The Man from Yesterday

by Wayne D. Overholser

  “Neal, maybe we’re excited over nothing. They won’t hurt Laurie if it is just a bluff. And even if Ed Shelly is hiding around town or out in the timber, he wouldn’t take it out on Laurie. No man would.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said. “I’ve seen too many men do cruel things that were unreasonable. When I was a boy, a man who lived north of us beat his wife to death. And I knew a kid who skinned a cat while the cat was alive.” He threw out his hands. “Don’t ask me why men do things like that. Just something in them that makes them enjoy watching another person or an animal suffer.”

  “We’ll be careful, Neal,” she said. “That’s all we can do. I’ll get breakfast . . .”

  “No, this coffee’s all I want.” He turned toward the dining room door, then paused as he said: “I’ve got to see Laurie before I go.”

  Jane nodded, understanding, and followed him across the dining room and up the stairs to Laurie’s room. She was awake, and, when she saw Neal, she jumped out of bed and ran to him, squealing: “I had the nicest dream, Daddy. I thought you were bringing a pony from the ranch for me to ride.”

  “I will, honey. I promise.”

  He caught her in his arms and held her high while she kicked and squealed, then he hugged her and her arms came around his neck and squeezed him hard.

  “Dress me, Daddy,” she said.

  Jane stood in the doorway watching while Neal sat down on the edge of the bed and dressed her, his big fingers awkward with the little buttons on her dress. There was a lump in Jane’s throat so big that it made her throat ache. This might be the last time Neal would ever dress Laurie. No, it couldn’t be. She found herself thinking a prayer: Don’t let it happen, God. Don’t let any harm come to either one of them. She turned her back to them and wiped her eyes.

  She heard Neal say: “I’ll let Mama put your shoes and stockings on. I’ve got to go to the bank. Laurie, your dream is going to come true. Not today, maybe, but real soon.”

  Jane turned around. She said: “Isn’t that fine, Laurie?”

  Laurie was staring at Neal, her eyes wide. “That little bay with the white stockings?”

  “That’s the one,” Neal said. He picked her up and kissed her, then he whirled away and walked out of the room.

  Jane said: “Let’s get your shoes and stockings on. Then we’ll go down and get breakfast.”

  “What’s the matter with Daddy’s eyes?” Laurie asked. “He was blinking all the time?”

  “I guess he had something in his eyes, honey. I’ve got a speck in mine, too.” Jane finished buttoning the child’s shoes and set her on the floor.

  Laurie asked: “Can I go now?”

  “Yes, you can go, but you’ll have to stay in the house today.”

  “Why?”

  “It isn’t very warm outside and it’s awfully windy. I don’t want you to get a cold. Remember now.”

  “I’ll remember,” Laurie promised.

  Jane left the room, walking fast and keeping her back to Laurie so the child wouldn’t see the tears that were in her eyes again. There is so much that is good in our lives, she thought, Neal’s and mine and Laurie’s. Why does it all have to be threatened now? Will we have to live with Ed Shelly’s ghost the rest of our lives?

  Chapter Twelve

  Neal stepped out of the house into the morning sunlight that still held little warmth. He looked around, half expecting to see Shelton, or Darley, or Ruggles, but no one was in sight. He glanced at the threshold. No note this time. He closed the door and, crossing the yard, walked rapidly up the street toward the business block. Everything would come into focus today, he thought. It had to. He’d go crazy with the waiting if it didn’t.

  When he reached Main Street, he saw no one except the hardware man, Olly Earl, who passed without speaking. The irony of it struck him. He had been in Earl’s store the day he’d shot the Shelly gang to pieces, but it didn’t occur to the storekeeper that what was happening now might have its roots in that hold-up eight years ago.

  Neal stepped into the Mercantile and, going to the post office that was located in a rear corner, opened his box. He took out a handful of mail: two papers, a bill, a catalogue, and one letter. He stared at the address—NEAL CLARK, CASCADE CITY, OREGON—written with a blunt pencil just as all the warning notes had been. He glanced at the postmark. The letter had been mailed here late yesterday.

  “Harvey!” Neal shouted. “Harvey, where the hell are you?”

