Clay turned back to watch the street. Two of the strangers were coming into the street, carrying Damson’s body with them. A murmur of anger arose. Ted Petrie staggered forward, shaking a fist in the air. “We know you’re in there, Belden! Come on out. You too, Roddy! Turn ‘em loose, judge, and you won’t get hurt.”
Voices in the rear of the crowd shouted, “Send the murderers out before we come and get them!”
Judge Lyles wheeled his chair forward to the broken window. Tonia ran toward him, a carbine in her hand. Clay caught her and pulled her back. “Stand by the corner of the window,” he directed. “If you see anyone lift a gun, shoot!” He took a position at the outside corner where he could watch without being seen.
The judge stopped his chair in full view of those outside. “Stay where you are!” he ordered. “No man comes in here without my say so. And no man takes the law into his own hands in this valley.” His voice sharpened. “Petrie, who appointed you as the law?”
Petrie hesitated and then took a bold step forward. “You’re hiding killers, Judge. Who are you to talk about the law?”
The judge’s voice was strong and decisive. “What court judged Belden and Roddy killers?” he demanded.
“We heard plenty of stories!” someone behind Petrie called.
“So have I,” the judge called back. “I heard one tonight — one you can prove. Bick Damson and Kemp Vanner have no silver of their own. They’ve been stealing ore from Belden’s land.”
“That’s Belden’s story!” a voice mocked.
“Take an hour and go see for yourself,” the judge challenged. “If you’ve appointed yourself the law, act like the law! Find the proof of a man’s guilt and bring him to trial.”
He leaned forward. “You, Petrie, and your friends. Would you rather be tried by a court or by a mob? Ask yourselves that!”
Voices in the rear hooted derisively, but Petrie stood with his arms at his sides. He turned and looked at the other local men behind him. “Maybe …” he began doubtfully.
Clay caught sudden movement at the back of the crowd. Moonlight picked out a glittering pattern of light on a quickly lifted rifle barrel. Clay raised his carbine and fired. The other gun went off, its bullet thudding above the window where the judge sat. The rifleman cried out and staggered to one side.
“Don’t listen to the old fool!” someone shouted. “Get Belden and Roddy!”
Clay reached out and pulled the judge’s chair behind him as other guns opened fire. Bullets scoured through the broken window and struck the back wall of the room. Tonia sighted carefully and fired twice. The shooting stopped abruptly.
Ted Petrie had a sick look on his face. “I’m leaving,” he said. He tried to push his way through the crowd, other men with him followed suit. For a moment the mob was a swirling, shapeless mass. Then Petrie was thrown clear. He staggered, blinded by blood flowing from a cut on his forehead. He fell to the ground and rolled to the base of the veranda. He lay there, not trying to get up.
Angry shouts rose from the local men now. Some of them broke off from the edge of the crowd and ran awkwardly up the street. A cold, thin voice lifted out of the shadow cast by a barn across the way.
“Drive them out!” Kemp Vanner cried. “Or the judge will have you all hanging from the end of a rope. Get to cover and drive them out!”
A dozen local men were fleeing, but others stayed with Vanner’s men, spreading out, finding cover behind fence posts and in shadow.
Clay searched the darkness, trying to pinpoint Vanner’s position by his voice. Then he heard the swift beat of a horse galloping and he lowered his carbine. Vanner had given his orders and run for safety.
Ted Petrie rolled to his feet and made a sudden sprint up the veranda steps for the front door. A .44 rolled out its deep sound, and Petrie flung up his arms and pitched against a pillar. He fell to the porch floor and lay jerking, his hands clawing at the wood in an effort to pull himself forward.
Roy Ponders swore. “What’s the matter with that crazy fool?”
“He likes our side better now,” Clay said dryly. He handed the judge his carbine. Can you cover me from this corner, sir? I’m going out and bring him in.”
The judge wheeled his chair into position without bothering to reply. Clay jerked open the front door and stepped back, away from it. A hail of bullets struck the front of the house and searched through the open door. At the rear of the room a lamp shattered and the sharp smell of coal oil filled the air.
