“And you tried to kill me, Bain. I don’t like people who sneak shots at me.”
“Well, you found me!” Bain snarled. “I hate your guts, anyway, Bardoul! I always did!”
Matt saw the sudden widening of Bain’s eyes as he went for a gun, and Matt palmed his own. He never knew when he drew, only his gun was out, and he drove two hammering shots through Bain’s left shirt pocket.
The big renegade’s eyes glazed and the gun slipped from his fingers. His knees sagged, and then he stumbled one step and fell.
Matt fed shells into the gun and bolstered it. Then he looked up sharply. “What happened here?” he demanded.
“My name’s Joe Rucker. This here’s my brother. This feller come sneakin’ up on us about daybreak. He got the drop on me an’ took our guns. Said as how he was figurin’ to ride with us for a ways. He had the drop, an’ there was nothin’ we could do about it.”
“All right. The sign read that way, so I’m takin’ your word for it.”
A horse crashed through the brush, and Matt wheeled, gun in hand. It was young Tolliver, and his eyes went from Matt to the body of Bain. His face was pale.
“These people friends of yours, Tolliver?” Matt asked kindly.
The young driver nodded, embarrassed. “Sort of,” he agreed. “I met up with them in Deadwood.”
“Why don’t you join my company, Joe?” Bardoul asked. “Be glad to have you.”
Joe’s eyes shifted to his brother. “Reckon I’d better not,” he said. “Reckon we better foller along to ourselves.”
“This is Indian country.”
“I know. We’ll stick it.”
“All right.” He glanced at Bain’s body. “Have you got a shovel? If you have, I’ll bury him.”
“You go ahead,” Tolliver suggested, “I’ll bury this hombre.”
Together they dug a grave on the bank of the Belle Fourche, and then Tolliver burned words on a board with a hot iron, and they put it up as a marker.
ABEL BAIN … OUTLAW
HE DRAWED TOO SLOW
Killed 1877
Matt Bardoul swung into the saddle and loped back toward the wagon train. He was circling toward his own wagons when he saw a group of men standing to one side. They all looked up as he drew near.
Colonel Orvis Pearson, Brian Coyle, Herman Reutz, Buffalo Murphy, Barney Coyle and several others, including Clive Massey and Logan Deane.
Matt pulled up, glancing over the group. Then his eyes shifted to Massey. “You might like to know,” he said grimly, “I just buried Abel Bain!”
Clive Massey’s face darkened, and Matt saw Logan Deane lift a tobacco sack from his shirt pocket and start to build a smoke.
“You what?” Massey demanded.
“I trailed Abel Bain, the man who shot at me. I found him. He tried to draw. He’s dead.”
Massey’s face was a study of doubt and anger, then suddenly, his eyes changed, and he turned toward the group with a shrug. “See? This is what I meant! If such men are allowed to keep their guns there will be continual shootings, such as this!”
Reutz glanced up at Bardoul. “Pearson suggests we collect all the guns and keep them in a couple of wagons, under guard. To prevent shootings.”
“He’s got a lot of nerve,” Bardoul said flatly. “I wouldn’t give up my gun for any man! And what would happen if we run into hostile Indians?”
“We could deal them out, then collect them again,” Massey smiled. “I didn’t expect you to agree, Bardoul, but these others are peace loving men.”
“And what do we do for protection if some more of your law enforcing outfit start tryin’ what Bain did?” Matt demanded.
“Bain was rough, I’ll admit. You seem to have taken care of that, and it is scarcely liable to happen again. I think the guns should be collected and kept in a safe place.”
Matt stared thoughtfully at his horse’s head. There was more to this than appeared on the surface. Here, he felt sure, was a clue toward Massey’s ultimate plan. Yet what could he gain by disarming the entire wagon train? Except, of course, to put them completely in his hands, for his group of nine men would still keep their weapons.
“For myself, I say no. I think I can speak for those in my company.”
“That’s right!” Murphy agreed. “They are against it!”
