"Of course, everything would have been different if I'd been using a net," Parker went on. "I'd probably still be working on the trapeze."
"A net?"
Parker nodded. "It's a recent innovation. A large net is stretched out underneath the performers, high enough off the ground to catch them and prevent serious injuries should they fall. Most aerialists wouldn't use them when they were first introduced, but they're becoming more popular now." He smiled wryly. "I suppose we've all seen too many accidents." Pain flashed across his face, but Flint could tell that it was emotional, not physical.
"I suppose Houser uses a net in his shows now," the marshal said.
"He does, but my accident wasn't the cause. Horace put the decision to the rest of the troupe after I fell, and they decided to continue without a net." There was a trace of bitterness in his voice as he went on. "I suppose they thought using a net cast some sort of doubt on their courage and honor. It took a tragedy a few months ago to change their minds."
"One of the other acrobats fell?"
"Professor Houser's wife, Moriah. She was broken like a child's doll and didn't live for an hour after she fell." Parker clenched his hands. "I warned her. I warned all of them. But they said they were paid to take chances."
Parker stared down at the tablecloth for a long moment.
Flint rubbed his jaw. He had done the very thing he had intended not to do: stir up bad memories for the other man. Flint liked Asa Parker and admired the man's courage and determination.
The bell on the cafe door jingled, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two men. Flint glanced up to his right and recognized the dark-haired young man dressed in black who strode through the door and then paused to scan the room.
Spotting Flint and Parker, the man began to thread his way among the tables, heading toward them. Beneath his black hat his ruggedly handsome features broke into an easy grin as he approached. Arriving at the table, he reversed one of the vacant chairs, straddled it, and cuffed his hat back, revealing a faint, jagged scar that ran down his right cheek. "Morning, Marshal," he said. "I hear there was some trouble."
Flint shrugged. "Some cowboys had too much to drink and picked a fight with Mr. Parker here. Mr. Parker, this is my deputy, Cully Markham."
Parker extended his hand. "Glad to meet you," Cully said as he shook it. His eye fell on the stack of posters, and he continued excitedly. "Say, you're the fellow who's been putting up those handbills about the circus! I saw one across the street."
"Yes, indeed," Parker said. "It's true, Deputy. Professor Horace Houser's Traveling Circus and Extravaganza is coming to Abilene."
Flint noticed that the volume of Parker's voice rose as he spoke. Several heads in the cafe turned as the other customers listened to him. Flint had a hunch as to what was about to happen.
"I've never been to a circus before," Cully said. "Does the show have all the stuff that's in that picture on the handbill?"
"Does it? Why, young man, it has those attractions and much, much more!" Parker glanced at Flint. "With your permission, Marshal...?"
Flint shrugged his shoulders. A smile tugged at the corners of his broad mouth.
Parker stood up, raising his arms, and saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please!" He picked up one of the posters and turned so that all the other customers could see it.
"As you're no doubt aware, ladies and gentlemen," Parker continued, "the circus is coming to Abilene. Yes, that's right, the circus! Tomorrow morning, a spectacular parade right down Texas Street will herald the arrival in your fair city of Professor Horace Houser's Traveling Circus and Extravaganza. Known the world over, this troupe of performers will thrill and delight and astound you!" He picked up several more of the posters and handed them to a man at a nearby table. "Pass those around, would you, my good man, and be sure to keep one for yourself. Now, ladies and gentlemen, as you'll see from these complimentary handbills, Professor Houser's circus features only the most exciting, the most daring acts to be found anywhere. Why, here in your very own hometown, you can see legendary performers who have dazzled the princes and princesses of Europe, not to mention the cream of Eastern society in our own country! Right here in Abilene, folks, under the big top!"
There was a buzz of excited conversation in the room as Parker paused in his speech. The man glanced at Flint, who saw a sparkle of laughter in his eyes. He was a born pitchman, Flint thought, able to make folks believe just about anything he wanted them to.
