Trigger Gospel (11 page)

“That's a fact,” Scotty Ryan agreed. “As far as the law goes we couldn't be any worse off than we are now.”

The others, save Luther, nodded owlishly. He was staring at something off in the brush. The others caught his preoccupation.

“What is it?” Little Bill questioned sharply.

“There's a man out there,” Luther replied. “He's crawled behind that big gum tree.”

They reached for their guns in a hurry.

“Just keep him covered,” Bill snapped out. “I'll work out to the right a ways and get the meanin' of this. If he breaks cover and won't stand, you let him have it. No foolin' about this!”

He and every man in camp were instantly suspicious that the law had caught up with them already. Barring that they were agreed that the man Luther claimed to have seen cautiously working his way through the brush was a Sontag spy, for they took it for granted that since Beaudry had failed to rub them out Smoke would waste no time in trying it.

Prepared to shoot it out to the finish, if it developed that the Sontags were present in force, they strained their eyes for a glimpse of moving object.

They saw nothing however. Little Bill began to glide away noiselessly. He had not gone thirty feet when he was hailed from behind the gum tree.

“Put away your hardware, Bill,” the stranger called out. His tone was friendly. “It's Latch Shively. I was jest bein' a might careful about findin' out who you was before I walked into yore camp.”

The voice sounded familiar enough, but Little Bill did not lower his rifle.

“If that's you, Latch, show your face,” he ordered.

A year and more had passed since he had last laid eyes on the man who stepped out from behind the tree, but he recognized him instantly.

Latch was a little man, not much bigger than Little Bill himself; upwards of fifty now, his eyes watery and the mildness of his manner emphasized by a long, drooping mustache. It was an impression that was entirely misleading, for Latch had been living outside the law for seven years or more and was wanted for a score of bank robberies and train hold-ups.

He had ridden with one band of long riders after another, for outlaw gangs were continually disintegrating as the U. S. marshals made successful war on them. Inevitably, the remnants joined other gangs. If they escaped being rubbed out without warning, they soon found themselves hunted down all over again. Latch had had no better luck than the run of outlaws. Little Bill had last heard of him as a member of the Yeager gang that had all but been wiped out in a two-day gun fight with a posse of marshals, a month back.

“Well, it's you, sure enough, Latch,” he said. “Come on in.”

He was honestly glad to see him, for here was a tried and true hand who would be useful in any emergency. As for Luther and the others, they felt quite as he did about it. Some had slight acquaintance with Shively; the others at least knew him by reputation.

“Latch, you look a bit seedy,” Little Bill said banteringly as Maverick put the coffee pot on the fire.

“Yeh, I fergot to have my pants pressed this mornin', sure enough,” Latch chuckled, with a rueful glance at his faded butternut jeans. “Fact is, Bill, I came out of this last fracas with nothin' but my guns and my appetite. I jest about been livin' on roots for a week.” He cast an appraising eye over the camp. “You boys seem to be travelin' pretty light too …. You ain't all out of grub, be yuh?”

“No, we got enough for a day or two,” Bill grinned mirthlessly. “We're figgerin' on movin' directly.” He broke off only to add after a moment's pause, “I reckon you've heard how things stand with us.”

Latch nodded.

“I daresay I've heered the most of it,” he said, “and I've read the rest.”

“What do yuh mean by that?” Link asked. “I didn't know you'd left any forwardin' address for your newspaper.”

One or two laughed at the little pleasantry.

“Maybe he got it special delivery,” Tonto Baker observed.

“Mebbe I did at that,” Latch declared, wagging his head. “Leastwise it was delivered special by some depity sheriff or marshal.”

From his pocket he drew out a soiled and folded piece of paper. When he had it spread out they saw that it was a poster that said in big black letters:

WANTED FOR MURDER

$500 Reward for the Arrest or Information Leading to the Arrest of the Following

Their names and descriptions followed. The poster bore the printed signature of Cash Beaudry, sheriff of Cimarron County.

Their faces hardened as they read it to the last line. It told them no more than they had expected, but seeing it in black and white was a conclusive confirmation that affected every one of them.

“Where did you get this?” Little Bill asked.

“Oh, I tore it off a fence on the Blackhawk road,” Latch told him. “They've got 'em up everywheres.”

“I reckon they have,” Bill muttered. His voice was cold and harsh. He stared at the poster for a moment. “Both of those men had guns in their hands and was blazing away at us when we dropped them. You can't call that murder. But hell's fire, that's only an excuse to rub us out. There's somethin' behind all this that don't appear on the surface. Beaudry has got it in for us on his own account; but that's only half of it. I reckon you heard that the Sontags got Pop.”

“I heerd that somebody got him,” said Latch. He shrugged his shoulders doubtfully. “Mebbe it was the Sontags got him.”

“Couldn't have been no one else,” Luther put in. “Beaudry is takin' his orders from Smoke. Reckon you know that, Latch.”

“Mebbe I know it,” the newcomer admitted. He stroked his ragged mustache thoughtfully. “I could tell yuh things; but I won't.”

“It ain't necessary,” Little Bill said bluntly. “The Sontags know us, and they know this country ain't big enough to hold them and us any more. That's why Beaudry tried to wipe us out at Cain Springs. I'm tellin' yuh we aim to remember a few of them things.”

Maverick called them to eat. The pickings were slim.

“Better dish up some more,” Bill told him. “It's only puttin' things off to no purpose to try to piece things out to last an extra meal or two. The quicker we git to the bottom of the pot the sooner we'll be movin'.”

There was a murmur of approval from the others.

