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It was one of those far removed towns which are the last stand of the lawless, the ultimate breastwork before the final ditch into which in his hour the gunfighter has finally gone down. Desperate characters, men wanted in two states and perhaps in many more, flocked here where they found the one chance to live out their riotous lives riotously.
He had been searching for a man who could "shoot," he had said. Ferguson had interpreted this to mean that he desired to employ a gunfighter who would not scruple to kill any man he pointed out, whether innocent or guilty. He had had some experience with unscrupulous ranch managers, and he had admired them very little. Therefore, during the ride today, his lips had curled sarcastically many times.
She did not open her lips until Uncle Jepson had concluded, and then she murmured a low "Oh!" and sat rigid, gripping the arms of her chair. "An' that ain't all, it ain't half of it!" pursued Uncle Jepson vindictively. "Do you know that Masten set that Watt Kelso, the gunfighter, on Randerson?" He looked at Ruth, saw her start and draw a long breath, and he grinned triumphantly.
"I ain't sayin' you're a liar, but what you've said makes you liable to be called that until you've proved you ain't. How do you know Ferguson's been hired to put me out of business?" Leviatt laughed. "Stafford an' me went to Dry Bottom to get a gunfighter. I shot a can in the street in front of the Silver Dollar so's Stafford would be able to get a line on anyone tryin' to beat my game.
And drawing closer his right hand gripped his gun and the trembling passion of the gunfighter set him shuddering. "You're armed, Garry. Go for your gun!" "No, no!" "Then I'll give you cause to fight." And as he spoke, he drew back his massive arm and with his open hand smote Donnegan heavily across the face. The weight of that blow crushed the little man against the wall.
An' then, one night, after Red Owen had been cuttin' up some monkey shines, he talked fresh an' pulled his gun. He was a regular gunfighter, ma'am; he'd been hired to put me out of business." There was an appeal in his eyes that did not show in his voice; and it would be all the appeal that he would make. Looking fixedly at him, she became certain of that. "Do you know who hired him?"
The prisoner was defended by ex-Judge G. F. Harris, E. V. Spencer and John E. Raker. Soon after the trial began Judge Post sent for a noted gunfighter named Danny Miller.
If he was a friend of the brother why had he suggested that Stafford employ a gunfighter to shoot him? Here was more mystery. On a day soon after the departure of the wagon outfit he rode away through the afternoon sunshine. Not long did his thoughts dwell upon the mystery of the range boss and Ben Radford. He kept seeing a young woman kneeling in front of him, bathing and binding his foot.
The doctor, haunted by the deep, fiery eyes of the gunfighter, stepped into the room to minister to his patient. He had a vague feeling that, if Bull Hunter died, Pete Reeve would blame him for lack of care. In truth, Pete seemed ready to blame everyone. He threatened to destroy the whole village if a dog was allowed to howl in the night, or if the baby next door were permitted to cry in the day.
"I seen him to-day; him an' her holdin' hands on top of a hill in Bear Flat." He sneered. "He's a better ladies' man than a gunfighter. I reckon we made a mistake in pickin' him up." Stafford smiled indulgently. "He's cert'nly a good looker," he said. "I reckon some girls would take a shine to him.
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