  Quinn poked his head up from the counter on the other side of the room. “What’s biting you?”

  Neal crossed to the other side of the room and held out the envelope. “Got any idea when this was mailed, Harvey?”

  Quinn was painting some empty shelves. Carefully he squeezed the brush against one side of the can and stood up. “How do you expect me to know when a letter’s mailed?”

  “I thought you might have noticed.”

  “Well, I didn’t. Chances are it was mailed late yesterday afternoon. But, hell, you can’t expect me to stand around and see who mails every letter. . . .”

  “All right, Harvey, all right. Maybe you can remember whether Tuck Shelton or Ben Darley came in yesterday.”

  “Yeah. Shelton did. I sold him a box of Forty-Five shells.”

  “Did he mail anything?”

  “I don’t know, damn it.” Quinn ran a hand through his hair. “What are you up to?”

  “I’ve had some notes threatening my family. This looks like another one. I’ve got a hunch it’s Shelton. Or maybe Darley.”

  “You’re working damned hard to turn us against them,” Quinn said. “I don’t believe it. And I’ll tell you something else. You keep fighting ’em like you have been, and you’ll wind up on the end of a rope.”

  Here it was again. For a moment Neal stood staring at Quinn. He was a poor stick in many ways, the last man in town capable of intimidating anyone who had a spoonful of guts in his body. Middle-aged, thin, and crotchety, he was inclined to be overly cautious with his credit, but he was one of Neal’s leading critics because the bank was careful with its credit.

  There were several things Neal wanted to tell Quinn, but what was the use? Yesterday he had tangled with Alec Tuttle, and no good had come of that. No good would come from quarreling with Quinn, either, so he left the store and angled across the street to the bank.

  As usual, Henry Abel was at his desk, working on a ledger. Neal wondered how many hours he spent each day in his swivel chair, bent forward, pen in his hand, the green eye shade on his forehead. But Abel was happy. Maybe he’d be happier yet if the bank were his sole responsibility.

  “Good morning, Henry,” Neal said.

  “Good morning.” Abel looked up, smiled, and went on working.

  Neal walked past the cashier to his office and closed the door. He tossed the mail on his desk, then picked up the letter and tore it open. He was not surprised when he read:

  I’ll get your wife as well as your kid. It’s too late now to save their lives. You should have thought of that eight years ago.

  Ed Shelly

  Neal threw it down and paced the length of the room and back. A feeling of unreality gripped him, as if this were a part of that old horrible nightmare he’d had so many times. Funny, he thought, how it struck him. It seemed to him he was a spectator, watching a series of plays, so many of them that the sharp edge of his feelings had been blunted.

  He sat down at his desk, staring at the papers Abel had left here for him. He had letters to write, but he wouldn’t do anything today. Maybe he never would again. Maybe he’d just go off and let Abel handle all of it. He was still sitting there when he heard a knock on the door and called: “Come in!”

  Joe Rolfe stepped into the office. “How are you, Neal?” the old man asked, his wrinkled face shadowed by concern.

  “You ought to know.” Neal handed him the note. “Another one in the mail this morning. They’re fools, Joe. You can make a man go crazy, but that’s as far as you can make him go. What a
re they trying to do?”

  Rolfe looked at the note and threw it on the desk. “You ain’t quite crazy yet, Neal, and you ain’t dead. They’ll settle for either one. If you blow up when the stage gets in, there’ll be a mob after you with a rope. That’s why I’m here. You’ve got to stay in the bank or go home.”

  “I won’t do either,” Neal said.

  Rolfe sighed. “You’re making a mistake, son. Jane and Laurie are more important to you than anything that can happen when the stage gets in.”

  Neal shook his head. “Jane’s home. She can handle a gun, and she knows what’s been going on. Now suppose you tell me what’s so important about the stage getting in.”

  “Darley’s spread the word about this fellow, Stacey. If he invests ten thousand dollars in the deal, Darley says they’ll start work in the morning. Even if you get a report from your survey crew, it’ll be too late if Stacey is the sucker Darley thinks he is.”

