Should a portion of the enmity he had unleashed against John Cox have been in truth directed at the Galtons?
And a little should surely have been aimed at the Lakeview lawman for his arrogance in ordering Edge to remain in town until—the way it turned out—another stranger gave or did not give the all clear for him to leave.
Then, probably the largest share of all the ice-cold anger he had felt when he dragged the kid to the ground and put the razor to his throat should have been turned inwards. Because of the way he had compliantly agreed to go along with a course of events that under normal circumstances would have gone against his grain. In short, he had allowed others to dictate what he should do. And that was not his way at all, unless the pattern of the future mapped out by others matched that which he would have elected to follow himself.
The dog sighed again, long and louder than before, causing his whole body to quiver. And immediately became alert when the man spoke from beneath the hat.
"Yeah, I know how you feel, feller. This ain't our style at all. And I figure we ought to do something about it before we start in to sit up and beg whenever anybody snaps their fingers."
He lifted the hat off his face and the dog ran a wet tongue across a stubbled cheek as he thudded his leg with his tail.
"Glad you agree, feller."
Edge swung his feet to the floor on one side of the bed and the dog jumped heavily off the other side.
In the distance to the west of town, the steam whistle at the sawmill shrilled a signal that it was time for the afternoon's work to start.
Edge said. "Hell, feller, I forgot that to get some feed for you was the reason we headed for this town in the first place."
The dog whined and went to the door as the half-breed stood up from the bed. Then, while the man gathered up his saddle and bedroll, the animal sat down but constantly shuffled back and forth on his rump, obviously impatient to be outside and heading for his next meal. Though when Edge opened the door, the dog contained himself and held back, waiting to fall in at his left heel. Then the animal, previously too preoccupied with the excitement of leaving, heard a sound that erupted a growl from deep in his throat.
The half-breed froze just as he was about to step out on to the landing, the smile for the German shepherd displaced by a thin-lipped coldness as he made to drop his burdens and reach for the holstered Colt.
But then Polly Webster swept into view outside the open door, a towel in one hand and the pitcher of water delivered earlier by her brother in the other. On her flushed face a lopsided grin which the smell of her breath stressed was caused largely by liquor.
"Don't look so scared, Mr. High-and-Mighty Edge," she slurred, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb as she swayed and almost fell. "I ain't come to rape you. Just brought you up the towel my dumb-assed brother forgot. Seems he forgot how to come through a door, too. Dumb cluck left the water out here on the—"
She started to come into the room, but Edge was already moving to leave, holding the saddle in front of him so that she bumped into this before being forced to back up.
"Obliged to you for taking the trouble, lady," he told her and glimpsed the latent fury in her crystal-clear, light blue eyes before she wrenched them away from the trap of his slitted, ice blue gaze. "But me and this feller have decided to check out. Willing to pay for a day's rent of the room. No need of any other services."
His eyes flicked across their sockets to survey the landing in both directions and the securely closed doors to either side—the head of the stairs at the end. Certain of only one thing about this new situation: that whether she had taken one or a dozen shots of rye whisky to taint her breath, Polly Webster was only feigning being drunk. Which had to mean she was trying to stir up trouble of some kind for him. And surely this would involve her giant brother.
"You don't bad mouth me and get away with it, you bastard!" she rasped softly as he turned in front of her to move toward the stairway, the tense but no longer growling German shepherd as close as ever behind him. And then she raised her voice to a shrill pitch to shriek: "Max! Help me, Max! He hurt me! God in Heaven, he made me. . .”
She let the lie hang unfinished in the chill, silent atmosphere of the hotel landing. Then ended the silence with the first of a series of explosive sobs. The second of which sounded in unison with the smashing of the water pitcher on the polished floor of the landing. The third closely followed by the crash of broken glass.
He had his head turned to look back at her by then. In time to see her bring an almost full bottle of whisky out from under the towel and smash it against the doorframe—letting go of the neck as the glass and timber made contact. Next, starting to bring the towel up to her face, to hide her unbloodshot and tearless eyes in its fabric.
