by Luke Short
Sarah nodded. “What did Kevin say?”
“Say?” Sam echoed. “He couldn’t say anything. He just stood there and grinned like a kid walking into the living room on Christmas morning.” He scowled suddenly. “What’s the trouble? Anything wrong?”
“Of course not,” Sarah said. “Why?”
“You don’t look very happy.”
“All right, I’m not,” Sarah said. “Sam, I think it’s time to tell Kevin about Tully.”
Sam eyed her thoughtfully, then fumbled the pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, took one out and lit it.
“Don’t you?” Sarah insisted.
“Me?” Sam asked. “I’ve got no thoughts on the subject.”
“That means you don’t.”
“All right, that’s what it means,” Sam agreed.
“But he has to know sometime, doesn’t he?”
“I’m not even sure of that.”
“You mean we just forget what we know about Tully writing those letters? We forget what we know about how he financed this?”
Sam exhaled a lung full of smoke, eyed his cigarette judiciously, then looked up at Sarah. “Yes, that’s just what we do.”
“I hate people who cut corners!” Sarah said, almost passionately. “I hate wise guys and sharpers and chiselers and angles—especially I hate angles, and Tully’s playing one!”
“Okay, okay,” Sam agreed mildly.
“Okay, what?”
“So you hate ‘em.”
“I hate them enough so I think they ought to be exposed. After all, Kevin was our first friend, wasn’t he?”
Sam only nodded.
“Then why shouldn’t we protect him?”
“We should,” Sam agreed.
“Then why shouldn’t I tell him about Tully?”
Sam turned his head, stared thoughtfully out the window, then he sighed heavily and straightened up. “Maybe the kid’s working something out for himself, Sarah. How do you know?”
“No, he’s just got that kind of a mind—shifty, evasive and always on the lookout for number one.”
“You don’t like him, you mean?”
“Damn it, that’s just what I don’t mean!” Sarah said miserably. “I like him. I just think it’s my duty to tell Kevin about all of it.”
“That’s a horrible word, duty,” Sam said. “It’s got more people in trouble than you could ever count. It makes tattletales out of little boys. It keeps men married to old hags they should have deserted years ago and it keeps women mothering drunks.”
Sarah was silent a long moment. “What are you trying to tell me, Sam?”
“I’m trying to tell you to keep that cute little nose out of other people’s business,” Sam said flatly. “All right, so Tully’s a nice, dishonest guy. Still he’s going to make Kevin a buck along with the one he makes for himself. Why do you care? You going to marry him?”
“No,” Sarah said angrily.
“You figure you’ve got a mission in life to fumigate other people?”
Sarah didn’t answer, only stared at Sam with anger in her eyes. Suddenly Sam smiled, “Let it lay, kid, let it lay.”
Sarah picked up her purse, gave Sam a long level look and said, “I think you’re a bastard, Sam, but I’ll let it lay.” Outside in the gray day, Sarah still felt her face hot with anger at memory of Sam’s words. Are you going to marry him? Sam had asked. That was just the point, Sarah thought. She wasn’t, so why should she tolerate his dishonesty more than anyone else’s?
Nevertheless, when she climbed the stairs to her apartment, she knew she was not going to tell Kevin right away.
Tully could barely see the lights of the Galena station for the driving snow. Some time while he was in the photographer’s dark room waiting for the prints to be finished the storm had begun, and he wondered if they were getting the same thing in Azurite and at camp.
He stepped into the chilly station which held nothing in its gloomy waiting room but a cold stove and a shivering dog. He bought his ticket and went out the opposite door onto the platform alongside which the mixed train was drawn up. Tramping down the platform past the single boxcar to the lone passenger car, he was about to swing up the steps when the brakeman descended. It was the same brakeman who’d been on duty when Tully first hit Azurite, and he recognized Tully.
“Hi, Lieutenant.”
“Just plain mister,” Tully said grinning.
“How you like that icebox up there in Azurite?”
