The Law of the Trigger

Chapter Four

Judge Lochland came on Monday.

Unlike Ben McKeever, Lochland came down to the field where Owen was hoeing corn. Owen looked up in surprise, watching the white-haired, black-clad figure tramping solemnly down the grassy slope toward the creek. The County Judge was an old-timer in a young country; in 1880 he had been an official in David L. Payne's Boomer organization, advocating settlement of the unassigned lands in the Territory. Later he had supported the statehood lobby in Washington and had helped the Dawes Commission with the Indian land allotments.

Like McKeever, Judge Lochland had a vision, and his faith in the future of Oklahoma was unshakable. But, the judge's vision was not tainted with personal greed. Now, as he approached Owen, Lochland smiled gently, his pale old eyes alive and sparkling.

“That's fine-looking corn,” he said mildly, taking Owen's hand.

“It's fine land,” Owen said. “And the rains were on time. What brings you so far from the courthouse, Judge?”

Lochland's smile widened, but the expression was strangely without humor. “I think you can guess, Owen.”

Toller's eyes narrowed slightly. “The Brunner gang?”

The judge nodded. “But before you say no, will you listen to what I've got to say?”

Owen felt the muscles of his face go taut. As man and judge, Beuford Lochland commanded his admiration. Owen respected the man's fairness and honesty, and he knew that turning the judge down would be difficult. Lochland would not come at him with threats, as McKeever had done. He would come with truth, as straight as a lance and as hard to turn.

But Owen merely nodded pleasantly toward the creek bank. “I guess that will be as good a place as any to talk. Under the trees.”

The two men hunkered down in the new grass beneath the twisted branches of a great live oak. Lochland said, “I hear Ben McKeever came to see you the other day.”

Owen glanced at him, then nodded.

“This is a peculiar situation,” the judge said. “After all these years, Ben and I find ourselves on the same side of the fence. But our reasons are different.”

“And your methods of persuasion.”

Lochland laughed. “Ben has started putting the pressure on you, has he? In some ways our banker is a fool, I'm afraid. Sure, he can make it plenty tough on you if he goes at it hard enough, but he ought to know there are some men who won't buckle under that kind of pressure.”

“What kind of pressure did you have in mind, Judge?”

Lochland did not laugh this time. “You haven't heard about Fort Bellefront, have you? The Brunner gang hit it . night before last, burned it to the ground, got off with a fortune in freight and express goods, not to mention seven thousand dollars from the company safe. Owen, were you acquainted with Frank Ransom, the freight-company manager?”

Frowning, Owen said, “Sure. I used to stop at Belle-front when I was working for the government.”

“And Frank's wife?”

“Edith Ransom? Arch Deland used to claim she was the best flapjack cook in the territory.” He smiled faintly, remembering.

Judge Lochland paused a moment, then looked at Owen. “They're dead,” he said bluntly. “Murdered. The Brunners killed them.”

Owen sat for a moment in stunned silence. Until this moment the Brunners had not seemed quite real to him. In these great square counties, almost as large as states back East, he had imagined himself far removed from that wild hill country and the Brunners. Judge Lochland's coming had changed all that, and it made him angry and uncomfortable, knowing that he could do nothing. He plucked a handful of tender grass and flung it at the wind.

“I'm sorry about Frank and Edith. They were a fine pair.”

“The Ransoms won't be the last,” Lochland said quietly. “The Brunners are getting bolder, Owen. They're getting stronger all the time. They've got an iron-hard grip on the hills, they're poisoning the minds of the ignorant, they're making outlaws and killers out of poor farmers. Brazenly, they laugh at the law. They're making jokes of our puny efforts to stop them.”

Suddenly Owen came to his feet, every muscle tense. “I'veheard all that, Judge. I've seen others like the Brunners and I know what they are. But why do you come to me?”

Lochland squared his shoulders in a hint of a shrug. “For help, Owen.”

“I can't help.” He shook his head angrily. “I told Ben I couldn't, and now I'm telling you. It's not my job; I'm just a farmer, like a hundred other men in this county.”

