Twin Guns (12 page)

Bill shook his head, showing a flash of his old wild impatience.

"That's what you think," he said. "Trouble is just beginning. That's what I want to talk about."

Kirby studied him anxiously. "Won't it keep? You're not in very good shape to palaver."

"What I've got to say won't keep. Doc says I'm going to get well, but bullet holes are tricky. And time is mighty important in acting on what I've got to say." Jen followed Josh and the sheriff into the room. Bill grinned at them.

"Thanks, Josh," he said, knowing that the embarrassed foreman understood. "And don't worry, Sheriff. Me and Kirby have quit shootin' at each other."

The sheriff's eyes held a deep sympathy. "Maybe after today all the shootin' will be over."

Again an expression of impatience crossed the wounded man's face. Then he flinched as pain had its way. "You'll know better when you hear me out. Want to get this over with."

Doc Williams interrupted him. "Let me give you something to ease that pain, boy," he begged.

Bill waved him away. "Later, Doc. Got to keep my mind clear right now." His eyes sought Kirby's.

"First of all, brother mine, and you, Jen… I'm sorry for all the grief I've caused. Guess there isn't much excuse. Maybe you can put it down to jealousy… because Kirby is like Muddy and I… well, deep down inside I've always known there was something missing. I've hated myself for bringing nothing but trouble to people, but I guess I was too weak to stop." He closed his eyes and was quiet so long that they thought he might have dropped off to sleep. With his eyes still closed, he went on:

"The whole thing started right after Muddy split up Wagon. Once I was alone and my own boss, something started to eat on me. I wanted more… I wanted your share, too, Kirby. I thought I hated you, partly because I was sure, though I didn't admit it to myself, that you loved him, Jen." When he looked from face to face his eyes were bright with fever. His words came stumblingly, as if he were in a hurry to rid himself of his confession.

"And I resented the fact that Kirby had always beaten me at everything; that he was the kind of man I wanted to be, and knew I wasn't. I guess I wanted all of the old Wagon under my brand to show you both that I was a pretty big man."

"Anyway, after I shot that poor devil of a nester, I started to drink. And about that time Hub Dawes moved in."

His listeners were so intent on the story he was unfolding that no one moved. His voice filled the room, laying bare his shame and self-disgust. He told them how Dawes had been his drinking partner at first and then had insinuated himself into his business affairs. Not caring, Bill had allowed the man to take a hand in running the Lazy B affairs. He turned over his herd to the wily outlaw, let him tend to the rebranding and sale of his cattle. There was no doubt in his mind that Dawes had packed the gather with stolen beef and altered the papers so that Bill wouldn't suspect a thing. He didn't care, particularly, for Hub had introduced him to several Galeyville "businessmen" and he had started to gamble. Eventually he realized that the "businessmen" were gamblers by profession… gamblers and something more that he hadn't been able to figure out until too late.

"I was getting in pretty deep," he said. His voice was beginning to tire. "The stakes got higher and higher. And they let me make a killing… as a come-on. I took those winnings and the cattle money and banked it in Galeyville and Streeter. I swore I'd never touch another card. It was at that time I tried to buy Wagon, Kirby."

His story went on and on, and those in the room knew that the pain of telling it was even greater than the pain of the bullet wound.

He had kept his promise not to gamble until one night when he had been on a drinking bout with his friend. Before long Hub had led him back into the trap from which he had escaped but briefly. Occasionally he won, but only small amounts. The stakes grew higher, until he lost his cattle money and the money Muddy had left him and even borrowed five thousand dollars from Burch at the Streeter bank. That, too, disappeared.

"I guess they figured I was about ready for the last round," he said, and told them how Hub had volunteered a ten-thousand-dollar loan. "To keep it businesslike, you can give me a mortgage with Lazy B for security," he had told Bill.

Liquor and a wild desire to get even made him throw caution to the winds, and he had signed the papers, realizing in a sober moment that Hub Dawes had never owned a hundred dollars in his life, much less ten thousand.

"I got sober enough to realize that everything that had happened had been part of a pattern. I knew that somebody wanted Lazy B real bad. I thought, until this morning, that it was just a way for somebody to get a valuable property for only a fraction of what it was worth. Now I know why I was wrong."

