by E. R. Slade
“You still think I’m not telling you all I know, don’t you.”
“Maybe I just want to think somebody knows something that will help me prove what Everson is, one way or the other.”
“Of course you do,” she said, in a lower voice, looking now into the middle distance. She didn’t appear to like what she saw there. He decided not to say anything and see if she’d bring herself to tell him more.
Now she turned to him, and there was a softness in her expression, mingled with what looked like genuine concern. “Lon, I like you a lot. You’re like Billy in some ways.” She paused, blinked a couple of times and swallowed. “I really cared about Billy, you know? Maybe people think I didn’t care anymore about him than about ... anybody else. But I did. I never thought anybody would ever want to actually marry me. But he did. Then he was killed. So, maybe I like you because you’re a lot like him. Strong, determined, a man who will do the right thing no matter what. Men I’ve known before, they weren’t like that. But now I guess I’m spoiled.” She gave him a sad smile.
Just like Zinnia has spoiled me, Lon couldn’t help thinking.
“I never really had anybody I could trust since I was a little girl,” she went on. “When there’s nobody you can trust, you keep things to yourself. You know?” And she looked at him as though it were important that he understand.
“Of course,” he said. “Especially if you think your life might be in danger.”
“Yes,” she said. “But I found I could trust Billy. He never let me down.”
“Billy sounds like he was a good man,” Lon said, an image coming back to him of how Billy had looked crumpled in the trail with bloody bullet holes in him.
“He was the best man I ever met.” She looked at the wall across. Then she looked at Lon. “Except you. I think you are like him that way. I just don’t want to see another good man die on account of Everson.”
“You blame Everson for Billy’s death? I thought you said he rode out after the road agents on his own.”
“He did, and Everson didn’t want him to.”
“And you think Everson somehow got word to the road agents to ambush and kill him?”
“Don’t you?”
“Sounds like you figure Everson is in with the road agents. Is that what Billy told you to keep to yourself?”
“Yes,” she said. “He said if anybody ever found out I knew that, word would get back to Everson and I’d be dead. I didn’t know if I believed him then, but when he got killed, I saw he’d been telling me the truth. And I think you’ve found it out, too, and that’s why Everson is going to try to kill you.”
“And that’s all you know? Billy didn’t tell you he’d found their hide-out, by any chance?”
“No. But he was going to look for it. He said he thought that was where Everson went at night after the stage had been held up. He saw him come back with heavy saddlebags. He thought Everson was hiding the loot in his house somewhere.”
“Keep this to yourself, but I think I saw the same thing happen. I’m glad to hear Billy came to the same conclusion I did about what’s going on. Can you remember anything else? Did he say he ever saw Everson and the road agents together?”
“No. He thought he’d have to follow them to their hide-out and then wait for Everson to show up.”
“Let me ask you something else. Jack Ames seemed to think Everson owed him. You didn’t want to talk about that last time. Did Billy know more about him than you’ve told me so far?”
“Oh, that. Billy thought he might have been a messenger between Everson and the holdup men from some things Jack said when he was drunk. But he wasn’t sure.”
“It would explain Everson shooting him when he really didn’t have to. And maybe his brother Bud, too. And letting Bud Ames and his friends run loose in town despite complaints. Maybe Jack Ames thought he was due a bigger cut. You know, you’ve been a big help, Betty. Now I’ve got to go do what Billy was trying to do. I guess you know enough not to let on to anybody about that, right?”
He smiled at her as he stood up to go. As he did so, he realized it felt good to have something to smile about in this business. His surmises about Everson looked more certainly true than ever. Yes, he was going to nail Everson. And it was going to feel good to do it.
But she was still seated. “You’re not going out there, are you?”
“I can’t find their hide-out sitting here.”
“But I had something else to tell you.”
“Oh?” he said, turning back to her—he’d been starting for the door.
“Come and sit down,” she said, patting the bed beside her.
Wondering a little, he came and sat, not as close as where she’d patted the bed.
“There’s somebody else who wants to kill you.”
“There is?” he asked, startled. “Who is it? Vern?”
“No. Mr. Tuft, the banker.” And she was looking at him appraisingly. Things didn’t stay private long in this town it seemed, at least among the domestic help.
“Ah,” he said. “And just what do you know about that?”
“Lon, those kind aren’t like us. They don’t really care about people like you and me. They use us when it suits them and throw us away when they’re done.”
“I don’t read Tuft that way.”
“Really? So how do you read him?” She was leaning toward him, hands demurely in her lap. Her expression as much as added, “You poor deluded man.”
Lon had no desire to go into the situation with Betty Logan, yet he did want to know what she knew of it.
“I think he’s like a lot of men of his type. He sees things from a certain vantage point and when he can’t make sense of something being told to him that doesn’t fit that vantage point he gets impatient.”
“Lon, I’m coming to like you well enough that it hurts to see you being used and made a fool of. I know this is none of my business, but girls gossip, you know, and I hear things. A man like Tuft wants a man like Egbert Wescott for a son-in-law, not a man ... well, you know what I mean. Of course, she’s very pretty. And she can afford to be. But I hope you can see she would never take you seriously. People like that, they don’t really know what life is all about. Not like you and I know.”
