lla.theburninghills-第23章

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　〃Jack　Sutton；〃　she　said；　〃that　was　like　him。　And　Mort　Bayless；　I　think。　He　is　another。〃
　Trace　Jordan　went　to　the　pack　rat's　nest　for　fuel。　He　dropped　an　armful　near　the　fire　and　then　walked　around　the　fire　to　sit　down。　But　he　stopped　there；　looking　out　into　the　morning。
　Without　their　being　aware　of　it　the　sky　had　grown　lighter。　Outside　the　overhang　the　brush　and　trees　bent　stark　and　black　before　driving　sheets　of　rain。　Water　stood　on　the　desert　in　scattered　pools　that　reflected　the　vague　light；　pools　like　mirrors　of　steel　under　the　lowering　sky；　gray　and　black　with　rain…weighted　clouds。
　All　this　Jordan　saw。　All　that　and　something　more。　He　saw　also　five　rain…wet　horses　and　five　mounted　men　and　all　those　men　had　rifles　and　all　of　them　were　looking　at　him。
　So　。。。　this　far　they　had　e　and　this　close　…　and　all　for　nothing　at　all。
　He　stood　very　still；　yet　his　mind　reached　swiftly　forward。　As　at　all　such　times　the　minute　seems　to　stand　still　in　which　each　detail　is　impressed　upon　the　mind。
　He　recognized　the　blocky　man　with　the　hard　square　face　who　would　be　Ben　Hindeman。　The　narrow　features　of　old　Jacob　Lantz　and　there　were　others　whom　he　had　never　known　and　probably　would　never　know。　He　saw　their　horses　and　three　of　those　horses　had　belonged　to　him。
　He　saw　them　and　he　saw　their　guns　and　knew　the　chase　was　over。　He　knew　that　his　raincoat　was　open；　that　his　guns　were　at　his　thighs；　that　he　could　kill　one；　two　or　even　three　men　before　they　got　him。
　It　could　be　done。　It　had　been　done。　Mysterious　Dave　Mathers　had　killed　five　men　in　a　gun　battle　in　Dodge；　modore　Perry　Owen　had　shot　down　four　in　Holbrook。
　But　Maria　Cristina　sat　by　the　fire　close　to　him　and　she　might　be　hit　or　she　would　be　left　to　the　vengeance　of　those　who　did　not　fall。
　〃Howdy；　boys；〃　he　spoke　casually。　〃Kind　of　wet　out　there；　ain't　it？〃
　At　his　voice；　Maria　Cristina　looked　up。　Her　face　stiffened　with　shock　and　she　got　to　her　knees。
　The　heavy　man　in　the　slicker　studied　Jordan　through　the　rain。　It　was　no　wonder；　Hindeman　thought；　that　it　had　taken　so　long。　Lantz　was　right；　this　man　was　a　curly　wolf　。。。　with　his　back　to　the　wall。
　Jacob　Lantz　sat　a　little　apart。　He　sat　his　saddle；　looking　at　Jordan。
　〃You　killed　Old　Bob？〃　Hindeman　made　a　statement；　rather　than　asked　a　question。
　〃He　went　for　his　gun。〃
　〃But　you　killed　him　。。。　why？〃
　〃You　know　why。　He　was　riding　a　stolen　horse。　Stolen　from　me。〃　He　nodded　his　head　to　indicate　their　own　horses。　〃That　steeldust　is　mine；　so's　the　sorrel。　And　that　dun　answers　to　the　name　of　Pet。〃
　He　looked　at　the　horse。　〃Pet！〃　he　spoke　sharply。　The　dun's　head　came　up；　ears　pricked。
　The　riders　sat　silent。　Hindeman　was　unmoved　but　Joe　Sutton　had　a　guilty　feeling。　No　question　about　it；　these　horses　had　been　stolen　and　from　this　man。　The　feeling　touched　them　all　and　made　them　uneasy；　less　sure　of　their　ground。
　〃Makes　no　difference　now；〃　Hindeman　said。　〃We're　goin'　to　hang　you。〃
　〃Don't　say　we　。。。　there's　three；　maybe　four　of　you　aren't　goin'　to　hang　me。　Maybe　none　of　you　will。　Wait　until　the　shootin's　over。。。　plenty　of　time　to　talk　about　hangin'〃
　Ben　Hindeman　studied　the　man　and　Ben　was　no　fool。　They　were　five　to　one　。。。　unless　the　girl　declared　herself　in　and　it　was　likely　she　would。　She　had　been　quick　enough　to　take　a　shot　at　Jack；　that　day。
　Five　to　one。　They　had　their　rifle　muzzles　down；　for　the　discovery　of　the　hiding　place　had　been　sheer　accident。　They　had　only　to　lift　their　rifles　but　this　man　had　only　to　draw；　and　Ben　Hindeman　knew　any　man　who　could　beat　Old　Bob　on　an　even　break　and　who　could　outguess　Jack　Sutton　would　be　fast　and　sure。
　No　question　about　it；　somebody　was　going　to　die　if　shooting　started。
　〃You　throw　down　your　guns；〃　he　said；　〃then　the　girl　won't　get　hurt。〃
　〃No！〃
　Maria　Cristma's　voice　laid　across　the　morning　like　a　whip。　〃Do　not　do　it！　They　will　only　kill　you！　If　you　put　down　the　guns；　I　will　shoot！〃
　Ben　Hindeman　sat　stolidly　on　his　horse　in　the　hard　falling　rain。　For　the　first　time　in　his　life　he　was　utterly　at　a　stalemate。
