knows he won't get it if I die.' The effort of speaking left him breathless. He lay back panting, little rivulets of sweat plowing along his bone-colored face.
The doctor sized up the situation. What at first had been incredible was now a brutal matter of fact. Even if he could save the injured outlaw—which he couldn't—Olsen would still kill him and his son. Alive they would be witnesses, and a rogue sheriff couldn't afford to have witnesses haunting his future. Still, Sumpter reasoned, he might postpone the inevitable if he could make Olsen believe that he was accomplishing something. While there was life there was hope, of sorts. 'There is something… I don't know how much use it will be to you…'
Olsen grinned. 'I figgered you'd think of somethin'.'
The doctor reached into one of his saddlebags and took out a bottle of brownish liquid. 'Liquor morphinae citralis. Morphine, citric acid, cochinel, alcohol, and a little distilled water.'
Olsen eyed the bottle dubiously. 'What does it do?'
'Relieves pain. It also induces a sense of dreamlike well being. The patient, after taking a few teaspoons of Liquor morphinae citralis often says things that he would not say otherwise.'
Olsen digested this slowly. 'Why didn't you give him a drink out of that bottle when you seen what kind of shape he was in?'
'I believe your friend has a punctured lung, in which case morphine would only aggravate the condition.'
The sheriff thought about it, then nodded. 'Give him a drink.'
'It could kill him.'
'He's goin' to die anyhow. Might as well let him go in peace.'
They had been talking back and forth across the body of the injured outlaw, as though he were already dead. Dr. Sumpter stared at the big sheriff and swallowed with difficulty. 'Medical ethics would not permit me…'
Olsen raised his .45 and aimed it at the doctor's head. 'Give him the medicine or I'll kill you.'
'Even with the morphine there's no guarantee that he'll tell you what you want to know.'
'Give him the medicine, or I'll kill the kid.'
The doctor paled. He bent over Wolf and looked into those burning eyes. 'You heard?'
'I heard,' the outlaw breathed. 'It don't make any difference. I don't aim to tell him anything.'
'Listen, Wolf,' the sheriff said anxiously, 'it's on account of Esther, your own sister, that I want that gold.'
Wolf grinned faintly. The doctor held the bottle to his lips and he gulped almost half the medicine.
'Give him the rest of it,' Olsen said.
'It will kill him.'
'Give it to him.'
Resignedly, the doctor put the bottle to Wolf's lips again and he gulped until it was empty.
Several minutes passed. The sheriff stirred uneasily. 'How long before it takes effect?'
'Not long now.'
Wolf's eyes began to glaze. They turned curiously blank, as if an opaque curtain had quietly been drawn over his burning brain. 'Wolf,' Olsen said impatiently, 'can you hear me?'
The outlaw sighed. 'I hear.'
'You've got to help Esther, Wolf. Think of all your sister's done for you. Tell me where the gold is and I'll see that she never wants for a thing.'
'Go to hell, Olsen,' the outlaw whispered.
The sheriff flushed. 'Don't you care what happens to her?'
Wolf's pale lips twitched in a smile that said plainer than words that his hate for Olsen was stronger than his love for his sister.
'Wolf, listen to me!'
'Goddam you all,' the outlaw said faintly but distinctly. It was the last thing he said. He closed his eyes and began gasping for breath. In a fury, Grady Olsen grabbed his shoulders and shook him savagely. But Wolf Garnett was dead.
For Gault, this was the end of the road that he had been traveling for almost a year. Wolf Garnett was dead. There was a taste of gall in his mouth but no satisfaction.
So, at last, Wolf Garnett was dead. He had to believe it now. This was no unknown body in a New Boston graveyard, this was the body of the famous outlaw himself. It took some time to get used to this. For almost a year his single purpose had been to see to the death of Wolf Garnett, and now he found himself without aim or direction. He didn't even care about saving his own life.
At the moment of Olsen's fury he might have jumped the sheriff and, with Sumpter's help, overpowered him. But he had let the chance slip away. Olsen, much quicker to recover, released his angry grip on the dead outlaw and grabbed his .45. 'Set easy!' he snarled at Gault. 'You too, Doc. Just back off and be quiet a minute. I got to do some thinkin'.'
Young Timmy Sumpter began to cry. The sheriff glared at him and the boy fell into a stunned silence. Slowly, Olsen got to his feet and called, 'Esther, come here.'
Almost immediately Esther Garnett appeared in the doorway of the shack. 'Wolf died,' the sheriff said with brutal matter of factness, 'without sayin' where he hid the gold.'
Esther stared at the still form on the floor. She made a small, almost inaudible cry. Then she came rigidly, proudly erect. Esther Garnett was not the kind of woman to grieve in public. 'You said the doc was goin' to fix him.'
'I'm sorry, miss,' the doctor started. But a look from Olsen silenced him instantly.
'He's dead,' the sheriff said bluntly. 'That's the important thing right now. And we still don't know where to find the gold.'
'I don't care about that.'
'You will. Later. It would mean a good life for us.'
'I don't care.'
'Without that gold we're just a pair of outlaws, like your brother was. And most likely we'll end up like him.'
She looked at him coldly. 'You're scared.'
'I ain't in no big hurry to get myself hung, if that's what you mean. Look here…' He took a step toward her, and she took a step away from him. 'Look here, with that gold in our hands we can be kings of the mountain, in Mexico.'
'I don't like Mexico. I never aimed to go there, with you. All I wanted was your help in gettin' Wolf to a proper doctor.'
Gault was surprised at the sheriff's bland acceptance of her hatred. 'Tell you the truth, I never much figgered you'd go through with it. A pert thing like you, a wore-out old buzzard like me—we'd make a right queer team, to say the best of it.' His eyes narrowed and his voice became harsh. 'But I do want that gold. And I aim to have it.'
'I don't know where it is.'
'Much as you and Wolf talked together, all the time he was laid up at the farm, and he never told you?'
'I never asked, and he never said.'
Olsen's heavy jaw was set like a steel trap. He looked at Esther for almost a full minute and then said quietly, 'You're lyin'. It don't stand to reason that you could go all that time without learnin' somethin' about the gold.'
'I don't care about reason. I don't care about you.'
'I know.' The sheriff nodded ponderously. 'You never cared about anybody, except that no-account brother. Wompler and Finley and some of the others never seen that until it was too late. But you never fooled me. You want all that gold for yourself. That's how you are. But you're not goin' to get it.'
'How many times,' she said with limitless patience, 'have I got to tell you that I don't know where it is.'
'As many times as suits you, but I won't believe it.' He fell into another brooding silence. Gault had the eerie
