Trigger Gospel (27 page)

“I tried to reach you, Bill,” Paint declared, a queer little break in his voice. “I started for Black Grocery last night. I had trouble findin' my way, but I got there a little after dawn. I had a time gettin' anythin' out of Maverick until I told him what was up. Knowin' you were bein' framed—that you didn't have a chance if you went into that bank—I started back for Bowie. I didn't know where to look for you—so I went to the First National and stalled around for a minute or two. I was there when Short and his Guthrie men piled out of the bus and walked into the bank. I came out then, and there you were, ridin' up the street ….”

Bill nodded. He saw it all now.

“No use tryin' to thank yuh,” he murmured wood-enly. “You've got yourself in a jam on our account.”

“I wouldn't do it any different if I had it to do over,” Paint insisted. “I haven't forgot what you did for me.”

“Well, that's all right in its way, but maybe it would have been better if you'd thought more of Martha and less of me before you got yourself mixed up in this. Now I need yuh; you've got to show me where that snake is hidin' out.”

“I can do it,” Paint promised.

“Then don't waste no time about it,” Luther spoke up. He urged his horse ahead, anxious to escape any farewell. He knew this was good-bye forever, but he was not equal to having it put into words.

It was doubly true of Little Bill. There was a stricken look in his eyes as he watched Luther move away.

“Maverick will hitch a team and git yuh to Leflett's place,” he called after him. “Til see yuh there …”

He knew he was lying. Maverick would never have to put Luther in a wagon and start for Jake Creek. The end was nearer than that.

Without turning, Luther raised a hand in a feeble farewell. Precious as the minutes were, Bill stood there watching him until an intervening ridge hid him from view.

“I guess we can ride,” he muttered huskily. “We got quite some miles to go.”

Several times they had reason to believe they were pursued. From a distance they saw groups of horsemen, proving that Heck was combing the prairie thoroughly. The forlorn hope that he might find Bitter Root and the others flickered out in Bill's mind when noontime came and they had not been seen.

“Trapped or shot down,” he brooded. “The law caught up with a lot of us today.”

He glanced anxiously at Paint's pony, a young bay that was beginning to falter under the driving pace Six-gun set.

“That bronc won't last much longer,” he exclaimed.

“We haven't far to go,” Paint answered. The tree-choked river bottom had been in sight for some minutes. “We might better drop down to the river and follow the brakes.”

Half-a-mile more, and Paint identified the place where Beaudry and Lytell had crossed the river.

“All right,” Bill snapped. “Now you git, Paint! Cross the river and keep on for the line I”

As Paint started to demur, a rifle cracked without warning. The bullet lifted Bill's hat from his head.

“Into the brakes!” he yelled at Paint. “He's up there on that bare knoll I”

Beaudry wasted a clip of cartridges on them without inflicting any damage.

“You think he recognized us?” Paint asked. He was as calm as Bill.

“He went after me first, didn't he? He can see in all directions from up there. He must have had us spotted for some time, figgerin' if he waited he couldn't miss at eighty yards.”

“He didn't miss by much,” Paint reminded him. “I don't see how you can smoke him out of there.”

“I can, with just a little help from you,” Bill told him. “I don't want yuh to take a hand in this fight. All I'm askin' is for yuh to swing wide around the knoll and when you git there, fire your gun every so often. It'll let him know we've split up. It'll divide his attention. That's the best chance I can hope for.”

Paint tried to drive home on him the folly of facing Beaudry with only a pair of six-guns.

“Put a rifle in your hands and I'd say you might make it. I can't see it this way.”

“I'll make the most of the tools I've got,” the red-haired one muttered grimly.

Twenty minutes passed after they had parted before he heard Paint's gun barking. He answered the shots. As stealthily as a wildcat, he crept out of the brakes and began crawling through the brown buffalo grass that swept up to the crest of the knoll.

The light wind that blew down the river was continually fanning the tall grass. As it rose and fell in undulating waves, Bill moved through it, knowing the movement he made would be hard to distinguish from the playfulness of the wind.

Paint's gun sounded again, nearer this time. Bill cursed him for a fool.

“I told him not to take a hand in this,” he groaned.

Beaudry's rifle began to speak. Paint had drawn his fire. Bill calculated the distance to the top. He still had thirty-five yards to go.

“Still too far,” he decided. “I can't run at him yet. He'd drop me before I got halfway to the top.”

The thirty-five yards became twenty. Bill lay there for minutes, not moving a muscle. Ahead of him the grass thinned.

“I'll lay here until Beaudry bangs away in Paint's direction again,” he told himself. “I'll take it on the run then. If he drops me before I git him he'll be movin'.”

A few seconds later Paint drew fire once more. His legs flying, Bill leaped for the top. Beaudry's surprise was complete, but the ill luck that had followed the red-haired one all day still pursued him, and as he leaped over the outcropping at the top he half slipped. Before he could catch himself, Beaudry's high-power sent two slugs through him that tore a great, gaping hole in his stomach.

Beaudry's rifle snicked a third time on an empty shell. He hurled the rifle from him and reached for his .45's.