“I haven’t got the full treatment yet,” Tully replied. They chatted a moment, both of them stamping their feet against the cold. The still damp photostats in the pocket of Tully’s down jacket were comforting to him as he felt them against his glove.
Presently the engine bell began to clang and the brakeman, with immemorial custom, slipped a watch from his sweater pocket, consulted it, then signaled the engineer, saying, “Better climb up.”
When Tully tramped into the sparsely filled car, a couple of enormous women, shapeless in their winter coats, were blocking the aisle, so Tully took the first seat available to him and stared out at the station which slowly drifted behind him as the train began to move.
The brakeman came on through the car, letting a cold drift of air blast in as he exited. Tully stared moodily out into the night, his thoughts on the day’s happenings. It had been the wildest kind of luck that Beth had turned up what she had at the Mahaffey. Yet, if it hadn’t been for Sarah and her knowledge of county affairs, they might still be wondering who the Gold Medal Live Stock Association was, even if they were curious enough to care. It was really Sarah’s doings.
Scowling now into the night, Tully remembered how Sarah had put her hand in his when Beth had announced her failure at the bank. Had this been simply an offering of sympathy just as her weeping on his shoulder had been a demand for sympathy? He didn’t know, but he wished he could say he didn’t care. The trouble was, he cared deeply.
Someone passed up the aisle past him and entered the washroom, and still Tully stared out into the night. By next week the Sarah Moffit would be operating again, but before that happened he must do something. He must, he knew, tell Kevin of the letters. He had lived with knowledge of that guilt long enough to be wearied to his very soul. So far Kevin hadn’t been harmed by anything Tully had done. Luck had enabled him to make it possible for Kevin to mine his claims. Now was the time to lay the cards on the table, and to throw himself on Kevin’s mercy. Why should he have any? Tully thought gloomily.
He heard the washroom door open. Out of the boredom of inactivity, he turned his head incuriously to regard his fellow passenger.
He was looking at Ben Hodes.
At sight of Tully, Hodes halted abruptly, a blank surprise in his heavy face. He was wearing the dark overcoat, black homburg and dark blue suit of a prosperous traveler to the city.
For a bewildered moment Tully tried to account for Hodes’s presence here. It occurred to him then that Ben hadn’t driven his car to the mining meeting and that the new snows on the high passes had put a caution in him. A kind of elation tightened his chest as he said dryly, “Hi, neighbor.”
Ben scowled. “You been to the convention, too?”
Tully laughed. “Nothing that dull, Ben. Sit down and I’ll tell you where I’ve been.”
A deep suspicion came to Ben’s dark eyes. His big body sank gingerly to the musty seat as he regarded Tully in silence.
Tully remembered the photostat in his pocket, and then he thought, Why not here? Why not now? Reaching in his pocket, he drew out the manila envelope, took out one of the photostats of the Gold Medal Live Stock Association Trade Name affidavit and wordlessly handed it to Hodes.
Ben studied the photostat. Slowly, then, the blood surged in his face, and when he looked up there was plain murder in his eyes.
“Beth?” he asked.
“Partly,” Tully conceded. “Partly Sarah, partly me, but mostly that noble forehead of ivory under your hat.”
W
ith a savage motion, Ben balled up the photostat and rammed it in his pocket.
“Want another?” Tully said. “I have a dozen.”
Ben could only glare at him, and now Tully leaned forward. “Unbutton your coat and relax,” he invited. “We’re going to have some conversation. Right now, I’ll do the talking.”
“I bet,” Hodes said bitterly.
“Tomorrow morning,” Tully began, “you’re going to call up Wishnack and Byers and tell them what I want. First, I want the county cat to clear away that roadblock. Then, I want the cat rented to me. Mine will be repaired in a week, but I can use two.” He halted. “Who was it that shot at me, Ben? Who smashed the fuel pump? Who sugared the compressor tank?”
Hodes only shook his head in refusal to answer.
“Whoever it was, Ben, you’d better call them off tonight.”
Hodes did not even signify he’d heard.
“Another thing. I want an easement through the Jote Smith Claim, Hodes. I want it recorded tomorrow morning.”
