by Harold Titus
CHAPTER XXI
Guns Crash
Out in the shadow of the building three men huddled close together,talking in whispers--Rhues, Matson, and the Mexican. Rhues had watchedthe progress of the poker game, waiting the chance he had tried to seekout ever since that day up at Avery's when he had been beaten down bythe flailing fists of that tall young tenderfoot. He had seen VB startfor the bar; he knew the hour had struck.
"We've got him!" he whispered. "He won't get away this time. They won'tbe no mistakes."
"S-s-s-s!" the Greaser warned.
"Aw, nobody'll ever know," Rhues scoffed in an undertone. "They'llnever know that unless you spill. An' if you do--it'll mean three of usto th' gallows, unless--we're lynched first!"
Silence a moment, and they heard VB's voice raised. Then Rhueswhispered his quick plans.
"Take it easy," he warned in conclusion. "Don't start nothin'. Let himgit drunk; then he'll do th' startin' an' it'll be easy."
Inside a bottle was thumped on the bar, a glass beside it. FeverishlyVB reached for both, lifting the glass with uncertain hand, tilting thebottle from the bar, not trusting his quaking muscles to raise it. Theneck touched the glass with a dull clink; the mouth of the bottlegurgled greedily as the first of the liquor ran out--for all the worldas if it had waited these months for that chuckle of triumph.
And then that romanticism of youth came to the surface of his seethingthoughts again. It would be the closing of a chapter, that drink. Itwas for her sake he would lift it to his lips. He wanted to bid her alast, bitter farewell. She was over there, far across the hills,sleeping and dreaming--with her golden hair--over there in thenortheast. He laughed harshly, set the bottle back on the bar, andturned his face in her direction.
Those who watched from the other end of the room saw him turn his headunsteadily; saw the sudden tenseness which spread through his frame,stiffening those faltering knees. He turned slowly toward the door andthrust his face forward as though to study and make certain that he sawrightly.
Like a rush of fire the realization swept through him. A man stoodthere in the moonlight, and the sheen from the heavens was caught onthe dull barrel of a gun in his hand.
VB was covered, and he knew by whom! The man who had fought less thanhalf a dozen times in his life, and then with bare fists, was theobject of a trained gun hand. He could almost see the glitter of thegreen eyes that were staring at him.
Instinct should have told him to spring to one side; a leap right orleft would have carried him out of range, but instinct had been warpedby all those months of struggle.
He was on the brink, at the point of losing his balance; but thebattling spirit within him still throbbed, though his frenzy, his lackof faith, had nearly killed it. Now the thing came alive pulsing, bare!
An instant before he had not cared what happened. Now he did, and theend was not the only thing in view; the means counted with Young VB.
He did not jump for shelter. He roared his rage as he prepared to standand fight.
The others understood before his hand reached his shirt front. Thebartender dropped behind the fixture and the others in the room sprangbehind the barrels and stove. By the time VB's hand had clasped theneck of his shirt he stood alone. When the vicious yank he gave thegarment ripped it open from throat halfway to waist the first belch offire came from that gun out there.
The bottle on the bar exploded, fine bits of glass shooting to the farcorners of the room.
"Come on--you--yellow--"
VB's fingers found the butt of his Colt, closed and yanked. It camefrom the holster, poised, muzzle upward, his thumb over the hammer.Possibly he stood thus a tenth part of a second, but while he waitedfor his eyes to focus well a generation seemed to parade past. He washunted down by a crawling piece of vermin!
A parallel sprang to his mind. While Rhues sought his body did notanother viper seek his soul? Was--
Then he made out the figure--crouched low. The forty-five came down,and the room resounded with its roar. He stood there, a greenhorn whohad never handled a weapon in his life until the last year, givingbattle to a gun fighter whose name was a synonym!
Out of the moonlight came another flash, and before VB could answer thehunched figure had leaped from the area framed by the doorway.
"You won't stand!" the boy cried, and strode across the room.
"Don't be a fool! VB!"
The bartender's warning might as well have been unheard. Straight forthe open door went the boy, gun raised, coughing from the powder smoke.But the mustached man, though panderer by profession, revolted atunfairness; perhaps it was through the boy's ignorance, but he knew VBwalked only to become a target. Twice his gun roared from behind thebar and the two swinging lamps became scattered, tinkling fragments.
VB seemed not to heed, not to notice that he was in darkness. Hereached the door, put his left hand against the casing, and looked out.With lights behind he would have been riddled on the instant. But,looking from blackness to moonlight, he was invisible for themoment--but only for a moment.
The stream of yellow stabbed at him again and Young VB, as though underthe blow of a sledge, spun round and was flattened against the wall.
His left breast seemed to be in flames. He reached for it, firedaimlessly with the other hand in the direction of his hidden foe, andlet the gun clatter to the floor.
He wondered if it were death--that darkness. He felt the fanning of thewind, heard, dimly, its uneasy soughing. It was very dark.
