Текст книги "Sliphammer"

Автор книги: Brian Garfield

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

His eyes cleared and he saw Wyatt Earp, still as granite, watching him over the muzzle of the cocked gun.

The voice beyond was still roaring-Sheriff McKesson’s voice. Tree held the hammer back, his glance locked with Wyatt Earp’s. Earp’s eyes flashed very wide, once, and slowly he lowered the gun without firing.

In the gully below, there was a ragged aftervolley of gunfire, and then stillness. McKesson’s loud voice rode across the flats, calling for calm. The sheriff came in sight on his horse, his hawked, predatory face grim under the white thatch of hair; he had a rifle in one hand and a revolver in the other. Across the gully, Wyatt Earp stood with his gun held muzzledown in both fists; his arm was bleeding slowly. Josie and Caroline had quit wrestling; the. 38 lay in the center of the gully. Warren Earp had picked up a gun and was watching his brother for a lead. It was a stilled tableau. McKesson wheeled past on horseback, yelling at everybody, rounding up the miners and Cooley’s men and telling them the war was over, the leaders dead.

Uncertain, Tree got upright and sprinted across the gully. No one shot at him. Josie moved toward Wyatt and began to fuss with his arm. Earp looked across the top of her head at Tree. McKesson clattered into the gully on his horse and yanked a document out of his shirt and tossed it down; it fluttered to Tree’s feet and Tree said, “What’s that?” in a stupid voice.

“Your goddamned warrant from the Lieutenant Governor,” McKesson said. “It’s no good. The Governor rescinded it. Cut the Earps loose-you’ve got no more authority to hold them.”

Tree had the impulse to laugh. Hysteria, he knew; he fought it down. Slowly, involuntarily, he reached down to pick up the mocking warrant. As he straightened he heard the sheriff say, “You might want to wipe your ass with it.”

The river ran along noisily. Up the steel tracks a train hooted on the downgrade and began to slow down a full mile away, responding to McKesson’s flag signal. The mountains, trees, men, horses all threw long shadows from the late sun. Wyatt Earp, on horseback with his arm made bulky by bandages, loomed against the cobalt sky, his face in shadow because the sun was behind him. Tree stood by the tracks with Caroline, squinting up at the Earps and McKesson. Young Warren looked badly shaken-his face was pale and his hands, lifting a canteen, were unsteady. McKesson had a disgusted look on his pitted face; the lip corners were turned sternly down. Of them all only Josie seemed unchanged, as if none of it had really touched her. She looked impatient to be getting on.

Tree glanced at the approaching train. Wyatt Earp was lifting his reins, adjusting them in his hand, and Tree said to him, “You had a chance to kill me-I think maybe you wanted to.”

“If you’re wondering why I didn’t-a life for a life,” Earp growled. “You saved my brother’s skin when you took Sparrow out. I pay my debts-always.”

Tree said, choosing his words with care, “Then if you didn’t owe me for that, you’d have shot me in the back.”

“You had it coming,” Earp said. His voice was strictly flat; it gave away nothing.

“Honor,” said Sheriff McKesson, “is for fools and story-book heroes.”

Tree said, “You’re dead wrong about that.”

McKesson shrugged. Wyatt Earp said, “Amigo, you had a lot of luck and you didn’t get killed. That kind of luck won’t hold out very long unless you learn how to be practical about things. Right and wrong are flexible ideas-you’ve got to learn how to count up the odds.”

The train was close, sliding on protesting wheels. Tree took Caroline’s hand and when the train stopped he handed her up to the coach platform and climbed onto the step behind her. The whistle hooted. Wyatt Earp made a vague, grave sort of hand salute and neck-reined his horse around; the four riders went toward the mountains, not hurrying; Josie and Warren were looking back. The train jerked and began to pick up speed. He stood gripping the handrails and felt Caroline’s hand on his arm; she said, “Do you still doubt which one of you was the better man?”

He gave her a quick, blank look. She said, “I think you’ve learned something about legends.”

He made a puzzled frown and looked up toward the mountains at the four riders. It was young Warren who hipped around in the saddle and, hesitantly, lifted his arm and waved. Tree didn’t answer the gesture. The train clattered along the Arkansas bank and Caroline moved close against him, warm and soft; she said, “Maybe they’ll write a dime novel about you.” When he looked at her he saw she was joking.