A rifle cracked ahead of them; the bullet sounded to Neal as if it had barely missed him. He dug his spurs into Redman, swinging off the trail to the left; Rolfe and Santee went to the right. Again the rifle sounded, the bullet clipping a branch off a juniper tree just above Neal’s head. Then he was behind a tall lava upthrust and pulled his horse to a stop. Jerking the Winchester from the boot, he swung down.
They had almost reached the top. Probably Shelton and Darley were forted up in a nest of boulders right on the rim. To go on straight up the ridge was sheer suicide. Again the Winchester cracked, the bullet striking the lava and screaming as it fled into space. Just one rifle. Neal puzzled over that. If Shelton and Darley were both here, there would be two. Darley might be a weak sister just as Rolfe thought, but he’d fight, cornered as he was.
One thing was sure. Neal couldn’t go back now. Maybe Rolfe had been right in thinking Shelton would kill Darley and go on with the money. That could explain why only one rifle was working. But it didn’t seem right. Shelton wasn’t the kind to hole up. He’d be riding, and riding fast. He was too smart to stop and fight unless he had to, with the odds three to one.
Neal took off his hat and, breaking a branch from a deadfall juniper, poked his hat above the rock. The rifle shot came the instant the hat appeared. Neal pulled it down. No hole. It wasn’t Shelton. He wouldn’t have fallen for an old trick like that, or, if he had, he’d have hit the hat right through the band.
Neal’s first reaction was one of relief. Darley must have shot Shelton. That meant Darley was outnumbered three to one. They should have no great difficulty getting him into a squeeze of some kind.
Neal looked across the road, but neither Santee nor the sheriff was in sight. The junipers were small and scattered here, but the lava that had spewed out of some ancient nearby crater was a tumbled mass clear to the top of the ridge. Darley had Neal pinned down, but there was a good chance Rolfe and Santee were working their way toward the rim, their horses hidden among the rocks.
The relief was short-lived in Neal. Shelton might have gone back. It was inconceivable that Darley could have got the drop on a man like Shelton and killed him. Neal remembered how he had quit fighting and crawled under the desk. No, Ben Darley was not a fighting man, and it would take a good fighting man to get the best of Shelton.
The need to find out what had happened to Shelton became a necessity to Neal. He shouted: “Darley! Can you hear me, Darley?”
“Sure, I can hear you!” Darley called back. “You coming up to get me?”
“Where’s Shelton?”
Darley laughed. “What will you give me to tell you?”
“Your life,” Neal said, “if you’ll throw out your gun.”
Silence then. After what seemed minutes, Darley said: “He didn’t leave town with me. He was going to call on your family. You know what he said in those notes.”
It could be true. Or it could be a trick to get him into the open. Neal pulled his Colt, leaving the rifle leaning against the lava. He had to know.
Santee called from the other side of the road: “Stay where you are, Neal!”
But he couldn’t stay. Time had run out for him. He lunged from the rock and started up the slope, slipping and sliding in the loose sand. Darley opened up the instant Neal came into view, bullets kicking up the dirt at his feet. At that moment, with lead striking all around him, the nearest rock that was big enough to give protection seemed a mile away.
Chapter Eighteen
For a long time Henry Abel sat staring at Shelton, the throbbing in his head a constant ache. He had been afraid of many things in his life, but he had never experienced the hopeless fear he felt now. He knew that Neal was not immune to fear, but Neal was different. Abel respected him as he had never respected another man, and that was probably the reason. Neal conquered his fear, he did what he thought was right, and in that regard, Abel knew, Neal was a better man than his father had ever been.
Now, right now, Henry Abel knew he was up against something that would test him as he had never been tested. But what could he do? Jane would come in through the front door any minute. Laurie might wake up and start to cry. And Neal might not be home any time tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow.
Finally, because Abel could no longer stand the silence, he asked: “What do you want with Neal?”
“I’m going to kill him.”
Abel shut his eyes. Shelton had said it as calmly as if it were something he did every day. A conversation like this couldn’t be real. Abel was having a nightmare. But, when he opened his eyes, he knew it was no nightmare. Tuck Shelton hadn’t moved. He might have been a figure carved of granite if it hadn’t been for the blinking of his eyes, and that crazy, eager expression on his face.
