Bounty Guns

by Short, Luke;

  It was after dark when they came to the county line, marked only by a blazed tree that seemed to be recognized by most of them. Buck pulled past it, then stood up in the wagon and surveyed the bulking shadows of the horsemen behind him.

  “Well, boys,” he drawled, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Come on over, Buck,” one voice taunted. “You’re worth twenty-five hundred to us on this side of that tree.”

  “In about a week I’ll be worth ten thousand.”

  The riders turned back, and Buck set about pitching camp. They pulled off into a clearing, and while Lucy and Lynn built a fire, Buck and Pate put up a rope corral and drove the horses into it. A tarp shelter was thrown up, and Buck and Pate were lugging in wood for the night’s fire.

  Lynn heard them dragging it in, and paid no attention. When she looked up, it was to see Tip Woodring dump an armload of wood on the pile.

  She came slowly to her feet, not believing her eyes, and then she cried, “Tip!”

  Buck heard her and from out in the darkness let out a whoop of joy. Pate came running behind him, and Lucy almost lost the biscuit dough in the fire.

  Tip stood there smiling. He was unshaven, and his clothes were torn, and his leg was stiff with the old wound, but there was a kind of defiance about him, a strength and confidence that warmed Lynn and made her glad.

  Tip only offered the information that he had shaken the posse, had watched the eviction, and had followed them all the afternoon. When supper was laid out on the grass, Tip wolfed it as if he were starved. Afterward, with Buck’s gun handy, with his pipe going, the fire blazing, and the pines overhead stirring and whispering in the night wind, Tip told the story of the fight at the jail, beginning with Cam’s entrance.

  When he was finished, Buck said gently, “So it was Cam? And Jeff Bolling knew that. He saw Cam talkin’ to you.”

  “He sent him, I reckon,” Tip said, frowning. “But I don’t get it all. Jeff knew Cam made his try for Ben, because I told him.”

  “And Cam burned the Three B?” Lynn asked.

  “I didn’t and Buck didn’t,” Tip said. “There’s only Cam left.”

  They talked of other things then, of the town’s sudden uprising against Tip and the Shieldses, and of Anna Bolling, alone in town now with Ball, hating her brothers and everything they stood for. Buck didn’t join in the talk of Anna, keeping silent and listening, his face a little sad. When it was time to turn in, Buck and Tip and Pate went over to the wagon for the bedding.

  “What are we going to do, Tip?” Buck asked.

  “Fight.”

  “A whole county? Hell, that’s what I thought there at the spread. But this afternoon I began thinking what a job that was. Where do we begin?”

  “I can tell you that, too,” Tip said quietly. “We begin with Cam. We can forget the rest until he’s out of the way. I’m going to hunt him down and kill him first. After that I’m goin’ to get Jeff Bolling. After that, I’ll go in that town and knock some sense into their heads, and get Ball on his feet. And after that, Buck, we’ll get your place back.”

  “We’ll do all that?”

  Tip laughed. “You and me.”

  They lugged the bedding back to the fire, and Lynn and Lucy made up the beds. When they were all settled, Buck and Pate in the wagon, Lucy and Lynn by the fire, and Tip off under the trees, Tip couldn’t sleep. He rolled out of the blankets, pulled on his boots, loaded his pipe, and walked off to the edge of the clearing. It was a cool night, the stars icy spikes in the high night sky. Tip looked up at them, wondering if they had ever looked down on more confusion and misery and hard luck than had been assembled around that campfire tonight.

  Suddenly he heard someone walking across the grass, and Lynn appeared at his side.

  “I followed the smell of your pipe smoke,” Lynn said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “There’s too much waiting to be done.”

  Lynn didn’t speak for a moment, then said, “You’re a pretty loyal friend, aren’t you, Tip?”

  “I’ve been thinkin’ the same about you,” Tip replied. “You didn’t have to follow them out here.”

  “But I’m different. There’s no threat over my head.”

  “There’s none over mine,” Tip answered quickly. “I don’t call a tinhorn’s brag a threat.”

  Lynn laughed. “You’ll never change, will you, Tip?”

  “I don’t reckon,” Tip answered slowly, “even if you’d like to see me.”

