by Lauran Paine
At sunset, he visited Judith Rockland in her hotel room. The old doctor was with her. He was sitting comfortably upon a leather sofa, smoking a vile pipe and quietly talking. Judith was sitting up. She still had that unnatural flush to her cheeks but her eyes were almost clear.
She smiled at Sheriff Bannion, saying: “The doctor told me how you and those...those King men, found me and brought me back to town at the height of the storm. Sheriff, I’m very grateful to you.”
“Not to me,” Bannion said, removing his hat, dropping down upon the same sofa with the doctor. “All I did was show those big west Texans how we hunt for folks during a Santa Ana. That eldest one...his name is Ray...he picked you up and carried you all the way back here, straight into the teeth of that storm. It’s him you owe your gratitude to, Miss Judy.”
The girl’s smile dwindled. She kept looking at Bannion, but said nothing at all.
The doctor watched these two, then cleared his throat and stood up. “I’ll go along and look at our Rebel cubs,” he muttered.
Bannion said: “Doc, go easy on that Rebel talk, will you?”
The old man’s rheumy eyes dropped to Bannion’s face. They were sharp and scathing in their long regard. “What’s the matter, Doyle...can’t they stand having their thick Texas hides pricked a little? Seems to me that’s exactly what those four have been needing for a long time.”
“All the same, why not just let bygones be bygones?” Bannion said.
The doctor went to the door, threw a little nod to Judith, then turned and owlishly winked at Bannion. “They won’t shoot me, Sheriff. They’re too curious about what went on between their pappy and me. Besides, what hell-roaring young Texan would be proud of shooting an old bent-over doctor?”
Bannion opened his mouth to say something, but the doctor left the room. Bannion looked glumly over at Judith and wagged his head. She looked faintly amused.
Bannion slapped his knees and leaned forward as though to arise. “Well, Miss Judy, you lived through something you can tell your grandchildren.”
She let that pass, saying instead: “Sheriff, please don’t go just yet. I want to talk to you.”
Bannion leaned back in the sofa, looking and waiting. She was very lovely there with her softly shining blonde hair that fell down across both shoulders and made a background for the evenness, the flushed rosiness of her face.
“Why did those men do that for me, Sheriff?”
Bannion looked astonished. He attempted an answer: “Why? Well...why not? I mean, you were lost and all, and they....”
“Sheriff, you know perfectly well how my father feels toward them. What he intends to do to them. You know I left no doubts with them about how I felt about them, either, for killing our ranch foreman.”
“Well sure,” said Bannion, trying to organize his thoughts. “But, Miss Judy, that’s different. That’s a personal thing. A private fight. They feel plumb justified in that. But with you, it was different...you were lost out in the storm and maybe dying, and they just naturally went to help.”
“I’ve been thinking, Sheriff. If they’d left me to die out there...they could have hurt my father the worst possible way.”
“Miss Judy, those men have no quarrel with your paw. It was McAfee they wanted...and they got him. If that dog-gone’ Santa Ana hadn’t come along, they’d be maybe sixty miles from Perdition Wells by now. They never wanted to hurt your paw. They don’t want to hurt him now, Miss Judy.”
“Sheriff, could you get them out of town right away?”
Bannion eased back in the sofa, stretching out his legs. He shook his head. “They’re near blind. Anyway, they shouldn’t be out in the bright sun for at least a few days.”
“My father will be looking for me, Sheriff. Sooner or later he’ll come here, and he’ll be told the King brothers are still in town. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know,” retorted Bannion. “And I’ve been thinking about it. But the Kings can’t be moved without endangering them.” Bannion looked up. “I thought maybe you could influence your paw, Miss Judy. After all, they did save your life.”
“I’ve also thought of that, and I’ll try. But, Sheriff, what if I fail?”
Bannion pushed himself up out of the sofa, took up his hat, and turned it gravely in his fingers. “I’m betting you won’t fail,” he said, and went over to the door. There he changed the subject, saying: “By the way, you haven’t told me how you happened to be out where we found you.”