Briefly, her spite-filled eyes locked with the hooded gaze of the man she suddenly realized she had misjudged. Her all-consuming malice was abruptly swept away, to leave her in the grip of terror. So that there was genuine emotion to power the body-wrenched sob that sounded as she buried her now pale face in the towel. A sob which also had an accompanying sound—that of a door jerked angrily open at the foot of the stairs.
"I'm sorry!" she wailed through the muffle of the towel. "You mustn't hurt Max! He's only—"
"Hold on, sis!" her brother bellowed as his footfalls thudded heavily on the stairway. "I'm comin'! You better lay off Polly, you filthy sonofabitch!"
Edge dropped his bedroll and saddle and took a step toward the almost hysterical woman. Brought his trailing leg forward and up to thud the knee into the base of her belly.
With a cry of pain she dropped the towel and reached with both hands to the source of the agony, folding double in an attempt to ease the fire started by the blow. She screamed again as the half-breed's other knee slammed into her face. The impact forced her to straighten, then flung her out on to her back, her arms going wide to the sides and her legs splaying in a vain attempt to retain her balance.
This just as her massively built brother half fell up the final few steps of the stairs and shuddered to a halt at the far end of the landing, his towering, broad frame blocking out much of the light from the window in back of him. But he had seen his sister spread-eagled on the floor some fifty feet away, as she brought both her arms in from the sides to claw at the base of her belly; not yet conscious of the blood that the blow to her face had spurted from her nostrils.
Max stared with limitless loathing at the shorter, leaner man who stood beside the terrified and agonized woman. A man who spoke a couple of gentle words to quiet his dog, massaged his knees by turns, and slowly slid the Winchester from the scabbard attached to his discarded saddle.
An expression of total indifference on his face, Edge drawled, "How the lady looks, don't guess there's any way I can convince you I didn't lay a hand on her, Max?"
Chapter Ten
Polly Webster began to tremble and wail as her brother did his knuckle-cracking trick and started along the landing in a slow, shuffling gait.
Edge brought up the rifle to aim it at the big man from his hip and the German shepherd whined softly—confused because he sensed a dangerous situation and had been ordered to stay out of it.
"I'll kill you, Max." the half-breed warned evenly.
"You don't scare me, mister. I told you that, already."
"A mem that's as big as you and as mad as you sure scares me, feller. Killing you is the only way I know to stop you."
"You don't scare me."
"I'm impressed. But you shouldn't get yourself killed for a lie."
Polly curtailed her crying to demand in a croaking voice: "Stop this, Max! He's right!"
The big man kept on coming. "I warned him off you, sis. And if he's gonna kill me, he's gonna kill me. Let one filthy bastard get away with it and before you know it there won't be no difference between that Rita Cornell and you."
"But he didn't do nothing to me, Max!" she implored. "I was only pretending!
"
The massively built man halted about fifteen feet along the landing from where Edge stood with the leveled Winchester. The half-breed, between his saddle and bedroll, watched Max impassively, while the dog, just behind him, looked eagerly from brother to sister and back.
Edge, not daring to move his gaze away from the big man, heard without seeing as the woman struggled painfully into a half-slumped sitting posture, one shoulder against the wall. And reached for the towel to stanch the trickle of blood from her nostrils.
"What you mean, sis?" Max asked, coming down off the peak of aggression as his suspicious eyes shifted away from the half-breed's face for the first time in many stretched seconds. To look down and to the side at his sister. "You look to me like you got hurt real bad."
He cracked his knuckles, no longer wanting desperately to free his fist from the other hand and smash it into the unblinking face of Edge.
Polly Webster began to weep, but tears of misery instead of pain now.
Edge pursed his lips and let out some pent-up breath. Then muttered, "Me and the dog are hungry, lady."
The weeping stopped and the woman began to speak, very fast. While the anger renewed its hold on Max, but was no longer directed at the half-breed.