“I was hoping you'd see it as more than just a job,” Lochland went on in his quiet voice. “I was hoping you'd see it as a duty... an honor.”

“An honor?” Owen turned abruptly. “When I was young, maybe that's what I thought, but now I figure I've done my part, Judge. And you mention duty. I can't see it's my duty to go up in those hills and get my fool head shot off by a bunch of men I've never even seen. I have a wife and two children; my duty is to them, Judge. My duty is to stay right on this farm and look after my family. The people of this county elected Will Cushman to take care of outlaws like the Brunner boys; so Will is the man with the duty.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “I guess that's all there is to say.”

“I could appoint you special deputy, Owen. You wouldn't have to take orders from Cushman.”

Owen smiled, wearily but not angrily. “That isn't it.”

“Yes... I know. And I think I know how you feel about Elizabeth and the children. But what about Frank and Edith Ransom, and the others who are dead or penniless because of the Brunners? Don't you feel anything for them?”

Owen repeated stubbornly, “It's not my job.”

“But you're the only one who can do it, Owen. I know it's a bitter thing. I know it's difficult to understand why you should be asked to risk your life for hundreds of people who are willing to do nothing. But that's the way it's always been. A few men with strength and courage have been willing to step into the breach at the crucial moment, though it was seldom their job. Remember the New England farmers at Lexington and Concord? The gallant Texans at the Alamo? Were those men working at their jobs, Owen, or was it something else... something that only a few of the strong can understand?”

“I'm sorry, Judge, but you're wasting your time.”

Judge Lochland sighed, then smiled with surprising gentleness. “Well, you can't blame a man for trying.” He pushed himself to his feet and took Owen's hand again. “Please give my regards to Elizabeth and the children.”

“I will, Judge. And watch yourself on the grade back to Reunion; it gets pretty steep.”

Owen watched the erect, white-haired figure stride proudly across the field toward his buggy. He could not be angry with a man like that.

Still, an anger was in him as he plodded back to the field and took up his hoe again. He slashed recklessly at the tough young weeds, striking the reddish earth with the sharp blade as though it were his enemy. Farmers at Lexington and Concord! Texans at the Alamo! The Judge must be slipping off the track in his old age. What did Owen Toller have to do with Texans, or the American Revolution?

But the judge's words kept coming back to him. “A few men with strength and courage... willing to step into the breach.” There was grim poetry in the thought, a kind of terrible truth in the meaning.

But Owen Toller had no wish to make history. He was no longer young, and the thought of death held a terror more real than it once had done. He was happy on the farm with Elizabeth and the children; Reunion would have to look elsewhere for their man with strength and courage.

When Owen came in that night, Elizabeth asked, “Didn't I see a buggy down by the cornfield this afternoon?”

Owen smiled, splashing water at the kitchen washstand. “You don't miss much, do you?” He dried his face, took his wife in his arms, and kissed her gently. “It was Judge Lochland. We were just talking.”

Elizabeth's eyes widened, pleased that a man of Judge Lochland's stature should come all the way to Lazy Creek to talk to her husband. “Why, Owen, I didn't know that you and the judge...” And then the look of pleasure vanished. “Owen, what did he want?”

“We just talked, that's all.”

“About the Brunners?”

He had never been able to fool her, and he knew that it was useless to try. “You can read me like one of those books you used to teach from.” He managed a laugh, but the sound was forced. “All right,” he said soberly, “we did talk about the Brunners. The gang raided Fort Bellefront and killed the freight manager and his wife. They were friends of mine.”

“Oh.” It was a small sound. “I'm sorry, Owen.”

He shrugged, but the gesture did not erase the grim lines around his mouth. “It's one of the risks of trying to do business in those hills. I used to tell them they'd better move that depot to a settlement.”

He made a stout effort to be casual, but Elizabeth could see that his mind could not dismiss the thought so easily. He turned abruptly, almost in anger, and went into the parlor. “Where's Lonnie?” he called after a moment.

“In the yard. I'll call him in a minute.” Elizabeth came into the small, crowded room and stood beside her husband. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly.

“There's nothing to talk about. The Brunners raided Bellefront and murdered Frank and Edith Ransom.”