Again they waited quietly while he gathered strength to go on. Again he waved Doc Williams away. "I don't have very far to go now, Doc. When I talked to Jen at her house this morning, I knew that the money Hub loaned me was put up by the men in Galeyville who wanted Lazy B. Hub had been pushing me, saying that he needed his ten thousand, and threatening to take over Lazy B if I didn't pay up. His gang wanted Lazy B as an ideal location for their big-scale rustling. They were ready to move in when we busted up their play today."

They were all studying him, and anxiety was heavy in the room as he went on.

"You busted up their playhouse for a while, but only a part of it. That Galeyville bunch is probably behind the rustling and robbery that's been hitting this whole countryside. That's why I say that the trouble is not over. If you don't stop them, they'll be back stronger than ever in six months. Gunmen are a dime a dozen. And remember, they have a paper for the Lazy B. I've been playing against a marked deck and stacked cards, but that mortgage will stand up in court. I didn't even look at it when I signed it." He beat a clenched fist against the covers.

The doctor begged, "Let me give you something, boy! You're hurting your chances of getting well."

Bill interrupted without bothering to answer:

"Maybe it's not too late. Maybe there's something we can do to protect others on this range, even if I have lost Lazy B. Sheriff, the Galeyville bunch is headed by a man named King. That's all they ever call him. The others are Charlie Morris, Pete Benedict, a card sharp they call Frenchie…"

He tried to raise his body from the bed in his anxiety to make them understand his words. Hate and self-loathing fought with pain and sickness on his face. Suddenly the window near which the bed lay shattered into a thousand pieces with a sound like a thunderclap in the quiet room. Bill gasped, and his words were cut off. Stunned for an instant, they stared at the still occupant of the bed. There was no need now for Doc to administer an opiate. Just above Bill's temple a bluish hole showed where the ambusher's slug had entered. The other side of his face was mercifully covered by the sheet against which his cheek was pressed.

Action exploded as Kirby, drawing his gun, ran to the window and looked out. He kicked out the remaining shards of glass and climbed through. The sheriff and Josh pounded down the hall to the front door, and Doc Williams dropped to his knees by the bed.

Then, from the direction of the kitchen, echoed the deep bellow of a shotgun. Once, twice, came the hollow roar, and then all was quiet.

Peters raced into the kitchen. Maria was standing at the open door, in her hand a Parker 12-gauge still smoking from both barrels. She turned as the sheriff burst into the room and looked at the weapon in her hands as if stunned to find it there. Then she said dully: "A man tried to run after a rifle shot. I knocked him down. He's out there."

As Peters pushed by her, he heard Kirby say, "Lon, come here."

Kirby was kneeling beside a still figure on the ground. "Give me a hand," he said. "Let's get him in the house."

The stranger came to while Doc was working over. him. He struggled to sit up, but the effort caused beads of sweat to break out all over his face. He lay back, staring at them with frightened eyes. Doc raised his head and held a glass to his lips.

"Am I bad hit?" asked the stranger.

Doc Williams shrugged. "You're carrying too much lead for one man to handle."

The stranger closed his eyes with a tired sigh, and they thought he had slipped into unconsciousness. But the eyes opened again, and he looked searchingly about the room. His gaze came to rest on Kirby.

"You're Bill's brother, aren't you?" he said. Kirby nodded.

"I knew I shouldn't have tried it. I told 'em you led a charmed life. They said if I didn't do this job tonight, they'd gun me down. They were afraid Bill would talk. Didn't have no choice. Now I'm sorry."

"Who would gun you down if you didn't ambush Bill?" the sheriff wanted to know.

The injured man had trouble locating his questioner. "Law dog, huh? Can't do no harm now. The men who had me in their pocket are a bunch of crooks known hereabouts as the Syndicate."

"Who are they? Give us names, man."

The stranger stared at Kirby. He said apologetically, "Twice I've tried to get you—once on the trail, and in the hotel. That wasn't so bad. I ain't too good to drygulch a man. But when they made me shoot the horse, that was too much."

"Why did they make you shoot the filly?" Kirby asked.

"The Syndicate thought you'd blame it on your brother and go gunnin' for him. Then they'd have Lazy B, and there'd be a good chance you'd hang for murder. They planned to move in here."

"Tell us who runs the gang," Kirby begged.