Bitter self-condemnation was in Abel. He remembered his feeling that the trouble was over too quickly, too easily. He should have known, should have been more careful when he’d heard the knock on the back door. Now he and all the Clarks might die because of that one moment of carelessness.
He leaned forward, his hands pressed palm down against the couch on both sides of him. He asked: “Why do you want to kill Neal?”
“You can call it an old debt,” Shelton said. “But maybe I won’t kill him after all. Maybe I’ll kill his wife or his kid and let him watch. I’m in no hurry to get it finished. But whatever I decide to do, he’s going to watch.”
Still no change in his expression. Abel forgot his headache. He even forgot how afraid he was. There was something strange about Shelton, something weird and unreal as if he had only one strong feeling of any kind that was driving him to murder. But why?
Perhaps he would never know, Abel thought. He could read nothing in Shelton’s face except that crazy eagerness, an eagerness that, oddly enough, was balanced by the ability to wait. Watching Shelton, the thought occurred to Abel that the man actually enjoyed the waiting.
Neal might find out what was prompting Shelton to do this, after it was too late. There was no way Abel could warn him unless he was willing to sacrifice his own life. Abel wasn’t sure what he would do when the time came. It all depended on what happened when Neal got here. He might walk into the house and be under Shelton’s gun before Abel had a chance to do anything.
On impulse Abel rose, wondering what Shelton would do. He had to test himself, too, as well as Shelton’s reaction. He hadn’t moved for so long that he wondered if he were paralyzed. Fear could do that, he’d heard Doc Santee say.
Abel discovered he could move all right, up slowly and down rapidly. Shelton simply tilted the gun up so it was lined on his chest.
“You start getting boogery, and I’ll blow your heart right out through your backbone,” Shelton said. “Don’t expect me to tell you again.”
Abel licked his lips. He said: “Shelton, Laurie’s alone. When she wakes up, she might be scared and start crying.”
“I’ve already told you,” Shelton said. “I can’t stand bawling kids, so she’d better not start.”
“Be reasonable!” Abel cried. “You can’t keep a child of that age quiet.”
“I can,” Shelton said. “I can fix it so she’ll be quiet for a long time.”
He could and would, Abel thought. It was all right to tell yourself that a grown man would not harm a child like Laurie, but you’d be wrong because what an ordinary man would do had no relationship with what Tuck Shelton would do. So Abel sat, staring at the man, his head hammering, his mind reaching for something he could do, and finding nothing.
The front door opened. Abel started to get up again, and stopped when Shelton said: “Hold it, banker. Let’s see who it is.”
Jane, Abel thought. It has to be her. Again he had the terrifying thought that it might be days before Neal got back. What would they do? Jane? Laurie? What would he do? What could anyone do living in the house with a maniac? Abel would be driven out of his mind with fear and anxiety and the sheer tension of waiting. So would Jane. He didn’t know much about children, but he
did know that Laurie, used to running and singing and banging around the way she always did, could not be expected to remain quiet for any length of time.
But this was now, right now, with Jane coming in and not knowing what she was going to find. Instinctively Abel sensed that the one thing they must do was to keep from shocking Shelton, to refrain from doing anything violent or sudden that would precipitate action. So, in spite of Shelton’s warning to hold it, Abel said in a low tone: “Easy, Jane. Don’t scream.”
She stood in the hall doorway, head tilted back, mouth open, staring at Shelton, who had moved to one side of Abel so that he could shoot either Jane or Abel if he had an excuse. Jane might have screamed if Abel hadn’t spoken the warning. As it was, she controlled herself, standing motionlessly, a basket of groceries in her right hand, a package of meat in the other. Her face turned pale, but she made no sound, and Abel felt a quick burst of admiration for her. Under these circumstances, his wife would have been hysterical.
“Good,” Shelton said. “I was afraid you were going to start yelling. I can’t stand yelling women. Crying ones, either. Fact is, I can’t stand women unless they’re good cooks. Can you cook?”
