Legend With a Six-gun (9781101601839) (41 page)

“How the hell should I know? I'm not a lawyer.”

“Not much of a sheriff, either, for my money.” Tatum sounded disgusted. “You could've stopped these nesters from acting up, kept 'em in their place, if you'd been on the job.”

“You got no right to say that!” Grover pointed at Mordka. “
He
couldn't do nothing with 'em, and he's supposed to be their boss.”

Mordka spoke up. “I cannot command the
Bratiya
to do what I wish; that is not our way. I have told you this before. But it is true, we do not trust Sheriff Grover, any more than we trust you or Mr. Hawkins. And there is still something the sheriff has not told you yet. The fence-cutting must stop, too.”

“How come you didn't mention that?” Hawkins asked the sheriff. “Remember what we talked about when it first started? I—”

“I guess I just forgot, Clem,” Grover interrupted hurriedly.

Mordka broke the angry silence that followed the exchange between Hawkins and Grover. “I have only one suggestion. If you will pay to rebuild our church, and agree that there will be no more cutting of our fences, I will see that we ourselves satisfy Aleksandra Toletof's need for help.”

“Damned if I'll put up a penny to pay for a nester's foreign church!” Hawkins spat out. He asked Tatum, “Bill, how do you feel about it?”

“Same way you do. If we start paying out like that, why, every time one of these nesters has a broke-down fence, or a stray steer gets into his wheatfield, he'll be at our doors with his hand out. That stampede was a pure accident. We didn't make it happen any more than they did.”

“They were still your cattle, and your men were not attending to their jobs properly,” Danilov said.

“It's blackmail, and I won't pay it!” Hawkins shot back. “We'll fight first! Hetter, go tell the boys to get ready. Looks like there's going to be trouble after all.”

“If there is, it will be of your own making,” Mordka said soberly.

Longarm had held himself back during the argument. He knew that even his presence there irritated the ranchers and Grover, and he had hoped that if he stood aside, they would be able to settle their differences with the Brethren. Now he gave up hope.

“I think you better do what those people want,” he told Hawkins. “It'll be a sight cheaper than fighting. If you begin feuding now, it could drag on for years.”

His remark provided an instant trigger for Grover's angry frustration. Secure in the awareness that he was holding Longarm's Colt, the sheriff let go a backhand blow that caught Longarm across the cheek.

“Stay out of this, Long!” Grover snapped. “You've always took up for them son-of-a-bitch nesters! If I hadn't took away your gun, you'd have forced us to settle this their way before now.”

Exercising all his self-control, Longarm didn't strike back. The blow gave him the opportunity he'd been needing. He staggered with the slap and purposely lurched into Hawkins. The rancher put out his hands instinctively to catch him. Longarm slid his hand along his watch chain, and when he straightened up, the derringer on the end of the chain was pressed against Hawkins's ear.

“All right, Hawkins. You like to call the shots around here. I'm going to let you go on calling 'em, but from here on, you'll call 'em my way,” Longarm said. “Start out by telling your friends to give us a lot of room.”

“You heard him!” Hawkins gasped. “Back away, Bill, you and Grover. And for God's sake, don't go for your guns, either one of you! This damn popgun Long's got on me don't look like much, but it'll sure play hell with a man's skull at close range!”

“And don't forget, I've got more than one shot,” Longarm warned the others. “The first one might be for Hawkins, but if either one of you starts to throw down, I'll take you first and save him for later!”

“You won't get away with anything, Long,” Tatum said. “Clem's man's already started our hands to moving.”

Glancing down the trail, Longarm saw that the rancher was telling the truth. The hands from the C Bar H and the Double Z were beginning to walk their horses forward.

“Maybe you forgot I'd already sent Hetter to get my boys ready,” Hawkins gloated. “I guess that spoils your little play, Marshal.”

“Let's eat the apple a bite at a time,” Longarm told his prisoner. “Get on out there with me. We're going to go stand right in the middle of that trail, in front of them farmers.”

“Wait a minute! That's going to put us in the line of fire when my hands open up!” Hawkins gasped.

“It sure as hell is,” Longarm replied. He pressed the muzzle of the derringer harder into Hawkins's ear. “But I don't see that you've got much choice. When a man's going to get shot, it purely don't matter who pulls the trigger. Now march!”

As he walked out into the trail, into the light of the lanterns carried by the
Bratiya
, Hawkins called back to Tatum, “Tell your men to hold their fire, Bill! And tell mine I said to hold back, too!”

Tatum's warning call stopped the ranch hands' advance; they reined in. Opposite them, the coals still glowed redly and cast a lurid half-light across the trail. They didn't lower their rifles.

