“Who killed him?” Tetley demanded irritably. “Speak up, whoever it was. It’s just a formality.”
My reasons for not speaking were the best ones, so I waited. Lucas put a hand on the sheriff’s shoulder.
“Best forget it, Fred. His gun was half-drawn, so he made a try for it. Whoever shot him was fast and could really shoot. That bullet was dead center through the heart despite the bad light!”
His eyes went to Tap Henry, and then momentarily, they rested on me. Margita had me by the arm and I felt her fingers tighten. When she looked up at me she said quietly, “You saw it?”
Somehow, something about her was warm, understanding. “I did it.” My voice was low and we were a little apart from the others. “There are good reasons why nobody must know now. It was quite fair.” Simply, then, but without mentioning Red, I told her what I had heard.
She accepted my story without question. All of them at the dance knew every effort would be made to run us off South Fork, so my story was no surprise. Some women could keep a secret and I was sure she was one of them.
That we were on very shaky ground here both Tap and I knew. It was not only Lucas. As the biggest of the ranchers, and the one whose actual range had been usurped, he had the most right to complain, but Bayless of the Slash B was doing the 17 most talking, and from what I had heard, he had a way of taking the law into his own hands.
Tap joined me. “You see that shooting?” he asked. Then without awaiting a reply, he continued, “Guess he had it coming, but I wonder who did it? That’s the kind of shooting Wes Hardin does or the Laredo Kid. Heard anything?”
“Only that Johnny had it coming. He was the kind who might be hired to dry-gulch a man or burn him out.”
Tap glanced at me quickly, but before he could speak, Betty hurried up to us.
“You two had better go,” she whispered. “There’s some talk around and some of the men are hunting trouble.”
She spoke to both of us, but she looked at me. Tap shifted his feet. “What do you expect us to do?” he demanded. “Run?”
“Of course not!” she protested. “But why not avoid trouble until I can talk some sense into Dad?”
“That’s reasonable, Tap. Let’s go.”
“If you want to back down”—his voice was
irritable and he spoke more sharply than he ever had to me–?g ahead and go! I say face ‘em and show ‘em they’ve got a fight on their hands!”
The contempt in his voice got to me but I took a couple of deep breaths before I answered him. “Don’t talk like that, Tap. When a fight comes, I’ll be ready for it, only why not give Betty a chance? Once the shooting starts there’ll be no more chance.”
Two men shoved through the door followed by a half dozen others. My pulse jumped and I grabbed Tap’s arm. “Let’s get out of here!
There’s Chet Bayless and Jerito Juarezffwas
How could I miss that lithe, wiry figure? Betty Lucas gave me a swift, measuring look of surprise. Tap shook my hand from his arm and shot me a glance like he’d give to a yellow dog. “All right,” he said, “let’s go! I can’t face them alone!”
What they must be thinking of me I could guess,
but all I could think of was facing Bayless and
Jerito in that crowded room. And I knew
Jerito and what would happen when he saw me. The
crowd would make no difference, nor the fact that
innocent people might be killed. 19
Betty avoided my eyes and moved away from my hand when I turned to say good-bye, so I merely followed Tap Henry out the door. All the way home he never said a ^w, nor the next morning until almost noon.
“You stay away from Betty,” he said then, “she’s my girl.”
“Betty’s wearing no brand that I can see,” I told him quietly, “and until somebody slaps an iron on her, I’m declaring myself in the running.
“I don’t,” I continued, “want trouble between us. We’ve rode a lot of rivers together, and we’ve got trouble started here. We can hold this place and build a nice spread.”
“What about last night?” His voice was cold.
“You took water.”
“Did you want to start throwing lead in a room full of kids and women? Besides, fightin’ ain’t enough. Anybody with guts and a gun can fight. It’s winning that pays off.”
His eyes were measuring me. “What does that mean?” That I’d fallen in his estimation, I knew. Maybe I’d never stood very high.
“That we choose the time to fight,” I said. “Together we can whip them, but just showing how tough we are won’t help. We’ve got to get the odds against us as low as we can.”
“Maybe you’re right.” He was reluctant to agree. “I seen a man lynched once because he shot a kid accidental in a gunfight.” He sized me up carefully. “You seemed scared of those three.”
We looked at each other over the coffee cups and inside I felt a slow hot resentment rising, but I kept it down. “I’m not,” I told him, “only Chet Bayless is known for eight square killings. Down Sonora way Jerito is figured to have killed twice that many. That Jerito is poison mean, and we can figure on getting hurt even if we win.”
“Never figured them as tough as all that,” Tap muttered. Then he shot me a straight, hard glance. “How come you know so much about ‘em?”
“Bayless,” I said carefully, “is a Missourian. Used to run with the James boys, but settled in Eagle Pass. Jerito— everybody in Sonora knows about him.”
The next few days followed pleasant and easy, and we worked hard without any ^ws 21 between us beyond those necessary to work and live. It irritated me that Tap doubted me.
On the fourth afternoon I was stripping the saddle off my steeldust when I heard them coming. A man who lives like I do has good ears and eyes or he don’t live at all. “Tap!” I called to him low but sharp. “Riders coming!”
He straightened up, then shot a look at me. “Sure?”
“Yeah.” I threw my saddle over a log we used for that and slicked my rifle out of the scabbard and leaned it by the shed door. “Just let ‘em come.”
They rode into the yard in a compact bunch and Tap Henry walked out to meet them. Bayless was there, riding with Jim Lucas, but Jerito was not. The minute I saw that I felt better. When they first showed I had stepped back into the shed out of sight. There were a dozen of them in the bunch and they drew up. Bayless took the play before Lucas could get his mouth open.
“Henry!” He said it hard and short. “You been warned. Get your stuff. We’re burning you out!”
Tap waited while you could count three before he spoke. “Like hell,” he said.
“We want no nesters around here! Once one starts they all come! And we want nobody with your record!”
“My record?” Tap had guts, I’ll give him that. He stepped once toward Bayless.
“Who says I—ffwas
“I do!” It was Red Corram. “You rode with that Roost outfit in the Panhandle.”
“Sure did.” Tap smiled. “I reckon not a man here but ain’t misbranded a few head. I ain’t doing it now.”
“That’s no matter!” Bayless was hard. “Get out or be buried here!”
Lucas cleared his throat and started to speak.
Tap looked at him. “You feel that way,
Lucas?”
“I’m not for killing,” he said, “but–!”
“I am!” Bayless was tough about it. “I say
they get out or shoot it out!”
Tap Henry had taken one quick glance toward the
shed when they rode up, and when he saw me gone
he never looked again. I knew he figured he
was all alone. Well, he wasn’t. Not by a
long shot. Now it was my turn. 23
Stepping out into the open, I said, “That go for me, too, Chet?”
He turned sharp around at the voice and stared at me. My hat was pulled low and the only gun I wore was that .44 Russian in my waistband. I took another step out and a little bit toward the trail, which put Bayless in a bad spot. If he turned to face me his side was to Tap. “Who are you?” Bayless demanded. He was a big blue-jowled man, but right now the face under those whiskers looked pale.
“The name is Tyler, Chet. Ryan Tyler. Don’t reckon you ever heard that name before, did you now?” Without turning my head, I said to Tap, but loud enough so they could all hear me. “Tap, if they want to open this ball, I want Bayless.”