For a long time the dying man didn't answer. Death was dimming his eyes when he said, "You know something, men? I never squealed on a man in my life. And I wouldn't now, if they hadn't made me shoot the horse. That kind of dirty work is too low-down even for a skunk such as I am. I ask you, what good is a man without a horse? If it hadn't been for my bronc, I'd have stretched rope a long time ago. Sure, I'll tell you. The Syndicate men in Galeyville are the King, Pete Benedict, Frenchie, Curtis Palmer, and Charlie Morris. They hang out at the Last Chance Saloon. I hope you can pin something on 'em, like this shootin' today. And I hope they stretch rope. That's what they get for pushin' me too far and makin' me shoot a horse. The dirty dogs!" This time when he relaxed, it was forever.

Maria's voice broke the silence. "I've had my scattergun loaded for coyotes for a long time. I finally got one. If you get him out of here, I'll warm up the coffee."

Kirby suddenly felt that his legs would no longer bear his weight. He sank down at the kitchen table. Jen came to his side and slipped an arm around his shoulders.

"Things always have a way of working out for the best," she said. "I have a feeling that Bill would have wanted it this way. He would never have been happy again."

Kirby's eyes were wet. "I just realized that his death gave us the only possible way to break up this Syndicate business. We might never have proved a thing. Now, with that outlaw's confession, we can indict and hang them for murder. I reckon Bill has more than paid for his mistakes. It isn't always that a man is given that chance. I'm glad for Bill."

He turned his face into the warmth of Jen's shoulder. Dimly he heard the sheriff say, "I hear the boys stirrin' around at the bunkhouse, Josh. Have 'em hitch up a rig, and Doc and me will take Bill and this fellow to town with us."

Kirby raised his head, started to protest. Maria stopped him by clattering coffee cups on the table. Then he remembered something Lon Peters had said earlier. He moved Jen's arm gently and went to the cupboard for a bottle and glasses. He filled them, including ones for Maria and Jen. Then they lifted their glasses and drank a toast… to the man asleep in the bedroom he had known since boyhood.

Two days later they laid Bill to rest at Muddy's side on the little knoll under the great oak tree. The day dawned gray, rainy and dismal. Despite Jen's presence at his side, Kirby had a feeling of dread, of foreboding. But as the silent procession left the ranch yard for the trip up the hill, the sun came out and a brisk wind wiped the ragged clouds out of the sky, leaving a brilliant blue in their place.

Kirby looked about him as the preacher finished his prayer and the first clods of earth fell. The hill was covered with people… practically all of Streeter and from far beyond. They were people who had known and loved Ma and Muddy and their sons. It was a tribute Kirby would never forget. Many of the men present had been hurt by the depredations of the rustlers, and Bill's part in the trouble, innocent though it had been, was a known quantity. But they stood now with bared heads and paid homage to a man they could respect, even admire, their presence proof that Bill's last acts had cleared his name. He had earned his rest beside the man and woman responsible for his brief and violent life.

Kirby was surprised to find that the buckboards, the surreys, the wagons and the many saddled horses did not leave once the funeral was over. He was even more surprised when Josh took his arm as if he were an invalid and led him to the room where Sheriff Peters, his wife, Doc Williams, and the minister were waiting. He stopped in amazement. Jen, her face scarlet, came quickly to his side.

"Maybe I shouldn't have done this, Kirby," she said. "I know the time isn't very fitting, but I'd like us to be married right now. I asked Doc Williams to bring out our license, the minister is here, and you've already told me you wanted me to have Ma's ring. We asked everyone to wait. They don't know why, so if you'd rather not…" She stopped in confusion, a blush creeping down her throat. "You'll be riding to Galeyville, there'll be more trouble, and I want us…"

Kirby swept her into his arms. "It was a wonderful thought. You've made me the happiest man on earth. Josh, would you get Ma's ring out of the office safe?"

Josh was grinning. "I already did," he said. He walked stiffly beside Kirby to a shady spot under the cottonwoods at the side of the house. Kirby knew all the men and women waiting, but he wondered how they would take a funeral and a wedding all on the same day. Somehow he felt they would understand. People in this sparsely settled section of the West were accustomed to taking advantage of opportunity when it offered itself. His thoughts were interrupted by the minister, who began, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…"