  “But I wouldn’t. Once, a long time ago, that was, I thought you were hotheaded and rash and a little too tough for your own good.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “No. That was a long time ago, I said. I’ve changed my mind. I changed it today, I think, when I understood how heartless and cowardly and small some men can be.”

  Tip didn’t say anything.

  “Lucy and Buck’s trouble makes ours look rather small, doesn’t it?”

  Tip said with wry humor, “Mine may be small, but they’re mine.” He looked at Lynn, only a dark shape in the night beside him. “Blackie Mayfell must have been a pretty good father, wasn’t he?”

  “He was the best,” Lynn said simply, adding, “Why did you say that, Tip?”

  Tip answered in his oblique fashion. “A man will do anything for money, Lynn. Look at me. I’ve got myself shot and now they’re huntin’ me, and all I’d have to do to get away from it would be to say good-by to ten thousand dollars I hope I can get. You, you’re doin’ this for a reason—the right reason—and it makes me some ashamed of my own.”

  Lynn said quietly, “You don’t understand yourself, Tip.”

  “I always thought I did.”

  “You’ve been telling yourself all along that you’re doing this to earn money. You started out with that in mind. But that isn’t what brought you back here today, and it isn’t what’ll keep you here. You’re doing it for Buck and Lucy.” She hesitated. “And sometimes, I almost think you’re doing a little of it for me. If you are, Tip, thanks.”

  She walked away, leaving Tip confounded.

  When Lynn crawled into her blankets, Lucy stirred. “Who is it?”

  “Lynn.”

  Lucy said, “Oh,” and Lynn waited a moment, then said, “I was talking to Tip. He couldn’t sleep, either.”

  “Yes, I know. Good night, Lynn.”

  Lynn caught the note of wistfulness in Lucy’s voice, and she pitied her. Lucy was a closemouthed girl, but some things about her were more eloquent than speech. Lynn had watched her, feeling a small pang of jealousy, when she looked at Tip. Something softened in Lucy then, and her eyes shone with a sadness that none of these men seemed to notice. Lynn knew what it was, because she felt that way herself when she looked at Tip.

  She turned over in her blankets, angry with herself and a little sorry for herself, too.

  CHAPTER 12

  At dawn next morning Tip and Buck rolled out of their blankets, saddled their horses, divided their guns and shells, and rode out into the chill of early morning, heading for the Bridle Bit. Tip figured that Cam, on the prowl as he himself had been only yesterday, would soon come across the sign of riders heading for the Bridle Bit, and curiosity would take him to the ranch.

  He and Buck kept off the road, making a wide circle from camp before they crossed the county line. Bounty hunters, with five thousand dollars in reward money as incentive, would be combing this country with a vengeance.

  At the Bridle Bit they kept in the timber until they had examined the house thoroughly. It was deserted, with no sign of life. Without the stock in the corrals, it looked as if it had not been lived in for years. Tip took one side of the house and Buck took the other, and they began their search for Cam’s tracks. Buck knew Cam’s horse, knew its tracks, too, and they worked from this. The going was slow, trying to pick one track from those of the thirty horses.

  Presently, from the yard, Buck whistled, and Tip rode around the house to him.

  “Been here this m
ornin’,” Buck said, pointing to the ground. “There’s frost in the others, or else they’re wet where the sun’s melted it. But those tracks are Cam’s and you can see where the wet dirt is balled under the shoe and dry dust in the tracks.”

  Tip nodded. Once spotted, the tracks were easy to follow across the wet grass of the park. In the timber, the cover of pine needles was an even better giveaway, but Tip reserved judgment. When Cam learned that he was being followed, he would take pains to cover his tracks, and then the going would be slow.

  Cam was keeping to cover like a skulking wolf, and heading for the Bolling place. Presently they came to the place he had dismounted to look at the Three B. Beyond the ruins of the house which were still smoking in the thin morning air, there were several tents pitched. Off in the timber the steady chonk-chonk of working axes was audible.

  “Jeff’s goin’ to stick it out, too,” Tip murmured.

  “Hell, he’s got the county behind him,” Buck said. “Why shouldn’t he?”

  “A damn good reason. He won’t be alive to see it finished.”