“We can always take them!” Massey flared.
Matt chuckled. “Now wouldn’t that be sensible? Startin’ a war out here on the plains? No, if it comes to a strong division of opinion, we could split the train. I’d take my group an’ go my own way.”
“If you do,” Herman Reutz said, “count me in. I’ll go with you.”
Surprisingly, Massey smiled. “Well, maybe I was rather drastic. Perhaps it is expecting too much to ask you to give up your guns even if they could be distributed fast enough in case of trouble. It was just a suggestion, anyway. Something calculated to keep some men who have a natural bent toward killing from going too far.”
“If you mean that for me,” Bardoul said calmly, “forget it. I never shot at any man except in self-defense. I trailed Bain because he tried to kill me an’ because he was a mad dog. He drew. It was his tough luck, however, if you take a poll of the women in this train, I think you’ll find they all will rest easier when they know he’s dead.”
“Then that question is settled,” Coyle said, obviously relieved. “What about the route?”
“We follow the one we chose,” Pearson said. “It has been very good so far.”
“What about that route, Bardoul?” Reutz asked.
“It is a good route so far. Tomorrow it will be rough, but still good, and the next day. After that, I’d say we’d better change. That waterhole is not good and we will make it only after a dry camp.”
“Nonsense!” Pearson said. “Our information is of the best. Lyon says that waterhole is good. Phillips says he thinks it is.”
“We’ll continue on the way we’re going,” Coyle said. “How about it, Massey?”
“I’ll take Tate Lyon’s word. After all, he’s the guide on this trip.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Coyle added.
“Well,” Reutz shrugged, “might’s well give it a try.”
Massey turned on Bardoul, and there was a cool, measured triumph in his eyes. Jacquine Coyle had just ridden up. “By the way, Bardoul. What about that wagon of yours that is trailing behind us?”
They all turned, eyes on him. Suspicion mounted into the eyes of the German. “What wagon?” Reutz asked.
“Why, the light wagon that’s been trailin’ us. Two men in it.”
“What about it, Bardoul?” Coyle wanted to know.
“I know no more about them, than you. My driver, Tolliver, seems to know them. Bain had climbed in their wagon and was holding them under his gun. The oldest one’s name is Joe Rucker, but both are mere youngsters, and perfectly harmless!”
He turned his horse and started back toward his wagons, Murphy falling in alongside of him. How much they believed, he neither knew nor cared. Yet he was conscious that Jacquine’s eyes followed him, curious, questioning.
CHAPTER VI
The air lay dead and still upon the long, dry grass lands, no breath of wind stirring the pale green and brown of the prairie. A haze covered the sky, a high haze that seemed to gather and intensify the heat while increasing the humidity and making every breath an effort.
The oxen were irritable and erratic, no longer content to bow their necks and pull, but wanting to wander from the trail, to spread out, to escape the eternally rising and enveloping dust.
Stones mixed themselves with the grass, and although the heavy wagons tacked and yawed, they could not escape them all. The going was heavier now, and occasionally the sheer weight of the pull dragged the teams to a stop, and then under the cracking of the bull whips they lunged into the harness once more, straining inch by inch through the grass.
Pausing to give the oxen a chance to breathe Murphy glanced up at Matt, who had stopped beside him, “Sultry as hell! We may get a storm!”
“Uh-huh. A little rain would help.”
“If we get it now, it won’t be a little rain.”
Twice more they crossed the river, but the water was running very low. Once, far away to the south, they sighted a few antelope, and although Bardoul tried, there was no getting close to them. They were restless and wary, seeming to feel the same tension that disturbed the oxen.
Glancing back he noticed that Joe’s wagon was following them closer now, staying within sight of the wagon train. This was Indian country, and several times he had seen Indian sign around. Murphy noticed it, too.
During the late afternoon, Matt relieved Tolliver, and walked beside the oxen while the young mountaineer rode back to talk to Joe and Joe’s brother. Matt told him to warn them about keeping a sharp lookout for Indians.