Bruce Barkow was no fool. He had not seen Tex Brisco in action, yet there was something chill and deadly about the tall Texan. Barkow shrugged.
“We came here to enforce the law. Is this resistance, Caradec?”
“No,” Rafe said. “Let’s go.”
The three men turned their horses and walked them down the trail toward Long Valley. Tex Brisco threw a saddle on his horse, and mounted. Glancing back, Pod Gomer saw the Texan turn his horse up a trail into the trees. He swore viciously.
Caradec sat his horse easily. The trouble would not come now. He was quite sure the plan had been to get him away, then claim the Shute riders had taken him from the law. Yet he was as sure it would not come to that now. Pod Gomer would know that Brisco’s Winchester was within range. Also, Rafe was still wearing his guns.
Rafe rode warily, lagging a trifle behind the sheriff. He glanced at Barkow, but the rancher’s face was expressionless. Ahead of them, in a tight bunch, waited the Shute riders.
The first he recognized were the Blazers. There was another man, known as Joe Gorman, whom he also recognized. Red Blazer started forward abruptly.
“He come, did he?” he shouted. “Now we’ll show him!”
“Get back!” Gomer ordered sharply.
“Huh?” Red glared at Gomer. “Who says I’ll get back! I’m stringin’ this hombre to the first tree we get to!”
“You stay back!” Gomer ordered. “We’re takin’ this man in for trial!”
Red Blazer laughed. “Come on, boys!” he yelled. “Let’s hang the skunk!”
“I wouldn’t, Red,” Rafe Caradec said calmly. “You’ve overlooked somethin’. I’m wearin’ my guns. Are you faster than Trigger Boyne?”
Blazer jerked his horse’s head around, his face pale but furious.
“Hey!” he yelled. “What the devil is this? I thought–”
“That you’d have an easy time of it?” Rafe shoved the black horse between Gomer and Barkow, pushing ahead of them. He rode right up to Blazer and let the big black shove into the other horse. “Well, get this Blazer! Any time you kill me, you’ll do it with a gun in your hand, savvy? You’re nothin’ but a lot of lynch-crazy coyotes! Try it, damn it! Try it now, and I’ll blow you out of that saddle so full of lead you’ll sink a foot into the ground!”
Rafe’s eyes swept the crowd.
“Think this is a joke? That goes for any of you! And as for Gomer, he knows, that if you hombres want any trouble he gets it too! There’s a man up in the hills with a Winchester, and if you don’t think he can empty saddles, start somethin’. That Winchester carries sixteen shots and I’ve seen him empty it and get that many rabbits! I’m packing two guns. I’m askin’ you now so if you want any of what I’ve got, start the ball rollin’. Mebbe you’d get me but I’m tellin’ you there’ll be more dead men around there than you can shake a stick at!”
Joe German spoke quickly. “Watch it, boys! There is a hombre up on the mountain with a rifle! I seen him!”
“What the blue blazes is this?” Red Blazer repeated.
“The fun’s over,” Rafe replied shortly. “You might as well head for home and tell Dan Shute to kill his own wolves. I’m wearin’ my guns and I’m goin’ to keep ’em. I’ll stand trial, but you know and I know that Bonaro got what he was askin’ for.” Caradec turned his eyes on Blazer. “As for you, stay out of my sight! You’re too blasted willin’ to throw your hemp over a man you think is helpless! I don’t like skunks and never did!”
“You can’t call me a skunk!” Blazer bellowed.
Rafe stared at him. “I just did,” he said calmly.
Chapter VII
For a full minute their eyes held. Rafe’s hand was on his thigh within inches of his gun. If it came to gun play now, he would be killed, but Blazer and Barkow would go down, too, and there would be others. He had not exaggerated when he spoke of Tex Brisco’s rifle shooting. The man was a wizard with the gun.
Red Blazer was trapped. White to the lips, he stared at Rafe, and could see cold, certain death looking back at him. He could stand it no longer.
“Why don’t some of you do somethin’?” he bellowed.
Joe Gorman spat. “You done the talkin’, Red.”
“The hell with it!”
Blazer swung his horse around, touched spurs to the animal, and raced off at top speed.