A grin spread over Bill's graying face. Here was a second that was all his—a second in which to make everything right. First with one gun and then the other he wrote finis to Beaudry's plotting.

Cash moved his lips grotesquely as he sank down, but no sound came from them. His mouth had lost its sneer. The wide, staring eyes no longer held their look of cunning.

Clutching his belly, bent nearly double with agony, Bill shuffled across the knoll. Paint poked his head cautiously over the rim to find him staring down at Beaudry's lifeless body.

“You fetched him, eh?” he gasped, finding it beyond belief.

“Yeh …”

Paint's eyes widened with horror suddenly.

“Bill … Bill, he's got you too! Look at you!”

“That's all right, Paint,” the other murmured slowly. “It's all right now.” He raised his head ancj glanced about him. “Just help me sit down, will yuh.… Yuh can prop me up against that rock —”

Paint made him as comfortable as he could.

“You've got to let me do somethin' about this,” he said tragically. “I can bind you up so you won't bleed so much.…”

Bill shook his head. “No, Paint; I'll last longer if yuh don't touch me. Just pull off my boots—”

“Don't talk like that!” the other scolded. “You'll pull through this, Bill. You've got to. I don't know what you've been told, but Martha loves you. I know that's why she's makin' me wait. Think of her —”

“I
am
thinkin' of her,” the red-haired one murmured softly. All the harshness was gone from his voice. “It makes this easier for me.… I see it was the best thing could have happened.”

“Don't say that, Bill! Please —!”

“It's the truth. I knew I'd git it some day. I didn't expect it quite so soon though. No need to feel bad on my account, Paint; I ain't kickin'.”

“I know you ain't ….” Paint turned his head away to hide his emotion. “You got every right to kick.”

“No, I ain't. Outlaw is only another name for a fool!” he jerked out fiercely, his eyes burning with their old fire for a moment. “You can see what happens to 'em: Link and Luther gone; the rest of us shot up; and not a cent to show for it. Let it be a lesson to you, Paint. The law ain't got no real grudges ag'in you yet. You git yourself to a new country; stay away from the wild bunch and find yourself a good job. I want you to go straight, even though yuh got to ride through hell to do it, ‘cause Martha will be waitin' for you.”

Unashamed, Paint choked back a sob. On the ridge, a mile to the east, four mounted men had appeared. He pointed them out to Bill.

“All this shootin' has been heard a long way,” he got out with an effort.

Bill eyed the distant riders for a moment.

“Posse,” he murmured, his face damp with perspiration. He was suffering untold agony. “Time for you to be goin', Paint.”

“Bill, I ain't leavin' you ….”

“Yes, you are. You're goin' to let me have my way about this. I want you to take Six-gun. I said once that nobody would ever ride him but me. Well, he's yours now. Folks will tell you them claybanks are bad luck. When they do, just remember he got me here in time to fetch that snake over there.” He fumbled with a belt he wore under his shirt. “You'll need some money, Paint. There's two hundred dollars here. Won't you take it?”

“I better not.” Paint had difficulty getting the words out. “I don't know what lies ahead of me, Bill, but I'll feel better if I try to get there on money that hasn't got a gun behind it.”

Far from taking offense, the red-haired one nodded approvingly.

“I'm glad you said that,” he declared, “I know you'll make it now. But you don't have to be afraid of this money. It's wages that Tas owed me. I hope it will see yuh through.”

Paint took it at his urging. But he did not offer to leave. The posse was nearer.

“Don't make me beg yuh,” Bill pleaded. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to speak. “Just hand me Beaudry's rifle and some ammunition; then you slip down through the grass and git across the river.”

Paint put the gun in his hands.

“So long ….” Bill breathed feebly. Even so it was a command. “You've only got a minute or two. I'll hold 'em back for yuh.”

“So long ….” Paint echoed, the words choking him. In a second or two the grass hid him. Bill did not catch sight of him again.

It did not seem possible that the posse had glimpsed him either, but they were urging their horses to a gallop.

Bill fired harmlessly over their heads. He had no quarrel with these men now. It wasn't necessary to hit them to slow them up, It was just as well, for the front sight of the rifle was all fuzzy in his eyes.

Before he had emptied the clip he found his hand lacked the strength to work the bolt. Eyes dulling, he groped blindly until he found one of his .44's.

“Can't give much of an account of myself …” he thought.

He knew the end was near. Lapsing into unconsciousness, he continued to click the trigger long after he had emptied the gun.

Heck found him a few minutes later.

“It's Little Bill,” he said. There was respect for the dead in his voice. A few feet away he saw Beaudry's body. “He kept his word, Charlie; he fetched him as he said he would.”

Charlie White, the deputy, nodded.

“I see he did,” said Charlie. “He's got a smile on his lips.”

Heck shook his head.

“You're wrong; I can't believe there's any connection between that smile and Beaudry. This boy was right about most things, Charlie. He knew his book was being closed. I'd like to think he realized it was the kindest thing could have happened to him … kindest for him and for the one person in this world who meant the most to him.”

THE END