Parker continued his spiel for several minutes, keeping his audience enthralled, and when he finally ran out of words, he thanked the people in the cafe for their attention. Turning back to the table where Flint and Cully were seated, he gathered up the rest of his posters and drank what was left of his coffee, which had grown cold. "I'll be seeing you, Marshal. It was nice talking to you, but I've got to get back to work." He started to reach into his pocket to pull out some coins to pay for the coffee.
Flint held up a hand to stop him. "Coffee's on me," he said. "I should have stepped in earlier and stopped Cooper and his friends from jumping you."
Parker shook his head, and for the first time, Flint thought he saw a trace of resentment in the man's eyes. "Like I said, Marshal, I appreciated the help, but I could have handled those roughnecks. You live around a circus for a while, you learn how to take care of yourself."
"I suppose so, but around here, that sort of thing is my job."
Parker smiled. "I understand. Thanks again, Marshal, for the coffee...and for everything else."
"Just remember to get permission before you tack up any more of those things."
Parker promised to do that. He started toward the door, carrying his handbills, and pausing to slap several of the customers on the back and talk to them individually.
"Friendly fellow," Cully said when the door had closed behind Parker.
"That he is," Flint agreed.
Cully leaned forward. "What do you think about this circus coming to town, Marshal? I expect it'll be the most excitement Abilene's seen in a long time."
Excitement. Was that what Cully Markham was all about? Flint asked himself as he looked at his young deputy. He was educated, had tried his hand at several trades, and had been on the run, not from the law but from the next young tough who could outshoot him. He had come to Abilene to avenge a murder and had unexpectedly found a home. In all respects he had been an excellent deputy, but Flint knew that there was an impulsive streak in Cully that might flare up at the wrong moment.
"Could be. I just hope it doesn't make a lot of extra work for you and me, Cully."
Cully frowned and started to ask a question, but before he could he was interrupted by the arrival of Alice Hammond, who stood next to the table and gazed down at him with adoring eyes. "Can I get you something, Cully?" she asked. "Some coffee or some breakfast?"
Cully smiled up at her. "I could sure use some scrambled eggs and hotcakes, maybe some bacon with it. And plenty of coffee."
"Sure, Cully. I'll tell the cook."
When Alice had left the table, Cully grinned somewhat sheepishly at Flint. "The gal appears to like me," he said in a low voice.
"Is that so?" Flint grunted. Alice's feelings for Cully were no secret to anyone with eyes.
"You were talking about the circus causing trouble," Cully prompted.
Flint nodded. "I've heard quite a bit about those shows," he said. "All kinds of con artists tend to follow them around, trying to make money any way they can off the people who attend the performances. Not to mention the sideshows themselves. Most of the time they're crooked. There are plenty of ways to relieve unsuspecting folks of their cash."
"Well, we'll keep an eye on 'em," Cully said confidently. "There won't be any of that around here.
Anyway, maybe this Horace fellow operates differently."
"Let's hope so."
A few minutes later Alice arrived at the table with a big plate of food for Cully and a mug of steaming coffee. As
she put the plate in front of him, Cully said, "Maybe you should be in that circus, Alice. It takes a lot of talent to do what you do. And you're as pretty as any of those circus gals."
"Do you really think so, Cully?" She flushed with pleasure at the compliment.
"Wouldn't have said it if I didn't." Cully smiled gallantly at her, sending her back to the counter with a big grin on her face. "I really think you're worrying for nothing, Marshal," Cully went on. He snapped his fingers. "Say, I think I've heard of this Professor Horace before. He's got some pretty young gal in his show who's a sharpshooter."
Flint remembered the drawing on the poster of the girl in buckskins shooting at a target. "Could be you're right," he said. Trust Cully to have heard about a pretty woman, he thought.
"Yep, I'm sure I am." Cully's eyes narrowed. "Think she could outshoot me, Marshal?"
Flint chuckled dryly. "Maybe I can find out for you. I plan to visit this Horace Houser just as soon as the circus arrives in town."
"Going to lay down the law to him, eh?"
"I just want to make sure he and his people understand that they're not to cause trouble while they're here," Flint replied quietly.
