The Man Without a Gun Read online

  IX

  Jack was awakened by loud voices beyond the granary. He straightened up, listening, then got carefully to his feet as the voices subsided and someone came toward his hiding place. As the door swung back, a dazzling shaft of daylight flooded the room from the alley and a gnome of a man entered, muttering and growling to himself. He got almost to the sacked grain before he stopped, turned very slowly, and stared up into Jack’s face.

  “God Almighty,” Buck gasped. “You.”

  “You’re lucky it isn’t Logan,” Jack said dryly.

  The old man went to the door, peered up and down the barn runway, then said: “I wish it was Logan. Him I’d throw into the alley.” Buck studied the beard-stubbled face a moment and some of the starch went out of him. “Well, I’ll fetch you a razor an’ some water. You look like hell.”

  As he was turning away, Jack said: “And something to eat, too.”

  Buck nodded and left. The big man grinned in the darkness, rubbed the back of his neck where an outraged muscle pained him, then let off a long sigh. By now Buck should have heard something.

  When the old man returned — through the alley entrance, sneaking food and a wash basin into the granary — he was fairly bursting with news.

  “Well, boy, you sure tore it this time.”

  “You mean the railroad camp?”

  Buck put the things in his arms upon some grain sacks. “You ain’t done nothing else, have you?”

  “No.”

  “That’s good,” the old man said ironically. “Because Will Spencer’s gone into the hills lookin’ for a camp you might have there, and Hoyt Farmer took the dawn stage to Yuma.”

  Jack washed and shaved. “What about Rob?”

  “Safer’n a bug in a rug. I saw Amy about an hour ago. We don’t figure Logan suspicions her yet. He called at her house with the sheriff yesterday evenin’, but she said she didn’t have any trouble with ’em. Anyway, they didn’t ask about the kid...they asked about you.”

  “What about me?”

  “If she knew where you were.”

  “And she didn’t.”

  “That’s right. Seems that Logan was about half mad at Hoyt for even botherin’ her.” Buck sank down upon a sack of barley, watching Jack shave. “Do you know why Hoyt took Logan there?”

  “No, how would I know?”

  Buck made a face. “I expect you wouldn’t at that,” he said. “Like I told you, Hoyt’s no fool. He knows the girl’s in love with you.”

  Jack turned and looked down. “She didn’t tell you that, Buck.”

  “Nope. She didn’t have to. Neither did Hoyt Farmer. I know ’em both better’n they know themselves.”

  While Jack was still staring at him, the old man’s muddy eyes turned saturnine. “There’s something else you got to know, too, boy. A gunman rode into town today lookin’ for Josh Logan.”

  Jack continued to stare at the liveryman in silence.

  “I never seen him before, but I know who he is. He’s got that look to him...that killer look.”

  “All right. Who is he?”

  “The Sundance Kid.”

  Jack started visibly. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll bet a good horse on it. He’s sort of wiry, dark-faced-lookin’, packs two guns, and limps.”

  Jack turned back and sluiced his face off. The years rolled back. Jack Britton — the Sundance Kid. Arizona’s fastest gun for hire. He straightened up and patted his face.

  Buck gestured toward the food. “Eat, boy. Unless I’m way off course, you’re goin’ to need your guts full before this day’s over.”

  Jack ate and thought. Finally he spoke. “I want you to do something, Buck. First, did the Kid see Logan?”

  “No. Logan left before sunup to go back to rail’s end.”

  “Good. You go hunt up the Sundance Kid and....”

  “Won’t be hard to do. He’s stayin’ at the hotel.”

  “All right. Go get him and fetch him back here.”

  The liveryman’s eyes drew out narrowly. “You crazy? You...without even a gun?”

  “It wouldn’t do me much good if I had one. Go on, get the Kid and bring him back here.”

  Buck got up but made no move to leave. He squinted upward. “Son, I been around a lot longer’n you have. If you got a notion of talkin’ the Kid out of gunnin’ you, forget it. His kind kill unarmed men just as quick as armed ones, and, once they hire out, they don’t swap horses.”

  Jack inclined his head in agreement, then spoke. “You’re right, Buck. And you’re also wrong. The Sundance Kid never killed an unarmed man in his life.”

