what you want?” he asked her. “I didn’t want to wear this badge.”
For a long second Kathy looked gravely at Knight. Then, very slowly she flushed. “Not always,” she said, turning away. “Grandfather, are you coming with me?”
Old Jacob snorted. “You need me to protect you about like a grizzly bear does, young lady. You just get on home, lock the doors, and keep away from the windows.”
None of them spoke until Kathy crossed to the doorway, halted to gaze quickly back at Ben Knight, then passed from sight.
Richard Blakely cleared his throat. “What do you propose?” he asked Knight. “You’re experienced at things like this, I take it.”
“I’ve had a little experience,” the lawman said dryly, turning a sardonic gaze on Blakely. “Go get Hyatt from the Cross Timbers Saloon.”
Blakely looked blank. “You mean Morgan Hyatt?”
Knight nodded. “If that’s his name, yes. He owns the Cross Tim
bers, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” answered Blakely in a protesting way. “But Hyatt’s a friend of the cowmen. He won’t help us ”
“Just go get him, will you?”
Jacob rumbled aside at Blakely: “Do like he says, Blakely.”
Blakely departed, but his bearing loudly proclaimed that he thought what Ben Knight wanted was pointless and futile. After he was gone, old Jacob went to a chair and folded into it with the .45-70 balanced over his knees.
“Morgan’s a good man. So are some others here in Gunsight,” he informed Knight. “You aim to make up a posse and meet Diamond H with it?”
“Yes.”
Jacob nodded over this and pushed tiredly up out of the chair. “All right. I know the fellows hereabouts who won’t stampede when the shooting starts. I’ll go round ’em up.”
“I’d appreciate that,” said Knight, watching the old man cross the sheriff’s office.
“A question I’d like to ask you,” said Jacob. “You still figuring on gunning those fellows who lynched your brother?”
Knight touched the badge he now wore, saying: “Not as long as I’m wearing this.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“I know. At least I know them by name.”
Jacob looked at the floor a moment, then said: “Kathy helped you find out where they were, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
Jacob nodded brusquely and passed out into the yonder darkness. Behind him, Ben Knight went to the chair of defunct sheriff Mike Mulaney and sat down. He wagged his head. Nothing in Gunsight had worked out as he had planned for it to.
Chapter Twelve
Events had made clear to Ben Knight why Arthur Hobart tried to make Gunsight hate him. Hobart had meant to burn the town as he once had threatened, but he had craftily planned it to coincide with Knight’s arrival. By spreading that false tale of vengeance—or else—Hobart had made the townsmen acutely aware that Knight meant them great harm. Thus, when Gunsight was put to the torch, people would immediately couple this fact to Knight’s alleged threat and blame him for firing Gunsight.