Hawkins tried to look over his shoulder to see what response the
Bratiya
were making to the advances of the cowhands, but the cold muzzle of the derringer at his temple kept him immobile. His voice a hoarse rasp, he asked Longarm, “The men behind us won't shoot, will they? If they do, my boys will sure as hell shoot back, and you and me'll be ripped wide open.”

Longarm glanced over his shoulder, and saw the Brethren lined up in two rows. Those in the front row were kneeling so the men behind could fire over their heads.

“Fedor!” Longarm called.

“
Da
, Marshal.” Petrovsky's voice responded behind him, “I see vhat you are doing. Don't vorry, vhen ve shoot, ve vill aim above your heads. Hawkins is make as good breastvork as line of stones!”

“Oh, my God!” Hawkins gasped. “Marshal, you've got to do something, or we'll both get killed!”

“You were ready enough to have your men start killing, a few minutes ago,” Longarm replied coldly. “Makes a difference when you're in the line of fire, doesn't it?”

“Tell me what you want me to do, Long! I won't try anything, I swear! I'll do exactly what you say!”

“Tell your men to toss their rifles on the ground,” Longarm ordered. “I'll see if I can't get the Brethren to do the same thing. Maybe if they see your crew's not going to turn loose on 'em, they'll be reasonable.”

“Hetter!” Hawkins shouted. “You and the other boys toss your guns down! Do it right now and the nesters won't open up on you!”

Hetter's voice came back, “How do we know that, boss? That'd open us up to getting killed if them nesters decide to take advantage of us!”

“Do it, damn you!” Hawkins replied. “Or I'm likely to be a dead man!”

“Long's trying to trick you,” Grover called from the side of the trail where he stood with Tatum. “Don't listen to him, Clem! He's in with the nesters! I've said so all along!” Raising his voice, he called, “Hetter! This is Sheriff Grover talking. I'm swearing you and all the rest of you boys in as my posse. Now, you got the law on your side, and you're under my orders. And my orders are to keep your guns and stand pat!”

From behind Longarm and Hawkins, Fedor Petrovsky called, “Ve are hear vhat says the sheriff, Marshal. Ve must defend ourselves! If one shot from the cowboys comes, ve shoot back!”

In Longarm's ear, Hawkins said harshly, “Well, Long? You've sure outsmarted yourself this tune! Only comfort I've got is that we'll both die together!”

Chapter 20

Longarm did not bother to answer Hawkins. He was trying to think of a way to break the deadlock. He knew that within minutes, perhaps seconds, the tension that had gripped the Brethren and the ranch hands alike must snap. Somebody would pull a trigger.

He got the answer to his puzzle from a totally unexpected source. From the corner of the churchyard, into the shrinking circle of light cast by the orange-red glow of the fire's dying coals, the people of the Brethren who had been watching the confrontation suddenly became participants.

Led by Mordka Danilov, they walked in double file across the trail a few yards in front of the mounted cowhands. Even in the diminished light, it was plain to see that most of them were women and children. Longarm guessed that the men in the group were those who had kept to the creed of nonviolence that had been a founding principle of the sect.

The sight of the slow, steady parade set off a buzz of voices from Fedor Petrovsky's men. The chatter was cut short when Mordka began to speak.

“Bratiya!”
he called. “Listen to me! The Marshal has made sure that the men of the ranches cannot shoot at you without the risk of killing their leader! Now I have made sure that you cannot shoot the ranch men without risking harm to your own wives and children!”

“By God!” Longarm muttered under his breath, “I don't guess Mordka's ever heard of one, but he's sure set up a Mexican standoff!”

“Damned if he hasn't,” Hawkins agreed. For the first time that night, the rancher's voice sounded cheerful.

“Does it satisfy you, Hawkins? Because you're the man those hands of yours and Tatum's will listen to. If you tell 'em to drop their rifles again, I'm betting they'll do it this time.”

Tatum and Grover came running from the side of the trail to join Longarm and Hawkins. Before they got within reaching distance, Longarm called to them, “Stop right there! This ain't settled quite yet, and I've still got this little gun of mine pushed into Hawkins's ear. You get too close and I might get nervous.”

His threat stopped the two men in their tracks. Grover said, “It's some kind of damn nester trick, Clem! Don't fall for it!”

“Shut up, Grover!” Tatum commanded. “Clem can handle this without any advice from you.”

“Damn right, I can!” Hawkins said. “Bill, whether you agree or not, I'm going to finish up this mess right now, and tell our boys to toss their guns on the ground. I'm gambling that Danilov or Long or both of 'em will tell the nesters behind us to do the same thing.”

“You can depend on me,” Longarm said. “And I'd guess Mordka will go along, seeing as how setting those folks down there where they are was his idea.”

“That's good enough for me,” Tatum agreed. “You won't have any trouble from my men, I'll guarantee that, Clem.”

Hawkins raised his voice. “Hetter! Tell the boys to toss their guns down to the ground! There's not going to be any shooting, anybody can see that!”

