Hyle was on his feet and had the advantage, yet the moment his hand moved, Purdy knew. He had been poised and ready and he came up fast, and he drew fast-too fast. He had gotten his gun out swifter than had Hyle, but his first bullet went off as the gun was coming up and scattered fire. He never fired his second.
Hyle had palmed his gun coolly, swiftly, and when he shot it was unerringly, with just that split second of hesitation that made it matter. The first bullet took Purdy through the heart, the second an inch lower.
Red Hyle held his gun and glanced at Ike, who was roasting meat at the fire. “Funny thing,” Ike said, “about Purd an’ me. We was blood brothers, but we surely hadn’t anything in common. We never really fancied each other.”
Hyle slowly lifted the gun and dropped it back into its holster.
“Be different without him,” Ike said. “We always sort of run together.”
“He didn’t want to go back, anyway,” Red said, “an’ I intend to go back. They ain’t shut of me yet. That woman… I’ll break all her fingers first. She’ll learn not to throw down on me with no shotgun.”
He stuck a piece of meat on a skewer. “You want to go back, Ike?”
“I was countin’ on it,” Ike said. “I never figured it no other way.”
On the morning of the eighth day Tom collected wood. There was enough wood down so that no cutting was needed, so he went out into the edge of the timber and just picked up around where trees had fallen.
Duncan McKaskel crossed the stream with his plow and went to work on the cornfield he’d planned. It was easier plowing than expected, for there were few roots there in the bottom, and once he was through the sod the blade could cut deep into the good black earth. Duncan McKaskel wore a six-shooter and he had fastened a rifle scabbard on his plow handle.
Duncan looked down the dark earth of the furrows and was pleased. This was good land, fine land. He could get in a crop, and if he could keep the varmints away he would reap a good harvest. There was plenty of game, and there were fish in the river. Later in the year there would be wild strawberries and raspberries.
What he needed most were some cattle. There was enough grazing for a good-sized herd, and there was plenty of water. He had seen no cattle, and Con told him there was a meat shortage in Cherry Creek.
He started again and by noon he had plowed a fair chunk of land. He unhitched, left the plow where it was, and started back to the cabin for dinner.
Con was squatted on his heels beside the door as Duncan came into the yard. “You take it pretty easy,” McKaskel said, irritable from his own hard work.
Con smiled. “I’ve got no woman to support, and there’s lots of country yonder that I ain’t seen.”
” ‘A rolling stone gathers no moss,'” McKaskel quoted.
“Seems to me most of the moss grows on dead wood,” Con said, grinning. “An’ there’s another quote, ‘a wandering bee gets the honey.'”
Con pushed his hat back on his head. “Anyway, the food’s good and it’s a far piece to the next place where I could put my feet under a table.”
“You’ve been very helpful,” McKaskel said. “I don’t know what we’d have done without you, but you must have some business, some place you want to go.”
“Go? Oh, I got a thousand places to go! Only I figure to set about for awhile, get some of the wrinkles out of my belly. Your wife surely does cook up a fine mess of vittles.”
McKaskel had been stripping the harness from the mules as he talked. Now he carried it into the house and hung it on nails on the wall.
There was a tin wash-basin at the door. He poured water into it, rolled up his sleeves and began washing the dirt from his hands. His irritation remained with him, yet he knew it was in a large measure unjust. He was simply tired by the fact that he had put in a hard morning behind a plow and Con seemed to be merely sitting about.
Oh, he had cut some wood, and had brought in meat from time to time, but still-
“McKaskel,” Con Vallian spoke suddenly and a little lower in tone, “you keep that rifle handy.”
Something in his tone brought McKaskel up short. He looked down at the man who squatted beside him and said, “Have you seen something?”
“Tracks… only one or two. Fresh tracks. There’s been somebody around.”
“The Huron?”
“Could be. You keep that gun handy. That’s a mighty mean outfit and I never did feel they were gone for good.”
Duncan flipped water from his hands, then reached for the towel. His hands had become very brown from constant exposure, but his forearms, covered by sleeves while working, were white as a woman’s. He dried them carefully, thinking. “Is that why you’re staying around?”
Vallian grinned. “I told you the food was good. Besides, you got a mighty handsome woman, there.”
“I think Susanna is a very attractive woman,” Duncan said quietly, “and she’s my wife.”
“That does make a difference,” Vallian got up, with a sigh. Filling the basin with fresh water, he washed his own hands.
There was a small broken piece of mirror fastened to the wall near the door and above the basin. As he dried his hands he scanned the edge of the aspen behind him. Being careful of a situation was as natural to him as eating.
Had he seen something move back there? Or was it his imagination?
The leather thong was over the hammer of his gun, and while drying his hands he slipped it off. Then he hung up the towel, and taking the basin in his left hand, tossed the water on the grass a few yards away.
He flipped the basin one more time to get rid of the last drops and then walked back to the cabin. He put the basin down carefully, looking into the mirror as he did so, and the glance caught Ike Mantle dodging from one tree to another, moving closer.
A surprise at mealtime, Ike behind him and the others-?
Ike stepped from behind a tree, his rifle out in front of him, coming up to firing position. Con turned swiftly, drawing as he turned, and his first bullet caught Ike Mantle just above the belt buckle. Ike started to fall, and the second bullet went in under his right eye, and he was dead before he hit the ground.
Vallian turned swiftly at the slight sound beyond the corner of the cabin.
Red Hyle was there, a gun still in its holster, taken by surprise when their own surprise failed. He stopped dead in his tracks with Con Vallian’s gun on him.
“Well, now. You got the drop. Why don’t you shoot?”
“Just wanted to look at you, Red. I’ve just never seen you close up. They say you’re a bad man with a gun, Red, but all I see is a murderin’ skunk who chases after women and farmers.”
“You can say that. You’re holding the gun.”
“Want a break, Red? Want an even break?”
“No!” It was Susanna’s voice. “No, Con! Please!”
“Fat chance!” Red scoffed. “You’d never take a chance with Red Hyle! Why-!”
With a flip of his hand, Con Vallian dropped the gun into its holster, and at the same moment yelled, “Now, Red!” And with a hand that scarcely stopped moving, he drew again and fired.
Red Hyle, caught by the unexpected action, lost a split second in realization. His hand, poised to reach, dropped for the gun-butt and started to lift when the bullet smashed him in the chest.
The big man scarcely staggered. His ugly smile parted his lips. “I got you! Dammit to hell, Vallian! I got you!”
The big gun came clear and was lifting as the second bullet smashed his arm, and a third hit him in the leg as he dropped to one knee to recover his lost gun.
“I got you, Vallian! Nobody ever beat Red Hyle!”
He straightened his legs and stood tottering, blood soaking the front of his shirt, dribbling down his sleeve.
He had his gun in his left hand and he swung it up still smiling when Vallian’s fourth and last shot hit him.
The big man staggered like a huge tree starting to fall, but he kept the grip on his gun.
Suddenly Tom leaped from the door behind Vallian. “Con! Here!”
The boy tossed him a six-shooter and Con caught it deftly. Red’s gun bellowed, going off into the dirt at Con’s boot-toe, and Con opened fire with the second gun. Bullet after bullet smashed into Hyle. He wavered, staggered, started to fall, but lifted the gun and through a mask of blood, aimed it at Vallian.