Trigger Gospel (24 page)

“Yeh, Fm okay, Luther,” he murmured slowly, wiping his blood-smeared face with his sleeve. “It's all over, eh?”

“But Smoke—did you git him?” Link demanded. “Yeh, it was me …. How did we come through?” “We lost Tonto—maybe Flash won't pull through. The rest of us is banged up some, but nothin' serious.”

“Flash got it pritty bad, eh?” Bill questioned.

“I don't figger he's up to sittin' a saddle,” Luther answered. “If we're pullin' out—”

“We ain't pullin' away, Luther,” said Bill. “The Grocery belongs to us now. We're stayin' right here.”

“But what about Beaudry? Ain't we goin' after him?”

Bill hesitated for a moment. Then:

“I wouldn't know where to look for him tonight. But Cherokee will lead us to him some day. Yuh can be sure of that ….”

T
HEY
were comfortable, well fed and reasonably safe at Black Grocery. Long before their wounds had healed they could have had their pick of a dozen desperadoes, all good men and true, with a price on their heads, who came to the Grocery to swear allegiance to Little Bill and sought to enroll themselves under his banner, for news of the annihilation of the Sontags had traveled far, and they smelled rich pickings ahead for the Stillings boys.

Bill said no; he had men enough. He did not waste any words about it, for those case-hardened souls measured a man by the iron in his make-up. And yet, without seeming to curry favor, he won their good-will by staking a number of them to grub and ammunition. Others found it easy to turn a dollar by arriving at the Grocery with beef and ponies, of which they were by no chance the lawful owners.

Before Flash and Bitter Root were able to ride again, Bill led the others into Medora, Oklahoma, and robbed the bank without a hand being raised against them. For their trouble they got less than a thousand dollars however. But the ease with which they had accomplished the robbery emboldened them, and two weeks later they stopped a Santa Fe train, south of Waukomis, only to find the express car bristling with deputy U. S. marshals.

Empty-handed, they returned to the Grocery, carrying Link and Luther so badly wounded that for ten days their lives hung in the balance.

They saw nothing of Beaudry, though he was variously reported to have been seen on the Canadian, and again that he was hiding in the Nations with the Chickasaws. Bill investigated the rumors and failed to find a trace of him, and as the weeks went by he was inclined to agree with Latch that Beaudry had quit the country for Arizona or New Mexico. It was a feeling that was prompted in no little degree by Cherokee's disarming lack of interest. The Kid had settled down to a life of ease and, apparently, was well satisfied with things as they were.

One morning they awakened to find a trace of snow on the ground. In that country, winter was no great hardship, but it would curtail their activities for weeks to come, for they could never tell when snow would fall. When it did, they would leave a trail behind them that a child could follow.

It forced a decision on Bill. He knew they must have money to carry them through the winter. There was only one way they could get it, and it must be accomplished without delay.

Accordingly, three days later, they rode into the little town of Sweetwater, just across the line in the Panhandle. It was an old story to them by now, and they walked out of the bank with over five thousand dollars. But as they mounted hurriedly and raced out of town, a money bag slipped off of Luther's saddle. The loss was not discovered until they had gone a block. It was too late to turn back then.

It was after daylight the following morning when they pulled up at Spirit Springs, due west of Leach Lytell's ranch. They were well out of Texas, but Lytell's enmity was something to consider.

“We better hide out here for the day,” Bill decided. “Our ponies are weary. We'll take turns standin' guard while the rest git some sleep. As for Lytell, he wouldn't come at us alone. Before he can git a posse lined up we'll be on our way.”

They counted the proceeds of the Sweetwater raid and discovered that they had exactly twelve hundred and thirty-nine dollars.

“That won't see us through the winter,” Luther muttered bitterly. He cursed himself for his carelessness. The others were almost as excited as he about it.

“We'll take it and like it,” said Bill. “We came out of this without a drop of blood bein' spilled, so don't curse your luck. We'll have to turn up somethin' else in a hurry.”

His philosophic acceptance of the situation worked a change in them, and they began to look at it as he did. By the time they were ready to turn in they were jesting about it.

Bill volunteered to be the first to lay out on the knoll above the springs. In the two hours he was there he saw no one, nor did Link who followed him. In fact it was not until late in the afternoon that Luther, who was taking his turn as look-out, ran down the knoll and wakened them with word that someone was coming.

“Bill, there's an outfit headin' for the springs!” he cried excitedly. “Who do yuh think it is?”

“Why, I don't know,” Bill answered, propping himself up on an elbow. “Who does it look like?”

Luther could not hold back his grin any longer.

“Why, it's Tas!” he exclaimed, as pleased as a boy. “I recognized the old Sawbuck wagon right off!”

The news unloosened their tongues as nothing had done in weeks. Already time was beginning to mellow memory of the days in which they had worked for Tascosa, and they recalled them now as an idyllic existence. Emotion stirred in them …. Happy, carefree days. How far they had come since then!

“I'm achin' to see the old buzzard,” Link chuckled. “It'll be a pleasure just to hear him cuss again. D'yuh 'member the time Maverick jerked the wild cat and palmed it off on him for venison?”

Of course they remembered it.

“He'd a killed me if he'd caught me the night he found out,” Maverick declared between bursts of laughter. “I don't know what the runnin' time is between the Kiowa Agency and the river, but I musta busted some sort of a record.”