"Well, in that case I'd better go along since it's an official visit and all. Maybe I can talk to the lady sharpshooter myself."
Flint wasn’t surprised that Cully was inviting himself along. He had expected the deputy to do just that. And to tell the truth, he wouldn’t mind Cully's presence. It never hurts to have a good man at your side, Flint thought.
2
Asa Parker had been gone from the café for several minutes and Flint and Cully were finishing their coffee when they heard a commotion outside. The clamor of church bells ringing loudly made Cully drop his cup. Shouts from the street mingled with the ringing of the bells, but the lawmen were able to make out one word clearly: "Fire!"
Flint and Cully reacted more quickly than the others in the cafe and, leaping to their feet, were the first ones to reach the door. As they rushed outside, they saw a large crowd racing up the street.
Cully caught Flint's arm and pointed. "Look there, Marshal!"
Flint saw the thick black smoke rising above the buildings a few blocks north, on the other side of the railroad tracks. "Come on!" he yelled as he started running toward the blaze. He and Cully soon joined the press of townspeople heading for the scene of the fire. They pushed their way through the crowd, the clamor of bells still ringing in their ears.
As they ran across the Kansas Pacific tracks, Flint scanned the buildings ahead. He could not see flames yet, but as they approached, he saw smoke billowing from a warehouse on Fourth Street. It was the old abandoned Daenzer Freight Company warehouse—a large, three-story brick building, nearly windowless and standing alone on its lot.
As Flint and Cully pounded up, one of the big, boarded-up doors suddenly collapsed, eaten away by the fire inside. Flames licked out of the opening, and the smoke billowing into the blue sky suddenly became thicker as more air was fed to the conflagration.
"What the hell?" Cully shouted.
Flint spun to face him. "Get a bucket brigade started," he ordered. "It looks like the fire's only on the first floor. Maybe we can stop it from spreading upstairs or at least protect the other buildings."
Cully nodded and began grabbing bystanders and issuing orders. Some men ran to fetch buckets, while others began forming a line that would stretch all the way back to the town well.
Flint looked around, trying to find someone who might know what had happened here, and he spotted a familiar figure standing in a knot of men several yards away. Asa Parker and some of the townspeople were surrounding a tall, gangly youth, who was covered with soot and ashes. Coughs wracked the boy's slender frame, and one of the bystanders pounded him on the back.
As Flint hurried over, Parker glanced around and saw the lawman coming. "Here's the marshal," he said. The smoke-grimed youth staggered, and Parker quickly grasped his arm to keep him from falling.
"What happened?" Flint asked curtly.
"I was putting up some of my handbills down the street when I saw the smoke, Marshal. I got over here as fast as I could." He nodded to the boy. "This young fellow was trying to break some boards out of one of the windows in the warehouse so he could climb out. I gave him a hand."
"Saved his life, that's what he did," one of the townsmen spoke up. "Hector'd'a smothered for sure in there if this feller hadn't pulled him out."
Flint looked at the teenager. "Are you all right, son?"
A fresh spasm of coughing shook Hector. When it was over, he gasped, "I...I'm all right. But you've gotta help Billy!"
Flint caught the boy's other arm. "There's somebody else in there?" he asked.
Hector nodded shakily. "He...he was on the other side of the fire. I c-couldn't get to him. Oh, God, Marshal, you've gotta get him out of there!"
Flint exchanged a grim glance with a couple of the men standing nearby. "You men go around back of the warehouse and see if the other boy got out that way," he ordered. They nodded and broke into a run, heading down the alley beside the blazing building.
Close by, Cully had the bucket brigade organized. Standing at the head of the line, he looked back toward the center of town to see the first of the water-filled buckets being passed toward him. It seemed like a futile effort to him, but they had to try to contain the fire.
Flint looked at Cully and the bucket brigade, saw that everything possible was being done to fight the fire, and glanced again at the building. The smoke coming from it was even thicker and blacker now. Turning back to Hector, who was still being held up by Asa Parker, he asked, "What the devil were you boys doing in that place?"
