He fired again, holding a little lower and the shot drew a startled movement. He leaped aside, gun poised for another shot. There was an instant of silence, and then a shot. The bullet missed by a fraction of an inch.
Candy lay hugging the ground, and Barry could see her now. Carefully, he shifted position to get further away from her so as not to draw fire in her direction.
Hatred and fear were driving Joe Stangle, but even the courage of a cornered coyote had a breaking point. The liquor fumes had cleared from hismind, and he realized Barry was over there; he had a gun, and he was playing for keeps.
Suddenly what courage he had went out of him like a gust of breath, and like a shadow, he faded back toward the brush and his horse. He wanted desperately to kill, but he did not wish to be killed. He wanted nothing so much as to get a saddle under him and be off. He almost made it.
Merrano, hearing him at last, lunged through the brush after him. Stangle reached his horse and Merrano slid to a stop, and Joe Stangle saw him and tried one last shot. It was there, and he had to try.
Barry fired at the same instant, then he fired again. Joe Stangle's horse leaped away, and Joe Stangle, shot through the belly, all the hatred oozing away with his life's blood, swayed on his feet, the gun slipping from his fingers. Then he fell.
Barry Merrano turned and started back through the willows and then of a sudden he seemed to step into a hole and he fell.
The clean white bed and the doctor who was putting things away in a black bag were a surprise. Candy was there, and Cab Casady.
"Stangle?" He started to rise.
"He's gone, Barry. He had already killed Curt McKesson in some kind of drunken fight, and was leaving the country."
"Dulin?"
Cab shifted his feet. "I come by and helped Candy get you home. Then I went down to town and run into Rock Dulin. He picked a fight and I had to shoot him."
Cab started for the door. "You two might have something to talk about," he said. "I want to go watch the rain. Seems like it's years since I've seen any."
*
THE ROMANCE OF PIUTE BILL
Tom Galway rode the sorrel out of the juniper and down the hillside toward the rock house on the creek. He was still two hundred yards off and cutting across a field bright with larkspur, paintbrush, and sego lily when he saw Piute Bill come to the door, a Winchester in his hands.
Galway rode up to the door and hooking one leg around the saddle horn he reached for the makings. "You're going to need that rifle, Bill.. That is, if you're up to chasing some horse thieves."
"What's happened?" Piute Bill pushed his hat back on his head, then put the Winchester down beside the door. He accepted the tobacco sack Galway handed him. "You losin' stock?"
"Those boys over yonder in the Rubies ran off twenty head of horses last night. I figure to go get 'em."
"All right," Bill touched his tongue to the paper. "Must be eight or nine of them up there. Who do you figure to take along?"
"You and me. No use to clutter things up. All I want is somebody to keep them off my back."
"Sure enough. Wait until I saddle up."
He came back from the corral leading a paint horse with one blue eye and one brown eye. Tom Galway was sitting on the porch waiting for him, with a gourd dipper in his hand.
"There's a jug inside," Piute Bill said. "My own make."
Piute Bill threw his saddle on the paint "Ain't bad whiskey, at that. I'm beginning to think that alkali adds a little bite to her."
"Could be." Galway hefted the jug, then threw it over his bent arm and drank. "Could be," he repeated. "You know, Bill, I'm beginning to think that what you need is a woman. Somebody to sort of cook things up and keep things revved up a mite. Then you could give more time to making whiskey and herding cattle."
Piute Bill glanced at him sourly. "I'm doin' all right. You ready?"
Galway put the jug down inside the door and pulled the door shut. Then he swung into the saddle, and they started off at a walk across the flower-blanketed meadow.
"Cassidy will be there," Piute Bill said, "and Gorman, too." He glanced sidewise at Galway. "You better watch Cassidy. He's a fair hand."
"No man's goin' to run off my stock. I rounded up those horses out on the range. Wild stock. I broke 'em myself and gentled them down. Cassidy's got his business and I have mine. As long as he stays on the other side of the creek, I won't bother him but when he runs off my stock he'd better hunt himself a hole."
