Free Trigger Gospel by Harry Sinclair Drago Page A

out. “You get that wagon rollin’ out of here, Maverick! There’ll be hell to pay in a muinte!”
    Neither the mare nor the gelding wanted to enter the house. It took precious seconds to get them inside. Maverick had leaped to the seat of the wagon and was lashing the team into a run.
    Inside the old stone house, roofless for many years, Little Bill and Luther waited grimly for the attack. To their surprise, minutes passed without bringing a shot or summons to surrender. The creaking of the wagon had died away in the distance.
    â€œYou couldn’t have been mistaken, Luther?” Bill asked.
    â€œNot a chance! They’re here! Crawlin’ up behind that ridge like as not!” He flicked a glance at his brother. “You got any idea what we’re goin’ to do if they try to rush us?”
    â€œThey’ll have a time gettin’ us out of here,” said Bill.
    â€œThat ain’t answerin’ me! Are we goin’ to shoot to kill—that’s what I want to know! You can figger what it means if we do. It will put us outside the law for the rest of our lives.”
    â€œI know it,” Little Bill muttered gloomily. “Our hand is bein’ forced, but it ain’t my idea to shoot these men down if it can be helped; though killin’ is what they need. They won’t make much of an attempt to take us alive. If he can wash us out legally, Beaudry will do it.”
    â€œNo doubt of it, Bill. With no witnesses around, I’m thinkin’ we wouldn’t git very far if we walked out of here with our hands in the air. It’s askin’ a lot of a man to expect him to hold off when he’s facin’ a bunch that’s dead set on wipin’ him out. But that’s what we’ve got to do.”
    Luther stationed himself to defend the door. Little Bill took the window. In just a second or two, Beaudry hailed them.
    â€œWe got you birds dead to rights!” he yelled. “I’m callin’ on yuh to give yourselves up! I’ve got a warrant for yuh, Bill Stillings! Yuh better throw your guns away and walk out with your hands up! Do yuh hear me?”
    â€œWe hear yuh all right!” Bill answered. “We ain’t givin’ ourselves up to you, Beaudry!”
    â€œYou’re resistin’ arrest!” Cash yelled. “If you ain’t out of there in ten seconds we’ll smoke yuh out!”
    He counted ten. It was the signal for a crashing volley. The slugs ricocheted wickedly off the stone walls.
    â€œThey’re all behind the ridge,” Bill told Luther. “Don’t get too near the door; they’ve got their guns trained on it!”
    For the next twenty minutes the posse poured a hail of lead into the house. The air began to reek with the acrid fumes of burnt powder. The blue haze of gun smoke drifted in through the open door and window. Six-gun and the mare didn’t like it at all. Little Bill and Luther still held their fire.
    â€œWe better show ’em we know how to shoot,” Luther argued, “or they’ll think we don’t intend to. First thing we know they’ll try to reach that tree out there. If they do, it’ll be pretty hot for us in here.”
    The tree to which he referred stood halfway down the slope. A man could reach it from the top in ten strides. On the heels of another withering volley, Blackie Chilton leaped over the crest and made a rush for the cottonwood. From the house two streams of fire flashed through the haze.
    Chilton changed his mind in a hurry. In his anxiety to get back to cover he whirled so swiftly that he threw his gun away. He disappeared behind the ridge in a dive that landed him on his nose.
    â€œDidn’t touch him,” Luther grinned owlishly, “but I bet he felt them slugs burnin’ him as they went by.”
    â€œThey’ll try it again,” said Little Bill. “Come at us in two ways the next time. If this smoke gets