Trigger Gospel (17 page)

T
HE
rain continued to fall in torrents as they left the pocket. To save time they went on up the slope to the rim of the valley, intent on cutting across to the other side of the horseshoe bend the Skull described just above the old trail. Bill believed they could take the short cut and drop down to the bottoms again well in advance of the stampeding cattle.

Their horses found the footing slippery and treacherous until they reached the rim. It consumed precious seconds.

“Come on, we got to shake it up now!” Bill shouted. “We can make short work of this if we hurry!”

He was off in a swinging gallop. Without looking back he led the way across the plateau. It was not more than half a mile from one side of the bend to the other. Riding hard, heads lowered against the driving rain, they were soon across. In a slithering stop they pulled up in the sticky red clay to scan the bottoms below.

“We're here in time!” Luther called out. “No sight of 'em yet!”

Before they were halfway down to the creek, however, the stampeding herd hove in sight. Warming to the thrill of an old experience, they spread out fanwise and with a wild halloo dashed at the charging steers.

Shouting, emptying their six-guns harmlessly over the heads of the cattle they literally stood them on their ears. The leaders turned back. In a few minutes the entire herd was milling.

Little Bill had but to catch sight of the brand they wore to know whose outfit this was.

“It's Leach Lytell's Two Bar O!” he ground out savagely. He had once worked for Lytell, and he had small cause to be doing him a favor.

Luther had recognized the brand too.

“It's Lytell's stuff!” he shouted across to Bill. “That ought to tickle yuh I If you've had enough, say so!”

“No, we'll see it through now!” Bill yelled back. “Just keep those critters millin' a little! We've got 'em bottled up if Lytell's men are on the job!”

It was some time before the cattle began to quiet down. Gradually, however, their panic passed and they began to drift back toward the trail.

From downstream a rider appeared. It was Lytell himself.

“Wal,” he cried, “so it's your bunch, Bill! I was jest wonderin' who I had to thank.” He was a heavyset, sullen-faced man with little gimlet eyes. He pulled up a few feet from where Bill waited. “I'm obliged to yuh,” he said curtly.

“You don't have to spread yourself any on my account,” Bill told him. “A little mud and a good wettin' never hurt no one. If you've got these steers in hand we'll be movin' along.”

“Mebbe you better,” Lytell laughed hoarsely. “I hear you been keepin' pritty much on the move of late. Can't understand how you found time to tend to another man's business today.”

“Say, what is this?” Latch flamed as he sent his horse in between the two men. “This is yore argyment, Bill, but this rat-eyed weasel don't seem to understand that we jest saved him a day's work, to say nothin' of his beef. I'm thinkin' it would be a good idee to slap some of the sass outa him.” He fixed his watery eyes on Lytell. “I'd sure welcome the opportunity.”

“Don't bother, Latch,” Bill muttered. “I know this nombre. I worked for him once; did two men's work and got half the pay one ought to git, and when I pull up with a busted leg he tells me I'm through; that he ain't payin' wages to cripples. I always figgered I'd get even with you, Lytell, for that.”

“I admire your way of doin' it,” Cherokee said with a mocking laugh. “Why don't you ask him to apologize?”

The red-haired one withheld the retort that trembled on his tongue as one of Lytell's men rode up, an air of excitement on him.

“Lytell, we've just found Paint!” the newcomer exclaimed. “He's bad hurt!”

“Paint?” Bill echoed sharply. “What Paint is that?”

“Why, Paint Johnson, of Bowie!” the man informed him. “His horse went down when that twister struck and rolled on him. Before he could git up a steer gored him!”

Bill drew in his breath sharply and stiffened in his saddle. The old Sawbuck men understood why—or believed they did, having only to recall that although Paint and Little Bill had long been rivals for Martha Southard's hand that it had never broken their friendship.

They were only partly right. For the moment Bill's thought was entirely of Martha, of the blow that disaster to Paint would be to her.

“She don't deserve to have anythin' like this come along on top of the misery I've made her,” he told himself.

Leach Lytell, ignoring the open hostility evident in every eye, was raging violently at losing a man at this inopportune moment.

“Damn the careless fool!” he cursed. “Why'n't he look what he was doin'? Now we
are
short-handed!”

“You've been short-handed for years,” Bill muttered contemptuously. “That ain't no accident with you.” He swung around to Lytell's puncher. “Where's Paint at now?”

“ 'Bout halfway between here and the trail. I'm afraid to move him.”

“You lead the way,” Bill snapped at him. “Get us there in a hurry!”

“Say, wait a minute!” Lytell thundered. “If the bunch of you go chasin' down this creek you'll git my stuff runnin' ag'in!”

“To hell with you and your stuff!” Bill rifled back. “You've got a man down—bad hurt—and he happens to be a friend of mine!”

He and the others were thirty yards away before Lytell heeled his horse and took after them, sputtering wrathfully.

They found Paint lying on the ground. He was covered with mud. It was even in his black, curly hair. He opened his eyes as Bill bent over him.

“Why, Bill,” he murmured incredulously, “I didn't expect to see you here. Luther's here too, and the others—”

“Yeh, we're all here, Paint. It don't matter about that. I hear you're hurt pretty bad. Where did that steer git yuh?”

“In the right groin … I guess it's bad enough.”

Bill beckoned to Latch.

“You're pretty handy about these things,” he said. “I want you to take a look at it, Latch, and tell me what we can do.”

“I'll have a look at it too!” Lytell bellowed as he pushed through the circle of men.

“Git back, and keep your lip buttoned!” Bill jerked out threateningly. “You see that he does, Link! Bend a gun over him if yuh have to!”

Lytell would have argued the matter, but Link hit him a clip on the jaw that shook a little sense into him.