　Maria　Cristina　would　shoot　and　she　had　a　rifle。　They　might　kill　her　but　Ben　Hindeman　could　not　see　a　woman　killed。　Not　like　this。
　He　looked　from　the　woman　to　the　man；　this　lean　fierce　unbeatable　man；　his　face　haggard　and　unshaved；　his　back　to　the　wall。。。　but　ready。
　And　this　woman　who　stood　now；　her　feet　apart；　her　body　poised　to　move；　her　eyes　wide　and　beautiful　but　dangerous。
　He　knew　with　a　kind　of　sickness　that　men　would　die　here　and　a　woman。　And　that　never　again　would　he　ever　look　any　man　in　the　face　without　shame　if　she　were　killed。　He　looked　at　Jordan　and　for　a　long　minute　their　eyes　held　and　Hindeman　knew　with　a　sense　of　failure　that　there　was　no　way　out。
　Nor　did　he　have　any　false　heroics　about　him。　He　was　under　no　necessity　to　prove　his　courage　and　dying　here　today　would　prove　nothing。
　This　was　not　the　way　he　had　planned　it。　To　ride　a　man　down；　to　trap　him；　to　kill　him　in　a　blaze　of　gunfire。　That　was　another　thing。
　But　here　was　a　showdown　and　Ben　Hindeman　was　a　man　who　knew　how　to　retreat。
　〃Mind　if　we　e　in　out　of　the　rain？〃　he　asked　mildly。
　There　was　no　other　word　spoken　for　a　long　minute　and　in　that　minute　Jacob　Lantz　started　to　walk　his　horse。　He　started　slow　but　he　was　walking　away。　Whatever　he　had　seen；　the　others　had　not。
　He　was　getting　out　of　the　line　of　fire。　And　he　had　promised　he　would　do　just　that。　〃No；　by　God！〃
　Across　the　stillness　of　the　morning　Mort　Bayless'　voice　lashed　like　a　bull　whip。　And　as　he　spoke；　he　grabbed　for　his　gun。
　Of　them　all；　he　alone　did　not　have　a　rifle　in　his　hand　and　it　was　he　who　chose　to　open　the　ball。　He　recognized；　in　Ben　Hindeman's　quiet　question；　a　yielding　and　his　hand　struck　down　for　the　gun。
　Trace　Jordan　saw　it　all；　saw　it　clearly　and　sharply。　The　black　figures　of　the　men　etched　against　the　slate…gray　sky　of　morning；　the　driving　rain；　the　horses　darkened　by　rain；　the　ground　steel…gray　and　glistening。　He　caught　the　essence　of　the　moment　in　that　instant；　that　nickering　fragment　of　time　when　Mort　Bayless'　drive　to　kill　pushed　them　over　the　brink　they　sought　to　avoid。
　Mort　grabbed　wildly。　His　hand　caught　his　gun　butt　and　the　edge　of　his　slicker。　In　any　event；　he　would　not　have　made　it　in　time。　A　bullet　smashed　him　through　the　body　and　as　he　slid　from　the　saddle　and　his　horse　sprang　from　under　him；　a　second　bullet　drilled　a　neat　blue　hole　in　his　skull。
　And　then　for　a　brief　moment　the　lightning　of　the　guns　replaced　the　lightning　of　the　storm　and　the　stillness　following　the　thunder　was　filled　by　the　hard　sharp　reports　of　the　guns。
　In　the　split　second　after　Mort's　voice；　Jordan　thought　Hindeman　gave　a　sort　of　groan　and　Jordan　knew　a　sort　of　sympathy　for　a　man　saddled　with　such　panions。
　A　moment…and　it　was　over；　a　moment　of　brutal　smashing　gunfire。　Mort；　knocked　from　his　horse；　hit　the　ground　in　a　pool　of　water。　The　man　behind　him；　knocked　off　balance；　was　momentarily　out　of　action。
　Trace　Jordan　had　fired　at　Mort　Bayless　and　then　threw　himself　aside　and　took　a　quick　shot　at　Ben　Hindeman；　knowing　he　was　the　toughest　and　most　dangerous　man。　Hindeman　took　the　bullet　and　was　knocked　lopsided　in　the　saddle；　his　gun　going　off　into　the　ground。
　From　the　ground　near　him　Jordan　heard　the　wicked　blast　of　the　Winchester　73。　He　felt　a　bullet　from　somewhere　tear　at　his　shoulder　and　steadied　himself　for　another　shot　at　Hindeman。　The　man　knocked　off　balance　by　Bayless'　fall　was　lying　still。　Jordan　fired　again　and　then　threw　himself　away　from　the　girl　to　draw　fire　from　her。　She　shot　from　the　ground　again　and　then　a　bullet　from　Hindeman　spat　rock　into　his　face　and　he　shot　the　big　man　a　second　time。
　A　man　on　a　lunging　horse　swung　the　horse　around　and　lifted　his　gun　to　chop　a　shot。　Jordan　and　Maria　Cristina　fired　at　the　same　instant　and　the　man　threw　up　his　hands。
　The　horse　broke　into　a　plunging　run　and　the　rider　stayed　with　him　for　six　or　seven　jumps；　then　spilled　off；　arms　and　legs　thrown　wide　to　hit　with　a　splash　of　water　like　a　doll　thrown　carelessly。　The　man　lay　sprawled　and　wet　and　dead。
　So　quickly　it　happened；　so　quickly　it　was　over。　A　moment　of　madness　laced　by　gunfire；　a　moment　of　thundering　guns　and　spitting　lead；　and　then　only　the　quiet　and　the　r