in the private war between Gib bons' Militia and Tom Buchanan—only a ceasefire, and that arranged by Malcolm Lord.
It was done by an ultimatum, delivered sternly.
"Have you taken leave of your senses, Captain?" the rancher demanded, his voice outraged.
"Lower your voice, sir," Gibbons retorted, his own temper on a very short fuse. "This is a question of prin ciple. I'll brook no interference."
"All right, then! Keep after that fellow in there, whoever he is! I'm told you've already wounded him badly, but keep on with the hunt, Captain —and when you've finally killed him take your fine militia out of Scotstown and keep it out!"
"We have an arrangement, Lord . . ."
"Had/ Do you think I could possibly go through with any proposition if you continue? I brought you here to clear the country of hostile Mexicans. My motives are valid. But, great God, do you think I can sponsor your troops if this is how they work? Either withdraw from this sorry affair immediately or go your way alone."
Rarely did Black Jack Gibbons decline a challenge, or swallow an angry reply, but he did so now —and for a very practical reason. Unknown to Malcolm Lord, Gibbons' Militia was in perilous financial condition. Its commander had ample funds and a few lucky camp gamblers, but some forty-odd men hadn't been paid in a month, and the monthly payroll was a sizable four thousand dollars. Nor, if he should lose this "commission" in the Big Bend, would he be able to meet next month's payroll. Gibbons needed Lord's ten thousand very badly—and whatever else he could get his hands on.
So he called off the siege of Smith's hardware store, but not without some face-saving. With Malcolm Lord and Doc Church as intermediaries, Gibbons had him self escorted inside the store and into the backroom where Buchanan had been carried. There, besides the uncon scious man, and Mulchay, he found Rosemarie MacKay, Billy Neale, Hamlin, Macintosh, and Smith himself.
"Give up, have ye, Black Jack?" asked the belligerent little Angus. "Or are ye just stallin' for time?"
"Be quiet, Mulchay!" Lord told him. "The captain has something he wants to say."
"I'll be brief," Gibbons said, shifting his steady glance from the face and figure of the girl to include them all. "You've seen fit to give aid and comfort to an enemy of mine. In this instance —since you in the Big Bend aren't fully aware of the important services my men are render ing the great state of Texas, the sacrifices they are mak ing to protect your women, your children and your property from the ravaging Mexican bands—in this in stance I'll overlook the matter and take no reprisal.
"As for him," Gibbons went on, looking to the bloody figure on the cot, "I can grant no such amnesty." “Y e mean ye'd still kill the lad?" Mulchay demanded.
"I give him safe conduct out of Scotstown," Gibbons said. "It expires in twenty-four hours, at midnight to morrow —and from one minute past midnight he'll be killed'on sight."
With that Gibbons swung on his heel and stalked out. Lord followed Doc Church to where Buchanan lay, looked on as the medico listened for a heartbeat.
"Rough-looking customer you got there, Doc," the rancher said, frowning. "Wouldn't want to meet him in the dark."
"Don't say such a thing," Rosemarie protested with heat. "He's as gentle as a kitten."
"Killed two and wounded two," Lord said. "And hasn't been in town three hours."
"And arrived unarmed, Malcolm Lord," Mulchay put in. "Looking for a sociable drink and a little poker- playing until your friend the butcher turned his dogs loose on him."
Lord paid no attention to him. "I'd advise you all," he said, "and especially you, young lady, to get shut of this fellow immediately. He's bad medicine, mark my words . . ."
"Beats me," Doc Church said, breaking in. "This horse's heart is hammering away like he was no more than sleeping real heavy. Somebody get me some rags and a pan of water." Rosemarie hurried off and the doctor turned to the
It was done by an ultimatum, delivered sternly.
"Have you taken leave of your senses, Captain?" the rancher demanded, his voice outraged.
"Lower your voice, sir," Gibbons retorted, his own temper on a very short fuse. "This is a question of prin ciple. I'll brook no interference."
"All right, then! Keep after that fellow in there, whoever he is! I'm told you've already wounded him badly, but keep on with the hunt, Captain —and when you've finally killed him take your fine militia out of Scotstown and keep it out!"
"We have an arrangement, Lord . . ."
"Had/ Do you think I could possibly go through with any proposition if you continue? I brought you here to clear the country of hostile Mexicans. My motives are valid. But, great God, do you think I can sponsor your troops if this is how they work? Either withdraw from this sorry affair immediately or go your way alone."
Rarely did Black Jack Gibbons decline a challenge, or swallow an angry reply, but he did so now —and for a very practical reason. Unknown to Malcolm Lord, Gibbons' Militia was in perilous financial condition. Its commander had ample funds and a few lucky camp gamblers, but some forty-odd men hadn't been paid in a month, and the monthly payroll was a sizable four thousand dollars. Nor, if he should lose this "commission" in the Big Bend, would he be able to meet next month's payroll. Gibbons needed Lord's ten thousand very badly—and whatever else he could get his hands on.
So he called off the siege of Smith's hardware store, but not without some face-saving. With Malcolm Lord and Doc Church as intermediaries, Gibbons had him self escorted inside the store and into the backroom where Buchanan had been carried. There, besides the uncon scious man, and Mulchay, he found Rosemarie MacKay, Billy Neale, Hamlin, Macintosh, and Smith himself.
"Give up, have ye, Black Jack?" asked the belligerent little Angus. "Or are ye just stallin' for time?"
"Be quiet, Mulchay!" Lord told him. "The captain has something he wants to say."
"I'll be brief," Gibbons said, shifting his steady glance from the face and figure of the girl to include them all. "You've seen fit to give aid and comfort to an enemy of mine. In this instance —since you in the Big Bend aren't fully aware of the important services my men are render ing the great state of Texas, the sacrifices they are mak ing to protect your women, your children and your property from the ravaging Mexican bands—in this in stance I'll overlook the matter and take no reprisal.
"As for him," Gibbons went on, looking to the bloody figure on the cot, "I can grant no such amnesty." “Y e mean ye'd still kill the lad?" Mulchay demanded.
"I give him safe conduct out of Scotstown," Gibbons said. "It expires in twenty-four hours, at midnight to morrow —and from one minute past midnight he'll be killed'on sight."
With that Gibbons swung on his heel and stalked out. Lord followed Doc Church to where Buchanan lay, looked on as the medico listened for a heartbeat.
"Rough-looking customer you got there, Doc," the rancher said, frowning. "Wouldn't want to meet him in the dark."
"Don't say such a thing," Rosemarie protested with heat. "He's as gentle as a kitten."
"Killed two and wounded two," Lord said. "And hasn't been in town three hours."
"And arrived unarmed, Malcolm Lord," Mulchay put in. "Looking for a sociable drink and a little poker- playing until your friend the butcher turned his dogs loose on him."
Lord paid no attention to him. "I'd advise you all," he said, "and especially you, young lady, to get shut of this fellow immediately. He's bad medicine, mark my words . . ."
"Beats me," Doc Church said, breaking in. "This horse's heart is hammering away like he was no more than sleeping real heavy. Somebody get me some rags and a pan of water." Rosemarie hurried off and the doctor turned to the
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