making sure the .30-30 was loaded, dropped to his knees. Just then the sheriff completed his tenth step and stood quietly facing the shed, bony hands dangling from too short shirt sleeves, his leathery old face expressionless.
'All right, badman, it's your move,' he called so softly that his watchers could barely hear his words.
The shed door slowly opened inward. Then the pale-eyed gunman stood in full view, his eyes flicking from the sheriff to the house. He took his first step in the open, and those watching took deep breaths almost in unison. Whitey's boots made a second, third and fourth step. Again he paused, had a quick look at the house. Seemingly satisfied, he fixed his colorless eyes on his prey and moved again… five, six, seven, eight. At his eighth step, Lon called too low for the watchers to be sure they heard his words. 'I'll wait until you stop on the tenth step. Then make your move.'
Whitey nodded. They could see his lips move. 'Nine,' he was counting aloud. 'Ten!' He stopped, his elbows slightly crooked a few inches from his guns. An eternity passed as he stood there, swaying slightly, balanced on the balls of his feet. Then his pale eyes began to glitter with the cold brilliance of diamonds. The sheriff didn't move. Whitey's lips drew back in a snarl. 'Damn you,' he screamed, and his hands moved with such swiftness that they were a blur. The gun in his right hand crashed first, but the bullet wailed away through the tree tops. At Whitey's scream the old man seemed to shrug his shoulders, and then his scrawny fist was holding a bucking Colt. No one saw him draw, but his gun fired four times, so fast that the sound was like a drum roll. Whitey's frame seemed to come apart, his knees gave way, and he moved so slowly that it seemed to take minutes before his face hit the ground.
The sheriff stood silently looking at the notorious gunman. Those nearest him heard him sigh. 'Never did like a danged hired gunslick. Looks like I done plugged me one. Wonder what the old lady will say now.'
Kirby's rifle fell from shaking fingers. He heard a ranch owner, a member of the posse, say as they crowded around the fallen man, 'I saw Wyatt Earp in a shoot-out once. He wasn't a bit faster than Lon. And look! Four bullet holes between the eyes you could cover with a playing card.'
The sheriff ambled to the window where Kirby was standing. 'Danged if I don't need a cup of coffee to wash down a bucketful of your best liquor. The boys will see to buryin' these snakes. Let's me and you see how Bill is doin'.'
Kirby thrust a boot through the open window, then pulled the rest of his body across the sill. 'Lon, that was the bravest thing I ever saw a man do. Wish Muddy was here. Would you mind shaking hands with both of us?'
Grinning, the sheriff stuck out his skinny fist, and his fingers closed around Kirby's like steel wires. Then he complained, 'Dang it, boy, you tryin' to bust my gun hand?' Kirby rubbed his lifeless fingers and grinned.
Kirby told the sheriff about the hero-worshipping young outlaw they had met on the meadow trail and about the dying boy's slip of the tongue in mentioning the Galeyville 'Syndicate.'
'If he had lived just a little longer I might have been able to get more information,' he said ruefully.
The sheriff showed no surprise. 'Wish he had named names. I've had a suspicion for a while that there was something going on. Rustlin' has gotten so big it has to be by a pretty well organized bunch. Got a few ideas about who heads the wild bunch, too. Mebbe Bill can help out there. That is, if he keeps on headin' up the right trail.'
There was real concern on Kirby's tired countenance. 'And if he hasn't headed up the last trail,' he reminded Lon. 'That was a pretty big hole Dawes put in his back.' He shook out his reins, and his pony stretched out in a fast lope.
Doc Williams' buckboard standing in the Wagon yard and a wisp of smoke at the cookhouse chimney were the only signs of life about the place when they rode in. Maria met them at the door, anxiety showing in the deep wrinkles around her eyes.
'He's alive,' she answered their unspoken question. She nodded toward Bill's bedroom. 'Jen and Doc are in there.'
'I'll wait in the kitchen,' the sheriff said and followed Maria. Kirby stopped in the hall as Doc and Jen came out to meet him. The doctor's face wore a worried frown. 'We came out to see if you were back yet.'