  Buck lingered a moment longer, turning something over in his mind, then left. Jack finished eating, made a cigarette, and sat down to wait. It wasn’t a long wait. He heard the ring of Mexican spurs before Buck entered the granary followed by a man with a very faint limp. The newcomer was dressed in faded clothing, and, except for the well-cared-for guns he wore, one lashed to each leg, and his constant air of wariness, he appeared to be a down-on-his-luck cowboy.

  At sight of him memories stirred in the big man. He came out of the shadows with a sardonic grin.

  “Hello, Kid.”

  The gunman stood perfectly still, letting his eyes become accustomed to the gloom, then he made a slow smile.

  “Hello, Jack.”

  His voice was husky and strong-sounding. He did not offer a hand but his teeth shone through parted lips.

  “Heard you was in this place.”

  “Who sent for you, Kid?”

  “Feller named Josh Logan. You’re not goin’ by that name, are you?”

  “No.”

  The Kid nodded and continued to study the big man, his smile fading. Jack used both hands to hold his coat out.

  “No gun, Kid....”

  Britton’s eyes flicked down, then up again. “You ain’t turned preacher have you?” he asked with some humor.

  “No. Did Logan wire you?”

  “Yeah. Couple days ago.”

  “He wants you to kill a man, Kid.”

  Sundance glanced briefly at old Buck, then leaned against the wall. “I figured that,” he said. “You work for him?”

  “No, I’m the man he wants you to kill.”

  For a second the Kid’s face sagged, then he frowned. “You?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jack told the gunman how he happened to come to Herd. He explained about his saddle shop and his friendship for a crippled boy. He mentioned Rob’s parents, his uncle, and the uncle’s unquenched hatred that had been passed on to the boy.

  The Kid listened with his head averted, making a cigarette. When Jack finished speaking, he lit up, exhaled, and cast a long look at the big man. Finally he said: “I come a long way, Jack.” Smoke trickled upward past his face. “This here Logan’s to pay me five hundred for calling some feller out.” He mouthed the cigarette, its tip glowed red, then a cloud of smoke erupted and momentarily shrouded the dark features. “How long’s it been since you used a gun?”

  “Better’n three years.”

  “I could probably beat you then,” the Kid said.

  “Maybe. More’n likely it’d be a draw. Two down. A man slows but he doesn’t forget.”

  “Yeah.” The Kid swore softly. “Dammit, Jack, we been pardners. I don’t want to shoot it out with you...especially for money.” The dark-brooding eyes lifted. They were thoughtfully steady. “This Logan...is he really as ornery as you just made him out?”

  Jack gestured toward Buck. “Ask him. Ask anyone around here. Even the sheriff.”

  Sundance made a crooked grin. “He ain’t around. That’s the first thing I ask in a town...where’s the law.” The grin atrophied; the thoughtful, steady-eyed look returned.

  “If you haven’t met Logan yet, then you haven’t hir
ed out to him,” Jack said.

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ll hire you. For five hundred you don’t call me out.”

  The Kid crushed his cigarette before answering. “Five hundred cash?”

  “Gold or silver, take your pick.”

  “What else I got to do, Jack?”

  “Meet Logan and stay with him. He’s out at his railroad camp today. You’ll get him back to town some way, then you’ll stand aside while I call him out.”

  “Sounds fair,” Sundance commented. “Is he fast?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’d better find out,” the gunman said dryly. “I want you alive so I can collect my five hundred, Jack. You just hired a rider.”

  Jack thrust his hand out. The Kid shook it, then the big man started forward. “I’ll go get you the money,” he said. Sundance didn’t release his hand.

  “I got a hunch from seein’ you hidin’ in this granary, that you’d better not go outside. Forget the money for now. Let’s work this thing out first.”

  Buck ran a shirt sleeve across his forehead and relaxed. When he spoke, his voice was reedy. “I’ll give you the money, Jack.”