  “Stacey may be a ringer,” Neal said. “Playing Darley’s game. Thought of that?”

  “Sure I’ve thought of it,” Rolfe said, “but it don’t make sense. They ain’t got anything to gain by playing it that way because they’ve already milked this country for all it’s worth, unless you make the loans they want. What I’m saying is that, if you jump in and tell Stacey what you think of the project, they’ll lynch you. Tuttle and O’Hara and that bunch are like a wolf pack with Darley and Shelton running in the lead. This time I won’t be able to stop ’em.”

  Neal got up and walked to the window. No one was in sight, but there was a long line of horses tied in front of O’Hara’s bar. The farmers and townsmen were inside, drinking and listening to Darley. Rolfe was right. Anything could happen if Neal met the stage and tried to talk to Stacey. Rolfe was right, too, in saying the crowd would not believe the report of Neal’s surveying crew if he had it. Too late, he thought bitterly, too late to do any good. Any good at all.

  But he couldn’t go home, and he couldn’t just sit here in the bank when the stage wheeled in. Jane had said he had some of the flint that had been in his father. Maybe he had too much. Maybe he was just mule-headed, but he had to stay here and try, and he had to depend on Jane to look after herself and Laurie. She could, he thought. She had the revolver and she’d keep the doors locked.

  “I’m going to be on the street when the stage gets in,” Neal said. “It’s the only thing I can do and you know it.”

  Rolfe spread his hands. “Yeah, I reckon, seeing as you’re Sam Clark’s boy. There’s another thing. This fellow, Ruggles, is in O’Hara’s bar, but he ain’t drinking much. He’s talking about getting you.”

  “I sure won’t stay off the street on his account.” Neal wheeled from the window to face Rolfe. “Have you found out what the hook-up is between him and Darley and Shelton? I told you that when Missus Darley saw him yesterday, she got on her horse, and took off out of there like she had a bee under her tail.”

  “I don’t know,” Rolfe said. “I was in Shelton’s office this morning. I gave him hell for shooting through the door, and he said just what Doc said he’d say . . . that he had to protect the money in their safe and he didn’t know who was in the hall. I showed him them notes, but he didn’t bat an eye. Claimed he’d never seen ’em. I mentioned Ruggles and he said he’d never heard of him.”

  “You didn’t expect him to admit anything, did you?”

  “No,” Rolfe conceded, “but I figured I might be able to tell something from his face. Most men give themselves away when you get ’em in a tight corner, but not Shelton. You know, Neal, I have never seen that man show feeling of any kind since he came to town. Now I’m thinking he is about half cracked.”

  As Rolfe turned toward the door, Neal said: “It would take that kind of man to threaten a child.”

  “It sure would. Sometimes he acts like he’s all frozen up inside.” Rolfe opened the door and stood there, his hand on the knob, eyes pinned on Neal’s face. “You won’t change your mind?”

  “No.”

  Rolfe sighed. “Well, I’ll be on the street. So will Doc Santee. Maybe you’d better get Abel out there, too.”

  Neal shook his head. “Not Henry, Joe. He stopped a bullet once. I won’t ask him to again.”

  “Yeah, reckon that’s right. Well, you’re a brave man, Neal, or a damn’ fool. I ain’t sure which.”

  Rolfe closed the door. Neal looked at his watch. Almost an hour before the stage got in, if it was on time. He lifted his gun from the holster and checked it carefully, wondering how fast Ruggles was. If he was Shelton’s man, he must be good or Shelton wouldn’t have hired him. This was probably Shelton’s plan, to have Ruggles jump him and kill him before he had a chance to talk to Stacey.

  Suddenly Neal was aware of voices in the bank, of Henry Abel saying: “Wait a minute. I’ll see if he’s busy.”

  And a woman screaming at him: “I don’t care how busy he is! I’ve got to see him!”

  The door flew open and Mrs. Darley rushed into the office. Henry Abel was ten feet behind her, red in the face with anger.

  Abel shouted: “I told her to wait . . . !”