Ponders smashed the window in front of him with his gun butt and began shooting. Tonia and the judge kept up a steady cross-angled sniping. The firing from outside stopped. Clay darted out of the door and grabbed Petrie’s wrists. He shambled backwards, pulling the man after him into the house.
A bullet drove wood from the edge of the doorway as Clay went through. The judge’s gun cracked sharply and a man at the edge of the yard rose up and flopped into the street. Clay rolled Petrie inside and kicked the heavy front door shut.
“Shoulder wound, I think,” Clay panted. “If we can get him to Doc Fraley soon enough, he’ll probably be all right.”
A deep-throated burst of firing from the back of the house swung Clay around. That was Tom Roddy’s gun, and it meant only one thing. There was an attack at the rear too.
Clay drew his .44 and raced into the kitchen. Tom Roddy stood by an open window, squinting along the barrel of his ancient rifle. Light flared suddenly by the stable as someone lit a torch. Roddy fired and the man carrying the torch came into sight. He stumbled across the yard and fell, crushing the flaming torch under his body.
“That’s two!” Roddy said.
“And two dozen left,” Clay answered. “If they ever get up courage enough to make a rush, we won’t be able to stop them.”
“Where are all the good citizens in this town?” Roddy demanded. “Hiding under their beds?”
“There hasn’t been any trouble here for so long, few of them know what to do,” Clay said. He started for the back door.
Roddy’s gun cracked again. An answering shot struck the wall beside the window. “Where you going?” he demanded. “There’s half a dozen of ‘em hiding out there.”
“After Kemp Vanner,” Clay said. “That’s the only way to stop this. With him out of the way, his men will break and run, and the others will stop when they haven’t any support.”
Tonia came into the kitchen. “Clay! Someone just managed to get through from town. The citizens there are gathering. If we can hold out a little while …”
“There’s your answer,” Clay said to Roddy. “They decided to crawl out from under their beds.” He put his hand on the door latch. “That means the ones outside will have to hit us soon.”
A torch flared at the corner of Roddy’s small cottage. A voice cried, “Burn them out! Burn them out!”
Clay threw open the door and fired in the direction of the light. The man carrying the torch moved, running toward the alley. Clay said briefly, “Cover me,” and stepped outside.
He slid under the porch railing to the ground and ran in a zigzag to the stable. Behind him, Tonia and Roddy fired, sweeping every shadow. A gun blossomed flame to Clay’s left. He swung in that direction and shot. The other gun went off again, aimed straight upward, and then was silent.
A bullet nicked Clay’s boot heel as he threw himself into the darkness of the stable. He heard the judge’s horses stirring restlessly. He made a soft clicking sound with his tongue and the dun moved cautiously forward, sniffing in his direction.
Clay caught the reins and swung into the saddle. He flattened himself over the dun’s neck. Then he kicked his heels into its flanks, sending it hammering through the wide doorway and into the yard. He reined toward the alley. A gun by Roddy’s cottage whipped a bullet through the dun’s mane; then the crack of Tonia’s carbine sounded, and the gun was still.
Clay saw torches beginning to flicker along the streets that sided and fronted the house. He kicked at the dun again, w
hipping it to a wild gallop toward town. He reasoned that Vanner would be directing his operation from only one place — the Cattlemen’s Bar.
Once past the jailhouse, Clay made the same wide swing as before to reach the rear of the Cattlemen’s Bar. He stopped and drew his gun after he’d dismounted. He climbed the steps to the upper hallway. He stopped in front of Molly Doane’s door and reached for the latch.
The door opened and light flooded out, making him blink. Molly stood in the doorway. She stared at him with wide, shocked eyes. Behind her, he saw Kemp Vanner holding a gun pressed to her spine.
“Come in, Belden,” Vanner said lightly. “The lady has been hoping for your company. But give me your gun first. We don’t want any accidents.”