  Sundance turned slowly and stared at the old man. He said nothing for a time, then he grinned again. “Forget it, pop. I was only horsin’ around. I’ve known Jack Swift of Tularosa for a long time. I figure I made a hell of a good trade here...bein’ hired not to go up against him. He was one of the fastest guns you ever saw, a few years back.” The Kid’s smile broadened. “An’ fight! Why god dammit, you never saw a man could dog-fight like Jack. I’ve seen him start at the door an’ clean out a saloon full of cowboys with his bare hands.”

  Jack interrupted. “Kid, let’s do some planning. Josh Logan’s no fool.”

  He got no further. Sundance faced around and made a gesture with his left hand. “Oh, to hell with this Logan. You want him here in town...I’ll bring him.”

  “Alone if you can work it,” Jack said. “He’s the railroad superintendent. He’s got a big track crew working for him.”

  The Kid shrugged. “Alone if I can...with his track layers if I can’t. Don’t worry about them. I’ll be here, remember. Logan’ll play fair or I’ll thin out his crew.” The Kid’s indifferent look vanished. His eyes warmed with recollection. “Jack, you recollect that little redhead at Ma Tomla’s down in Laredo? Well, damned if Tex Connelly didn’t up an’ marry her, an’ they got a little spread east o’ Tucumcari. And of Calabasas? Well, he’s workin’ for the Chiricahua Land and Cattle Company down along the border...not very far from here in fact. An’ Red Ewart, you remember him?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Believe it or not he’s a lawman. A real honest-to-god deputy marshal. He’s married, too. Lives over at Wagon Mound.”

  The Kid’s voice faded a moment, then resumed. “Wait’ll I see ’em. They’ll never believe Jack Swift of Tularosa is a saddle maker in a two-bit cowtown.”

  Buck shuffled his feet a moment, then started for the door. “Excuse me, gents,” he murmured. “I got a livery barn to run.”

  The Kid turned. “Sure, pop. By the way...you got a big breedy blood bay geldin’ here. He’s mine. Give him a bait of grain an’ a rub-down.”

  “Be glad to,” the old man said, looking at Jack impassively. “You be careful.”

  After he left, the Sundance Kid went to a grain sack and sat down. His brow was furrowed in thought. Eventually he spoke. “Feller hears talk when he comes to a strange town, Jack. I asked around a little when I first rode in. Folks’re sort of steamed up about this squabble ’tween Logan an’ a boy. Seems a few of the older ones recollect things about Logan they’re diggin’ up now.”

  “Like what?” Jack asked.

  The Kid shook his head. “It’s hard to get anyone to open up to a stranger.” He stood and touched the two guns. “These things don’t help any. But there’s an old gaffer who cleans up at the hotel. He told me Logan’s got a reason for tryin’ to grind that kid into the dirt.”

  “Is that all he said?”

  The Kid shook his head and moved to the door. “No. He said Logan’s got somethin’ inside him that sticks him like a knife every time he looks at that kid. Something he did a long time ago, something that folks don’t know about.”

  Jack thought of Rob’s mother, of her preference for Rob’s father over his brother. No, it wouldn’t be that. People knew about that.

  His eyes narrowed with concentration. “Something people don’t know about?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like what, Kid?”

  “Hell, I don’t know, or I’d tell you.”

  “Couldn’t you get it out of the old man?”

  The Kid’s mouth pulled down. “I ain’t very good at throwin’ down on old folks. Besides, that old geezer wouldn’t tell me anyway. I know his breed. Ol’ buffalo hunter. Tougher’n a boiled owl.”

  “Buffalo hunter? Is he bald-headed an’ does he sniffle when he talks?”

  “That’s him. You know the old cuss?”

  “No, I’ve seen him is all. But I know who he is. He was a pardner of the kid’s grandfather. Hereabouts he’s called Uncle Ned.”

  Sundance began twisting up a cigarette. “Then the kid’s grandfather probably knew about this thing, too.”

  Jack crossed to the Kid’s side. “You go get Logan and I’ll find out what the old man’s got on his mind.” Jack pushed the door open farther. He gave Sundance a slight shove. “Go on.”

  “All right. But if I can’t bring Logan back this afternoon, don’t get upset. I’ll have him here some time tomorrow. You just be patient an’ keep your eyes skinned for us.”