A movement and its consequent grip of pain brought him back. He sawthen that a heavy cloud, wind driven, had blotted out the moon. In afrenzy he came alert! He was wounded! He had dropped his gun and theywere waiting for him out there, somewhere; waiting to finish him!
He could feel the smearing of blood across his chest as his clothingheld it in. His legs commenced to tremble, from true physical weaknessthis time.
And the Captain was waiting!
That thought wiped out every other; he was possessed with it. He mightbe dying, but if he could only get to the Captain; if he could onlyfeel that silken nose against his cheek! Nothing would matter then.
If he could get up, if he could mount, the Captain would take care ofhim. He could outrun those bullets--the Captain. He would take himhome, away from this inferno.
"I'm coming, Captain!" he muttered brokenly. "You're waiting! Oh, Iknow where to find you. I'm coming, boy, coming!"
He stepped down from the doorway and reeled, a hand against his woundedbreast. It seemed as though it required an eternity to regain hisbalance. Then he lurched forward a step. Oh, they were merciless! Theyopened on him from behind--when he had no weapon, when his life wasgushing away under his shirt! Those shots never came from one gunalone. More than one man fired on him!
His salvation then was flight. He ran, staggering, stumbling. Heplunged forward on his face and heard a bullet scream over him.
"Oh, Captain!" he moaned. "Can't you come and get me? Can't you?"
He snarled his determination to rally those senses that tried to roamoff into vagaries. He got to his hands and knees and crawled, inch byinch. He heard another shot, but it went wild. He got to his feet andreeled on. They thought they'd done for him when he fell! He heardhimself laughing crazily at the joke.
"Oh, you'll laugh, too--Captain!" he growled. "It's a joke--you'll--ifI can only get to--you!"
His numb, lagging legs seemed to make conscious efforts to hold himback. His head became as heavy as his feet and rolled about on hisneck, now straight forward, now swinging from side to side. His armsflopped as no arm ever should flop. And he heard the blood bubblingunder his vest. Perhaps he would never get there! Perhaps he was donefor!
"Oh, no--I can't quit before--I get to--you, Captain!" he muttered ashe fell again. "You're waiting--where I told you to wait! I've gotto--get--there!"
Of only one thing in this borderland between consciousness andinsensibility was he certain--the Captain was waiting. The Captain waswaiting! If he coul
d get that far-- It was the climax of all things. Toreach his horse; to touch him; to put his arms about those ankles as hefell and hold them close; to answer trust with trust. For through allthis the Captain had waited!
The shack where he had left the horse swam before his eyes. He heardthe breath making sounds in his throat as he crawled on toward it,counting each hand-breadth traveled an achievement. He tried to callout to the horse, but the words clogged and he could not make his voicecarry.
"Just a moment, boy!" he whispered. "Only--a moment longer--then youwon't have--to wait!"
He was conscious again that his pursuers fired from behind. It wasmoonlight once more, and they could see him as he reeled on toward theshack. He sprawled again as his foot met a stone, and the guns ceasedto crash.
But VB did not think on this more than that instant. He found nocomfort in the cessation of firing. For him, only one attainable objectremained in life. He wanted to be with the thing of which he wascertain, away from all else--to know a faith was justified; to senseonce again stability!
His hand struck rough wood. He strained his eyes to make out thetumble-down structure rising above him.
"Captain!" he called, forcing his voice up from a whisper. "Come--boy,I'm--ready--to go--home!"
Clinging to the logs, he raised himself to his feet and swayed inthrough the door.
"Captain," he muttered, closing his eyes almost contentedly andwaiting. "Captain?"
He started forward in alarm, a concern mounting through his torture anddimming his sensibilities.
"Captain--are you--here?"
He stumbled forward, arms outstretched in the darkness, feeling aboutthe space. He ran into a wall; turned, met another.
"Captain!" he cried, his voice mounting to a ranting cry.
The Captain was gone!
Reason for keeping on slipped from VB's mind. He needed air, so hisreflexes carried him through the doorway again, out of the place wherehe had left the stallion, out of the place where his trust had beenbetrayed. He stumbled, recovered his balance, plunged on out into themoonlight, into the brush, sobbing heavily. His knees failed. Hecrashed down, face plowing into cool soil.
"Captain"! he moaned. "Oh, boy--I didn't think--_you_ would--fail-- Nowonder--I couldn't keep--going--"
He did not hear the running feet, did not know they rolled him over,Rhues with his gun upraised.
"I got him, th' ----" he muttered.
"Then let's get out--_pronto_!"
Twenty minutes later a man with a lantern stepped out of the shack inwhich the Captain had stood. Two others were with him.
"Yes, he left his horse there, all right," the man with the lightmuttered. "He got to him an' got away. Nobody else could lead thathorse off. He couldn't 'a' been hard hit or he couldn't 'a' got up."