“You Double Z hands do the same thing!” Tatum shouted.

“Mordka!” Longarm called out. “Soon as the ranch hands have got rid of their guns, I'm going to see if Fedor won't tell his men to put theirs down too!”

“And I will join you in urging him,” Danilov replied. “Do you hear me, Fedor?”

“Da.”
Petrovsky's voice came from the ranks of the
Bratiya
. “Ve vill lay our veapons aside. Ve do not vant a fight, but ve vere ready to have one if ve could get justice no other vay.”

Hetter's voice came to them within a few moments. “All right, boss. We've done like you said. But yell if them nesters act up. It won't take but a minute for us to get our guns back!”

Muffled thuds began sounding from the area where the Brethren stood, as rifles, shotguns and other weapons hit the snow-covered ground.

Fedor Petrovsky called, “Ve have thrown down our guns, too! Now let us meet together and settle our differences peacefully.”

“I guess I've come around to feeling like he does,” Hawkins said to Longarm. “Or I will, as soon as you take that derringer away from my head.”

“There's one little thing left to take care of before I can do that,” Longarm replied.

“Oh? What's that?”

“Tell your man Grover to hand me back my Colt. It was you who had him take it off me, so I figure it's up to you to tell him to give it back. He seems to do just about what you order him to, like any other hired hand would.”

Without hesitating, Hawkins told Grover, “You heard the marshal. Give him back his pistol.”

“By rights, I oughta be putting a pair of handcuffs on him,” Grover said. “If he was anybody but a federal marshal, he'd've been in jail already.”

“Sorry you feel that way,” Longarm said. He held out his hand. “But I guess you're smart enough to do what your boss tells you.”

Reluctantly, Grover slid Longarm's Colt out of his waistband. He held it out butt-first. The light was dimmer than ever, but Longarm's eyes were sharp. He saw that Grover had kept his forefinger in the trigger guard of the weapon instead of holding the gun by its muzzle. He lifted his left hand to take the Colt.

Grover started to spin the weapon on the pivot of his forefinger, but before his hand could close around the gun's butt, Longarm brought the derringer down from Hawkins's head. The wicked little pistol's flat
splat
broke the silence. Longarm caught his Colt in midair as it dropped from the dying sheriff's suddenly flaccid fingers.

Hawkins and Tatum were caught off guard by the shot. Neither of them reached for his gun when Grover crumpled and folded to the ground. Longarm spun the Colt by its trigger guard, as Grover had planned to do, but his spin was completed and the Colt's butt was nestled in his palm, the muzzle casually covering the ranchers, by the time Grover's collapse was complete.

“Your man was a damned fool, Hawkins,” Longarm remarked in a chilled-steel voice. “He ought to've known I've had that trigger-spin stunt tried on me before, that I'd be watching for it.”

“You didn't have to kill him,” Hawkins protested. There was no conviction in the rancher's tone.

“Like hell I didn't. As long as he was holding my Colt, I couldn't risk just winging him. Besides,” Longarm added thoughtfully, “There's two things in my book that'll draw a bullet for a bad law officer. One's hitting an unarmed man he's holding a gun on, like Grover did me a while ago.”

Hawkins waited for Longarm to go on, and, when he didn't, asked curiously, “What's the other?”

“Selling his badge, the way Grover sold his to you. By rights, you should've got the second slug in this derringer.”

For a moment the three men stood silently, looking down at the body by their feet. Then the Brethren and the cowhands reached them, running to find out what the shot had meant.

Over the excited babble of talk, Hawkins shouted, “You C Bar H and Double Z men have got jobs to do at the shipping pens, don't forget! Hoist your butts onto your horses and go back to work!”

Longarm holstered his Colt. He saw Mordka Danilov walking toward them, and asked Hawkins, “You think you and Tatum can settle things peaceful now, with Mordka Danilov and his people?”

“We haven't got much choice, with you looking over our shoulders,” the rancher replied.

“Oh, I don't intend to do that,” Longarm assured him, “You're all sensible, grown-up men. All you've got to do is act like you are.”

He turned and walked away from them, then. Once, before he reached the spot where the hitch rail had been, he looked back over his shoulder. The ranchers and Danilov were still standing where he'd left them, in sober discussion. The hitch rail was gone and so was the roan, but Grover's horse was stamping its hooves at the edge of the patch of gray ash that marked the place where the church had stood. Longarm swung into the saddle and started toward town.

*   *   *

Halfway to Junction, the clouds scudded away and the new moon brought the prairie to life. The Glidden wire fences stood out as black lines around the field where the wheat heads waved in the light breeze. Longarm looked back, but the weaving of the fencelines hid his backtrail.