Judith shrugged as though that wasn’t important now. “The storm caught me just beyond town. I tried to turn back, but when the wind hit my horse, he wouldn’t turn his face into it. I tried to fight him around. He bucked me off. That fall knocked the wind out of me. I tried to get up, when I was all right again, but by then the Santa Ana was raging and I couldn’t even crawl. I tried until I just couldn’t move another inch, then I guess I fainted. The next thing I recall is seeing you bending over me at your office.”
Bannion nodded. “That’s why your eyes didn’t get it like ours did, I expect. You were face down when we found you. Well, Miss Judy, I’ve got more calls to make, but I’ll be back.”
“Sheriff? Please get them out of town, or at least hide them where my father’s men can’t find them.”
Bannion opened the door and gently shook his head. “I’d hide them in a minute, Miss Judy, but they aren’t the hiding kind and I’m only one man.”
“Then arrest them. Take their guns away and put guards outside their room.”
Bannion stood stockstill for a moment, turning this suggestion over in his mind. He said, finally and quietly: “Darned if you haven’t hit the nail smack dab on the head. That’s the solution I’ve been searching for.”
He left the girl’s room feeling much better, went downstairs to the lobby, approached several lounging range men there, called them together, and formally deputized all of them. There were five of these men, and none of them offered any objection to being deputized. They were cowboys between jobs and a deputy’s pay of $1 a day and ammunition, even if it was only for a day or two, was welcome to them.
Bannion told them only that they were to sit outside an upstairs room and admit no one unless Bannion himself was there to sanction admittance. He did not tell these men that the prisoners were the same men John Rockland of the powerful Texas Star outfit was seeking for the shooting of Dale McAfee.
Upstairs again, Bannion positioned his new deputies. With grins these five hard-bitten riders got chairs, cocked them back against the wall outside the room of the King brothers, and began their lazy vigil.
Bannion went inside. The doctor had been there and gone. Austin was busy at a wash basin and the air smelled strongly of medication. The youngest King shot Bannion a slow, slightly restrained smile.
“Darned if I ever thought I’d see the day I was a nurse,” he said.
Bannion did not smile back. He looked at the three men in this room with wet cloths over their eyes. He also looked over where their shell belts and holstered weapons were carelessly hanging over the back of a chair. He counted those gun belts, saw that all four were there, and went forward, removed each weapon, hung them all by their trigger guards from the fingers of his left hand. He turned toward Austin, whose back was to him, with his own gun in his right hand.
Austin turned around with a cloth in his hands—and froze.
“Sheriff,” he said, “what the hell do you think you’re doing? Put down those guns.”
The three other men shifted in their beds, sweeping away their bandages and stonily staring at Bannion. Al’s eyes were swollen entirely closed, but, by using both hands, he pried them open the slightest bit. This caused pain and Al’s hard cursing was the only sound in the room. Hank and Ray were in better shape.
Ray said: “Sheriff, you better do like Austin says. Put those guns down.”
&
nbsp; Bannion went sideways toward the door. When Austin would have moved to intercept him, Bannion swung his pistol barrel and Austin stopped in his tracks.
“Boys, you’re under arrest. There are five men outside in the hallway with orders to let no one out of here...and no one in here.”
“Arrest!” exploded Hank. “Arrest for what?”
Bannion said easily: “I’m not sure just yet, but I’ll think of something.”
The four of them stared. Austin looked at Ray as though seeking a signal of some kind. Ray sat there gazing ahead at Bannion without speaking. He finally made a gentle little head wag at Austin and the youngest of them relaxed.
In his quiet way, Ray said: “All right, Bannion, you’ve got a reason for doing this. What is it?”
“To keep you alive.”
“From Rockland?”
“Yes.”
Al growled from his cot. “Just leave those guns here and you won’t have to worry about us...or Rockland.”
“That’s why I’m taking them with me. Because I am worrying about that, Al. No more killings.”