The trail led up a shallow gulch bordered by juniper and brush. "You know, Bill," Galway said, "the more I think of you having a woman around, the better I like the idea." He squinted against the sun as they topped out on the rise and looked the country over with care. "Be a sort of a civilizing influence. You ain't getting no younger, and you've been living alone in that shack for some time now. I figure a woman could sort of rev things up around and keep you washed behind the ears."
"You mean," Piute commented sourly, "you figure to drop over time to time for homecooked meals. I know you. I ain't been ridin' the range with you these past four or five years without cuttin' your sign."
"I'm only thinking of you," Galway said, keepinghis face straight. "You just think of that schoolmarm over to Summit," Galway continued,. ignoring the interruption. "That's a right solid bit of woman, and I hear she's a good cook."
"You'd better be thinkin' of Digger Cassidy. He's no soft touch, and if he stole your horses he wanted them bad. He put lead into Dean Russell over to Battle Mountain, two or three months ago. If you recall, he was one of the roughest of that Charleston outfit."
"Gorman's just as good with a gun."
"There's a slick-ear kid, too. Named Robbins. He shot up a saloon over to Ten Mile last week."
"Heard about him. He files notches on his gun."
"One of them, huh? I never knowed of any real bad man who done that. He's a tinhorn."
The gulch down which they had been riding opened upon a wide, white salt flat and they cut across on an angle, walking their horses to raise no more of the white, smothering dust than necessary. The sky was clear and hot. Their lips became parched and white, their eyes smarted from sweat. Heat waves danced over the flats. They rode in silence, each busy with his own thoughts. The lurking devil in the paint's blue eye went dull with the heat and the slogging pace.
It was two hours before they topped a small rise and left the desert behind them. The sagebrush smelled good after the parched stillness of the salt flats.
Cottonwoods showed some distance off and they pointed their horses, ignoring the trail of the stolen stock, knowing the men they pursued would also need water, and the tracks would begin again when they found it. The horses, smelling water, quickened their pace.
It was a small but cold stream. Men and horses drank. Tom Galway sat down on a rotting tree trunk and scanned the area. Horses had been held here only a few hours before. Their tracks were in the mud and in the grass.
"About two miles, isn't it? The cabin sets out in the open."
"You got any ideas?"
"I want to talk to Cassidy."
"You want to talk to him? Do you reckon he will set around and talk when he knows you're huntin' him?"
Tom Galway was running this show and Piute Bill figured he knew what he was about, but talking to Cassidy at such a time? It didn't make much sense. There had been a good deal of talk about Tom Galway since he had ridden into the Ruby Creek country, and a lot of wondering abouthim.
"He'll talk," Galway said.
Cassidy and Gorman were known men, both of them had been involved in shootings. With them would be at least six others, all used to fighting for whatever they got. Until now they had confined their raids to the big outfits where weeks might go by before a tally showed that stock was missing. Apparently Tom Galway's stock had been too much of a temptation, and Galway was new in the Ruby Creek country. In the three or four years he had lived there he had kept out of trouble. He had been a hard worker, and obviously a to
p hand with horses.
Walking to his horse Galway took two strips of rawhide from his saddlebags and tied his gun down to his thigh. Then he took out another gun belt and holster and, after strapping it on, tied it down also. It was the first time Piute had ever seen a man wear two guns, although he had heard of such things.
Piute studied Galway. He was a lean, brown man, tanned by sun and wind. There was a scar over one eye and another along the jawbone. Piute turned his horse and started upstream. Galway cantered until beside him.
"There's timber along the stream," he said, "fiftyyards from the cabin. If they open fire we'll take cover there."
Piute couldn't quite make up 'his mind about Galway. He glanced at the younger man but saw no signs of nervousness or excitement. No more than if he was going after a bunch of cows.
His mind turned to other things. Maybe Galway was right. Maybe he did need a woman. It was lonely there in the cabin in the creek. He was a healthy man, forty years old now, and he had a nice bunch of cattle and a few head of horses. The ranch was doing well, if they didn't start rustling this side of the creek. He figured he could make a wife comfortable, and he wasn't a cantankerous sort.