As he rode on, he thought,
There's nothing that'll tame a man who thinks he's tough quicker than showing him you can be a damn sight meaner than he is. Mordka and the Brethren ought to get along all right with the cattlemen for a while, now. And Fedor Petrovsky'll help when he's elected sheriff. Which he's bound to be, because nobody's going to vote for a dead man, and the ranchers won't have time before election to pick out somebody else to run.

*   *   *

He left the horse at the livery stable, walked into town, and pushed through the batwings at the Cattleman's. He was working down his second shot of Maryland rye when the Santa Fe station agent found him.

“Thought I might run into you if I looked in here on the way to the hotel, Marshal,” the man said. “This wire just came in from your office at Denver. It's tagged ‘urgent, deliver at once,' so I closed up to bring it to you.”

“Thanks.” Longarm indicated the bottle on the table. “Help yourself to one while I read it. I might need to send an answer.”

Unfolding the message, Longarm read:

HIGGINS ENROUTE TO COVER ELECTION ASSIGNMENT
STOP
NEED YOU HERE FOR MORE IMPORTANT CASE
STOP
REPORT DENVER AT ONCE
STOP
VAIL

“There's no answer,” Longarm told the waiting agent. “But you can tell me if you've got a cattle shipment rolling to Dodge tomorrow sometime.”

“There'll be one out about four tomorrow evening. You wouldn't want to leave earlier anyhow, Marshal. It'll get you there in time to connect with the westbound limited. The train crew'll find you a seat in the caboose. I guessed you'd be leaving, as soon as I copied the wire.”

“That's fine. I'll have time to tie up a few loose ends, so Higgins won't be bothered with them.”

*   *   *

Longarm had taken his seat in the coach and the whistle had signaled that the limited was about to roll when the veiled woman hurried along the aisle and disappeared into the Pullman car ahead. He hadn't seen her face behind the veil that swathed it, but the figure was familiar enough, and there wasn't any mistaking that heavy, musky perfume.

It's a long ride to Denver
, Longarm thought,
and a day coach seat's going to get right hard
.

He stood up and followed the woman into the Pullman as the train started moving. He got there just in time to see the woman disappear into the forward stateroom. He walked up the aisle and tapped at the stateroom door.

“Come,” the woman called through the closed door. Longarm entered.

Ilioana Karsovana was standing with her back to the door, her arms raised, taking off her veil. Without turning around, she said, “Put my bags—” then she stopped short when she looked over her shoulder and saw that it wasn't the porter.

“Longarm!” she gasped. Dismay spread over her face. “How did you track me? I was so careful to leave no traces—”

“Hell, Ilioana, I'm not tracking you. I just happened to see you go up the aisle in the coach where I was sitting, and thought it'd be neighborly of me to come in and say hello.”

“You—you have not come to arrest me, then?”

“Why'd I want to do that? Far as I know, you ain't broken any laws.”

“But . . . I was so sure you had deduced that I am—” She stopped and covered her mouth with her gloved hand.

“That you're a Russian government agent?” Longarm smiled and tilted his Stetson back. “I figured that all along. I guess I'd've tumbled to it, even if Mordka Danilov hadn't told me that he suspected you and that servant of yours were there in Junction to check up on the Brethren. That yarn about your brother just didn't square with the way you two behaved.”

“Your government does not care that we are here? In Russia, agents are imprisoned without trials as soon as they are detected.”

“It's different here, I guess.”

There was a tapping at the door. Longarm looked at Ilioana. She shrugged and called, “Come!”

It was the porter with the bags. As the man started to leave, Longarm stopped him. “Has the barkeep in the parlor car got any vodka?”

“Vodka, sah?” The immaculately clad black man scratched his head. “Is that some kind of whiskey?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“Then he ain't got none, sah. Bourbon and English whiskey and Maryland rye's about all he runs to, 'less you fancies brandy.”

“Maryland rye's good enough.” Longarm flipped the man a half-eagle. “Bring us two bottles, and keep the change.” When the porter had gone, he said to Ilioana, “I guess you'll just have to get along with sipping whiskey for a while.”

“It will not be the first time I have learned to like something new.” She smiled. She'd taken off her hat and veil, and now she slipped out of her traveling coat. “I will wait until the porter has brought our refreshments before I put on something more comfortable.”

Longarm looked around the compartment. “I must say, you travel in pretty good style. I guess your coachman's riding a day coach?”

“Gregor? No. Gregor is not with me.”

“Are you meeting him in Denver, then?”

“I hope not.” Ilioana hesitated. “If you are not going to arrest me, it will do no harm to tell you the truth. Gregor was my superior, in charge of our mission. When I was sure you had discovered what we were really doing, I decided I must run. But not only from you, Longarm. I have tired of an agent's life. So . . .”

She went to the luggage the porter had lined up against the stateroom wall and picked up one of the bags. Putting it on the divan, she opened it. Banded packets of U.S. currency and rolls of gold filled the bag.