"I hope he changes his mind about going to Reno's."
"He won't change his mind about that. Not if he has to go by himself," McGee declared with conviction.
On the sidewalk Sam gulped in the dry piny breeze and slowed his steps as he gathered his thoughts. He barely noticed the loiterers in front of The Mint as he breasted the batwings. The bar held a dozen or so men; Clay Bassett and Kenton stood apart at one end.
Sam headed directly 'for Clay, shaking his head at Leo. "Come outside, Clay," he said. "It's important." He ignored Kenton.
Out of the corner of his
eye
he saw Kenton look at Clay with a half smile on his face.
Clay toyed with his glass, not looking at Sam, nor moving from his lounging position, elbow on the bar, slack footed.
Sam raised his voice. "No time to lose, Clay," he said urgently. "Let's move, man!"
Sam was halfway to the door when he sensed Clay wasn't with him. He whirled and tramped back to the door. "What's the holdup?" he asked angrily.
"No holdup, Sam," Clay said flatly. "I'm not going." "You know what you're saying?"
"Sure. I quit, Sam.
I
don't work for Flag, not anymore
I
don't."
Sam looked intently at Kenton for the first time, saw the maddening smile that said more than words how Kenton was enjoying this.
"Want to fill me in, Clay?" Sam asked, struggling to control his temper.
"I don't want to talk about it, Sam. I'm just not Flag ramrod. Not anymore I'm not."
"Want to tell me what you are going to do?"
Clay grew sullen and didn't look at Sam. He wasn't enjoying this as much as he thought he would. "I'm filling in Alonzo Winner's unexpired term," he said. "Maybe I'll run on my own in the next election."
Sam stared unbelievingly. "Sheriff? Clay, you wouldn't make a pimple on a good sheriff's tail." He looked at Kenton, staring for long seconds and spoke to him: "You think you've pulled a woolly, Jesse."
"The job has got to be filled," Kenton said and turned back to his drink.
"Order up a few men, sheriff," Sam told Clay. "There's a mob going after Reno. As sheriff you ought to be on your way right now."
"Can't do it, Sam," Clay said. "Haven't been sworn in yet. Won't be 'til the circuit judge comes next week."
"You're worried about nothing, Sam," Kenton said. "These farmers are trashy yellow dogs. They haven't got guts enough to brace even old stingy, cowardly Reno Milser. You were always one to run off at the mouth, Sam."
"Kenton, you were always one to do the running but I think it's about ended. You're biting off a hunk of trouble and it's gonna choke you to death." He wheeled and tramped out.
Sam scuffed through the dust to Ora Ketterman's livery and had Ketterman saddle a fresh horse. He rode fast out of town, heading through the night toward Reno Milser's Running M. Heat lightning played with the peaks to the south and a rumble of thunder came faintly to him. He gathered no hope from this. There weren't enough clouds to hold a cupful of rain.
He hoped he wouldn't be too late to help Reno. The farmers had a good hour's start on him.
X
THE HORSE
Ketterman saddled for Sam was a rangy Appaloosa gelding. One touch of the spur was all that was needed and the night became a blur as the horse scattered across the range, the lights of Crossroad Corners dipping out of sight almost at once.
It was a wild, uncontrolled ride and horse and rider be- came one in the fierce, plunging flight under a velvet canopy of diamond-studded brilliance.
Sam could hear the mob even before he reached the ranch. It was a sound like the wind roaring in trees, gradually growing louder. The horse flung itself around a low pine-dotted butte and there was Milser's place. The horse, sensing an end to the ride, surged toward the blazing fire in front of Reno's big barn. Reno was standing beside the fire, arms bound to his side, glassy-eyed, surrounded by more than a dozen men. With a shock Sam saw that a tripod of three poles had been erected and Reno was standing in the center of this tripod with a rope around his neck.
Sam yelled and set his spurs and went through the crowd, swinging his pistol like a club. A man leaped up and wrapped his arms around Sam from behind and dragged him from the horse. They rolled and thrashed beneath the trampling hoofs. The horse uttered a terrified whinny and bolted away. Hands clawed and struck at Sam as he broke away, aware of the savage, roaring animal sounds, and Reno's suddenly frenzied screams of hope.
Gaining his feet, Sam staggered to meet them. He had lost his pistol and blind with rage he slugged anyone near him, knocking men asprawl, but they engulfed him, dragging him to the ground, holding him helpless.
A big bearded man near Reno kicked the nail keg on which the rancher was standing. Reno dropped but the drop wasn't enough to break his neck; he writhed, kicking and struggling while the mob roared their hatred. One man leaped out, grabbing the struggling body and yanked down. The crowd sound stopped suddenly at this act. There was a moment of silence broken only by a sharp, snapping sound. The man stepped away and Reno's body hung limp.
Sam lay there on the ground, bruised and dazed. The mob was quiet now. Their victim was dead and they drew away, going back to their horses and rigs that had brought them there on vengeance bent.
A thin man sitting on the ground raised his head, looking at Sam. Slowly he got to his feet and came over to Sam.
"My name is Hurt. They hung Reno 'count o' my datter. Hung him just like they butcher a damn pig."
Sam shook his head.
Hurt continued, "You better come in the cabin and let m' wife look at your head. That bandage is all bloody."
He helped Sam to his feet and walked him to the cabin door. It was the foreman's cabin, Sam remembered hazily. He asked, "Where's Reno's men?"
"Reno let his men go when me and my fambly come," Hurt said. He pounded on the door. "Let me in, woman. They're all gone."
There was a sound of the bar being lifted and the door opened cautiously; a fat fearful-faced woman peered out. "It is youl" the woman cried and threw open the door. She saw Sam and made a motion to close it.
"Don't shet the door," Hurt said crossly. "This feller tried to save Reno. Guess he's lucky they didn't kill him, too."
Hurt guided Sam into the cabin. "You fix his head," he told his wife. "I'll go take Reno down."
Sam wiped a hand across his sweating face. It came away with blood on it.
"Sit right here," the woman said, pushing a chair up to the table. She rummaged in a sewing basket and found a pair of scissors with which she snipped the bandage loose from Sam's head. She bent to look at it. "Old wound's broke open," she said.
"Well, fix it," Hurt said and went out, closing the door behind him.
Sam was aware of the child sitting on the hearth then, looking wide-eyed and scared at him. This was the girl Reno would have married—if he'd lived.
The woman spoke to the child: "Judy, honey, you fix a pallet here on the floor for our mister hurt man to lie on."
"My name is Sam Harden," Sam mumbled, as the girl jumped up to do as she was told.
The girl brought a patchwork quilt and spread it before the fireplace. The woman said, "You better lie down there, Sam Harden, where I can get at it better."
She helped Sam to the quilt. He was glad to lie down despite the fact that a great restlessness was in him, pushing him like a hand at his back. He lay prone and closed his eyes. He had to be off, fast. There was George Balfont at the Limber Creek ranch. George would back him up and right now he felt the need for support.
But he was tired, too. His head ached. He opened his eyes and saw the woman kneeling beside him with a glass in her hand. "Here, drink this first," she said, looking at his torn clothing.