“Did Judge Lochland want you to do something?”

“He wanted to make me a special deputy to go after the Brunners, but I told him the same thing I told McKeever.”

“You did right!” she said happily, hugging her arms about his huge shoulders. “They have no right to ask favors of you. If they had made you sheriff, perhaps it would have been different; but now...”

“Yes,” Owen said tonelessly. “That's what I told Judge Lochland.”

The coldness of his voice shocked her. She dropped her arms and stared at her husband's face. “Owen, don't you think you did the right thing?”

“Yes. Of course I do.”

But Elizabeth wasn't sure. “There are hundreds of men in this county,” she said quickly, to drive her point home. “Men without families and no farms to look after. Young men. Let them go after the Brunners, if they're so eager to break up the gang! Let Will Cushman do it. Let the freight company do it. They have detectives who get paid to do things like that.”

Owen's face softened. His faint smile was that of a man who had loved his wife for a long time and knew her well. “You're absolutely right. Except that Will Cushman won't get out of Reunion. And freight-company detectives know nothing of those hills.” When he saw the stricken look on her face, he added quickly, “I was only joking.”

When Saturday came around again, Elizabeth and the children went to Reunion with Owen. They reached town shortly before noon, and Owen let Elizabeth and the children out on Main Street before tying up in the alley. “Here,” he said, handing her twelve dollars. “You'd better take this to do your shopping.”

Elizabeth frowned slightly. “But we have our account at De Witt's, don't we?”

“I closed it last Saturday,” Owen said blandly. “I must have forgotten to tell you.”

His wife asked no questions when she took the money, but he knew she was guessing what had happened. It won't last long, Owen thought. When the situation gets desperate enough, somebody willhave to go after the Brunners, and then it will be all over. He was glad that he had been firm with Judge Lochland.

Knowing that Elizabeth and the boys could easily spend hours shopping at De Witt's or one of the racket stores, Owen felt free to make small purchases for the farm himself. His business took him in and out of a half-dozen stores, buying staples, a roll of wire, a new whetstone, but not until he reached Boss Tappit's barbershop did he become aware of the tight-lipped stares that seemed to follow him.

Settling into the big leather-covered chair, anticipating the luxury of a professional shave, Owen felt the unusual silence in the room. “You boys look like you just buried your best friend,” Owen said. “Is anything the matter?”

Talkative Boss Tappit said shortly, “Nope,” and slapped a hot towel on Owen's face.

That was the last word spoken at normal volume in the crowded shop until Boss dusted him with a powder brush and said, “That'll be two bits.”

Owen thought he could guess what was wrong, but he wanted to be sure. He searched the stores and street until he found Arch Deland.

The deputy grinned without humor when Owen put the question to him. “Sure, I can tell you what's wrong. This county wants the Brunners stopped, and Ben McKeever has convinced the people that you're the only man for the job.” He shook his head. “People are funny animals. They've got to thinkin' you're responsible for the Ransoms' deaths because you didn't light out for the hills when McKeever told you to.”

Owen couldn't believe it.. “They blameme?”

“I told you people are funny animals. That's the way McKeever's got them to thinkin'. They figure it's just pure stubbornness on your part that the Brunner boys are still free.”

“Stubbornness! How many ofthem ever tried to bring in a man like Ike Brunner? How many of them ever went after a killer on his own ground?”

“I know,” the old deputy said soothingly. “But they don't.”

“If they think it's as easy as all that, why don'tthey go after the gang?”

Deland laughed quietly. “I guess they figure this is a job for a specialist. And you're the only one around.”

“This is the damnedest thing I ever heard of!” Owen said angrily. He took Deland's arm and pulled him around to the side of the feed store. “Now start at the beginning with this nonsense; I want to hear it all.”

“You know the beginnin' as well as I do,” Arch said, hunkering down with his back to the plank wall. “But maybe you don't know that Will Cushman took some deputies and a pair of freight-company detectives into the hills lookin' for the Brunner hideout.”

“Will Cushman?”

“It surprised me, too, but he did it.” Not that it did any good. They came back last night empty-handed, and Will wired Fort Smith that the gang must have scattered out in their direction.”