Jane nodded.
Abel said: “I’ve eaten here. She’s a fine cook. It’s time for supper. Why don’t you let her show you?”
“I was thinking it was a good idea,” Shelton said. “You cook a good meal.” He nodded at Abel. “She’ll need some wood, chances are. Fetch in enough for breakfast while you’re at it.”
Abel had not expected this. He got up and started toward the kitchen, fighting the temptation to run. Jane moved after him stiffly, as if she had lost control of her joints. Just as they reached the dining room door, Shelton said: “Wait.”
They turned, Abel groaning in spite of his effort not to. Shelton had almost made a mistake. Once Abel was through the back door, he’d have headed for the alley and run for help. He’d have been back with someone in a matter of minutes.
But Shelton had not come as close to making a mistake as Abel had thought. He said: “Missus Clark, your daughter is upstairs asleep. I don’t want to harm her. Not yet, anyhow. I don’t want to do anything until your husband gets back. No sense in doing what I’m going to do unless he’s here to see it. I’ve waited eight years. I can wait a few more hours.”
He grinned at them. Not really a grin, Abel thought. More of a grimace, but it was meant for a grin. Shelton said: “I sent them notes to worry him. I did, didn’t I?”
Jane was unable to say anything, so Abel said: “You worried him plenty.”
“A small payment on what he owes me,” Shelton said. “I’ll collect the rest when he gets here. Trouble is, we don’t know when that will be, do we?”
“No,” Abel said.
“We may have to live together for quite a spell,” Shelton went on. “Too bad you got caught here. Your wife’s going to miss you, ain’t she, banker?”
“She may start out looking for me,” Abel said.
“But maybe she won’t think of coming here,” Shelton said. “I don’t want anybody else in the house. If she does, get rid of her. And if you have any visitors, Missus Clark, get rid of them. Tell ’em Laurie’s sick or something. She’s got to stay in her room.”
Shelton glanced at the stairs thoughtfully. “When she wakes up, you go tell her she’s got to stay in her room and keep still. I was telling the banker I can’t stand bawling brats. Now I’ll tell you how it’s going to be. My plan worked out perfectly except for one thing. I didn’t figure on Clark leaving the house like he done. Well, nothing I can do now but wait for him. Until he gets back, you’ll feed me. I’ll sleep upstairs across the hall from your kid. I’m a light sleeper. If I hear anything wrong, I’ll be into her room mighty damned quick. You know what I’ll do to her?”
Jane nodded.
“What?” Shelton said. “You tell me, Missus Clark.”
Jane moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She opened her mouth and shut it without saying a word, then swallowed.
“Well?” Shelton said. “Can’t you talk?”
“You’ll kill her,” Jane whispered.
“That’s right,” Shelton said. “I don’t want to yet, but I will if either one of you don’t toe the line. I won’t kill her quick, Missus Clark. Remember that, too.”
Jane nodded again.
Abel simply stared at Shelton, knowing what was in his mind. Here was an animal-like cunning and cruelty that prompts a cat to promise freedom to a captive bird without having the slightest intention of keeping that promise. Still he had to ask the question: “Suppose I bring help?”
The grimace was on Shelton’s face again. “You do that, banker. You do that.” His eyes were on Abel’s face. “I’ll tell you what’ll happen. The first time you try to get the kid out of a window or bring help or to kill me, she’ll die and so will Missus Clark.” He nodded toward the kitchen door. “All right, get some supper.”
Jane crossed the dining room to the kitchen, Abel following. In spite of Shelton’s warnings, Abel had a feeling that this was their only chance, even though it meant a gamble with Laurie’s life. There must be another gun in the house. Neal had taken his revolver and rifle. Shelton had the .38. Then Abel remembered Neal saying there was a .22 in the pantry.
The instant Abel reached the kitchen, he shut the door. “Where’s the Twenty-Two, Jane? Neal said you had one. I’ll kill him. I’ve got to. We can’t take any chances on waiting.”
