wore faded waist overalls, knee-high boots, and a patched hickory shirt. An old-style converted Colt's Frontier, completely without glamour, hung in its battered holster on his right thigh. Now Arch Deland came toward Owen with a lean, outstretched hand.
“By God,” he said,
They shook hands warmly, exchanged the usual words of greeting. In his mind, Owen recalled those days, not so long ago, when he and Arch had worked together out of Fort Smith as deputy U.S. marshals. Oklahoma had been Indian territory then, and statehood no more than a dream.
They talked jokingly of the Toller farm and about the crops. And Owen thought back to other days, harsh and brutal, of mass hangings on the courthouse square at Fort Smith, of man hunts and sudden violence. All that was over, they said. Statehood was here. The Jameses and the Doolins had made their infamous history, and all the violence, so they said, was over. As though a vote of Congress would make any difference in the minds of men like Ike and Cal Brunner.
They talked of Elizabeth and the kids. And Owen thought back to a certain day in the Choctaw Nation. He had lain in the snow on that bitter winter day, and the snow was red and his legs were paralyzed with buckshot. And Arch Deland had said, “Don't worry, kid, I'll get you back to Smith all right.” And he did; a nameless outlaw following behind, face down across a pack horse.
Now, as Owen looked at Arch Deland, it was strange that he should think, How much do they want of a man? Arch has done enough! But he guessed that being a lawman was all Arch knew.
At last the talk got around to Owen. “Did you talk to Cushman?” Arch asked.
“Just to ask where I could find you.”
“He didn't mention the Brunner gang?” Owen frowned.
“Why should he have mentioned the Brunners to me?”
Deland shrugged. “It was just a guess. There's a lot of pressure on Cushman to clean the Brunners out of the hills, but I guess Will hasn't got the guts it takes for that kind of business.”
“I don't see that it would take a special kind of guts,” Owen said. “Will doesn't have to go after the gang himself; he could send his deputies after them.”
Deland laughed. “You haven't been to town lately, have you? Will tried that once, and the Brunners whipped them seven ways from Sunday. What deputies didn't get shot up, they quit. All Cushman has to do is say Brunner and he's got a complete turnover in the sheriff's office.”
“You haven't quit,” Owen pointed out. Deland laughed again.
“Maybe I would if Will sent me into the hills. But he won't. At my age he figures all I'm good for is keeping the streets clear of wagons on Saturdays. And maybe he's right.”
“I still don't understand why it should be so tough to clean out a gang of trigger-happy hill boys,” Owen said. “Why doesn't Will get up a citizen posse and go after them? A hundred men, if he has to. The Brunners couldn't fight an action like that.”
Deland smiled thinly. “A good idea, but it won't work. First, Will would be expected to go along with a citizen posse, and that he won't do. And even if he would, it wouldn't work, because the Brunners would scatter the gang from hell to breakfast all over Oklahoma and Arkansas. Those boys may be book-ignorant, but they're as hill-smart as they come.” He shook his head. “A posse wouldn't nave a chance.”
Owen asked the question, although he already knew the answer. “Then who
“One or two good men,” Deland said mildly, “dead shots and as hill-smart as the Brunners. They'd have to go in and take the two brothers, and then the gang would fall apart. By the way, has Ben McKeever been out to talk to you?”
In one way or another Arch Deland knew almost everything that happened in this country north of the Canadian, and Owen shouldn't have been surprised. But he was. “What makes you ask that?”
Deland grinned. “Well, Ben owns a lot of timber up in those hills. He'd sure hate for anything to happen that might spoil his chances of getting a railroad through here.”
Owen shook his head. “How could the Brunners hold up a thing as big as a railroad?”
“By scaring the pants off the advance surveyors for the company. And they've already done a pretty good job of that. Those boys have to send reports back to New York, and from those reports the big boys with the money decide where the track goes.”
Slowly the doubts began working in Owen's mind. Maybe McKeever wasn't bluffing, after all. It was a discomfort-1 ing thought, but even if it was true, it would not affect his promise to Elizabeth. Of that he was sure.
As if reading his thoughts, Deland said, “Ben can make it tough on you, Owen.”
Toller nodded. “He's already started.” The deputy did not seem surprised. He grinned quietly, and then punched Owen lightly on the shoulder. “Don't let it worry you; you've got plenty of friends in Reunion. You'll have to ride it out, for Elizabeth's sake.” As though embarrassed by this slight show of affection, Deland turned and gazed at the wagons and animals in the street. “There's a chance,” he said, “that Ben won't be the only one to apply pressure. People are getting worked up about the Brunners; they want something done.” He shot one quick glance at Owen's face. “Don't let them sway you. You've got a wife and family to think about.” With an abrupt nod, the old deputy walked away.
It was long after dark when Owen got back to the farm with the supplies. As he unhitched and stripped the team, Elizabeth came to the barn with a lighted lantern. He saw the worry in her eyes and said, “Sorry I'm late. I got to talking with Arch Deland and forgot the time.”
“Did you see McKeever while you were in town?”
“Why, yes,” Owen said with forced heartiness. “As a matter of fact, I did.” He put his lean, hard arms about his wife and held her against him. “If you're thinking of the Brunners,” he said, “just forget it. Ben didn't even mention them.”