Latch got to his feet after examining the wound and motioned for Bill to step aside with him.

“Ain't nothin' I kin do fer this boy but wash the dirt out and try to stop the blood a little,” he said soberly. “He's goin' to die if he don't git to a doctor. Ain't no time to be lost about it either.”

“I was afraid it was that-a-way,” Bill muttered bleakly. He mulled it over for a moment. “You git busy, Latch, and do your best. If there's a chance for him I'll see that he gits it. They got a wagon here.”

As Latch went back to Paint, Bill signaled for the others to step over to him. He told them what Latch had said.

“That's tough,” Luther murmured. “What do yuh aim to do?”

“I aim to do all I can,” Bill replied. “I want a couple of yuh to round up Lytell's team. In the meantime, some more of yuh can git your ropes on that wagon and right it. When you git it hitched, drive up here.”

“You can't take my wagon that-a-way!” Lytell cried defiantly.

“We're takin' it!” Bill repeated. “Push him along with yuh, Link, and make him git his stuff out of it! It's a long way to Bowie—and Paint won't git no better on the way—but we'll see that he gits there.”

“Bill, are yuh crazy?” Luther demanded. “If we ride into Bowie tonight we'll need more'n a doctor to help us!”

“I'm goin' in alone,” Bill answered slowly. “I'll be there about nine o'clock.”

“Yuh can't do it, Bill!” Link exclaimed excitedly. “It's foolish to even think of it!”

“You'll stub your toe, sure as shootin'!” Tonto agreed.

“That's right!” Luther echoed. “Why overplay your hand?”

Maverick and Scotty voiced similar sentiments. For once, Cherokee had no objection to raise.

“I don't know what you all are gettin' so excited about,” he said. “He don't have to ride down the main street. I'm willin' to go in with him. Is that agreeable to you, Bill?”

The offer came unexpectedly, but Little Bill met it without lifting an eyelash. “That
would
be overplayin' my hand,” he thought. His expression inscrutable, he glanced at the Kid. “No need of that, Cherokee,” he said, “I'll be safer by myself.”

If the Kid caught the double significance of the words, he dissembled it perfectly.

Even though Luther and the rest realized the futility of further argument they would have continued to object to Bill's going had he not ordered them to be on their way. As they went down the creek, he walked over to where Paint lay. He had not dismissed Cherokee from his mind.

“I can't figger out his play, unless all this talk about his breakin' with Beaudry was a bluff,” he thought. “Wouldn't be no other way he could turn me up without gettin' himself snagged.”

Paint was resting easier. Bill asked Latch to leave them alone for a moment. The rain had become a fine drizzle.

“You're takin' an awful chance in doin' this, Bill,” Paint said when he had been told he was to be hurried to town.

“Well, it's me that's takin' it,” Bill said grimly. “I owe this much to Martha. … I know she's mighty fond of you.”

“Aw, I didn't have a chance when you were around,” Paint insisted. His face was bloodless.

“I ain't around no more.… That's all over. You've got everythin' your way now.”

“I don't want things that way,” Paint scowled. “I just took this job with Lytell so I could keep out of Bowie until you were around again. I'll fight you fair for Martha. You ought to know it.”

“I do,” Bill murmured, looking away. “That's the only thing about this that's right, Paint.… I always said I wanted you to have her if I couldn't.” With an effort he threw off his moodiness. “It's a long, joltin' ride into town. You'll have to buck up for it. It'll take about all you've got to make it.”

Latch saw the Two Bar O wagon coming up the creek. Link was driving the team. Lytell was up beside him.

“Is that gent takin' this boy to town?” Latch asked.

“No, I'm takin' him,” Bill answered. He explained briefly. Latch shook his head dubiously.

“You know your reasons,” he said. “If you say you'll go, you'll go. You're almost certain to find trouble awaitin' yuh if this gent Lytell can arrange it.”

“I want you to keep your eye on him, Latch. Don't let him pull away from the Skull till least an hour after dark.”

“Yuh want us to linger here then?”

“Nothin' else to do,” Bill said. “I don't figger you'll have any trouble unless he makes it for yuh.”

“I'll undertake to gentle him if he starts anythin',” Latch grinned brazenly.

As gently as they could they placed Paint in the wagon on a bed of hay.

“You'll find this stuff waitin' for yuh when you hit Bowie,” he told Lytell.

“I better find it! I'll settle your hash for this some day!”

Bill didn't bother to answer. Leading Six-gun around to the rear of the wagon he ran the bridle reins through the ring in the end-gate and knotted them. He was ready to leave, save for a word to his men. He walked aside with them beyond Lytell's hearing. After repeating what he had previously said to Latch, he added:

“If there's any orders necessary, Luther will give 'em. After yuh leave here tonight go right on as we planned. I'll meet you about noon tomorrow in the Witch Hills. You wait there for me. If I don't show up by evenin'—go on; you'll know I ain't comin'.”

That was all he had to tell them. Without any formal leave-taking, he climbed up on the wagon and gathered up the reins.

“Luther, maybe you better follow me as far as the trail. It's pretty sticky there; you may have to put a rope on the wagon and snub me up a little.”

Luther followed readily enough. The wagon rolled up the slope to the trail without any help from him however.

“It ain't bad here,” he said.

“Course it ain't,” Bill admitted. “I just wanted to say a last word to yuh: keep your eye on Cherokee. Don't let him have anythin' to say to Lytell that you don't hear. I don't want yuh to lose sight of him for a second.”

Luther pulled down the corners of his mouth in a flinty stare.

“See here, Bill,” he said fiercely, “are you holdin' back somethin'? If that double-crossin' coyote is makin' a move to sell us out, I want to know it!”