Ray sighed. “Bannion, you’re holding the wrong men. We’re about helpless right now. The man you should stop and disarm is Rockland...not us.”
“Rockland’s not in town and you boys are.”
“Well, if he isn’t in town,” Hank began, but got no further.
Bannion cut across his words. “He’s found Judy’s horse by now and my guess is that he’s searching the range for her. When he doesn’t find her, he’ll come to town. That’s all the time I have to get organized for him.”
“You could go out and see him before he gets here,” grumbled Al.
“No, I can’t take the chance of him riding in here while I’m gone.”
Ray leaned back on his bed. He put both arms under his head, pushed his legs out to their full distance, and relaxed. Al and Hank took their cue from him, also relaxing. Young Austin looked bitterly at the sheriff for some time, but then he, too, turned his back and resumed working at the wash basin.
Ray said: “Tell me something, Bannion. How’s Miss Judy?”
“A lot better than you fellers. At least she looks a lot better.”
“She sure does,” murmured Ray, and turned to show Bannion a little quirked-up smile. “One more question. Is she still mad at us?”
Bannion let his muscles turn loose but he did not lower his gun. “About tomorrow,” he said to Ray King, “you can go ask her that yourself. She didn’t tell me whether she’s still sore or not.” Bannion kept staring at Ray. He had a dawning notion knocking around inside his head. He was remembering how Ray and Judith had stood staring at each other in the hallway. How he had stubbornly refused to let Al assist in carrying her back to town during the storm. Bannion was a bachelor with little knowledge of the intricacies of a man-woman relationship, but in his lifetime he had seen many men with that same soft and distant expression on their faces that was now settled over the handsome and rugged countenance of the eldest of the King boys.
“Well,” Austin said suddenly, sharply, “what are you staring at, Sheriff? You got our guns...what more do you want?”
Bannion looked at Austin only briefly. He returned his gaze to Ray. “Your word you won’t try to leave this room.”
Hank hooted at this. “You got no charge against us, and you expect us to lie here like a gang of sheep waiting for Rockland to come boiling in here with his gun crew all primed for bear. Sheriff, you’re being kind of childish”
“How about it, Ray?” asked Bannion. “Your word?”
All eyes went to the eldest brother and remained there, waiting. Ray made no immediate answer. He first lowered his arms, sat up on the edge of his cot, and looked upon Bannion without any expression showing at all.
“We’ll promise you this,” he said finally. “If you keep Rockland and his men out of here, we won’t go looking for them. But, Sheriff, if they bust in here past those guards of yours, we’ll promise you only one thing...the damnedest fight you ever saw here in Perdition Wells. Is that fair enough?”
Bannion thought it was and said so.
“Then,” said Ray, “leave us our guns. Because if you don’t...and Rockland gets in here somehow...you’ll be even guiltier of our murders than he will be.”
“I absolutely have the word of each of you?” Bannion persisted in asking.
“That we won’t try to leave this room? Yes,” replied Ray.
Bannion put their guns down upon a table and left.
Chapter Twelve
John Rockland and his men rode into Perdition Wells after full nightfall. A little wind still riffled tin roofs and stirred dust in the roadway but the Santa Ana’s real force was entirely gone now, The orange lamplight puddled beyond stores and saloons, making those riding men alternately bright and dark as they went along to Bannion’s office and dismounted.
Rockland alone entered the jailhouse. His riders remained outside with the horses, looking thirstily over where saloon lights shone and where sounds of revelry were strong again.
Bannion was not surprised when John Rockland came in. He had expected him even earlier, before sundown or shortly thereafter. He thought privately that Rockland looked bad. There were gray knots of slack flesh under his eyes and the arrogance, the yeasty pride, was wiped out of the big cowman’s dull stare.
“Judy’s lost,” said Rockland, giving Bannion no chance to speak first. “Her horse came to the ranch without her. I organized search parties, but we haven’t found any trace of her.”
