Trigger Gospel (20 page)

“Just this, Luther: I figger they'll soon enough discover where we are. But they won't know we ain't all there. It ain't likely they'll make a move until they've thought it over pretty thoroughly. Some mornin' they'll surround the cabin and lay out for an hour or two in the hope that they can pick off one or two of us before they close in.”

“Of course that's what they'll do!” Luther exclaimed hotly. “We'll be in a bad spot. They'll be between us and our horses—”

“No, they won't,” Bill assured him. “We're goin' to be most awful sure just when we been located. We'll stall around then only as long as we're dead sure it's safe. By doin' a little spyin' on our own account we'll know when the Sontags are comin' for us. If things work out as I believe they will, we'll be headin' for the Black Grocery at the very time they're headin' this-a-way.”

Luther expressed his surprise in a low whistle.

“So that's your scheme, eh?” he queried sharply.

“You've heard it! Smoke will take along about every top man he's got when he goes to the Meadows. That ought to make things pretty easy for us, especially if Latch comes back with Bitter Root and Flash. We'll clean out that crowd. By the time Smoke's bunch returns to the Grocery, we'll be ready for 'em.”

“That's makin' 'em divide their forces all right,” said Luther. “We couldn't ask for nothin' better. But just how are we goin' to ride into the Grocery?”

“Cherokee will take us in—or it'll be his last ride! No doubt in my mind but what he knows the ropes. If we have to go in without him, we'll try it from the west. There's some broken country in that direction ….”

“Yeh ….” Luther muttered. He had no suggestion to make. He was beginning to see that Latch was right; that he had never realized his brother's capacity for leadership. Bill had taken to this wild life with undreamed-of ability for doing the unexpected.

They talked on for a minute or two and then walked back to the fire.

“You take care of Smoke, Luther,” Bill said with a preoccupied air. “I'll get Beaudry.”

The following morning, soon after Latch and Scotty got away, the red-haired one led the others to the sod shanty in the Meadows. Arrived there, the horses were led to a green pasture below the shanty and hobbled. A man was told off to guard them.

During the years the crude house had stood idle it had fallen into bad repair. They were not minded to do anything about that. Building some makeshift bunks, they settled down to rest. That evening, Little Bill took all of them into his confidence.

It surprised them to learn that the showdown with the Sontags was so near. They adjusted themselves to it quickly enough. If there was any thought among them that they were striking too soon, that the issue should be put off for a week or month, it was not voiced. They seemed to feel that since they had a score to settle that now was as good a time as any—and that included Cherokee. He smoked his cigarette with great deliberation, and his black eyes were cold and calculating.

“From the mornin' on we'll ride a half-mile circle about the shanty,” Bill told them. “Two men will go out at a time. You're likely to see someone. If you do, use your heads. With a little judgment you'll be able to decide whether it's somebody spyin' on us or a man just happenin' along on his way to Bowie. Cherokee and me will make the first swing around.”

“I wish you'd take another man,” the Kid spoke up. “This laig is hurtin' me plenty again. It's awful stiff.”

It was the first time in days that he had mentioned his wounded leg.

“All right,” Bill agreed readily. “Tonto can go with me. I want yuh to take care of yourself, Kid; I'll sure be needin' yuh in a day or two.”

Long after the others were asleep, Little Bill lay in his bunk wondering what was behind Cherokee's reluctance to leave the shanty. He couldn't begin to understand it.

“Here's a chance made to order for him to double-cross us, and he walks away from it,” he thought. “I sure figgered he'd break his neck to git word to Smoke.”

He and Tonto were out until noon the following morning. They had not seen a soul. Link and Maverick went out that afternoon. The Kid still complained of his leg.

“Well, yuh're sure able to keep an eye on our broncs,” Bill told him. “Yuh go down and spell Luther for a while.”

The Kid did not object. Luther came in a few minutes later. There was a perplexed frown on his face.

“Yuh're takin' a chance, ain't yuh, sendin' Cherokee out by himself?” he asked his brother.

“I aim to keep an eye on him this afternoon,” Bill assured him. “Maybe this is the openin' he's been anglin' for.”

“Maybe,” Luther muttered. “What do yuh make of the way he's actin'?”

Bill shrugged his shoulders. “I wish I knew. My guess is that he's hopin' to keep us out of a fight with the Sontags.”

“The skunk!” Tonto growled. “There's been some talk about that geldin' of yourn bein' bad luck. I bet in the end you'll find the Injun is our bad luck.”

“It may work out that-a-way,” Bill answered moodily. “If it does, we can't ever say we didn't have our eyes open.”

He watched the Kid that afternoon. Cherokee never made a suspicious move. Not for a minute did he leave the horse cavy. With his back propped against a rock, his hat pulled low over his eyes, he sat for hours in the deepest meditation.

“He sure acts like a man who don't know his own mind,” Bill mused. “That may be just the case.”

The success of his plans depended utterly on word of their presence being conveyed to the Sontags. He had fully expected that the Kid would help to perform that service. Fortunately it did not depend solely on him.

“It may take longer, but they'll find out,” Bill assured himself.

On the morning of their third day in the Meadows, he arose at sun-up fully expecting that Latch and Scotty would ride in before the morning was very far along. The day passed without bringing them. Nor did they come the following morning. The sun swung across the sky and the lengthening shadows of early evening marched down the distant hills, and still they did not come.