Jane’s self-control broke. She dropped the grocery basket and meat and, grabbing Abel by the shoulders, shook him. “No, no, no!” She began to cry, and Abel took her into his arms and held her until the moment of hysteria passed. Presently she stepped back and dried her eyes. “I’m sorry, Henry.” She swallowed. “You’re brave to even think about it, but we can’t gamble with Laurie’s life. It’s what Shelton wants us to do. We can’t risk it.”
So she thought he was brave. Nobody else did. Nobody else had ever said it to him. Well, he’d show her that he was. He walked past her into the pantry. She didn’t understand. If they waited, they’d die. In some terrible way that only Tuck Shelton would think of. Better take a gamble now than wait until it was too late.
He examined one shelf after another, but the gun wasn’t in sight. He heard Jane crying from where she stood beside the kitchen table. He stepped back, wondering if he’d better get a chair and examine the top shelf that was above his head. If the gun was in the pantry, it must be up there on that shelf.
He raised a hand and felt along the shelf, knowing that if it was close to the edge, he’d find it and wouldn’t have to get a chair. Then he felt it and drew it off the shelf. It was loaded. He swung around, then stopped dead still, the gun in his hand. Shelton was standing in the dining room doorway, his revolver lined on Jane, his gaze on Abel.
“Lay it on the table, banker,” Shelton said.
Abel obeyed, his head starting to hammer again. Jane had been right when she’d said this was exactly what Shelton wanted them to do. He’d given them a minute or two, then he’d come into the kitchen and had caught Abel in the act of doing what Shelton had guessed he’d do.
Now, with the gun on the table, Shelton motioned Abel toward the back door. He said: “You’re a God-damned fool, banker. I warned you, but no, you wouldn’t listen.” He backed toward the dining room door. “Go for help, mister. Run like hell. I’m going upstairs. By the time you get back, it’ll be too late and you’ll see something you’ll wish . . .”
“No, Shelton!” Jane cried. “No. He won’t do anything again. I promise. We’ll do exactly like you tell us to.”
Shelton hesitated as if weighing her words against the promise he’d made. “I don’t know, Missus Clark,” he said. “I gave you my proposition, but this fool didn’t want to take it.”
“I promise!” Jane cried. “I promise.”
Shelton seemed pleased. “I want your husband to be here before I do anything. All right, we’ll see. Now go
get that wood, banker. We’ll find out if you’ve got enough sense to learn anything.”
Shelton wheeled and returned to the parlor. Jane said: “Henry, are you going to do what I asked this time?”
He looked at her, utterly miserable. “I don’t know. I thought I was right. What can we do?”
“Wait,” she said. “We won’t do anything until Neal gets back. It would be a poor bargain for him if he got here and killed Shelton, and then found out Laurie was dead.”
“So we live with a crazy man,” Abel said. “Stay here and wait on him and not know whether we’ll be dead or alive the next minute. Is that what you want to do?”
“Yes,” Jane said. “It’s what we’ve got to do.”
Abel didn’t say anything more. He built a fire and walked slowly across the back porch and on to the woodshed. He sat down on the chopping block and rolled and lighted a cigarette. He thought of a dozen possibilities and realized that none would work, but he knew he was right and Jane was wrong. If Neal had to go on clear to the Barney Lakes with Rolfe and Doc Santee, he’d be gone for two or three days. Abel knew he could not stand it that long. Neither could Jane nor Laurie.
If he could think of anything that promised success, he’d do it no matter what Jane thought. He could carry a ladder that leaned against the woodshed around the side of the house and get Laurie out through the window. No, Shelton would hear him.
He looked around the woodshed. He saw a rusty knife on a shelf inside the door. He could slip that inside his shirt and use it on Shelton when he was asleep. There was a hatchet lying in the chips in a corner. He could slip that under his belt and, when he had a chance, split Shelton’s head open like a cabbage.
On and on, one idea after another running through his mind, and then the first returned and he went through the list again. They were like petitions to heaven on an Oriental prayer wheel. Every one promised failure because Abel knew he wasn’t man enough to try any of them with the slightest chance of success. If he were Neal, he could try and maybe succeed, but he wasn’t Neal. He was Henry Abel, scared of his own wife.
The Man from Yesterday Page 13