The creek turned west and they entered the canyon. There was a narrow opening lined with aspen and a few spruce. The trees fell back and the two men cantered over the meadow toward the cabin. It was a squat, stone cabin with a corral almost directly behind it in which Galway could see his horses. Near the stone cabin were three other horses, ground-hitched.
Pulling up about a dozen yards from the door, two men came out, followed by a third and a fourth. The first was Gorman, the second Robbins. The other two Galway did not know. The squat, bull-like figure of Digger Cassidy was nowhere to be seen.
"Howdy," Galway said casually. His eyes scanned their faces and settled on Gorman. "Where's Digger?"
"What d' you want with him?" Robbins demanded belligerently.
"Shut up, Robbins I" Gorman spoke sharply. "Ill do the talking."
He looked at Galway, then at Piute Bill, whose paint had been stopped about ten feet behind and well to the right of Galway. "What do you want?"
"I think Digger made a mistake." Galway spoke gently. "He drove off twenty head of horses for me. Nice meadow here, but I'd rather have them close to home. Thought I'd just ride over and drive them back."
"You thought what?" Robbing' face flushed red. "Just who--I"
"Shut up I" Gorman said impatiently.
There was something here he did not like, and Gorman had pursued a long outlaw career by being cautious. Only two men, and they looked like fighters. Piute Bill he knew about, and he was no man to trifle with.
The other man, a stranger, seemed to be taking the lead, and his quiet, confident manner disturbed Gorman.
"You'll have to talk to Cassidy," Gorman suggested. "He's the boss."
"I know," Galway replied, "but I can't wait. You tell Cassidy that Tom Galway came for his horses. He'll understand."
"You know Cassidy?"
"I do. What's more, Digger knows me. You tell him I came for my horses. If he wants me for anything, I'll be at my cabin. Tell him to come whenever he's ready ... day or night."
He did not turn his head but spoke to Piute. "Kick those corral bars down, Bill. We can't stay long."
Robbins had enough. He stepped forward. "You keep your hands off that corral," he said, "and you, Galway! You get goin' while you're able!"
Gorman was in a quandary. They were four to two. Still, this man said he knew Cassidy, and--
Piute Bill had ignored Robbins. He rode to the corral and leaned toward the bars. Robbins, his face flushed with anger, turned back to Galway. "Stop him! Or I'll kill you!"
Tom Galway's lips smiled, but his eyes did not "Gorman, this kid's askin' for it."
Robbins' hand streaked for his gun and Gal-way's sorrel sidestepped suddenly at a touch of the spur. Galway fired... then again.
Robbins, his gun half-drawn, stopped dead still, staring at Galway, his eyes blank and unseeing.
Swearing viciously, Gorman went for his gun, trapped into a gun battle he had not wanted. Galway fired, knocking one man into the cabin wall where he fell, knocking the man beside him off balance.
Piute Bill, half behind them, turned at the first shot and fired at Gorman, who went down, his fingers digging into the earth.
The last man dropped his six-shooter as if it were red-hot and flattened against the wall. Galway looked at him over his gun.
The horses were out of the corral and starting toward the bottleneck opening.
Piute Bill's Winchester was ready, and Galway looked at the last man. "You tell Digger Cassidy to stay on his own side of the creek. Tell him Galway said that, Galway of Tombstone!"
He turned his horse away, watching the man. "And you tell Digger I didn't start the shooting. It was that fool kid, Robbins."
The horses would head for their own corral, now that they were free, but they could always hurry them along a bit.
They were almost out of the bottleneck when a sharp, feminine voice came from the aspens. "All right! Hold up there!"
A buxom, determined-looking young woman of perhaps thirty stepped from the trees. She held a double-barreled shotgun as if she knew how to use it.
Galway and Piute Bill drew up warily. A man with a shotgun was bad enough, but a woman--
"What's the trouble, ma'am?" Galway asked politely. "Can we do something for you?"
"You killed my man back there, and if you think you're gettin' off scot-free, think again!"
Piute Bill started to speak, then swallowed and looked helplessly at Galway.
Lifting his hand slowly, Tom Galway removedhis hat. "Now, I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am, but those men stole my horses and when I came after them they made the mistake of trying to shoot it out."
