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would probably be that horse, yet I heard nothing.
I dozed. Scared as I was and worried, I dozed. That was what weakness would
do for a man. What snapped me out of it was a noise. It was a very small noise
and maybe it was just inside my own head. Gun in hand, I rolled up on one
elbow and tried to look out the open door, but I could see nothing but the
gradually drying earth beyond the door, a distant hillside and a corner of the
corral.
What had I heard? Had it been a step? No ... A step had a different sound?A
horse bumping a trough, or something? No.
It had been a small sound, a kind ofplink . It might have been anything. The
handle of the coffeepot lay against the side of the pot, and it might have
been raised a little, and just finally settling down against the side of the
pot as the lessening of heat cooled the metal.
It might have been that, but I didn't believe it was. I lay back on the bed,
staring up at the ceiling. Somebody wanted me dead ... The problem was still
there. If I could figure outwho , I might know why, and even figure how he or
they would try to kill me.
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Here I was, worried and all on edge just at the idea that somebody might be
out there.
The sound ... What had it been? Carefully, I mentally sorted familiar sounds
and tried to discover what it was I'd heard. In any event, I hadn't heard it
again.
It had been a very small sound, anyway. Yet I could not relax. My muscles
were tense, my nerves on edge. Something was wrong ... Something was about to
happen. I forced myself to lie still, telling myself I was being silly. I
could see out the door and all was quiet, and the one horse I could now see
was browsing quietly on some wisps of hay left about the corral. What I needed
was rest ... just rest. I had to calm down and relax.
I turned on my side, facing the wall. For a moment I lay absolutely still,
petrified into immobility.
For as I turned on my side to face the wall, I found myself staring into the
muzzle of a gun pushed through a crack where the chinking between the logs had
been picked out. I stared, and then I came off the bunk with a lunge that sent
a shock of agony through my wounded hip. I fell sprawling on the floor, the
blast of the shot ringing in my ears. There was smoke in the room and the
smell of singed wood and wool, and then I was on my feet, gun in hand, hopping
toward the door.
Outside my horse had his head up, ears pricked, looking off to my right. I
turned around the doorpost, gun poised ... and saw nothing.
I could feel the blood running down my side from my reopened wound, but I
waited, clinging to the doorjamb with my left hand, my right gripping the gun,
poised for a shot.
Nothing...
For several minutes I waited, and then I turned myself around and fell into a
chair, back to the wall, looking at my bunk.
Somebody had picked the dried clay from the cracks between the logs, using a
stick or a knife blade, perhaps, and then had thrust the muzzle through. Had I
remained lying where I'd been, I would now be dead, for that bullet would have
taken me right through the skull.
Again I got up, peering from the windows, but there was nothing to see. That
faint, first sound I had heard was probably the dried mud falling to the
ground, striking against a rock or something.
Whoever had tried to kill me had been in this cabin. Whoever had tried had
known exactly where the bed was, exactly where my head would be laying on the
pillow. He had known exactly the spot at which to pick away the plaster.
Whoever it was wanted to killme . Not just a cowhand who happened to trail a
horse thief, butme , a particular person. It might be one of theBalch and
Saddler outfit.For there was no doubt that my presence among the Stirrup-Iron
riders stiffened their backs, and my death would weaken them considerably.
I limped along the wall. I looked out ... nothing, nobody. Now I must be very
careful. I dared not trust myself anywhere without being careful.
Impatiently, I looked around. I had to get out of here. The cabin was a trap.
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As long as I was here, I was available to the planning of the would-be killer,
and I had to get out.Yet how to escape with him out there? And he would be,I
was sure, somewhere right outside, awaiting a chance.
In my present condition, moving swiftly was out of the question. I would have
to get to the corral, get a saddle and bridle on a horse, get the corral bars
down and mount up,then ride out. And during every movement I would be sitting
there like a duck in a shooting gallery, waiting for the shot. After a moment,
I took a chunk of wood from the fireplace and placed it in front of the hole
in the wall. Then I lay down again, heaving a great sigh of relief.
Iwas tired. I lay back, exhausted. All my life I'd been a loner, but at that
minute I wanted desperately for somebody to come.Somebody ... anybody ... Just
somebody who could watch while I slept, if only for a few minutes.
I strained my ears for the slightest sound, and heard only the birds, the
slight movements of my horse. I closed myeyes ...
Suddenly they opened wide. If I slept I would die.
Rolling over, I sat up. Fumbling with a cup and the coffeepot, I poured
coffee. It was no longer hot, for the untended fire had gone down. I tasted
the lukewarm coffee, something I'd never liked, then knelt before the fire and
coaxed some flame from the coals with slivers of wood.
Would no one friendly ever come?
Hopefully, I continued to listen for the sound of a rider, and heard nothing.
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