He wanted to see her as just maneuvering, wanted to be angry, yet he had to admit that she seemed in deadly earnest, and that what she said had a ring of solid fact about it.
He thought of Zinnia’s purpose in getting him to go for a picnic with her. Of how he could never hope to afford to give Zinnia the sort of affluent life she was used to. How obvious that must be to both Tuft and Zinnia. And how obvious it was that “Eggy” Wescott could give her that kind of life. And how easily Zinnia appeared to believe Mr. Marshal Deputy Lon Pike was a thief.
Next he was aware, Betty was sitting close to him and had put a hand on one of his.
“Lon?” she said gently. “I would never believe Egbert Wescott’s word over yours, even if I had no reason to suspect Marshal Everson’s motives.”
“You seem to know more about all this than I do,” he got out a bit thickly. “Maybe you can tell me what Miss Tuft told her maid about my being a thief.”
“Maid? I didn’t know she had a maid. No, I don’t know what she thinks. I hear she is upset. That’s all I know. Lon, just remember, when it’s over, I’m here? And I want to always be here for you.”
He regathered himself enough to stand up, and attempted to focus on the thing he needed to do. “I appreciate your trying to help me,” he said. “I need to get clear of town and hunt up that hide-out.”
“But if you go tonight, you could get killed.” She got up also and took hold of his arm. “Why don’t you wait for morning? You’ll be able to see him coming easier. And if you have to, shoot back.”
“In the dark he’ll have as much trouble seeing me as I’ll have seeing him.” Except when he stepped out the door, if Vern had told Everson where he’d gone.
“I really wish you wouldn
’t,” she said. “You could stay right here.”
“I can’t, thanks. Don’t you have company coming tonight, anyway?”
“Oh, you mean John? I sent to him not to come.”
“You did? I guess I assumed that was why you are all dressed up.”
“Oh, no,” she insisted. “I just like to dress up sometimes, that’s all.”
That didn’t sound too credible to him, but it wasn’t his business.
“I’ll be going now. If you don’t see or hear anything of me by this time tomorrow, tell the doctor, will you? He’s the only other person in this town I’d trust right now.”
“Of course,” she said earnestly, holding his arm more tightly. “But you know I’ll worry and worry if you go. I’m just so afraid Everson will shoot you in the back like he did that other man.”
Lon disentangled himself and this time made it out the door into the dark rear room. Quietly, he opened the door to the outdoors a few inches and listened. Then, hearing nothing unusual, he opened it further and looked hard into the night, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
There being little to see and nothing to hear but the wind, which wasn’t very strong tonight, he closed the door after himself and went as silently as he could toward the livery, keeping close to buildings and stopping to listen and look every few feet. He gained the livery without incident and found his rifle where he’d left it. Inside, there were only the horses, the liveryman likely around the corner in the Ace Saloon where anybody who wanted him for anything would know where to find him. Lon saddled Blacky and led him out the rear.
With the rifle slung on the saddle he took Blacky through the paddock gate. After one more look and listen, he swung up and eased away into the night.
After going twenty yards or so he halted and listened again. Nothing unusual. It seemed too easy.
He circled on around town, heading west, hoping to mislead anybody paying any attention. But it was so dark it was difficult to see how anyone could tell where he was except by the sound of his horse’s hooves. And this was meadowland, where the grass dampened the sound of travel. He didn’t think anybody more than a hundred yards away would be able to hear him, and he was now at least that far from town.
He continued west until he’d passed the loom of the church and went on a bit more before starting to circle north, then east. Nothing happened; he neither heard nor saw any sign of pursuit. He could no longer make out anything much of what might be going on in town by such dim lamplight as fell into the street, but while he had still been able to he’d not seen anybody riding out after him.
That was good. But maybe Everson was waiting outside town? Yet, how could he know which way Lon would go? Could it be Everson had really meant to let him ride off and thought he’d actually done so, never to return? Or only figured to worry about him if he were still around in the morning?
Lon didn’t quite believe it. Yet, here he was with no sign of pursuit.
It took him perhaps an hour to get around to where the trail to the pass started. By then he’d mostly stopped worrying about Everson and started worrying about the dangers of the cliff face, and how familiar Scott Warner was with that trail. Lon agreed with the old cowhand who’d told him he’d be smart not to attempt it in the dark, but if they were to have any chance of finding the hide-out before the stage, they needed to start now.
He had trouble enough finding the place where the trail entered the woods. Everything was darkness looming over darkness and nothing was recognizable. He rode up and down the edge of the woods a couple of times before he located the way in.
He went perhaps ten yards before Blacky snorted and skittered backwards. Lon wondered if he’d heard a rattler; then, vaguely, he made out something on the ground. Probably a rock, he thought, and Blacky imagined it was a bear.
Except that Blacky never reacted that way. And it didn’t really look like a rock.
