The Desperado (23 page)

I headed west again, higher into the hills, and not looking back at
the hill where Pappy lay. Pappy was gone. Nothing could be done about
that. First my pa, then Laurin, and now Pappy. I had lost them all, as
surely as if they were all dead, and in the back of my mind one name
kept burning my brain. Ray Novak.

I didn't bother to cover my tracks. I purposely left a trail that a
blind pilgrim could have followed, because I knew that before long Ray
Novak would be coming after me. It would be only a matter of hours
before he got his shoulder patched up, and I knew him well enough to
know that he wouldn't allow a posse to track me down. He would do it
himself. That was the kind of man he was. And that was the way I wanted
it—-just me and Ray Novak.

I found the place I wanted, a ragged bluff overlooking the lowland
trail that I had been following, but I traveled on past it for a mile
or more and then circled around to approach the bluff from the rear.

It was perfect for what I wanted to use it for. I could see all
approaches to the bluff, and anybody passing along the trail I had
taken would have to come within easy rifle range. That was the
important thing. All I had to do was wait.

And think.

I tried to keep my mind blank except for the job I had to do, but I
couldn't keep the thoughts dammed up any longer. I couldn't go on
shutting Laurin out of my mind and pretending that she never existed.
She had existed, but she didn't any more. Not for me. I had lost her,
and where she had once been there was only emptiness and bitterness. I
had to admit it sometime, and it might as well be now.

The hours were lonesome dragging things up there on the bluff, and
the wind was cold. The wind died as night came on, but the chill was
worse and I didn't dare risk a fire. There was nothing to do but wait.

The night became bitter cold, and a frost-white moon came out and
looked down upon the bluff. That night I learned what it was to be
alone. And I learned something else—that fear grows in lonely places.
I hadn't let myself think about it before, but now I began to wonder
why I had chosen this way to take out my hate on Ray Novak. Why didn't
I wait for him on the trail and face it out with him, the way I had
done with Buck Creyton?

The night and the moon, I suppose, had the answer. I was alone. And
nobody really gave a damn whether I lived, but a great many people were
wishing me dead. There was no comfort in anything except perhaps the
feel of my guns, but that wasn't much help. I could hear Pappy saying:
Maybe we're going to have more trouble than we ever saw before. Pappy
was dead, and Ray Novak was still alive. He damned near put a bullet in
me that day, Pappy had said, and probably he's learned some things
since then.

Then Ray himself saying: I won't be easy, Tall....

I was scared. Worse than that, I was scared and I wouldn't admit it.

Somehow the long night wore itself out, and dawn came at last, cold
and gray in the east. I got through the night without running, and that
was something. I wondered how many more nights there would be like that
one, and cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck.

But with the daylight it was better. The sun warmed me, and Pappy's
rifle had a comforting feel in my hands again. And, instinctively, I
knew that I wouldn't have much longer to wait.

But it was almost noon when I finally saw him. He came riding out of
the south, along the trail I had left for him, and suddenly I realized
that it would be so easy that I was amazed at the worrying I had done
the night before. The distance, I judged, was about two hundred yards—
not close, but plenty close enough if you had a rifle like Pappy's. I
took a practice aim, judging the distance and the wind, and adjusted
the leaf sight on the rifle.

I won't be easy, Tall, he'd said. Well, we'd see about that.

I waited until he reached the top of the grade before I brought him
into the sights again. And then I had him, the center of his chest
framed in the V of the rear sight, the knob of the front sight resting
on the bottom of his left shirt pocket. It was a beautiful thing, this
rifle of Pappy's. Once I had thought that a man would almost be glad to
get killed by a gun like that, if he had any kind of love for firearms.
I wondered how Ray Novak would feel about that.

I drew my breath in until my lungs had all they would take. Then I
held it. The sights were still on the target. All I had to do was
squeeze the trigger.

But I waited. A few seconds one way or the other wouldn't make any
difference. I studied the man in my gunsights, the man who had all the
things that could have been mine. Security, respect, and most important
of all, Laurin. If it hadn't been for Ray Novak, all of them could have
been mine. Now was the time to pull the trigger.

But I didn't. Sudden anger caused the rifle to waver, and I had to
let my breath out and go through the whole thing all over again.

Laurin ... I could have had her, if it hadn't been for him. Maybe I
could still have her, with Novak out of the way for good. But that
thought went out of my mind before it had time to form. She had showed
clearly enough what she felt for me—fear, and maybe a kind of pity. I
didn't want that.

For a moment, while the sights were settling again, I wondered what
Laurin would do, what she would say, when they brought Ray Novak's body
in with a bullet through his heart. I wondered if being hated was worse
than being feared.

I told myself to stop thinking. Squeeze the trigger, that was all I
had to do. But my finger didn't move. I had never thought of it that
way before. It was little enough, but at least she didn't hate me. Not
yet.

And she wasn't alone. That was important now, because I was beginning
to learn what it was to be alone. And I guess that was when I began to
understand that I wouldn't pull the trigger to kill Ray Novak. Somehow,
in killing him it would be like killing a part of Laurin....

I snapped the leaf sight down on the rifle. I'm sorry, Pappy. I guess
my guts are gone.

And up on that hilltop with the moaning wind and rattling grass, I
imagined that Pappy smiled that sad smile of his.

I watched Ray Novak until he was out of range, out of sight, and I
wondered emptily if he would keep looking for me until he finally found
me. As long as he was a United States marshal he would keep looking. I
knew that. The hurt and the hate would burn themselves out in time, but
not that sense of duty that the Novaks prided themselves on.

Then I had a sudden, strange feeling that, somewhere, Laurin wasn't
fearing me any more. Nor hating me. It occurred to me that a man didn't
have to stay a United States marshal—especially if his wife was
against it.

But there was little comfort in the thought. If it wasn't Novak,
there would always be others. The army, the sheriffs, the bounty
hunters. Or punk kids wanting to make reputations for themselves.

I thought of Pappy then, not with sorrow, but with a feeling near to
envy. I went over to that big black horse of his and stroked his neck
for a moment before climbing on. I holstered the rifle, checked my
pistols, and then we headed west.