  But Mrs. Darley was in no mood to wait for anybody. She took hold of the lapels of Neal’s coat and twisted them in her hands, her upturned face very close to Neal’s. He saw terror in her eyes, real terror. Her face was pale, her lips quivering. Suddenly he discovered she no longer held any appeal for him. She was just a frightened woman, a stranger, running to him for help.

  “Neal, you’ve got to leave town. You’ve got to take me with you.” Releasing her hold on his coat, she put her arms around his neck and tried to bring his lips down to hers, but she didn’t succeed. She cried out: “What’s the matter, darling?”

  Behind her Henry Abel stood in the doorway, thoroughly shocked by this display.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For a horrible moment Neal looked past Fay Darley at Abel, afraid that Abel would tell his wife, and knowing what she would do with this if she heard. Then he jerked Mrs. Darley’s arms away from his neck and roughly pushed her away.

  Mrs. Darley whirled to face Abel, screaming at him: “This isn’t any of your business!” She gave him a hard push, slammed the door, and turned back to Neal.

  “You’d better leave,” Neal said. “If you’re trying to break up my home or fix it so I can’t live in this country, you’re going to get fooled. I happen to be in love with my wife.”

  “I don’t care anything about your old home or your wife,” she cried, “and you won’t live anywhere if you don’t get out of here! Can’t you understand? I’m trying to save your life.”

  This was more of the same, he thought, anything to get him out of town. He said: “I never asked you for help and I never will.” He motioned toward the door. “Now get along.”

  “I won’t go. I’m in trouble and so are you. Ruggles was brought here by Shelton and Darley. He was hiding in the brush yesterday and he heard everything we said. He told Darley all about it. Darley was so mad I thought he was going to kill me this morning. Maybe he will yet. I’m scared, Neal. I was never so scared in my life.”

  Neal found it hard not to believe her. She showed her fear in her voice and her face. Either it was real or she was the greatest actress in the world. He asked: “You mean Darley’s jealous?”

  “No, no.” She gestured impatiently. “He didn’t want you to know Stacey was coming this morning. Or at least that ten thousand dollars was at stake. He’s afraid you’ll keep Stacey from investing in the project.”

  Half truth and half lie, he thought. Just enough truth to sound good. He said: “I don’t believe you. It doesn’t make sense that Ben Darley’s wife would come here and talk to me like this unless he had his reasons for sending you.”

  “You fool,” she said in exasperation. “What does it take to make you understand? They’re afraid of what you’ll do and say, so they’re going to kill you. I don’t know how. Maybe a lynch mob. Or Ruggles may force you into a fight. I tell you I d
on’t know what they’ll do, but I do know they aim to kill you.”

  “I’ll take care of myself,” Neal said.

  “The hell you can,” she flared. “Not against them. You’re stubborn and you’re stupid. They’re playing for ten thousand dollars. They won’t let you or me or anyone else keep them from getting it. When they do get it, they’ll take it and all the rest of the money that’s in the safe, and run.”

  He looked at her flushed face, almost compelled to believe she was telling the truth. But even if she was, he thought, she was still playing Darley’s game. Maybe they did intend to kill him, but, on the other hand, it would be far cheaper and safer to get him to leave than to kill him.

  “Go back to Darley and tell him it didn’t work,” Neal said.

  “You crazy damned fool.” Her hands knotted at her sides. “You can’t get it through your head that you’re up against killers. Murderers. Shelton hates you. He wants to see you dead. Darley’s just greedy. He’s not a killer like Shelton and Ruggles, but he could be and he would be for ten thousand dollars. Besides that, there’s fifty thousand in the safe over there in the office. They planned this for months before they came here. Do you think for a minute they’d let your life or mine stand in their way of getting out of here with that money?”

  “I may be stubborn and stupid,” he said, “but I can’t quit and run. Maybe you are in trouble because you talked too much to me, but you brought it on yourself. I can’t help you.” He walked to the door and put a hand on the knob. “Good day, Missus Darley.”

  “Wait, Neal!” she cried. “Don’t open the door yet. There’s another thing I haven’t told you. I didn’t want to because I wanted you to think well of me, but, if it will make you believe I’m trying to save your life, I’ll tell you. I’m not Ben Darley’s wife. He hired me to come here and pretend to be his wife.”