Deadman Canyon by Louis Trimble Page B

shoot me the other night. Take a good look, Bert. That worn-down heel is going to put a rope around your neck.”
    “You’re crazy!” Coniff blurted. “Why would I shoot at you? I was up here hunting deer.”
    Anger drove Clay forward. He grabbed Coniff by the shirt front. “I want to know who hired you!” he yelled.
    Coniff’s slack features went white with fear. He lifted his hands and batted at Clay’s wrist. “Leave me alone,” he cried. “You got no call to treat a man this way. I ain’t armed and you are. What chance have I got?”
    Clay let loose of Coniff and stepped back. “If that’s the only thing bothering you, we’ll fix it,” he said. He tossed Coniff’s gun aside and unbuckled his own belt. He dropped it on the ground.
    He started toward Coniff at a slow, deliberate walk. Coniff held his ground for a moment and then turned. He broke into a shambling run down the trail.
    Clay took a long stride and launched himself in a tackle. He caught Coniff around the waist and swung him to the ground. Coniff twisted about and began to flail wildly with his fists. Clay slapped his arms aside and pinned them to the trail. His anger turned to disgust as he stared down into the fearridden features. This was a far cry from the Bert Coniff he had known, and he wondered what had happened to turn what had once been a man into this craven animal.
    Clay said slowly, “Let’s start all over, Bert. Who hired you to keep people off my land? Damson? Did Bick Damson’s money get to you?”
    Coniff shook his head.
    Clay cocked a fist. Coniff said, “It won’t do you no good to beat me up. I ain’t got nothing to say. If you think I been shooting at you, run me down to the jail and bring charges.” Confidence surged into his voice as he talked. “Sure, that’s it. You got a case against me, bring a charge.”
    Clay thought Coniff’s eagerness a little overdone. He was too anxious to put himself in Roy Ponders’ hands.
    But there was nothing else he could do, Clay realized. Even if he had thought it would make Coniff talk, Clay knew beating the man would only make him despise himself. This was a job for the law now — Roy Ponders and Judge Lyles.
    Clay could imagine how the judge would feel when he saw how one of his trusted hands had betrayed him. Clay sighed. Then he got up and pulled Coniff roughly to his feet. He pushed the man up the trail, “Let’s go,” he said angrily.
    Coniff seemed to realize that he was no longer in danger of a beating. “You’re wasting your time,” he said. “I was up here to get me a deer and you can’t prove otherwise.”
    Clay stopped to put on his gun and belt. “We’ll let the law decide,” he answered. He herded Coniff ahead of him to where the dun waited. He climbed into the saddle. “Now start walking.”
    Coniff turned and stepped back onto the trail. He glanced back at Clay and then broke into a run, seeking to climb the low bank on the far side of the trail and reach the protection of the timber.
    Clay urged the dun out of the trees, untying his rope from his saddlehorn as he rode. He fashioned a loop and threw it just as Coniff scrambled to the top of the bank. The rope settled around Coniffs body, pinning his arms to his sides. The force of his run pulled the loop taut. He snapped upright then went over backwards, tumbling down the bank and sprawling on the trail.
    He surged to his feet and tried to run again. Clay brought the dun alongside him and took a few more turns about Coniff with the rope. He tied the free end to his saddlehorn.
    “Walk or get dragged,” Clay said flatly. “It makes no difference to me.”
    “I ain’t going to walk all the way to town,” Coniff cried. “It’s five miles.”
    “Maybe your horse waited for you down the trail,” Clay said dryly. He kicked the dun into motion. Coniff waited until the rope stretched taut, then he started reluctantly forward.
    They found his horse at the foot of the slope, eating rank grass growing