“You most certainly did,” said Lucia crisply.
“No,” said Grawson, shaking his head, the word indistinct, protesting.
“Most certainly you did,” said Lucia. “You told him Mr. Chance would not fire. Obviously you knew this to be incorrect. Thus, knowingly, you sent your brother to his death and thus, clearly, it is you who killed him.”
Suddenly Grawson screamed and swung the gun on Lucia eyes wild face hideous jerking she twisting screaming Chance leaping striking the weapon it firing four times three times into the wall of the soddy once into the air.
With his right hand Chance, weak from the loss of blood, tried desperately to bang onto the barrel. His left arm was all but useless. Lucia scrambled for a stick of wood near the wall for a club. Grawson tore the barrel from Chance’s hand, cutting the palm of his hand, a bloody line, with the weapon’s sight.
Grawson, breathing heavily, stood covering them both with the weapon, his back to the threshold of the soddy.
They had lost.
“I get it,” said Grawson. “A trick,” he said, “a good trick.” He drew a long breath. “It didn’t work,” he said. He eyed them. “You’re both killers,” he said. “Both of you.”
“Not the girl,” said Chance, “not her.”
“Her too,” said Grawson, sweating. He looked at Lucia. “You’d kill me, wouldn’t you, Lady, if you had the chance, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” said Lucia. “I would.”
“Her too,” said Grawson. “She’s a killer, too. Both of you.” He wiped his glistening face with the back of his left hand. He looked at them. “I am the law,” he said. “I am justice. I do not swerve. I do not yield. I am an eagle with arrows in my claws.”
Chance looked at him, feeling sick.
Grawson pointed his gun at him. “You killed Frank, didn’t you?” he said.
Chance said nothing.
Grawson turned the gun toward Lucia.
Chance thought he heard the snort of a horse, some yards away, outside.
“Yes,” said Chance, “I killed him.”
“Guilty,” said Grawson. He looked at Lucia. “You,” he said. “Lady, you’d kill me if you could, wouldn’t you?”
“No, she wouldn’t,” said Chance.
“Yes,” said Lucia, “if I had the opportunity I would most certainly kill you.”
Grawson looked at her. “Guilty,” he said.
“What are you going to do to her?” asked Chance.
“I am the law,” said Grawson.
Then he looked at Chance and shook his head. “I’m not an Indian,” he said, “or a bad man-I won’t do anything to her-nothing like that just kill her-only that.”
Chance closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.
“Believe me,” said Grawson.
“I believe you,” said Chance.
Suddenly Lucia gasped. Chance, too, saw it.
Then it seemed to Grawson that Chance was strangely calm, for a man about to die.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Chance.
The side of Grawson’s face moved, not pleasantly. “I am the law,” he said. He moved the pistol to cover Chance. The barrel seemed to waver. His hand trembled. His face was ugly to watch. He lifted the gun to Chance’s chest.
“Do not fire,” said Running Horse.
Grawson felt the barrel of a rifle push into the back of his neck, at the base of the skull.
“I saw the tracks of a horse,” said Running Horse. “I came back.”
Lucia fainted.
Chance stumbled forward, took Grawson’s gun, tried to catch his breath.
Chapter Twenty-three
Chance looked at the bloody line on his right hand where the gun sight had cut him. He moved his fingers. He placed his own gun, taken from Grawson’s belt, and Grawson’s gun on the scarred, blackened kitchen table, checked them both over.
Grawson, for some reason, seemed calm, standing there with his hands up; his face was utterly calm, almost strong and handsome.
“I will kill him now,” said Running Horse.
“Shoot,” said Grawson.
“No,” said Chance.
Then only did Grawson’s face move, once, angrily.
“I do my own killing,” said Chance, dropping his pistol into his holster, lifting it out, dropping it again. Then he approached Grawson and placed the man’s weapon in his holster.
“You’re a killer,” said Grawson.
“That’s right,” said Chance.
“Let me kill him now,” asked Running Horse.
Chance regarded the young Indian. “No,” he said, kindly, “twice, my Brother, you have saved me from this man.” He smiled at Running Horse. Then he said, “Now Medicine Gun fights.”
Chance went to Lucia, who lay near the back wall of the soddy, still unconscious. He lifted her in his arms and kissed her, then laid her back on the snowy floor. It was better that she did not see what must be done.
Under the gun of Running Horse, Lester Grawson, his hands up, left the soddy.
Chance, and Grawson, followed by Running Horse, went some forty yards from the soddy, in front of it. “Stand here,” said Chance to Grawson. Then he paced off some twenty yards through the snow and turned to face Grawson. The line of fire would be parallel to the soddy, so that no stray bullet might strike the building. Running Horse, still covering Grawson, withdrew.
Grawson looked about wildly. He jerked his thumb at Running Horse. “How do I know that Indian won’t shoot me?” he asked.
“You don’t,” said Chance.
Grawson turned to Running Horse, and pointed at Chance. “That man killed my brother,” he said.
“Yes,” said Running Horse.
“So I have a right!” said Grawson.
“Yes,” said Running Horse.
“So if I kill him you won’t shoot me,” said Grawson.
“If you kill my Brother,” said Running Horse, “I will kill you.”
“He isn’t your brother,” shouted Grawson.
“He is my Brother,” said Running Horse.
“But you won’t shoot me,” said Grawson.
“If you kill my Brother,” said Running Horse, “I will kill you.”
“Why?” asked Grawson.
“It is my right,” said Running Horse.
Grawson looked at Chance.
“If I am killed,” said Chance, “do not hurt him.”
“No,” said Running Horse quietly.
“I ask it,” said Chance.
Running Horse looked at him, stricken.
“Please,” said Chance.
“I am Hunkpapa,” said Running Horse.
“Please,” said Chance.
Running Horse lowered his rifle. “If it is the wish of my Brother,” he said.
“It is my wish,” said Chance. Chance looked at Grawson. “If you win,” he said, “you’ll be safe.” Then he said, “But my Brother will protect the woman. If you try to hurt her he will kill you.”
“I don’t want the woman,” said Grawson.
“Edward,” Chance heard, Lucia’s voice, from the threshold of the soddy. He didn’t take his eyes off Grawson. “Stand clear,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her standing, in the buckskin dress, in front of the soddy, Running Horse now standing beside her.
Chance stood across the snow, some twenty yards from Grawson. The burned soddy, the woman and the Indian, were in the background. There wasn’t much wind. The sky was clear. It wouldn’t snow for a day or two most likely.
“All right,” said Chance.
Grawson was watching him, but he made no move to draw his weapon.
The two men stood facing one another.
“Draw,” said Chance.
Grawson would not move for his gun, but stood in the snow, almost to his knees, like a rock or a tree.
“I will fire one shot,” said Running Horse. “Then fight.”