He noted no sign of tears. "Ma'am? Which one was it, Robbins?"
"That puppy?" Contempt was in her tone. "He killed a few tenderfeet and figured he was a tough man. My man was Ned Wavers."
"We're almighty sorry, ma'am," Galway said gently. "We came after our horses. We'd no intention of killing anybody."
"But you did!" There was no grief in her tone, just a hard matter-of-factness. "Ned wasn't much," she said, "but he made me a home, and when he wasn't drunk he took care of me. Now I'll be left here for Cassidy and that bullyin' Tinto Bill."
Tom Galway smiled. "Why, ma'am, if you would rather not stay here, and if it is a home you're looking for, we've got one for you!"
She was, Tom decided, quite a pretty woman. Moreover, she looked neat, and clean. "Of course," he added, "you'd have to be able to cook."
"There isn't a better cook west of the Pecos," she said flatly, "and I can make pies--"
"Of course," Galway said, smiling, "and we've got just the place for you! It's a pretty little stone house by a creek, and a good, thoughtful man to go with it."
"Hey!" There was sheer panic in Piute's eyes. "Look, you can't-- I"
"A good, thoughtful man, ma'am, and a good provider. He's one of the finest hunters around, always has meat for the table."
The shotgun lowered. "What's going on here?" The woman was puzzled. "Somehow, I don't under..."
"Ma'am"--Tom Galway rested his palms, one atop the other, on the saddle horn--"ma'am, this gent with me is Piute Bill. He's a known andrespected man. Now he's a mite on the shady side of forty, but steady. He can fork a bronc with any man, one of the best hunters around and he's got him that stone cabin I spoke of.
"It needs a woman's touch, that's all. The right woman. Needs a woman like you, a pretty woman who's neat about the house and who will cook his chuck and keep the place revved up. I know he'd be speakin' for himself, but he's a shy man, not given to talking much."
"Tom! Listen! For God's sake!" His voice trailed off helplessly as Galway continued.
"He makes a little 'shine now and again, but I've never seen him drunk. Don't drink no more than to be sociable. He owns seven hundred h
ead of steers and a milk cow."
"Did you say a milk cow?" The woman looked thoughtful. "If he's got a milk cow he's a sight more of a plannin' man than most. Mister, I reckon you've talked me into it!"
"Mount up, then!" Galway said cheerfully. "Mount up right there behind Piute and put your arms around him and hang on tight. By the time you get to his place on the creek I think he'll be convinced!"
Piute Bill, his eyes vicious and his face red, helped the young woman up behind "him. She flashed a smile at Galway which suddenly faded.
"Now see here! Ned wasn't much and he beat me when he was drunk. I wasn't sorry to lose him, him bein' what he was, but we were all married up, fittin' and proper!"
"Of course, ma'am!" Galway looked shocked. "I'll ride into Ten Mile as soon as I get you to the house. We will have a preacher out here before sundown. The barkeep was tellin' me there was a preacher there now. I'll get him. Meanwhile," he added, "you better just bake a wedding cake. Somehow without a cake a wedding doesn't seem real, does it now?"
"Maybe the preacher won't come?" Bill suggested hopefully.
"He'll come!" Galway said. "I'll see to that!"
"I just bet you will!" Piute said savagely.
Whistling, Tom Galway turned his sorrel toward Ten Mile. "Horse," he said, "I'd make a poor Cupid but sometimes there's things a man just has to do. And besides, she had a scatter-gun."
When Galway rode into Ten Mile the only sign of life was around the Gold Camp Saloon. Galway tied his horse and pushed through the bat-wing doors. There were six men in the place. One sat alone at a table. He was a red-haired man, short and stocky, with a pious look.
Galway stepped to the bar, noticing one of the men was Digger Cassidy, another was Tinto Bill.
"Rye," Galway ordered, and jerking a thumb toward the redhead he asked, "Is that the preacher?"
"It is." The bartender looked up curiously.
"If you've got a horse," he said to the preacher, "better get him saddled. I've got a wedding for you."
"A wedding? Of course, but--?"
the Strong Shall Live (Ss) (1980) Page 8