Luther and Scotty recalled other incidents, strangely precious now. With the past few months forgotten, they were soon chattering like magpies. It remained for Little Bill to break in on them.

“Boys, we can't let Tascosa ride into us this-a-way,” he said soberly. “We don't know who he's got in his outfit. Whoever they are we don't want to give 'em a chance to start a story that Tas and us was holdin' sort of a reunion here at Spirit Springs. You know as well as I do that some folks might jump to the conclusion that we hadn't met by chance.”

“How could they say that?” Luther demanded gruffly, disappointment furrowing his brow.

“Some would say it,” Bill insisted, “and they'd hint that there was a connection between us; maybe that Tas was supplying certain information.”

“Well, we owe him a better deal than that,” Luther monotoned. “If we're goin' to move we better be quick about it; they ain't over half-a-mile out.”

The others gave in grudgingly. Throwing their saddles on their horses, they were ready to leave. They had tarried too long however, for old Tas had ridden in ahead of his wagon, and as they started into the brush, he hailed them.

“You better go on,” Bill advised Luther and the others. “I'll talk to him.”

“What yuh runnin' away for?” Tas scolded. “Yuh certainly saw us comin' in.”

Bill told him why.

“Might be sunthin' in that,” Tascosa admitted. “I'll jest ride along with yuh down the arroyo for a few yards. I got sunthin' to say to yuh, Bill.”

Bill rode on until the old man called a halt. Tas looked him over critically.

“Wal, yuh look natchurel,” he grumbled. “I'm glad to see yuh, Bill, but yuh can't expect me to approve of what you're doin'.”

The smile died out of Bill's eyes. “I don't approve of it myself,” said he. “But I can't do any different now.”

“I don't know about that,” Tascosa objected. “Yuh ain't got no excuse, now that you've cleaned out the Sontags.”

“I've got an excuse as long as Cash Beaudry walks this earth!” Bill retorted. “You heard anythin' of him?”

“Nary a word, nor neither will you. I take it he's left the country—”

“He'll come back if he has,” said Bill. “No matter where he goes he'll be in trouble soon enough. He'll head back for Oklahoma then …. I'll be waitin' for him.”

His argument did not impress the old man.

“See here, Bill,” he exclaimed, “why don't you use a little sense? Yuh can't go on robbin' banks and holdin' up trains while you're waitin' for him. Why don't yuh give yerself up and square things the best yuh can? Yuh can go after Beaudry when yuh come out—pro-vidin' he's still drawin' breath.”

“No, Tas, you're talkin' in circles,” Bill murmured slowly. “I'm goin' to fetch Beaudry. I ain't goin' to let nothin' git in the way of it. I know I'll be cut down some day. When the time comes, I'll take it with a grin. But if I knew I was goin' to be killed next week I wouldn't give up this wild life for a two-by-four cell. I wouldn't last long in prison; I need the open prairie

But you got somethin' else on your mind. When did yuh leave Bowie?”

“Last evenin'.” Tas produced a plug of tobacco, and after measuring it with his eye, bit a considerable chunk out of it. “I put Martha on the train yestiday.”

Bill pulled himself up with a start.

“Goin' away for a visit?” he suggested, pretending to find something amiss with a stirrup.

“No, she's leavin' Bowie for good, Bill. Her mother's brother has a big ranch out in Gila county, Arizony; Martha's goin' out to live with him. She asked me to say good-bye to yuh, should I run acrost yuh.”

The red-haired one's eyes were suddenly a stone wall, but Tas saw a look of torture settle on his mouth.

“That's goin' to make it awful quiet for Doc, ain't it?” Bill queried, satisfied to say anything but what he was thinking. He saw Tascosa stare at him incredulously.

“D'yuh mean yuh ain't heard that Doc passed away last week?” the old man asked bluntly.

“Why, no—”

“He did,” Tas sighed. “His heart finally got him.” Without urging, he supplied the details. “That left Martha all alone—except for Paint,” he concluded.

“What about him?” Bill jerked out with a scowl.

“Wal, he's up and around ag'in, lookin' for a job—”

“That ain't what I meant,” Bill interrupted.

“I know it ain't.” Tas lifted his Stetson and ran a horny hand through his flowing locks. “Wal, I don't suppose this will set so well with yuh, and yet yuh shouldn't complain at this late date, seein' yuh wouldn't have it no other way. But to put it in a few words, Bill, I have reason to believe that Paint will be marryin' Martha before long. Yuh can't throw a couple young people together for months, with her nursin' him back to health, without sunthin' of the sort comin' out of it.”

Save for an involuntary twitching of the lips and a whitening of his cheeks under the tan, Bill met it stoically. He told himself it was no more than he had been expecting for weeks; that it couldn't have ended any other way. And yet, it dried his throat. Not the surprise of it, but its finality; the flickering out of an unsuspected spark of hope that had persisted in the face of his often repeated admission to himself that Martha Southard was lost to him forever.

“That's as it should be,” he found courage to say. “They'll be happy together. Paint will make Martha a good husband. … I hope they don't wait too long.”

“I don't know,” Tas murmured thoughtfully. “I talked to Paint. He said he didn't want to rush her into anythin'. I reckon he had you in mind when he spoke. He wants to git hisself a good job too. I could use him, but he said he wanted sunthin' that would give him a chance to start a little string of his own on the side.”