Bruce Barkow’s hand hovered close to his gun. A quick draw, a shot, and the man would be dead. Just like that. His lips tightened, and his elbow crooked. Gomer grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t Bruce! Don’t! That hombre up there … Look!”
Barkow’s head swung. Brisco was in plain sight, his rifle resting over the limb of a tree. At that distance, he could not miss. Yet he was beyond pistol range, and while some of the riders had rifles, they were out in the open without a bit of cover.
Barkow jerked his arm away and turned his horse toward town. Rafe turned the black and rode beside him.
He said nothing, but Barkow was seething at the big man’s obvious contempt.
Rafe Caradec had outfaced the lot of them. He had made them look fools. Yet Barkow remembered as well as each of the riders remembered, that Rafe had fired but three shots in the street battle, that all the shots had scored, and two men had died.
When the cavalcade reached the National, Rafe turned to Pod Gomer.
“Get your court goin’,” he said calmly. “We’ll have this trial now.”
“Listen here!” Gomer burst out, infuriated. “You can do things like that too often! We’ll have court when we get blamed good and ready!”
“No,” Rafe said, “you’ll hold court this afternoon–now. You haven’t got any calendar to interfere. I have business to attend to that can’t wait, and I won’t. You’ll have your trial today, or I’ll leave and you can come and get me.”
“Who are you tellin’ what to do?” Gomer said angrily. “I’ll have you know …”
“Then you tell him, Barkow. Or does he take his orders from Shute? Call that judge of yours and let’s get this over.”
Bruce Barkow’s lips tightened. He could see that Gene Baker and Ann Rodney were standing in the doorway of the store, listening.
“All right,” Barkow said savagely. “Call him down here.”
Not much later Judge Roy Gargan walked into the stage station and looked around. He was a tall, slightly stooped man with a lean, hangdog face and round eyes. He walked up to the table and sat down in the chair behind it. Bruce Barkow took a chair to one side where he could see the judge.
Noting the move, Rafe Caradec sat down where both men were visible. Barkow, nettled, shifted his chair irritably. He glanced up and saw Ann Rodney come in, accompanied by Baker and Pat Higley. He scowled again. Why couldn’t they stay out of this?
Slowly, the hangers-on around town filed in. Joe Benson came in and sat down close to Barkow. They exchanged looks. Benson’s questioning glance made Barkow furious. If they wanted so much done, why didn’t someone do something beside him?
“I’ll watch from here,” drawled a voice.
Barkow’s head came up. Standing in the window behind and to the right of the judge was Tex Brisco. At the same instant Barkow noted him, the Texan lifted a hand.
“Hi, Johnny! Glad to see youl”
Bruce Barkow’s face went hard. Johnny Gill, and beside him, Bo Marsh. If anything rusty was pulled in this courtroom the place would be a shambles. Maybe Dan Shute was right after all. If they were going to be crooked, why not dry-gulch the fellow and get it over? All Barkow’s carefully worked out plans to get Caradec had failed.
There had been three good chances. Resistance, that would warrant killing in attempting an arrest. Attempted escape, if he so much as made a wrong move. Or lynching by the Shute riders. At every point they had been outguessed.
Judge Gargan slammed a six-shooter on the table.
“Order!” he proclaimed. “Court’s in session! Reckon I’ll appoint a jury. Six men will do. I’ll have Joe Benson, Tom Blazer, Sam Mawson, Doc Otto and-”
“Joe Benson’s not eligible,” Caradec interrupted.
Gargan frowned. “Who’s runnin’ this court?”
“Supposedly,” Rafe said quietly, “the law. Supposedly, the interests of justice. Joe Benson was a witness to the shootin’, so he’ll be called on to give testimony.”
“Who you tellin’ how to run this court?” Gargan demanded belligerently.
“Doesn’t the defendant even have a chance to defend himself?” Caradec asked gently. He glanced around at the crowd. “I think you’ll all agree that a man on trial for his life should have a chance to defend himself. That he should be allowed to call and question witnesses, and that he should have an attorney. But since the Court hasn’t provided an attorney, and because I want to, I’ll act for myself. Now”–he looked around–“the Judge picked three members of the jury. I’d like to pick out three more. I’d like Pat Higley, Gene Baker and Ann Rodney as members of the jury.”