  Mounting again, they followed Cam’s tracks. He was keeping just into the timber, circling the park. He rounded the north end, and then came back on the east side, riding in the direction of the axmen. As they came closer, Tip grew cautious. Cam was taking a risk now, getting this close to the workmen. Tip pulled up and Buck came up to him.

  “What’s he up to?” Buck asked. “He’s too damned much of a coward to—”

  Crack!

  A rifle’s sharp slam cut the woodchopping dead. A man yelled up ahead, and then Tip roweled his horse.

  “That’s Cam!” Tip cried. “Stick to his tracks, Buck.”

  He raced on through the timber in the direction of a shot. Far ahead, he saw a horse shuttling through the timber. Tip sent a snap shot in that direction that buried itself in a tree somewhere ahead. Buck pulled off to one side and raced abreast Tip. When they picked up the tracks of Cam’s horse, Tip yelled again, “Stick to the tracks, Buck. I’ll try to ride him down.”

  He cut off through the timber, listening for the sound of Cam’s horse, but the floor of pine needles smothered every sound. Behind him he could hear men yelling across the park to the tents.

  Tip caught one more glimpse of a rider far ahead through the trees, and he shot again and missed. Cam was slanting up the slope at a dead run.

  Tip swung in toward him, and presently came to a cienega. He started across it just as Cam, across the park, opened fire. The grass in front of his horse ripped up with the tearing sound of sod, and Tip yanked his horse back into the brush. Keeping to the timber he circled the park and came to the place where Cam had halted to shoot.

  Up ahead he could hear rock sliding, and put his horse into a lope through the trees. He arrived in a clearing just in time to see Cam disappear over a rocky ridge. Tip put his horse to it, and then, as he saw Cam’s head appear over the rim, yanked him back and raced for the timber. Cam laid shots all around him, and before he reached the trees he got a sliver of rock in his cheek. He dismounted in the shelter of the brush and pulled his rifle out of the scabbard, bellied down, and started to return Cam’s shots. Once he turned and saw Buck plunging up through the timber, and he waved him back and made a wide circle with his arm. Buck nodded and disappeared in the timber off to the right. Tip kept firing, and Cam was laying his shots closer now. Some of Cam’s panic seemed to have vanished and he was shooting carefully.

  Presently, from off the right on the ridge, Buck’s rifle cracked out once. Tip saw Cam rise and look, and he took a quick shot. Cam’s head disappeared, and Buck began to shoot again. There was a scrabble of hoofs on rock, and Tip leaped into the saddle and roweled his horse up the slope.

  He and Buck met at the top, and Buck said, “I hit him, I think. He’s runnin’ now.”

  Cam headed down-slope now for the timber, riding in a straight line. Tip, after telling Buck to stick to the tracks, made a wide circle off into the timber, riding hard. Presently he swung back, riding carefully and listening. He had made three quarters of his circle, and still he heard and saw nothing. He backtracked now, and still did not pick up Cam’s tracks. Completing the circle and coming out at the edge of the timber, he saw Buck had gone. He shot three times, and from up the hill a half mile came Buck’s answering shots.

  Tip swore softly and put his horse up the slope. Cam had kept his head, entering the timber, skirting its edge, and then angling up the mountain, while he had wasted time in his circle and Buck had wasted time in the slow business of tracking.

  Later, when Tip caught up with Buck, Cam was headed in a straight line for the rocky country up the slope and ahead.

  “This means a hunt, Tip,” Buck said gloomily.

  “We can last as long as he can. Come on.”

  They agreed that Tip should ride out ahead, once the general direction Cam was traveling was settled on. By making wide circles, Tip might be able to pick up the tracks and save hours of painstaking tracking. Also, it might serve to flush out Cam from a hiding-place or crowd him into being careless. At any rate, nothing would be lost, for Buck would stick to his tracks, and Buck was as adept at tracking as Cam was at covering them.

  It was a slow business at best, however. Tip and Buck took turns on the tracking. Cam had his head now, and he was coolly and systematically trying every shift he knew to throw them off the trail. Buck, riding ahead, got a glimpse of him in early afternoon, but it was too far to shoot. The country was one of canyons and upthrust mesas above Hagen. Buck summoned Tip with three shots. By this lucky chance, they had killed Cam’s chance for a wide circle around them and into the timber up the slope. To be sure of it, Buck emptied his rifle at Cam, and saw him turn down again for the shelter of the canyons below.