  After Sundance left, Jack thought of his last remark. It didn’t sound like the Sundance Kid, to him. In times past, when the Kid went after something, he got it. Still, it seemed a minor thing. He shrugged it off, went to the granary door, and peered out. Up near the roadside entrance Buck was talking to someone. He waited until the taller man turned, then recognized Deputy Will Spencer. Whatever was being said seemed to engross the deputy; he was standing with his head down and fisted hands pushed deep into his pockets.

  Jack waited patiently until Spencer left, walking southward, then watched Buck hurry toward the rear of the barn.

  As soon as he passed the granary door, the old man’s words came tumbling. “You got to get out an’ quick. Will didn’t find any camp in the hills last night, but he found someone who saw you ride into town...one of Logan’s spies. He just asked me to join a house-to-house search for you.”

  Jack stiffened. “Hell,” he said. “They’ll find Rob.”

  But Buck shook his head. “I’ll take care of that. I got an idea....”

  “Not back here in the loft,” Jack interrupted to say. “Logan’s had this place watched since the trouble first started.”

  Buck looked mysterious. “Not here, either,” he said. “Now you get.” He turned away. “I’ll saddle a horse and tie it out in the alley.”

  Jack caught the old man’s arm. “First things first, Buck. There’s an old feller at the hotel who told Sundance that Logan’s got some special secret, something to do with his hatred of Rob.”

  “Never mind that,” Buck said irritably, pulling away. “We’ll worry about that later.”

  Jack did not relinquish his grip. “Listen...calm down, will you? I wouldn’t get a hundred feet down that alley in broad daylight, afoot or on horseback. I’ve already had one run-in with Logan’s men out there.”

  He could feel the old man’s muscles turn slack under his hand. “But you can’t stay here,” Buck insisted. “Spencer’ll go through this place with a fine-toothed comb.”

  “Go hitch up the hayrack,” Jack said. “Throw some hay onto it and drive it down here and out into the alley. I’ll get on and burrow into the hay.”

  �
�Hell,” Buck protested. “I can’t drive you all the way to the glass rock an’ leave you there afoot, boy.”

  “You won’t take me there,” Jack said, giving the old man a push. “Get the rack and, when I get aboard, I’ll tell you where to take me that Logan won’t find me and Spencer won’t think to look.”

  Buck went after the wagon and team, but he was badly worried. He had his day man pitch some hay onto the wagon, then drove it down through the barn after sending the hostler to the emporium for a ball of harness thread. A ruse.

  Jack moved swiftly when the rack went by. He glimpsed Buck’s white face only briefly, then was in the hay. Buck wheeled the team wide and swung southward down the alley. Jack burrowed up under the high seat and spoke crisply.

  “Go around to the alley across the road,” he said. “Like you’re going to Southards’...only you aren’t.”

  The liveryman obeyed, puzzled but hopeful. When he was abreast of a sagging old fence that enclosed the yard of the railroad company’s Herd office, Jack spoke again.

  “Just keep going. I’ll leave you here.”

  Buck looked startled. “Logan’s office?” He gasped incredulously.

  But Jack was off the rack and moving through the broken gate.

  Gaining entrance to the railroad superintendent’s office was no problem. There were two rear windows; neither was locked although both were closed. Inside, the office was redolent of stale tobacco smoke and man sweat. It was poorly lighted, too, but this was in the big man’s favor. Through a flimsy partition he could hear voices of people in the hotel lobby next door. He moved carefully around the room, noting the piles of reports and maps strewn everywhere. At a large, battered desk he sat down, studying the office, then he very deliberately took out a pocket knife and worked the lock to Logan’s desk drawers loose. For half an hour he squinted at more progress reports in the gloom, and read copies of Logan’s reports to the Kansas City headquarters of the railroad. These reports, stretching over a number of years, gave him a clear and composite picture of his enemy’s steady rise to power, but they gave him no clue to the man’s real character, nor had he expected them to. Then, in the act of replacing the papers, his hand inadvertently came in contact with something coldly metallic stuck to the underside of the drawer’s inner fastness. He pulled the drawer fully out, got down on his knees, and looked up. The cold object was a tiny key that was held to the woodwork by a strip of gummed paper. He removed it, put the papers back into the drawer, and closed it, then went over by a rear window and examined his find.