Webb's Posse by Ralph Cotton Page A

just want to see the right thing done,” Summers lied. “If I can help out by getting these men some firearms, then I feel like I’ve done my part.”
    â€œI see.” Dick Vertrees nodded, not falling for his spiel. “So they’re paying you, huh?”
    A short silence passed. “Well…we do have sort of an arrangement,” said Summers, “but nothing that would interest you. What about those guns, Dick? Daylight’s getting away from us.”
    â€œWe’re talking about cash money, ain’t we, Summers?” asked Vertrees.
    â€œYou know me, Dick. It’s the only way I deal.” Will Summers offered a thin smile.
    â€œAll right, boys, lower them shooters,” Dick Vertrees called out to the trees. He uncocked his rifle and let it hang over his forearm. “Summers, you and your friends wait where you are. We’ll bring out what guns we’ve got and let you look them over.”
    â€œSounds fine to me,” Will Summers said, looking around and giving Abner Webb a nod as he slipped down from his saddle.
    By dark, the posse had purchased six Winchester repeating rifles, eight army Colts and enough ammunition to allow each man close to two hundred rounds each. In addition to the arms and ammunition, Will Summers talked Vertrees into selling them coffee, flour and a full quarter of smoked elk meat. When the posse left the shack, Summers and Webb led them upward alongside the stream until they reached a high clearing in the light of a half-moon. Bobby Dewitt built a low fire and fixed a pot of coffee while the men carved cold elk meat and ate it by itself, all of them too tired to fix any biscuits to go with it.
    Will Summers sat with a blanket wrapped around him, leaning against the trunk of a tall pine near the horses. He watched the men settle in for the night, their faces dropping out of the firelight one and two at a time and forming a circle of blankets and saddles around the flickering flames. They hugged their new rifles and pistols to their chests. At length only Sherman Dahl remained awake. He sat staring into the glowing embers. On the other side of the camp, Abner Webb walked in from the cover of darkness with his rifle cradled in his arm. Summers watched him stop at the fire long enough to rub his hands together above the low flames. Then Webb walked toward the line of horses.
    â€œSummers, where are you?” Abner Webb whispered into the blackness as he drew nearer beneath the tall pine canopy. When Summers didn’t answer, Webb ventured closer and whispered again. When Summers still didn’t answer, Webb came to a stop less than two feet from where he sat in invisible silence. “Will, answer me!” whispered Webb, his voice starting to sound concerned. “Are you all right out here?”
    To quiet the deputy, Will Summers reached out with his rifle barrel, tapped it against Abner Webb’s foot and whispered as soft as he could, “Down here, Webb.”
    Abner Webb let out a startled gasp, his boot instinctively jerking away from the touch of the rifle barrel. “Jesus!” he said, letting out a tense breath as he recognized Summers’ low whisper.
    Before Webb could speak again, Summers grabbed his boot and pulled down? “Keep your voice down, Deputy!” Summers said, slicing his words beneath his breath.
    Abner Webb stooped down beside him in the dark and rubbed a hand across his face. “Damn it, Will,” he rasped. “You ’bout gave me heart failure! I thought those gunrunners had already hit us and gone.” He looked around in the darkness, relieved at the shadowy images of the horses along the rope line.
    â€œIf you’re that fainthearted, you’re riding the wrong trail, Deputy.” Will Summers scooted to one side, giving Webb room to sit against the trunk of the big pine. “I told you I was going to settle in out here for the night…keep an eye on the