XVII
VANNER reached a hand around Molly. She licked her lips and bobbed her head, her eyes pleading with Clay.
Vanner said, “You might shoot me, Belden, but that wouldn’t stop me from killing her before I died.”
Clay put his gun in Vanner’s hand and then stepped into the room as Vanner backed Molly out of the doorway. Clay said, “The rest of the town is gathering, Vanner. You haven’t a chance. Get your men and ride out of here while you can.”
“I thought you came to bargain,” Vanner murmured. He smiled his cold smile. “By the time they get together and march to the judge’s house, it will be too late, Belden. There won’t be anything for them to save.”
“There’ll be tomorrow,” Clay said.
“Tomorrow? What good will they be then without leaders? Everyone in this town always looked to your precious Judge Lyles to tell him what to do! Without the judge, they’ll look to someone else. To me!”
“And your men,” Molly cried bitterly. “Those gunhands you brought in here! I should have known what you planned when I saw the first ones.”
“But you were blinded by your pretty dresses and your shiny furniture, weren’t you, my dear?” Vanner said cuttingly. He glanced at Clay. “Yes, me and my men. Don’t you think they’ll make a good police force, Belden?”
Clay put his back to the wall and studied the room. The bodies of Marnie and Pike had been removed from sight. There was nothing to indicate there had ever been a struggle in this room. Clay looked at the neat, well-kept furniture, at the tight, bright dress Molly Doane was wearing.
She met his gaze with hopeless eyes. She reached up automatically to tuck a strand of hair into place. Then her hand fell back to her side. Vanner moved away from her and dropped into a chair where he could keep his gun on her and watch Clay at the same time.
“You might as well relax, Belden. My men know what they’re doing. Your town friends won’t be able to stop them.”
It seemed to Clay that he could feel the seconds ticking away. He looked at Molly, seeking some sign of help there. But she stood rigid, dazed with the fear working inside her.
Clay said, “You helped me once tonight, Molly.”
Her eyes focused on him. He moved his head in the direction of the fireplace a step to her right. She turned as he hoped she would, looking at the rack holding the poker.
Vanner said, “Move aside!” to Molly, and he leaned over to see what she was looking at.
Clay pushed himself away from the wall, forcing his sore leg to drive him the width of the room. He saw Vanner turn quickly back, moving with that swift, easy grace. He brought up his small gun and started out of the chair.
Clay left his feet as Vanner’s gun cracked. Molly Doane screamed and the fireplace rack went over with a clatter as she tore the poker from it.
Vanner’s bullet struck Clay’s left shoulder, but the force of his dive carried him forward. He struck Vanner with his body, driving the smaller man back into the chair. It went over with a crash.
Vanner cried out in wild anger. He jerked his gun arm free and lashed out, raking Clay’s face with the barrel. Clay’s head went back and then he clamped his right arm on Vanner’s gun wrist and rolled, pinning the gun to the floor. Pain blinded Clay and he fought through a murky red haze in an effort to get the gun away from Vanner. He got his hand on the gun and jerked, twisting free. He shook his head, clearing the blindness out of his eyes.
He heard the sodden thud of metal striking flesh. He turned to see Vanner’s body stiffen and then jerk convulsively. His voice rose in a curse which broke off as he collapsed. His neat features were broken and torn where Molly Doane had smashed him with the poker.
She lifted it to strike again. Clay surged to his feet and caught her arm. “Stop it!” he said.
“I want to kill him!” she cried. “I want to kill him!”
Clay managed to take the poker from her and push her gently away from Vanner. “Let the law take care of that for you,” he said.
He swayed dizzily and then caught himself. He found his gun and holstered it. He grabbed Vanner by the collar with his good hand and pulled him up.
Clay said to Molly, “Stay here!” and dragged Vanner out of the door and down the stairs. He put Vanner on his own horse and roped him into the saddle. Then, mounting the dun, Clay led Vanner’s horse around the saloon and onto the main street.