He got down and Blacky kept wanting to back away, jerking his head up against being held. The one thing Blacky got nervous around was the smell of blood.
Now he was on the ground he could make out the shape of a man. He squatted, knowing, now.
It was indeed Scott Warner.
Was he dead?
Chapter Seventeen
Actually, he wasn’t. But there was a lot of blood. He wasn’t conscious.
Lon rose quickly and stood, listening, gun drawn. There was only the very faintest sound of air stirring in the trees overhead.
Had Everson believed he’d gotten his man and returned to town? Must be, or there’d have been shooting by now.
At least this explained why it had been so easy to leave town without running into Everson. The man had rightly guessed where he would go and had been waiting for him here.
And Scott Warner had taken the bullet meant for him.
After doing what he could to bind up Warner’s wound, Lon spent a few minutes looking for Warner’s horse, unsuccessfully, and then made Blacky stand still while he gingerly loaded Warner on behind the saddle. He worried about whether the ride would finish the man off, but it seemed better than leaving him to go get the doctor.
He rode slowly, trying to do what he could to keep the ride from being any more jarring than it had to be.
Which took time. He was another hour getting to the doctor’s the back way. When the old man saw Warner he looked sharply at Lon.
“Do all you can for him,” Lon said. “He didn’t deserve this. But keep him out of sight, will you? Or Everson might finish him off, if he hasn’t already.”
The doctor’s hands were moving faster than Lon had expected they were capable of. He had Warner’s shirt off and was examining the bullet hole just down from Warner’s left shoulder.
“His breathing sounds better than I’d expect,” the doctor commented. “Much better, in fact.” He was feeling and listening and examining. “He’s bad off, but I’d say he has a fairly good chance, much as I can tell right now. I’d better get to work.”
“He was trying to help me. I don’t think Everson knew that, though. My best guess is that Everson thought he was me.”
The doctor spared him a glance. “I hope you can do something about Everson soon,” he commented.
Lon rode off again, reasonably sure he’d gotten both in and out of town without being noticed. He’d really have liked to see whether Everson was in town, but the risk of being seen himself seemed too high. If Everson thought he’d rid himself of his ex-deputy, that gave him an opportunity he’d better take advantage of.
Warner had paid pretty big for that advantage. He wouldn’t want it squandered.
The trip up the switchback trail to the cliff top was harrowing. Blacky obviously didn’t like it any better than he did and over and over again had to be urged to keep going. Lon felt ten years older by the time he reached easier ground. Blacky picked up the pace, eager to put distance between them and the horrors of the cliff trail.
Having had to pick their way along slowly, and on account of going up rather than down, they’d been several times as long as it had taken in daylight. And what with all the time talking to Betty Logan and circling town and taking poor Scott Warner back to the doctor it was now well into the wee hours of the morning, he figured, though he had no timepiece.
The one thing about the cliff trail, you either stayed on it or you fell to your death. Up here the trail was much less well defined, especially in the dark, and after losing and finding the trail and possibly losing it again and not even knowing if he was on it he decided to stop and give Blacky a rest and take a break himself. He’d brought along his bedroll to make more convincing his apparent decision to leave town as told—in the unlikely event that would matter—but now he decided to try to get a nap before the sun came up, since it was too dark to find his way around and he did need the rest.
He hadn’t expected to be able to actually sleep, but next he knew he was waking up with the sky light enough to see by. He rounded up Blacky and went hunting for the trail, w
hich he clearly was no longer on.
He found it again beyond the spot where Billy had been killed, and also beyond the place he’d passed the time of day with the bandits. He didn’t recall any sign of a building this side of the pass so he assumed there was a side trail here somewhere. But he rode much further than he thought it likely they could be, assuming Everson went there to collect his cut, without seeing as much as a game trail.
The thing was, it was a lot of it fairly open woods and anybody might ride off in almost any direction without much difficulty. Most of the ground was hard and stony and tracks were difficult to find. Such tracks as he did find were old and indistinct and not a lot of help. If the road agents had been up here any time recently, they seemed not to have used the trail, at least in the few spots where tracks would show up.
By now it was getting on into the morning and Lon was watching the sun, trying to estimate how much time he had until noon, when the stage was due. They said it usually arrived pretty close to on schedule. The holdups almost always occurred after the stage left town, rather than before it arrived. If Everson was picking the times and targets, this made sense since he’d be more likely to know about plunder aboard the outgoing stage than aboard the incoming one. Nobody could miss that this time Tuft was shipping something of considerable value: he’d hired guards who had been hanging around for days. It made no sense to hold up the stage before this was aboard. The stage should therefore be safe until it left town.
Judging by the sun, he was pushing the limit now if he intended to be on hand for the holdup. So what should he do? If he stayed up here, not having found the hide-out, he’d have to depend on following the road agents as they returned with their booty. If they noticed him, there could be trouble, but it might work if he was careful.
The lack of recent tracks worried him. Suppose they’d decided to meet somewhere else? Had a hide-out elsewhere? Here he’d sit doing nothing while they held up the stage and divided with Everson.