  When Tip rode up, Buck pointed out the place where he had seen Cam. “He’s movin’ down from there.”

  Tip nodded. “We better split up soon.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re bein’ followed,” Tip said quietly. “Bolling is on our trail now. I saw his men twice, but they didn’t see me.”

  Buck swore softly, and put his horse down the gravelly slope into the arroyo. When they came to where Cam had paused, they saw small brown spots on the sand. It was blood, already dried by the heat of the sand. They swung west then, down the slope, traveling the same arroyo Cam had chosen. Buck was looking about him now, studying the country. Presently he pulled up.

  “Tip, I’m goin’ to take a chance.”

  “On what?”

  “This gut forks and empties into the canyon above Hagen. Cam’s only got one chance to dodge the town and that’s by goin’ out of the canyon on the other side. If I can beat him to it, I can bottle him up there. He’ll be afraid to go back, because he’ll figure he’ll run into you. But instead of waiting, you swing out and come out below town. You move in and I move in and we’ll have him in town.”

  “Will he go there?”

  “He’s hurt, and the chances are he will. Besides, his horse is wore down and he’ll hit for town, anyway, to steal a fresh one.”

  Tip nodded and named a meeting-place, and then climbed out of the arroyo at the first opportunity. It was slow traveling here, for the country was slashed by narrow canyons and capped by a loose shale that was treacherous footing. Below, the timber looked green and inviting, and he knew that Cam would choose it, rather than this country. And beyond the timber was the canyon, and in it the town. A wounded man would head for it by instinct, trusting to the night to hide his presence.

  It was dark when Tip finished his circle and put his horse down into the canyon mouth below town, then traveled the road. Presently he pulled his horse into the brush and hunkered down to wait, like an Indian. He wasn’t hungry and he wasn’t tired, and there seemed to be no room for either in his mind. He speculated on where they would catch up with Cam, if he had the good luck to dodge them that night. But he wouldn’t, Tip knew. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was certain. Tonight hi
s score with Cam would be settled.

  Darkness came, and only a lone puncher, one of the Dockstader boys, passed him. Afterward, Tip pulled out of the brush and headed for town. In the deep shadows of the graveyard, where Hagen Shields was buried, he caught Buck’s whistle.

  “He’s in town,” Buck said. “I turned him back down the canyon. I think he was headed for the lower country.”

  “What about Bolling?”

  “He’s in town now, too.”

  Tip said gently, “Well, well. Maybe this will be a bigger night than we expected.”

  He and Buck moved toward town then, and sought the darkness of the alley that ran behind the feed stable. In the rear of the hotel they left their horses and hunkered down against the wall for a conference. Cam was in town, but where?

  “Who does he know here, Buck?”

  “Nobody that wouldn’t like to see him dead,” Buck said briefly.

  “No friends? Nobody that would hide him out?”

  “Not even the Mexicans for money.”

  “Then we’ll start combin’ the alleys for him. I’ll start at the north end and you start at the south. Look in the loft of the feed stable if you can. And I’ll look in Doc Pendexter’s office. And be careful, Buck.”

  They separated then. The job, while it sounded difficult, really wasn’t, Tip thought. Wedged in the canyon the way it was, Hagen had only three streets, two cross streets, and two alleys.

  Tip started at the north end of town. He was thorough and quiet, but the darkness hampered him. Cam Shields could have been hiding in any one of the dozen woodsheds he had examined, but it would be suicide to light a match. Twice riders came down the alley and Tip slipped into the shadows, letting them pass.

  When he had worked his way into the heart of town, he was discouraged. He kept thinking of Doc Pendexter, but he wanted to exhaust all the other possibilities first. But when he came to Baylor’s warehouse and found it unlocked, he knew it was hopeless. If Cam Shields could find hiding-places like this, he could stay there for weeks without being discovered. In desperation then, he turned into the passageway between the assay office and the barbershop, over which Dr. Pendexter had his office. The stairway to it was covered, which meant that he would have to approach it from the street.