Free Bowdrie's Law (Ss) (1983) by Louis L'amour Page A

course was to depend on neither. The problem was his, to be solved here and now. Even if the message got through, there was small chance they would arrive in time. If they did, an arrest might be made without a fight through sheer numbers, but considering the type of men he was facing, even that was doubtful. Chick Bowdrie preferred to make arrests without trouble, but such occasions were rare in a land where the border was so near, escape so possible.
    Undoubtedly the robbery had been pulled off by Red Bishop and the Decker-Latham outfit.
    John Bishop and Hardy Young had no doubt planned it, knowing of the money in the bank and choosing the time. Riders would attract no attention on Bishop's ranch, and there was plenty of cover for going and coming.
    Due to the sheriff's recollection, Bowdrie knew how the bandits had arrived as well as where the shot came from that was meant to kill him.
    The afternoon was warm and still. No breath of wind stirred the thick dust in the long, hot street. The false-fronted buildings across the street looked parched and gray.
    Bowdrie mopped sweat from his face, loosened his neckerchief, then sat down behind the desk. There was a bucket of water in the shadowed bedroom, but no food.
    Food did not worry him. This fight would be history before he had a chance to be hungry again.
    He hoped to kill no one, but he was alone against five or six desperate men who had hown their style in torturing Phillips.
    Nor could he expect help from the town. None of them would believe Bishop was a thief.
    Nor did they know Borrow was murdered. There was a pot of coffee on the stove. Hot though it was outside, he poured a cup. It was strong and bitter, but he liked it.
    Down the street he heard a few steps on the boardwalk, then silence. Well, if he got himself killed, he had no family to worry about it. He was a loner. His family was the Rangers, his world was his job.
    Ellen . .. now there was a likely lass. But even if she were interested in him, how could he ask any girl to marry a man who might end up on a slab at any moment? Still, a lot of the Rangers were married, and happily, too.
    Bowdrie walked back to the cells, and keeping his head from in front of the small window, he peered out. There was a pile of scrap lumber back there, and watching it, he saw the grass stir. So they had a man out there, too.
    He walked back to the office, and at that moment Bishop called out, "Bowdrie? Step over here a minute, will you? I've got something to show you."
    "Bring it over here, John," Chick called back. "I'm not going to make it that easy for you."
    He was impatient for them to get on with it. He had lain for hours without moving when stalking someone, but when the chips were down, he disliked waiting.
    "Whoever fired that shot from the rocks gave you away, John!" he called out. "I know all about that old watercourse now!"
    Somebody swore and Bishop stepped back out of sight. Then there was silence.
    Bishop was handling this all wrong. He had the total sympathy of the townspeople, but now they would begin to wonder. Why was John Bishop, their mayor and leading citizen, trying to kill a Texas Ranger? Bowdrie had yelled, hoping others would be listening, and wondering now.
    In the midst of the stillness Bowdrie had a sudden inspiration. Taking a couple of rawhide riatas Borrow had hanging on the clothes tree, he knotted one over a nail over the door to the bedroom, and crawling across the floor, knotted the other end over a nail near the outside door.
    Crawling back, he took a turn around the doorknob, rigging a crude pulley. Then he fastened the end of his riata through an armhole of Borrow's poncho in such a way that by pulling on the riata he could make it move by the window. The light was such that anyone outside would see movement but could not detect who or what it was unless standing right outside.
    He pulled the poncho opposite the window, then pulled again. Instantly the poncho jerked and a rifle bellowed.