One-Man Massacre (12 page)

". . . and if it weren't on account of me you'd never
have climbed back up this Godforsaken mountain."

Buchanan laughed again. "If it weren't on account of
you, you fast-talking old spellbinder, I'd still be in El
Paso."

"Doin'
what?"

"As little as the law allows."

"Maybe you're right at that. Maybe you don't know half
what you should about yourself."

"No argument there. Come on, let's get to work."

"Forget work," Fargo said. "If last night was Saturday
then this is Sunday. And on Sunday the Lord rested.
Now, if you were in El Paso do you know what you'd be
doin'?"

"Resting, just like every other day."

"Like hell!"

"Then what?"

"Makin' other men richer than they were, that's what
!
Boy, you just don't have the first idea about yourself. A
man with some plan in his mind, some project to pull
off
—he sees you and you're hired. It's good as done."

"Some project like axing a mountain down to sea
level?"

"Sure! Or somethin' simple, like ramroddin' some
body's herd to Cimmaron without losin' a head. Or
ridin' shotgun out of Nevada City . . ."

"Those jobs still open?"

"They sure as hell are, and will be. And you'd've been
sucked right into 'em, layin' down your life to make an
other man rich."

"Well, you saved me from that, old friend."

"You're damn right I did! You're working for you,
now, Buchanan. Every time you swing that pick you're
making your own self richer."

"Then let's get swinging," Buchanan suggested.

"On the Lord's Day? God damn it, boy, don't you
read your scripture?"

"I'll catch up on it when I've made myself rich, like
you just said I would."

"All right, all right," Fargo said, going for the small,
sharp-nosed hammer he used to separate the gold-bear
ing veins from the blocks that Buchanan axed out of the
mountainside. "But this is the day He rested, and so
should we!"

They worked all day, and that night Buchanan crawled
gratefully into his blankets hurting and exhausted
—too
weary even to consider a return visit to Scotstown. Which was exactly as he had planned it.

ELEVEN

In
the
first fifteen days of its occupation of the Big
Bend's river ranches, Gibbons' Militia had summarily
hun
g nine "invaders," killed twelve "escapees" out of
han
d, and imprisoned twenty more in the hastily erected,
barb
ed-wire compound on the outskirts of town. Help
fully t
o the campaign that Malcolm Lord kept telling his
fello
w citizens about,
some half-dozen of the prisoners had a
ctually been apprehended in the act of rustling four
lead of Angus Mulchay's small herd. Unlike the others
who
had been taken before them, these Mexicans could
n
o
t plead that Mulchay had invited them to take t
h
e
be
ef
In the eyes of all Scotstown they were plainly
guilty
of a hanging offense—inasmuch as Mulchay had
lef
t the Big Bend two weeks before.

A
t
Lord's suggestion, Gibbons allowed the hapless
rustl
ers to be tried in open court. It had all the trappings
and
appearances of a fair, Texas-style trial, except that
Lou
Kersh made a surprising appearance for the defense
—
as
court interpreter—and he managed to "interpret"
some very damaging admissions for the accused men without the jury fully realizing just who Lou Kersh was.

One of the Mexicans, to cite an example, was telling
the jury, via Kersh, that if he were given a chance to go
back across the border he would return dutifully to his
wife and family. "Mi mujer y ninos," he said.

With a straight face Kersh denned mujer rightfully as
"woman." And then proceeded to tell the jurors that the
man had crossed the border for a woman. Another prisoner
explained that he had money to pay Mulchay for the
steer, but that Mulchay wasn't at home and hunger got
the best of him. "Yo tuve hambre," he told the interpreter
plaintively. "I was hungry."

"He says he was hungry for a woman," Kersh said in
a loud, clear voice.

The jury deliberated for thirty minutes, and voted them
all guilty with no recommendation for mercy. Special
Judge Gibbons ordered them to be hanged at sunset
—
and so it appeared on the trial record duly signed by
Councilmen Lord, Butler and MacPike.

That trial
—its cloak of rightness and righteousness-
plus the continuing absence of Mulchay—which became
a kind of admission of guilt in a conspiracy against his neighbors—persuaded Malcolm Lord to advance the time
table for his master plan to annex the riverland to his Overlord holdings. Two days later squads of Gibbons'
Militia began making official calls on the farflung ranches
of Mulchay's friends—the Tompkins, the Alreds, the
Bryans and the MacKays.

Captain Gibbons himself led six hostile-looking horse
men to the MacKay place, ordered them to stay mounted
while he climbed the porch.

This was a hot, breezeless Tuesday and Rosemarie answered his knock.

"What will you have with us?" she asked through the
screened door, holding a hastily-donned wrapper closed
at her throat.

80

"May I come in?" When the man thought it was worth
the effort
—as he did now—Gibbons could project a very powerful, very virile personality.

"My uncle is not in the house," the girl said. "Perhaps
if you returned later ..."