He could see a knot of men moving ahead of him and he raced the dun away from the main street and into the alley. He had no time to answer questions now. He could feel the numbness wearing out of his shoulder and he knew he would have to hurry before the full pain from Vanner’s bullet struck him.
He clenched his teeth and rode on. He could hear intermittent gunfire, and he felt a surge of relief. That meant those in the house were still holding out. He urged the dun to a faster pace.
Suddenly the sky lighted up in a great burst of flame. A shout rose and the firing picked up tempo. Clay saw that Tom Roddy’s cottage had been set on fire, and he forced the dun into a straining gallop.
He reined in abruptly at the edge of the light. He could see men crouched by the stable and behind the trees along the edge of the road that ran beside the house. Another half-dozen were coming from the front, hurrying from tree to tree. Torches flickered as men set them alight and moved into position from which they could charge the house.
Clay pulled Vanner’s horse around and slapped it with his reins, sending it running into the middle of the judge’s rear yard. He drew his gun and fired at a man breaking for the house, holding a flaming torch high. The man collapsed and his torch fell over in the dew-wet grass.
One wall of the cottage fell in, sending up a gout of flame. The firing from inside the house quickened as the light revealed the hiding places of the attachers.
A voice cried, “It’s Vanner! He’s tied! He’s been caught!”
One of the men threw down his gun, turned and ran across the road away from the light. Then another man broke and another. Clay sent a quick shot after them, bringing them up short.
“Drop your guns and line up in the yard!” he called. He fired again as he saw a rifle swing in his direction. The rifleman clapped a hand to his arm and ran forward to stand by Vanner’s horse. Slowly, the others emerged from their hiding places, arms held high.
Clay say Roy Ponders and Tom Roddy come onto the porch. He rode to the stairs leading up to the veranda and slid off the dun. “They’re all yours, Sheriff, if you can find a jail big enough,” he said.
He climbed the stairs slowly and went into the house. Through the shattered front windows he could see some of the men from town running for the back yard. Ponders would have deputies enough, Clay thought, as he walked to the sofa. He fell as he reached it, sprawling full length. He closed his eyes and let warm blackness enfold him.
Clay awakened to the sound of Doc Fraley’s crab-apple voice. “No bones shattered,” the doctor said tartly. “But keep him down and feed him good. He’s got to build up blood. Lot’s of steak, that’s what he needs.”
“I know just what to do,” Tonia said. “Beefsteak and potatoes.”
Clay opened his eyes to see Tonia looking down at him. His face was sore where Vanner had raked it with his gun, and he w
inced when he tried to talk.
“How’s your father?” he managed to ask.
“Better,” Doc Fraley answered. “He needed a tonic. Next time I get a heart patient, I’ll let him fight a lynch mob. Does wonders for the system!” He stalked out of the room.
Tonia’s eyes laughed down at Clay. “Dad really is all right,” she said. “And so are you. So stop frowning like that.”
Clay said, “I was thinking about the judge’s cattle up in the mountains.”
“He’s already hired men to bring them down,” she said. “Now be quiet.”
“About Molly Doane,” Clay said. “She — ”
“She’s buying the saloon from Damson’s estate for a dollar and other considerations,” Tonia said. “Dad isn’t a lawyer and a judge for nothing, you know.”
She put her face close to his and frowned. “Now will you be quiet?”
Clay said, “I had to get those things off my mind to leave thinking room for something more important.” He smiled lopsidedly at her. “But with nothing to concern me until spring, I guess I don’t have to think about that for a while yet after all. I — ”
His voice stopped as Tonia leaned forward and silenced him with her lips. She straightened up. “I’ve waited five years,” she said. “And I’m not going to wait any longer. So you’d better start thinking about that right now!”
“All right,” Clay said with a wide grin. “Bring me that steak the doc ordered.”
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Copyright © 1961 by Louis Trimble. Copyright © renewed 1989 by R. Mary Todd Trimble. Published by arrangement with Golden West Literary Agency. All rights reserved.
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