"I'll fill the first man that makes a move plumb full of buckshot. If there's any shootin' in here, I'm doin' it myself." He held a pump gun at his shoulder, the muzzle dominating the group. "You, Tom," he continued, "you said you wouldn't make trouble."

"Am I makin' it?" asked McHale.

"Are you makin' it?" Shiller repeated. "Oh, no, you ain't. You're a gentle, meek-and-mild pilgrim, you are. I ain't goin' to hold this gun all day, neither. You better hit the high spots. I'll give you time to get on your cayuse and drift. At the end of two minutes this man goes out of that door, and I ain't responsible for what happens. I'm sure sorry, Tom, to treat you like this, but I got my house to consider."

"That's all right, Bob," said McHale. "Looks like you hold the ace.

I'll step. Far's I'm concerned you needn't keep them gents two minutes nor one." He turned to the door.

"I'm lookin' for you, McHale," said Cross.

"Come a-runnin'," said McHale. "Bring your friends."

He walked into the middle of the road, turned, and waited. His action attracted little attention. Coldstream was indoors, somnolent with the afternoon heat. Across the street the proprietor of the general store commented lazily to a friend:

"What's Tom McHale doin'?"

"Some fool joke. He's full of them. I reckon he wants us to ask him."

McHale called to them: "Boys, if I was you I'd move out of line of me and Bob's door."

"What did I tell you?" the wise one commented. "You bet I don't bite.

I----"

Out of the door of Shiller's surged Cross, gun in hand. Uncertain where to find McHale, he glared about. Then, as he saw him standing in the middle of the road, the weapon seemed to leap to a level.

Simultaneously McHale shot from the hip.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Pale-pink flashes stabbed the afternoon light. Coldstream echoed to the fusillade. Its inhabitants ran to doors and windows, streaming into the streets. One of the store windows suddenly starred. Long lines, like cracks in thin ice, appeared in it, radiating from a common centre. The proprietor and his friend, electrified, ducked and sprang for shelter.

A woman screamed in fright.

Suddenly Cross staggered, turning halfway around. The deadly rage in his face changed to blank wonder. His pistol arm sagged. Then he collapsed gently, not as a tree falls, but as an overweighted sapling bends, swaying backward until, overbalanced, he thudded limply on the ground.

McHale, half crouched like a fighting animal awaiting an attack, peered with burning eyes over the hot muzzle of his gun at the prostrate figure. Swiftly he swung out the cylinder of the weapon, ejected the empty sh.e.l.ls, refilled the chambers, and snapped it shut. Shiller's door opened. McHale covered it instantly, but it was Shiller himself.

"So you done it, did you?" he said.

"Sure," said McHale. "He comes a-shootin', and I gets him. Likewise I gets them two _tillik.u.ms_ of his if they want it that way."

"Billy's keepin' them quiet with the pump gun," Shiller informed him.

"You better get out o' town. I'll clean up your mess, darn you! Git quick. Them fellers expects some more in."

McHale nodded. "I ain't organized to stand off a whole posse with one gun. So long, Bob. I'm plumb sorry I mixed you into this. They won't like you much now."

"They don't need to," said Shiller. "Want any money? Want another gun?

I got a handy little three-ought-three carbine."

"No. I'll get my own outfit. I may have to lie out for a spell. Well, I'll be movin'."

He mounted swiftly. Men crowding up to the scene of the affray stopped suddenly. Few of them had seen the like before. They shrank back, awed, from the killer. He rode down the street, gun in hand, casting swift glances right and left, ready for any attempt to stop him. There was none. He vanished in the swells of brown gra.s.ses, riding at an easy lope, as unhurried as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

CHAPTER XXIII

Tom McHale reached Chakchak, stabled his horse, made a hasty toilet, and attacked a belated supper. While he was eating with hearty appet.i.te Casey and Wade strolled in.

"Did that freight come?" asked Casey.

"Nope," said McHale. "I got a tracer started after her."

"Anything doing in town?"

"Why, I reckon there was a _leetle_ excitement there for a few minutes," said McHale. "Sort of an argument in front of Bob Shiller's."

Casey, from his knowledge of McHale, came to attention at once. "Well?"

he asked abruptly.

"Well, it was me and this here Cross," McHale explained. "I downed him."

"In the argument?" laughed Wade, who did not comprehend. But Casey asked quickly: "Gun?"

McHale nodded.

"You did! How'd it happen? Is he dead?"

"I miss once, but three times I'm pretty near centre," McHale replied.

"Course, I didn't wait to hold no inquest, but if he ain't forded Jordan's tide by now he's plumb lucky; also tough. Only thing makes me doubt it is the way he goes down. He don't come ahead on his face the way a man does when he's plugged for keeps; but he sorter sags backward, so he may have a chance. Still, I reckon she's a slim one."

Casey got the full story with half a dozen brief questions.

"Clear case of self-defence, isn't it, Wade?"

"Looks that way, if the evidence corroborates what he says," the lawyer replied. "Are you sure he shot first, Tom?"

"Better put it he meant to shoot first," McHale responded. "Naturally, I ain't standin' round waitin' for no sightin' shots. It comes close to an even break."

"That's good enough," Wade declared. "If his actions left no doubt of his hostile purpose in your mind you were justified in protecting yourself."

"They sure didn't," said McHale. "He's out to down me, and I know it.

There ain't no Alphonse and Gaston stuff when he comes boilin' out, pullin' his gun. I just sail in to get action while I got the chance."

"Exactly," said Wade. "Well, Tom, you'll be arrested, of course. If Cross isn't dead, likely you can get bail. If he is, I'm afraid you'll have to remain in custody till the trial. I'll defend you myself, if you'll let me. Or maybe it would be better to get a man whose practice is more on the criminal side. I'll get the best there is for you."

"I'm obliged," said McHale. "I'll stand a trial all right, but I ain't figurin' on bein' arrested for a while."