Trigger Gospel by Harry Sinclair Drago Page A

arms and started up the arroyo, with Six-gun following a pace or two in the rear. The gelding nickered softly.
    â€œI’m puttin’ the blame for this where it belongs—not on you, Six-gun,” Little Bill thought aloud.

Chapter VII

    F ANNING the little mustang with his hat, Chalk Whipple dashed out of the yard and raced away in a flash of dust. Down the street, Sam Swift and some others appeared, running toward the house. Sam hailed the old man, but Chalk thundered on without waiting to answer. It was five miles to Cain Springs, and it was his intention to get there in a hurry.
    â€œThat don’t look good, him dashin’ off that-a-way,” Sam panted. “He’s goin’ for the boys, sure as shootin’!”
    â€œBeaudry must be right for once,” one of his companions flung back as they ran on. “He said it was the Sontags—come in to get Waco. They must a fetched him or Chalk wouldn’t be tearin’ off like that.”
    â€œ ’Fraid you’re right,” Sam muttered. “Beaudry will never overhaul ’em if it was the Sontags.”
    â€œHim and his depities was sure crowdin’ their ponies as they sailed out of town,” another volunteered. “Damn near run me down!”
    Through the window Little Bill saw the group of men approaching. He recognized Sam quickly. He had placed his father’s body on the bed. Pausing to cover it with a sheet, he stepped to the door.
    â€œWhy, Bill, I didn’t know you had got in!” Sam exclaimed, heaving asthmatically. “Is—is anythin’ wrong?”
    He found the question almost unnecessary, for Little Bill’s grim face was an answer in itself.
    â€œHe’s dead, Sam,” he said. “They got him down the arroyo a ways.”
    â€œNo, you don’t say!” Swift shook his head sadly and made a little clucking noise with his tongue. Usually a garrulous man, he had no words with which to express himself at a moment like this.
    Save for a muttered curse or gasp of surprise the others were strangely inarticulate too. They had all been in the crowd that had shouted Waco’s praises in the Longhorn the previous evening. They found it hard to believe that he was gone so soon.
    â€œIf there’s anythin’ we can do,” Sam volunteered soberly, “you know we’ll be only too willin’.” He glanced at the others for corroboration. They were quick to voice it.
    â€œI sent for Luther,” Little Bill told them. “We’ll have a look down the arroyo as soon as he comes and see what we can find.”
    â€œI guess it’s no question but what it was the Sontags,” said Sam. “Your pa didn’t have no enemies other than them. Beaudry and Chilton and a couple more have fanned it out of town already, saying they was goin’ to cut ’em off.”
    Little Bill’s head went up.
    â€œBeaudry? What does he know about this?”
    â€œJoe here can tell you more than me. He says he was talkin’ to him,” Sam replied. “What was it he said, Joe?”
    â€œWhy, I reached for my pants as soon as I heard the shootin’,” the man explained. “It took me a few minutes to get down to the street. I was just turnin’ the corner by the Longhorn when Beaudry and Chilton fanned it out of the alley beside the sheriff’s office. I asked them what the shootin’ was about. Cash yelled back that the Sontags had come in for Waco and that he was goin’ to cut ’em off if he could.”
    â€œSo that’s the way it was, eh?” Little Bill ground out threateningly. “I’ll sure look into that!”
    â€œWhy, what do you mean, Bill?” Sam inquired.
    â€œI mean it don’t go with me at all! How did he come to be on the job so quick? Looks to me like he was waitin’ for it to happen!”
    â€œWell, I ain’t no great booster for Beaudry,” Sam remarked.