"He turned me down when he first checked in, Max. I offered myself to him and he turned me down and insulted me. So I planned to get back at him. Waited for you to take your nap and came up here to his room. Pretended to be drunk. Was going to tell you he got me that way and —and—and then took advantage of me. Wanted you to come up here and beat the daylights out of him. To get back at him. For the way he turned me down flat when I all but threw myself at him." She paused to draw breath and a sob burst from her.
Max groaned bitterly, "Not again, sis?"
"But right at the last I knew I'd made a mistake, Max. A bad one. I knew at the start he was a mean one. The way he killed the stage guard. But I never thought he'd kill you and me—"
"Mistakes happen, lady," Edge cut in on the now virtually babbling woman. "Me and the dog are getting hungrier, Max. Do I need to kill you to get out of this place?"
The big man withdrew his fist from the clutch of the opposite palm and dropped his arms to his sides. Shrugged his broad shoulders and looked like he was set to cry. And threatened by such an emotion, his unintelligent face took on the quality of a child's.
"What can I tell you, sir?" he pleaded.
"I know as much as I need to, feller. Figure I could guess the rest if I wanted to take the time and trouble."
"Wish you hadn't hit her."
"It was hurt her or kill her, feller. Way I was getting close to drowning in the shit I been taking lately."
The woman with blood on her face was weeping very softly now. But was not wallowing too deeply in the well of self-pity for all else to be excluded from her sensibilities. She was immediately silent when Sheriff Herman called from down in the hotel lobby:
"Anybody home?"
The dog barked once and Edge eased the Winchester's hammer forward and began to slide the rifle back in the scabbard. Then glanced at the woman as he lifted his saddle and bedroll up from the floor.
The lawman could be heard moving along the hallway to the foot of the stairs, where he halted. "No trouble, boy. Just want a word with your master."
Edge saw the bitter disappointment on Polly Webster's face and knew she had been ready to switch her story again if the opportunity arose. A scorned woman willing to go to almost any length to vent her spite against the man who spurned her. Knowing she could control the moods of her dullard brother but resigned to defeat now that the Lakeview lawman was a witness.
The half-breed called: "Stay there, sheriff. I'm on my way down."
"Just came to tell you that you can leave town any time you like, Edge," Herman answered.
"Town and the hotel?" the half-breed asked of Max, who was blocking the way to the head of the stairs for a man with a bulky burden under each arm. "After I pay for the room. The breakages are all down to your sister, feller."
Max folded flat to a closed door in a recess to allow Edge by. And growled: "No charge sir. Least I can do, I reckon. Appreciate it if you didn't put it around?"
Edge drew back his lips to display a brief smile as he replied: "I don't. And that's what caused the trouble." Then shifting his glinting-eyed gaze from the saddened Max to the now glowering Polly, added, "So I can't say I'm obliged to you for having me, lady!"
"Two words for you, mister!" she rasped venomously. "And the second one's off!"
"Aw, sis," Max groaned.
This as Edge reached the top of the stairway and looked down at the grim-faced Lakeview lawman, who stood at the foot, shoulders hunched and hands thrust deep in the pockets of his duster.
Herman started his explanation as soon as the half-breed, the eager dog at his heels, began to descend.
"Lee Galton just got back to town, Edge. In bad shape. Seems his brother and sister-in-law jumped him out at the claim. Beat up on him and kicked him off. Family dispute which ain't none of my business unless they start in to kill one another. But far as you're concerned, Lee Galton did find out the others dug up old Barney's body. And saw he died like you said. Of the gangrene from havin' his leg torn off."
Edge had reached the foot of the stairs by now.
And in the otherwise quietness of the hotel, an exchange of angry whispering between the Webster brother and sister could be heard, but not understood. "Obliged."
The lawman's suspicious gaze shifted from the half-breed to the head of the stairs and back again. "Looked like you were fixin' to leave this hotel anyway?"