“She’s over at the hotel,” Bannion informed him, and saw how Rockland’s eyes kept widening, staring down at him. “She got bucked off right after she struck out for home, Mister Rockland, and her horse ran on. We found....”
Rockland struck the floor hard with both his booted feet. He whirled, flung back Bannion’s heavy door, and plunged out into the night. He went past his astonished cowboys without seeing them and in a twinkling disappeared into the hotel shouldering aside anyone in his way.
Bannion went out to the riders. “I told him Miss Judy’s safe at the hotel. It hit him like a ton of bricks.”
One of those Texas Star men fixed Bannion with a baleful look. “I tried to tell him she’d have more sense than try to ride home from here...but he wouldn’t listen. He liked to rode our tail bones raw searchin’ every blessed inch of the range. Sheriff, we been in the saddle since before that danged storm blew itself out, and, as far as I can figure, we’ll be there for another couple hours.”
Bannion nodded. An idea occurred to him. “Why don’t you go on home?” he said. “He’ll likely want someone to go on back and tell Judy’s mother, anyway.” Bannion stood, watching those tired faces, waiting.
One man looked at his companion. He said: “Why not? Mister Rockland’ll be up there with his girl for a long while. He might even forget we’re waitin’ out here. What d’you say? Let’s go.”
An older rider, craggy, disgruntled, and slit-eyed, a man named Carl Arnold who Bannion had known casually for the five years he’d worked for Texas Star, said growlingly: “Naw. If Rockland comes out an’ we was gone, he’d raise hell an’ prop it up. You fellers know how he’s been these last couple o’ days. Naw. We’d better just stand around and wait.”
Bannion’s hopes for getting Texas Star out of town dwindled. He stood there, looking at those tired cowboys, scarcely conscious that the grizzled rider was speaking again. Then, when the man’s grumbling words sank in, Bannion drew upright off the hitch rack, staring.
“An’ besides,” Carl Arnold was continuing on, “he’s supposed to meet them three fellers he telegraphed for to come here in town and he’ll want to see to that.”
“What three men?” Bannion asked.
The Texas Star riders looked at him. Their tired faces blanked over one at a time, turning expressionless, turning imp
assive. They made no answer, and after a while they looked accusingly at Carl Arnold as though his weariness had allowed him say something careless, something he never should have said.
“What three men, I asked you?”
Arnold mumbled something indistinguishable and looked uncomfortable. He eventually said: “Replacements for them fellers who rode off yesterday when the King boys called us in the roadway.
“Like hell,” Bannion snored. “You could have hired twenty replacement riders right here in town, Carl. You didn’t have to telegraph for more hands.”
“Maybe Mister Rockland didn’t think of that,” Arnold said lamely.
Bannion closed his lips. He looked at those tired but dogged faces. He said to Carl Arnold: “Are you replacing McAfee as Texas Star’s foreman?”
Arnold nodded.
“Then let me give you some advice, Carl. The first gunfighter who rides in here looking for the King brothers is going to run head-on into a brick wall, and if any Texas Star men are with him, they’re going to get into the same trouble up to their ears.”
“Who said anything about gunfighters,” growled Arnold. “I only said Mister Rockland....”
“Oh for the love of Mike, quit making it worse,” Bannion snapped, and started around the hitch rack. He saw Arnold nod to one of his men and saw that man come forward to intercept him. Bannion turned, going into a slight forward crouch. The cowboy stopped still. There was irresolution on his face and because of this feeling he instantly lost the initiative.
“Don’t,” Bannion warned. “Don’t try it.” They hung there a moment, Bannion facing the lot of them. Then he turned and went swiftly on across the road toward the hotel. He stepped swiftly over to the stairwell and climbed the steps swiftly. At Judy’s door Bannion paused a second, heard no voices, and knocked. Judy’s voice called for him to enter and Bannion did so.
The girl was sitting up in bed looking curious. When she saw her visitor was Bannion, some of this interest atrophied.