He paused, and still Hodes said nothing, only watched him with a bottomless hatred.
“When I get the road finished,” Tully continued, “I’ll want to rent a four-wheel drive from the county. I’ll also want the county to maintain that road during the heavy snows or else pay my crew to maintain it with my rented equipment. I’m saving the best for, the last, Ben.”
Tully paused, a faint smile on his lean face. “I’ll be obliged for a ninety-day extension on my note. I’m sure you’ll be happy to fix me up. Also, you’re in the custom milling business now. You’re going to mill my ore at the Mahaffey.”
Hodes’s voice, when he finally spoke, was thick with anger. “If I don’t?”
“A grand jury gets the photostat.”
Hodes sighed shudderingly. It was pure reflex, as if his animal energy must have some outlet. He had never taken his glance from Tully, and now he said, “My friend, all this may happen, but for you it will happen from a hospital bed.”
Tully felt a wry amusement. Ben was predictable; his ultimate recourse was always to violence. “You never learn, do you?” he jibed. Ben rose, and without another word walked back down the car.
Now Tully relaxed against the seat. He could see no way that Ben could retaliate so long as the photostats were safe. The photostats weren’t even necessary he reflected; the records at the Galena courthouse were always available.
The brakeman came into the car and halted beside Tully’s seat. He called back into the car, “You ready, ladies?”
Tully looked over the back of the seat and saw the two big women tying bandannas around their heads. To the brakeman he said, “What’s up?”
“We’re letting these two ladies off at the schoolhouse crossing. Shorter trip home for them.”
“Pretty rough night,” Tully observed.
“Oh, they’re always met,” the brakeman said. “If they ain’t, we take them on in to the Pine Creek station.”
The train began to slow now, and the two women waddled down the aisle and past Tully. Behind them came Hodes. He had taken off his overcoat and suit coat, and now he turned to Tully.
“I think it better be now, Junior.”
Tully frowned and slowly came to his feet. “In here?” He looked about him. “It’s a little crowded, and the railroad company might have something to say about it. Maybe the passengers, too.”
“Turning chicken?” Hodes asked levelly.
“Why I’d do anything for you, my friend,” Tully said. He was shucking out of his down jacket as Ben said, “Come along then.”
Before Tully could ask where, Hodes opened the door and stepped out onto the platform. Tully followed him down the steps where the brakeman, lantern lighted, was standing in the snow talking to the husbands of the two women. A car’s headlight lit up the night with its twin snow-slashed beams. Ben stepped to the ground and with his heavy voice, interrupted the conversation.
“Hoagy, you in a hurry?” Ben asked the brakeman.
The brakeman looked blankly at him, not knowing what to answer.
Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill. It was a fifty, Tully saw. “Split that with the crew,” Ben said. “Just keep this packet here until we’re finished.”
The brakeman pocketed the bill, and asked, “Doing what?”
“You’ll see.” Ben looked up at Tully who was standing on the middle step. “You coming?”
“Where? Out for a snowball fight?”
“Come along,” Ben said heavily. He turned and tramped along the boxcar toward the engine, as Tully, bewildered, stepped down into the driving snow. He’s crazy, Tully thought, but a pride just as grim as Hodes’s, if not as ridiculous, pushed him into motion and he followed.
The bewildered ranchers and their wives watched uncomprehendingly. Tully heard the brakeman mutter something inaudible to them, and then he was aware that the whole group was following him.
Ben reached and passed the engine cab under the serene gaze of the engineer, and then halted beyond the cowcatcher. The engine’s headlight lit up a vast world of swirling white. Ben lifted his arm now and pointed to a level stretch ahead along the right of way. “What about there?”
“You’re an impatient man,” Tully observed. “What the hell, are you crazy?”
“I just don’t like to wait,” Hodes said levelly. “It’ll either be there or right here.”
“Lead off,” Tully said.
Hodes tramped out into the driving storm to the level spot. Tully followed, and he in turn was followed by the two enormous women, both their husbands, the brakeman, the engineer and the fireman. No one spoke a word.