"And it doesn't matter now if I was going to ride out of the town as well, sheriff."
A shrug of the shoulders. "That's right."
Herman stood aside for Edge to lead the way along the gloomy hall and across the lobby. Fell in behind the German shepherd and then lengthened his stride to get ahead at the closed door. Where he halted, a hand on the latch. "I ain't the smartest man in the world, mister. But I ain't the most stupid either. Me gettin' here when I did broke up trouble between you and the Websters."
"It did, sheriff."
"Don't surprise me. Been some time since Polly set her cap at anybody and Max went crazy at the poor slob for tryin' to take a bite of the apple shoved under his nose. Glad I stopped it goin' too far this time. But don't you take it no further, Edge. In case you ain't so lucky to have so many eye witnesses to self-defense the next time. Afternoon to you."
He lifted the latch, jerked open the door, and swung out. Stepped down from the stoop and angled across the street toward his office. With a swagger in his gait, like he was proud of having issued the warning.
The German shepherd gave a short, sharp bark and the half-breed murmured:
"Sure, feller. Let's go fill our bellies and get the hell out to where you're the only one gives me orders."
The afternoon air was colder than the morning's had been and there was a bank of white cloud streaked with gray in the east. But it had a long way to spread to threaten the bright sun that was far advanced on its down slide toward the southwestern horizon. But maybe by nightfall the weather would close in on this section of the Montana Rockies. Perhaps to herald an early winter that would maintain a tight grip on the timber-clad slopes and high rock ridges all the way through to next spring.
The prospect of this happening occupied Edge as he and the dog moved along the street toward a building with a sign that read Good Food—Epicure Restaurant—Fine Wines. And caused him to quicken his pace as he contemplated being snowed up in Lakeview for months at a time. Which was an image not difficult to retain on this deserted street in this quiet town under a bright but vaguely menacing sky.
Then, as he neared the restaurant, the town was not quite so quiet, for he heard hoofbeats closing in from the east. Then, when he stepped up on to the sidewalk and dumped his gear against the Weill to the side of the restaurant's glass-panel door, he
saw a trio of men slow their mounts from a canter to a walk as they came off the spur of the trail to advance along the street.
Hard-looking men in thick, dark-colored topcoats that made it difficult to judge how they were built, all wearing gloves and with the collars of their coats turned up and their hats pulled down. Red-rimmed eyes and unshaven jaws. Element-stained flesh pinched blue by a long time riding through the cold day. All in their mid-thirties and in a bad humor.
The one who rode in the center, the meanest-looking of the three, a sneer in his tone to match the one on his face, growled, "Place a man can get a warmin' drink of liquor in this dump of a town?"
The newcomers were still several yards short of where Edge had pushed open the door of the restaurant after telling the dog to sit by his gear, so the spokesman had to shout the query.
The half-breed waited until the men were level with him, so he could reply without raising his voice: "Keep on along the street. Place called the Treasure House couple of blocks down on the right."
They went on by without a word or sign of acknowledgment and Edge stepped into the restaurant. The skin of his hands and face immediately starting to tingle in the stove heat of the small room with its half dozen cloth-covered, chair-ringed tables and lone occupant. Who said wearily:
"Guess you'll want the biggest steak I have. Cooked until it's burnt black and served with an enormous portion of—"
"No, feller," the half-breed cut in on the fifty-year-old, five-foot-tall, and very fat man, bringing a flashing smile to his round, many, chinned face with its bulging cheeks and thin black moustache. Which quickly evaporated when his sole customer went on: "Like six steaks cooked that way. One on a plate with a heap of whatever's available. The others cut up and in a bowl for my dog."
He took off his hat and coat and hung them on one of the row of pegs to the side of the door. And sat at the nearest table. "Some hot soup while I'm waiting for the meat would be good, feller. And I'd be obliged if you'd hurry it up. Looks like it could snow before long and I want—"
EDGE: The Killing Claim Page 8