“What can be keepin' 'em?” Bill demanded in his growing anxiety. The others were asking themselves the same question. A hundred things could have happened to the two men. One guess was as good as another.

“They may be havin' some trouble locatin' old Ben,” Cherokee observed. “I ain't worryin'—”

“I see yuh ain't!” Bill snapped at him. He could not help asking himself if the Kid could have stacked the deck against Latch and Scotty.

He was still pacing the floor when Luther and Maverick pulled up their mounts sharply at the door. There was an air of excitement about them.

“Well, they're keepin' cases on us!” Luther announced tensely. “We damn near stumbled over a man on the way in.”

Bill's head went up with a jerk.

“He knows yuh saw him, eh?”

“We pretended not to,” Luther answered. “After comin' on a way we turned back; he was hittin' only the high places in his hurry to get away.”

“Say, that's goin' to complicate things for us, comin' right now,” Link remarked. “Latch and Scotty not here yet. We can't be stallin' around much longer.”

“We'll see what mornin' brings,” Bill said thoughtfully.

Morning dawned, but the two men who had ridden west failed to appear.

“I'll give 'em till evenin',” Bill decided. “In the meantime, we'll take good care not to be jumped. Cherokee and me'll stay here; the rest of yuh keep movin' around the Meadows. Yuh can bring our horses in. If yuh see anythin' that looks queer, fire a shot and head for the shanty.”

At five o'clock that afternoon, Little Bill told them they were going to move.

“Roll your blankets; it ain't safe to wait no longer.”

A quarter of an hour later they were preparing to ride away when Luther caught a glimpse of four horsemen, off to the south.

“They're headin' straight for the shanty,” he exclaimed. “It may be Latch and—”

“It's them, all right!” Bill interrupted, his voice shrill. “We'll ride out and meet 'em; I don't want to linger here another minute!”

L
ITTLE
B
ILL
was the first to reach the four men.

“Git your broncs turned around and work back into the brush a ways!” he called out as he rode up to them. “The Meadows is gittin' too warm for us!”

He had never laid eyes on Bitter Root or Flash Moffet. He could not be sure even now that one of the two strangers who rode with Scotty and Latch was Flash, but there was no question in his mind concerning the other, a lean, hatchet-faced man, older even than Latch, whose legs were so long that his pony appeared grotesquely small for him.

In a few minutes they were out of sight of the shanty. Bill gave the signal to pull up.

“Well,” he grinned, “yuh didn't come none too soon. We'd about given yuh up.” He shifted around in his saddle to face the two strangers. “I don't have to be told that this is Bitter Root,” he said, “but I'll have to make a guess that the other one of yuh is Flash Moffet.”

“It's Flash, sure enough,” Latch laughed. “We had some trouble locatin' him.”

“You know how that is,” Flash said, with a little chuckle. “There's times when it's advisable to make yourself awful scarce …. It didn't take us long to get here, once we got started …. Bitter Root and me have got some unfinished business in this neighborhood.” His voice was suddenly bitter, even though he continued to smile.

“Now that's sure a fact,” Bitter Root agreed. “The debt's bin runnin' along some time, but we bin keepin' account of the interest, and we're hopin' to collect in full this trip.” His faded blue eyes had been shifting from one to the other, taking them all in. “You boys are all strangers to me, except this one,” he ran on, his glance resting on Cherokee. “I seem to remember you awful well, for some reason.”

“Yeh?” the Kid queried insolently.

“Yeh,” Bitter Root echoed, and all the friendliness was gone from his tone. “You're the breed that used to rustle stuff along with Cash Beaudry and Little Arkansaw.”

Cherokee's teeth flashed in a hideous grin. Few men had the temerity to call him a breed to his face. Bill fully expected to see him go for his guns. Certainly that was what the Kid longed to do; it was written all over his face. Something stayed his hand. Possibly it was Bitter Root's formidable reputation.

“Well, what about it?” he sneered.

“Not a thing,” Bitter Root said quietly. “I've rustled a few steers myself in my time, but I was jest wonderin' if you wa'n't on the wrong side of the fence, ridin' with this bunch. All your old friends seem to git along pritty smooth with Smoke.”

“I'm where I want to be,” Cherokee informed him surlily.

“Jest be sure you are,” Bitter Root muttered as he turned away. “It ain't no time for straddlin' the fence. Smoke and nigh a dozen men are headin' this way right now.”

“Yuh mean you saw 'em?” Bill demanded sharply.

“I'll say we saw 'em!” Latch answered him. “They're movin' so cautious that they must have heard you were in the Meadows.”

“That's fine! Everythin's workin' out just right.” Bill's eyes were glowing. He had to explain the situation to the four men who had just joined them.

“That's foxin' 'em!” Bitter Root exclaimed. “We got your rifles and so forth here.”

“I see yuh have,” Bill replied. “Better let us git acquainted with 'em right off. We don't want to waste no more time here than we have to.”

Just before night fell they reached the hidden spring where Latch and Cherokee had first joined them.

“We'll cache everythin' here,” Bill ordered. “We want to ride as light as we can. I reckon it's safe to make a fire. We'll have a bite to eat, and later on we can be movin' along. The moon won't bother us much tonight.”