Free Trigger Gospel by Harry Sinclair Drago

over. You can see by the way he’s hangin’ on now that he means business. You might think we’d just hoisted a bank.”
    â€œI suppose somebody repeated to him what you said about linkin’ him up with the Sontags. He evidently figgers you can do it.”
    They were between three and four miles out of Bowie by now. It was their intention to intercept the Sawbuck wagon and get their rifles and blankets. According to their calculations, Maverick should be nearing Cain Springs.
    â€œWe’ll have to get some grub off Maverick,” said Little Bill. “We’ll head west then and make ourselves pretty hard to find for a few days.”
    Luther nodded and conversation died again for another ten minutes. Bill had thoughts of Martha Southard to temper his bitterness; Luther was not so fortunate.
    â€œI’ll never forget her comin’ to warn me,” Bill murmured to himself. “Some people are sure to talk me down and give me a bad name for this. I don’t care what they say if it don’t turn her against me.”
    The country was beginning to change. The treeless level plain southwest of Bowie was giving — to rolling, scrub-covered hills. Bill turned in his saddle to find Beaudry and his posse far behind.
    â€œWe won’t change our course until we get in among the scrub,” he advised Luther. “They’ll think we’re headin’ for the Strip. If they keep after us, that’s the way they’ll go, stayin’ close to the Cimarron bottoms.”
    In a few minutes they lost sight of the posse and swung to the south for the springs. The gelding hadn’t raised a sweat. The mare Luther was riding was flecked with lather. She had evidently been on hard grain for weeks and had had far too little exercise. She was strong, however, and would toughen up in a hurry.
    An old stone house that dated back to the days of the Texas trail stood under the cottonwoods at Cain Springs. The Sawbuck wagon stood drawn up before it as Luther and Little Bill rode in. Maverick was watering his horses. He dropped his bucket on catching sight of them and stared his surprise.
    â€œWhat’s the idea of this?” he demanded banter-ingly. “You git chased out of town?”
    â€œThat’s exactly what happened,” Bill informed him. “A lot of things have taken place since I saw you last, Maverick. We’re here to get our rifles and blankets. Want you to make us up a sack of grub too.”
    â€œHunh?” Maverick grunted as their soberness was communicated to him. “Why, you boys mean it!”
    â€œWe do, for a fact,” said Little Bill as he and Luther pulled their rolls out of the wagon. “I don’t know how much time we’ve got; just shake up anythin’ that’s handy. We can talk while you’re gettin’ it ready. You tell Tascosa we took this sack of cartridges.”
    Maverick threw some stuff together as Little Bill acquainted him with what had happened. Luther had walked back to a little ridge twenty-five yards beyond the house. He could see for some distance from the crest of it.
    â€œI’m sorry to hear all this, Bill,” Maverick asserted with a great wagging of his head. “You’re goin’ up against a bad bunch in them Sontags. I know some of ’em. You look out for Grat. He’s the kind what kills just to see a man kick. You got any plans?”
    â€œWe’ll make our plans as we go along, Maverick. If you’ve got that sack ready I’ll tie it on my saddle.”
    â€œThere it is! I’ll give yuh a little tobacco if—”
    He didn’t finish. Luther was running toward them.
    â€œBill, they’re comin’!” Luther shouted. “They got this place surrounded! The best thing we can do is git our horses inside the house and stand ’em off! Maybe we can slip out tonight!”
    â€œGrab your horse then and get him in !” Bill snapped