“The motion seems to have been carried,” said Maverick. He began to slice up the last of their bacon.

They had little to say as they ate. The meal finished, Little Bill built himself a cigarette. His manner was thoughtful.

“Latch,” he said without preamble of any sort, “how'd you like to ride with us?”

The outlaw did not seem surprised at the question.

“I aimed to git around to that myself,” he answered. “Fact is, it would suit me first-rate, Bill.”

“You say that knowin' how things stand between us and the Sontags; that there's a showdown comin' that '11 be a showdown?”

“That don't bother me,” the little man answered without hesitation. “I never got no favors from the Sontags, nor asked fer any. I can't say they ever crowded me any, either. But I'll say this, if I throw in with yuh I'll go all the way.”

“We'd like to have yuh,” Bill told him.

“There's jest one thing holdin' me back,” said Latch. Every eye around the fire was focused on him sharply as he hesitated momentarily. “And it's jest this, boys; I ain't alone. Two of us came out of the big fight at Black Hawk. I got the Cherokee Kid with me and I don't feel I can walk out on him.”

There was instantaneous tightening of their mouths at mention of the Cherokee Kid's name.

“We don't want none of him,” Link Appling declared hostilely. “Every bunch he's ridden with has been wiped out, and I've heard it said it wa'n't no accident that he never was present when the blow-off came.”

“I've heard it too,” said Luther. “I didn't know he was ridin' with you and the Yeagers, but if he's come through again without even bein' creased I'd say it would take a deal of explainin'.”

Scotty and Tonto also had a word to say against the man.

“I think you're wrong, boys,” Latch said when they had finished. “I've heerd some of this talk against him, but I don't put no stock in it. Cherokee has been with us for four months, and I know he's all right. You needn't worry about him not bein' creased. Three or four days back I thought I'd have to ampytate his leg. I finally dug the slug out. He's comin' around okay and if he gits a little grub under his belt he'll be all right directly.”

“Where have yuh got him?” Little Bill asked. He had yet to express an opinion about Cherokee.

“Beyond this rise about a mile,” said Latch.

“You afoot?”

“No, we got horses, such as they are. It'll be a day or two before the Kid can do much ridin'. I don't want to sway you one way or t'other about him, Bill, but he ain't a bad man to take along. He's a little too quick on the trigger when he's likkered up. You can handle him though.”

Little Bill took his time about answering and when he spoke at last it was to voice a question, and it was sufficiently startling to make them set up stiffly.

“Latch—ain't it a fact that Cherokee and Cash Beaudry used to pal together when they was both workin' for the old Cross T outfit?”

It was something that the others had forgotten or never knew.

“I didn't know 'em in them days,” Latch said frankly, “but I take it yo're right, and that's jest what makes me think Cherokee ought to be the man fer you. Since your memory is so good, mebbe you'll recall that soon after Cash managed to git hisself elected sheriff that Cherokee showed up in Bowie and struck him for a job. He didn't git it fer some reason—”

“Most likely because Smoke said no,” Luther observed. “There's nothin' wrong with Smoke's hearin'.”

“Mebbe that was the reason,” the little fellow agreed. “Whatever it was it's turned Cherokee ag'in 'em—and that ought to be enough fer you.”

“It is!” Little Bill exclaimed in a sudden decision. “You fetch him in, Latch. If he wants to take orders from me, he's ridin' with us.”

Luther heaved himself to his feet.

“Why, Bill, you can't mean that!” he exclaimed sullenly. “Link had it right; we don't want none of Cherokee. Give him all the best of it and he's still a Jonah.”

A glance told Little Bill that he stood alone in this difference of opinion. He met it calmly.

“I don't put no stock in Jonahs,” he declared without raising his voice. “That's just a piece with Tas's talk about the claybank bein' bad luck. The sooner you git that sort of nonsense out of your heads the better off you'll be. If there's anybody here that don't like my way of doin' things he's free to go; but if I'm givin' orders, I'm a givin' 'em. You bring Cherokee in, Latch.”

After Shively left they continued to sit around the burned-out fire. They had shifted their position, however, until Little Bill sat alone. He was aware of it and what it meant. Conversation had died long since. It did not appear to disturb him.

“So you've got it all figgered out that I'm makin' a mistake, eh?” he queried without warning. “Appears to me it's about time you boys began to use your heads.”

He spoke without a trace of rancor.

“Some of us reckon that's what you ought to be doin',” Luther answered.

“That's what I am doin'!” The red-haired one's manner was suddenly hard as steel. “Latch will come in mighty handy. There can't be no fault found with him. As for Cherokee—he ain't foolin' me for a second. He'll double-cross us the first chance he gits.”

“What!” several gasped in unison. They couldn't understand him even yet.

“You mind explainin' yourself?” Luther asked with a flash of temper.

“If it needs explainin'—no!" Little Bill shot back at him. “A man ain't one thing today and somethin' else tomorrow, and they don't pal together unless they're cut from the same pattern. I know Cherokee and Beaudry used to be mighty thick. I wouldn't have to know anythin' worse against him to put me on my guard. If you think I'd trust one any farther than I would the other, you're plumb crazy I”

It left them staring at him in tongue-tied surprise for a moment. Finally Link spoke.

“Then why be yuh invitin' him in?” he asked.

“He's got information we need, that's why. If he's really gunnin' for Beaudry and the Sontags he can tell us a lot. It'll be up to us to decide whether he's lyin' or not … Just be smart enough not to let him know what we're thinkin'. Keep your eyes on him right along. The first crooked move he makes will be his last.”