"My business concerns both of you," Gibbons said,
blandly opening the door. "But what's needed even more
urgently is some water. May my men use the well?"

Rosemarie had stepped back into the room, against her
will. "Yes, they may," she said in answer to the ques
tion.

"Draw yourselves some water," Gibbons called over
his shoulder, then crossed the threshold in the casual
manner of a familiar visitor. "Ah, it's cool in here," he said.
"Very comfortable." He looked at her, wondered what,
if anything, she wore beneath the thin cotton robe.

"I have a great many things to do, Captain Gibbons.
If you'll come back in the afternoon I'm sure my uncle
will be here."

“
Does it unsettle you so much
—a strange man in your
h
ouse?"

“I’l
l not pretend you're welcome here, if that's what
y
ou
mean."

Gibbons laughed. "Well, that's playing the cards face
u
p." he said lightly, then proceeded to lower himself onto
t
h
e sofa. "And why am I unwelcome to you?" he asked.

"Because you are an evil man," Rosemarie told him
blun
tly. "And I want you to leave at once."

In
stead of leaving, Gibbons crossed his legs, took a
inns cigar from a pocket inside his riding coat.

"E
i
ther you leave or I do!" the girl said with heat in
her
voice. Gibbons lit the cigar carefully, let his glance
roam
over her face and figure at will.

“
I wouldn't walk out into that yard, miss," he said. "If
my
men thought you were no longer under my special
protection.
"

“I
was never under your protection, special or other
wise.”

"Ah, but you are. And so far it's kept you from be
coming
—how should I say—common property."

Her hand went to her face, as if he had struck her.

"What a horrible, horrible thing for a man to say..."

"It wasn't my intention to shock you, girl, but to ac
quaint you with a fact. Regardless of all the good they're
accomplishing here, my men are still soldiers. Any woman
would attract them, but with your
—ah—endowments . . ."

"Stop it!" Rosemarie cried at him. "Get out of this
house without speaking another indecent word!"

"You're very excitable, aren't you?" Gibbons asked, his
studied mildness like a goad. "Even more than I'd im
agined you'd be."

"I don't want you to imagine anything about me! I
don't wa
nt
you to think of me in any way, ever!"

"It would
b
e easier to quit breathing altogether."

"Get out!" she ordered him again. "Get away from
me!"

No man of Gibbons' ego could take such open reproach
indefinitely. Now he climbed to his feet, and the look of
mock-amiability dropped from his face, revealing the
naked desire that had been there from the moment he
had stood in the doorway.

"Another woman in your place," he told her severely, "would be grateful."

"Grateful? If I had a whip in my hands I'd show you
my gratitude!"

The words, the scorn, the total rejection
—all of it
came together against the man's own conceit, and snapped
what little was left of his reserve. With a kind of grunt
ing noise deep in his throat he moved toward the girl,
reaching out swiftly with both hands. But his eyes had
signaled the attack and she stepped backward, swung
away from him and broke for the nearby kitchen. Gib
bons' grasping fingers caught in a fold of the loose wrapper,
closed tight over the light material and wrenched it furi
ously. The gown, handsewn, was ripped apart, baring
the twisting, struggling girl from hip to shoulder. The
man held fast, tried to tear it away entirely, and then the
girl turned back against him, swung with her considerable
strength and caught him flush on the cheekbone with the
heel of her open palm.

Gibbons fell back, dazed for that moment, and
Rosemarie
lashed out at him again. Better to have run, for
half the victory in the first blow was its very surprise.
Gibbons all but invited the next one, the better to im
prison both her arms, to close her half-naked, unyielding
body against him.

"Fight me," he said raggedly, his lips pressed to her
ear. "The harder you make it, the sweeter the victory .. ."

The girl intended to make it as sweet as she possibly
could. Both hands clawed at her tormentor's face, left
their mark in his flesh. At the same time she kicked at
hi
m, then brought the hands up again, into his hair,
tried to pull it loose by the very roots.

Gibbons, in his passion, was immune to pain or in
dignity. He stripped the robe completely away and bore
hex back to the divan with a relentlessness that was over
powering.

It was not a silent struggle, and the sounds of it drew the militiamen from their labors at the well to the porch
o
f the house. Not one of them felt any compulsion to in
terfere. They had all seen the beautiful girl who worked at the Glasgow, and made the same snap judgment as Hamp
Leach. That made what was happening to her now a kind
of sport
—a soldier's pastime—and they envied the man
i
nv
olved.

But one of them, a man named Apgar, chanced to
look around, and spotted the two riders bearing down
an the place. Two coming on with an unmistakable ur
gency, and neither one belonging to Gibbons' Militia.

"Look sharp!" Apgar shouted the alarm. "May be
trouble!"

"Who the hell are they?"

"May be trouble," Apgar warned again. "Hey Cap
—
Cap'n Gibbons! Two riders out here!"