Owen snorted. “That gang didn't scatter anywhere. They're right there in those hills.”

Arch nodded. “And that's where they'll stay, too, I guess, if it's left up to Cushman or a few outsiders like those freight detectives to bring them in.”

Owen paced a tight, angry circle. “What's Will going to do now?”

Deland shrugged. “You know Will. I guess he'll sit tight and wait for the Brunners to plan another raid... and maybe kill another couple like the Ransoms.”

“What doyou think ought to be done?” Owen demanded.

“I'm just a deputy and an old man.” Deland smiled sadly. “I don't get paid to think.”

Owen turned abruptly and glared down at his old friend. “Maybe that's what's wrong with this country. People are too busy worrying about their pay to do a job that needs to be done.” Then he saw immediately that he had overstepped the mark. “I'm sorry, Arch. I didn't mean you.”

The old deputy was not angry. “I know you didn't. You were talking about Owen Toller.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don't know, exactly, but I think this thing is beginning to eat at you. Oh, I don't mean the pressure that McKeever's puttin' on, or the looks people give you here in Reunion: But I think you're beginnin' to have doubts about yourself. You think of the Ransoms and wonder if you could have prevented it if you'd done what McKeever said. You're beginnin' to wonder if these people are right —these people that don't have the least idea what it's like goin' after a killer. I'm afraid you're beginnin' to wonder if you don't have a duty to go after the Brunners.” Deland got slowly to his feet. “Don't let them confuse you, Owen,” he said earnestly. “You have no duty here. There's not a man in this county that's done as much for it as you have. These people...” He raked cold eyes over the faces of passers-by. “They always want somebody else to do the dirty work for them. Well, I figure you've done enough of their dirty work, and so have I.” Owen was silent.

“There's just one more thing,” Deland added after a pause. “The man that goes into those hills meanin' business stands a mighty good chance of not comin' out alive. Think about that, Owen, before you let this thing eat too much at you. A write-up in theReunion Reflex and a good attendance at the funeral would be mighty poor comforts for Elizabeth and the children.”

That afternoon, riding back into the darkening hills toward the farm, Owen thought over the things that Deland had said. He had known all along, of course, that the Brunners were none of his business, but it had been good to hear Deland say it. He was easier in his mind, knowing that he did not stand alone in his beliefs.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Owen did not notice that Elizabeth was unusually quiet. They crossed the south bend of Lazy Creek and Owen let the horses rest for a moment before starting the hard pull into the foothills. Turning his head, he could see the rocky, dark green meadows below, and the orange sun moving sluggishly toward the western horizon.

“We'll just about make it by dark,” he said absently, noticing that the children were asleep in the bed of the wagon. Then he turned to his wife, and saw that she had not heard him. Deep in her own thoughts, Elizabeth had allowed her face to fall into a studied, thoughtful frown.

“A penny for those thoughts.” Owen smiled at her.

She looked up, startled. “Oh,” she said. “I'm afraid I was woolgathering.”

“What kind of wool?”

Her frown deepened as she shook her head slowly. “I don't know. Owen, I had the strangest feeling all the time we were in Reunion today. I can't explain it; it's not the kind of thing that can be put into words very well, but... well, I think it was a feeling that people wereavoiding me.”

Owen scowled. “What do you mean?”

“I told you, I can't explain it. It's nothing anyone said. Perhaps it was in the way they looked at me—women I've known since childhood. Or the way conversation seemed to lag when I came upon a group of women in the stores. I just don't know, but something's wrong.”

“Well,” he said quickly, “it'll straighten itself out, whatever it is.” He cracked the lines over the team and the wagon moved slowly over the deep-rutted road.

Owen was surprised and angered that Elizabeth should become involved in McKeever's efforts to bring him to heel. If they snub my wife, he thought furiously, they're going to have Owen Toller to contend with. I don't care what they think about me, but when they bring Elizabeth into it...

“Now who's woolgathering?” Elizabeth asked.

Owen looked at her and made himself grin. “Not me. I was just admiring the scenery.”