'How is he, Doc? Is he going…'
'He's alive, but he took a bad wound in his back. The bullet didn't hit his lungs. It went in under the shoulderblade, hit a rib, and came out without doing more than breaking the rib and tearing up a lot of tissue. Naturally it missed his heart… but it was real close. This is just an opinion right now, but I'd say with luck I can pull him through. He's lost a lot of blood and is so weak that we have to think about pneumonia…' He broke off and studied Kirby's intent expression. The doc went on, 'What worries me is that he insists on talking to you and the sheriff. I try to tell him the time to talk is when he has rested, but he says that might be too late. Won't even let me give him a shot of morphine until he talks to you.'
Jen had slipped her hand into Kirby's, and he held her close, an arm about her shoulders. 'He's so different.' She looked up into Kirby's face. 'He's more like the Bill we used to know. You and Doc go on in; I'll get Lon.'
Bill's long length under the bedclothes was still as they entered. Only his eyes showed any sign of life. They were the haunted eyes of a man beset by worry and something like disgust. He was pale under the black stubble of beard, but his eyes sparkled when he tried a grin.
'Howdy, brother mine. How're things at Lazy B?'
'It's all over, Bill. The job's done. How are you making out?'
'I'll do. Dawes? His gunnies?'
'Josh took care of Dawes. The sheriff and his boys handled the others. It was a clean sweep. Looks like there'll be no more trouble on the range.'
Bill shook his head, showing a flash of his old wild impatience.
'That's what you think,' he said. 'Trouble is just beginning. That's what I want to talk about.'
Kirby studied him anxiously. 'Won't it keep? You're not in very good shape to palaver.'
'What I've got to say won't keep. Doc says I'm going to get well, but bullet holes are tricky. And time is mighty important in acting on what I've got to say.' Jen followed Josh and the sheriff into the room. Bill grinned at them.
'Thanks, Josh,' he said, knowing that the embarrassed foreman understood. 'And don't worry, Sheriff. Me and Kirby have quit shootin' at each other.'
The sheriff's eyes held a deep sympathy. 'Maybe after today all the shootin' will be over.'
Again an expression of impatience crossed the wounded man's face. Then he flinched as pain had its way. 'You'll know better when you hear me out. Want to get this over with.'
Doc Williams interrupted him. 'Let me give you something to ease that pain, boy,' he begged.
Bill waved him away. 'Later, Doc. Got to keep my mind clear right now.' His eyes sought Kirby's.
'First of all, brother mine, and you, Jen… I'm sorry for all the grief I've caused. Guess there isn't much excuse. Maybe you can put it down to jealousy… because Kirby is like Muddy and I… well, deep down inside I've always known there was something missing. I've hated myself for bringing nothing but trouble to people, but I guess I was too weak to stop.' He closed his eyes and was quiet so long that they thought he might have dropped off to sleep. With his eyes still closed, he went on:
'The whole thing started right after Muddy split up Wagon. Once I was alone and my own boss, something started to eat on me. I wanted more… I wanted your share, too, Kirby. I thought I hated you, partly because I was sure, though I didn't admit it to myself, that you loved him, Jen.' When he looked from face to face his eyes were bright with fever. His words came stumblingly, as if he were in a hurry to rid himself of his confession.
'And I resented the fact that Kirby had always beaten me at everything; that he was the kind of man I wanted to be, and knew I wasn't. I guess I wanted all of the old Wagon under my brand to show you both that I was a pretty big man.'
'Anyway, after I shot that poor devil of a nester, I started to drink. And about that time Hub Dawes moved in.'
His listeners were so intent on the story he was unfolding that no one moved. His voice filled the room, laying bare his shame and self-disgust. He told them how Dawes had been his drinking partner at first and then had insinuated himself into his business affairs. Not caring, Bill had allowed the man to take a hand in running the Lazy B affairs. He turned over his herd to the wily outlaw, let him tend to the rebranding and sale of his cattle. There was no doubt in his mind that Dawes had packed the gather with stolen beef and altered the papers so that Bill wouldn't suspect a thing. He didn't care, particularly, for Hub had introduced him to several Galeyville 'businessmen' and he