Hector shook his head and coughed again. Before he could answer, another man pushed into the circle around the youth and said stridently, "I'll tell you what they were doing, Marshal. They were playing hooky from school, the little...little..." The newcomer was sputtering so with rage that he had to give up before finishing his statement.
Flint recognized the undersized body and sour expression belonging to Emery Thornbury, the local schoolmaster. He had met Thornbury a couple of times and hadn’t been very impressed. Thornbury had struck him as pompous and overbearing, and he had a reputation as a strict disciplinarian in the schoolhouse.
In a gentler tone, Flint asked, "What about it, son?
Were you playing hooky? More importantly, were there just the two of you in there?"
Hector nodded. "Yeah, Marshal. It was just me and Billy." The boy cast a glance of thinly veiled hatred toward the schoolmaster. "It was such a nice day we didn't feel like...like bein' yelled at all day. So, we just didn't go. Billy, he said he knew a way to sneak into the warehouse, so we took a lantern and did that instead. We...we found some old cigars in there and decided to smoke 'em—" His voice broke as he went on. "I—I knocked the lantern over. There was nothing I could do, the fire spread so fast."
Emery Thornbury crossed his arms smugly. "And you see what your little adventure got you?" he said sarcastically. "You're in trouble, and your friend has probably suffered an agonizing death by fire."
"That's enough of that," Flint snapped. "You can have your say later, Thornbury."
The schoolmaster glared at him but kept quiet.
The men Flint had sent to check the rear of the building came running back with their report, the bad news written clearly on their faces. "There's no way out through the back," one of them said. "There's a door, but it's bolted on both sides. And nobody's messed with either of the windows."
"I could hear the flames crackling right on the other side of the door, Marshal," the other man added. "The fire's spread back there, and it'd be sure death to try to go in that way."
"Upstairs," Hector suddenly said. "I...I think maybe I heard Billy running up the stairs."
Flint looked at the building. It was impossible to tell for sure, but he didn’t think the flames had reached the second floor of the warehouse yet. But even if they h
adn’t, they would within a matter of minutes.
"If the boy's up there, he has to be gotten out," Flint said. "And there's no way up there except through the fire."
He took off his hat and began unbuckling the shell belt and holster around his hips.
Asa Parker left Hector's side and caught Flint's arm. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.
"My job," Flint answered flatly. He jerked his arm free from Parker's grip, pulled a bandanna from his pocket and began tying it around his face, ignoring the protests that came from the bystanders.
"You can't go in there," Parker insisted.
"There's no outside staircase," Flint pointed out impatiently. "How else can I get up there?" Without waiting for an answer, he ran over to the head of the bucket brigade.
Flint pulled a full bucket out of the hands of his startled deputy and dumped the contents over his head. Then he thrust the pail back at Cully and grated, "You're in charge now."
"What? Hey, Marshal!"
Cully's cry was too late. Flint had ducked his head, lunged forward, and disappeared through the flame-choked opening.
Cully started to go after him, but some instinct held him back. Flint had put him in charge and had clearly expected him to stay outside and keep the bucket brigade going.
Torn by his emotions, Cully reached out to take the bucket of water from the next man in the line. He cursed as he flung the water through the door onto the flames.
Asa Parker saw Flint vanish into the blaze, and he chewed his lip for a moment in frustration. He didn’t want to stand by idly while Lucas Flint risked his life. But he knew that going inside through the flames would just add to Flint's burden.
Parker glanced up. Something struck him about the architecture of the burning building. There were gargoyles at each corner of the roof, ugly squatting figures that might prove to be the answer.
Parker looked around as the idea took hold, and he spotted a horse tied at the rail in front of one of the other buildings. His limp not slowing him, he rushed over to the animal. It shied away from him at first, but he patted its flank and spoke to it in a soothing voice that somehow penetrated the uproar in the street. When the horse had calmed down, Parker took the coiled lariat that hung over the saddle horn.
Rattler's Law, Volume One Page 23
