much fire your toes will stand.”
Macon Fallon slid the Winchester from its scabbard. These were Bellows’ men, he
knew, and there was no mercy in them. “Get his boots off, Deke. He’ll talk fast
enough.”
Macon Fallon lifted the Winchester, and when he cocked it the sound was loud in
the night. Where there had been voices and movement, there was a sudden silence
where nothing stirred.
“Get on your horses, and ride out of here,” he said. His tone was
conversational, yet all the more deadly for that.
The man standing beside Jim Blane started to lift his rifle, and Fallon shot him
through the knee. The man staggered, grasped at his knee, and fell. As one man
the others scrambled for their horses.
“You!” Fallon ordered the wounded man. “Get on your horse and get out!”
“He’s badly hurt!” Jim Blane protested. “He’s bleeding!”
“Back up over here. I’ll free your hands.”
The outlaw on the ground was groaning and cursing. He was too concerned with his
own wound to notice much, but Fallon had no idea where the others were, and had
no intention of appearing in the firelight where he might make a good target.
Jim Blane backed into the darkness and Fallon cut the ropes loose with his bowie
knife. “Now disarm that man and get him out of here.”
“The man’s hurt!” Jim said again.
“He asked for it. You get him out of here. I’ll stay out of the light. They
might still be around.”
When the outlaw was gone, Jim walked back to the fire, carrying the rifle and
gun belt. His face was pale with anger. “That was the most cold-blooded thing I
ever saw!” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, I want nothing more to do with
you!” ‘
Fallon listened into the night with careful attention.
“Stay out of the light,” he said, and then he added, “When I came up they were
fixing to burn your feet. You seem to have forgotten that.”
From the silence that followed it was obvious that in his anger Jim really had
forgotten. “They would never have done it,” he said after a while. “They were
trying to scare me.”
“What do you suppose would happen to your ma and your sister if they got hold of
them? That was what they wanted to know, wasn’t it?”
Jim Blane did not speak. He was still angry, and he did not believe men would do
such things, even though these men had been drinking and talked rough.
Fallon explained about the Bellows outfit. They had been riders with Quantrill
and Bloody Bill Anderson, and had come west in a body. Disguised as Indians,
they had attacked several wagon trains and a few outlying settlements.
Yet even as he spoke, he knew he probably was wasting his time. To those who
have lived a sheltered life, exposed to no danger or brutality, only the actual
sight of something of the kind will convince. Each person views the world in the
light of his own experience.
“They found an old miner,” Fallon went on, “who was supposed to have some hidden
gold. They tortured him for hours until he died, and a friend of mine who found
the body was sick after seeing it.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Your choice.” Fallon leaned back against a boulder and put his Winchester
across his lap. “Blane, I’m going to tell you something once, and never again.
This is a different country than you’re used to, so I’ll let that comment ride,
because you’re so damned ignorant.”
Blane turned sharply, but Fallon continued. “You imply out here that a man is a
liar, and you’d better be ready to draw a gun. We don’t stand for that land of
loose-mouthed talk.”
“I think—”
“I don’t give a damn what you think.” Fallon got up and walked to his horse.
Stripping off the saddle and bridle, he put on a hackamore and picket-rope, then
he rubbed the exhausted animal down with handsful of grass, talking to it
meanwhile. The horse was worth a dozen men as a sentinel, for even an exhausted
mustang, bred in the wild, would sense anything that came close.
When Fallon walked back to where Jim Blane was, he saw the boy was asleep. He
looked down at him thoughtfully. A husky, nice-looking kid, and he would learn.
They all had to learn, only some of them didn’t last long enough.
Awakening with the first gray light, Fallon went to the wagon and found the
coffee. When young Jim opened his eyes the coffee was ready, and so was some
bacon.
“Eat up,” Fallon advised. They’ll be coming soon.”
“Pa won’t be here for hours. He won’t start until it’s light.”
“He’s on his way now. He should be here in about twenty minutes.”
Jim went to the water barrel and splashed water on his face and hair. He combed
his hair and came back to the fire. The sky was cloudless, the dry lake on whose
edge the wagon stood was a blank waste of grayish white, touched only here and
there along the edges with gray brush, heavily coated with dust. In the morning
light the mountains looked dark and somber.
Macon Fallon looked sourly at the hills. His every instinct told him to get away
from here, to get away as quickly as possible. Whatever else the Bellows outfit
knew, they must not be allowed to know how weak the party was. For Bellows and
his men thrived on weakness.
Jim Blane filled his cup and looked a challenge at Fallon, who ignored him.
“I find that idea ridiculous,” Jim said, “shooting a man simply because he says
he doesn’t believe you.”
“You’ll be surprised how little anybody will care what you think. When you live
in a country you conform to the customs of that country or you get out. You will
discover that most customs originate in response to a need, and there are good
and sufficient reasons, for that attitude out here.”
As he talked he saddled the black horse, his eyes busy with the trail and the
ridges around; he looked at the dim track over which the oxen would be coming.
It was light enough to see for some distance, and he had long ago seen the faint
plume of dust caused by the moving oxen.
“In this country,” he added, “a man cannot exist if he is known to be either a
coward or a liar. Business is done solely on a man’s word. Thousands of head of
cattle are paid for simply on the seller’s statement that there are that many.
No signatures, no legal documents, nothing beyond the word of the seller. But
when those cattle are finally counted, the count had better be right.
“If a man’s word is no good, nobody will do business with him. If he has the
reputation of being unreliable he will be treated with contempt or ignored.
“Moreover, few activities in this country are free of danger, and when a man
goes into danger he wants to be sure that those who are with him will stand with
him through whatever comes. Therefore no man will have anything to do with a
known coward.
“If a man starts to drive cattle a thousand miles, more or less, through Indian
country, he can expect shooting trouble. He can expect a dozen other occasions
to arise, sometimes so many as that in one day, where nerve is required, and he
cannot afford to be teamed with a coward.
“Give a man the name of being either a coward or a liar, and he will be lucky to
get a job swamping in a saloon.”
Fallon stepped into the saddle. “And that is why either of those words, or any
implication of them, is a deadly insult and is treated as such.
“You’ll find when trouble comes out here you don’t run for the law—you settle it
yourself, and you’re expected to. As a matter of fact, there’s rarely anybody to
run to for help.
“I think you’re a nice lad, so if I were you I’d keep my mouth shut until you
find out how things are done. If you do that, you may live long enough to like
the country.
“Now keep your rifle handy. You may think those men won’t kill. I know they not
only will, but they often have, and we haven’t seen the last of them. What you
want to keep in mind is that they were looking for women, and women in this case
means your mother, your sister, and the Damon women.”
He did not wait for a reply, and he wanted none. He had taken more time and said
more than he usually did and he couldn’t imagine why, except—well, Jim Blane did
look like a nice lad … unlike that Al Damon.
He had ridden only a few minutes when he came up to the oxen. They were coming