Ben, his shirt already plastered wet against his massive chest, halted. The moment Tully halted Ben came at him. It took Tully only five seconds to learn that he’d better get his back to the engine headlight. Something he did not see in that blinding glare caught him in the chest and knocked him flat.
He rolled quickly in the wet snow, came to his feet and fists at his side, circled to his right. Ben charged again, and Tully nimbly skipped further to his right. He was conscious of the silent group ringed around them, and for one brief second was aware of the wild absurdity of this. Then he saw Ben wheel, halt and squint against the glare of the headlight.
Tully wasted no time. He came at Ben with merciless speed; with every ounce of his weight behind his left arm, he drove his fist high into Ben’s solar plexus. With the butt of his right palm, he drove his hand into Ben’s shelving jaw, lifting. The two blows were almost simultaneous. Tully heard Ben’s great sigh as the wind was driven from his chest. Ben stepped back, fighting the need to bend over, and now Tully, his back still to the headlamp, swarmed at him. He drove at Ben’s midriff unmercifully. But this time unlike the other, he wanted to mark him. Time and again he slashed at Ben’s face, always keeping his back to the engine, and he was driven by an impatient swelling fury.
Ben first tried to set himself, and then tried desperately to wrestle Tully around so that Tully faced the light. But time and again Tully chopped at his arms and then at his face. He could see the blood gushing from Ben’s nose, staining his once-white shirt and even the trampled snow.
Now Ben covered his face with his arms, and suddenly lunged straight at Tully in a diving tackle. Tully brought his knee up to Ben’s face, but Hodes’s momentum carried him on. Tully felt those massive arms wrap around his thigh and he felt himself lifted.
He landed with a bone-crushing jar on the frozen ground. The fall had broken Ben’s grasp, and now again Tully raised his knee into Ben’s face. He heard Ben’s groan, found one leg free and kicked savagely at Ben’s head. Ben rolled away, cursing wildly, but Tully was quicker. He came up in a crouch and dove at Ben, landing across Hodes’s body and driving it into the snow. With an animal ferocity now, Tully straddled him, and with a savage heave turned him on his back. Relentlessly then, his knuckles bleeding, his fist bones electric with pain, he drove blow after wild blow at Ben’s head. His arms see
med leaden, so heavy they were difficult to lift.
He felt Ben’s body bucking under him, and with a blind and stubborn ferocity, he hit harder.
Ben’s body suddenly stilled, and then Tully was aware that someone was holding his arms. He fought furiously to free himself, but could not. He was dragged to his feet, and held erect as he drew in great gusts of the cold, wet air.
Head hanging, leaning against the brakeman and engineer, he spent a full minute fighting for breath. When he had it, he raised his head and looked at the man on his right.
It was Hoagy, and he said, “That guy bought himself a package.”
Tully swiveled his head to look down at Ben, who was lying utterly still. One of the ranchers was bent over him, his bare hand placed on Ben’s bloody shirt over his heart.
“Well, you never killed him,” the rancher said cheerfully.
Tully pushed away from the brakeman and the engineer, turned and stumbled back toward the train. He heard Hoagy say to the engineer, “Well, he bought a ticket, so I guess we load him.”
Tully was first off the train at Azurite, and he did not wait to see how the train crew would handle Hodes. His hands were throbbing in spite of the soaking he had given them in the tepid water in the washroom, and he was enormously weary. He tramped down past the panting engine to skirt it, heading for Kevin’s in the eight inches of new snow.
Here in the high mountain valley, sheltered from the wind, the snow was falling straight and soundlessly. More than once as he felt his way across vacant lots, he stumbled over objects covered by the new snow.
Once in the river bottom, he saw Kevin’s lights were still on. He was glad, but in any case he would have waked Kevin, since the deep urgency to shed his guilt was in him. Skirting the rotting boardwalk, he knocked on the door, then turned impatiently to regard the silent night.
When the door opened, he turned and for a moment, seeing Sarah standing there, he remained silent.
