The moment Clint heard pans rattling from the other room, he stretched his arms to loosen the ropes tying him to the bedpost and scooted the knife closer.
THIRTY-ONE
The square window overhead was dimming as the day wore into night, but Clint wasn’t paying much attention to it. Hank grumbled to himself as he stomped about the cottage, but the old man seemed more concerned with his daughter than his prisoner. In fact, after throwing some eggs in the general direction of Clint’s mouth, Hank had spent the better part of the day muttering at the front window.
Clint lost track of his knife after kicking it a bit too hard one time, but he’d loosed his ropes enough to get hold of it once he knew where it had landed. After that, he’d whiled away the hours getting the knife in hand and positioning it so he could rake the blade against his ropes. The next snag Clint had hit was the discovery that Hank Mason was smart enough to use quality rope.
The thick lengths that had cut into Clint’s wrists weren’t snapping as quickly as Clint had hoped once he’d put the knife to use. In fact, Clint started to wonder if the blade was having any impact at all. Just to be certain it was, Clint tried to tug the knife side to side instead of back and forth. The blade hardly moved, which told him it was within a groove of some sort. It wasn’t much, but it was better than if he’d realized the blade hadn’t even cut through the bindings. Gritting his teeth, Clint got back to work.
As soon as he started in again, Clint heard Hank’s familiar stomping steps rushing toward the bedroom. Clint hadn’t realized the old man could move so fast, and it was all he could do to try to close his hands around the knife before it was discovered.
When Hank came into the bedroom, he was carrying his shotgun. The moment he was close enough, Hank stuck both barrels under Clint’s chin and snarled, “Where is she?”
“I haven’t left this spot,” Clint protested.
“Don’t give me any bullshit! Ellie’s been gone all goddamn day, now where did she go?”
“I . . . don’t . . . know.”
It seemed clear that Hank wasn’t satisfied with that response. Clint strained against the ropes to try to snap them because the old man looked mad enough to pull his trigger no matter what came out of Clint’s mouth.
Suddenly, the squeak of the front door’s hinges caused Hank’s ears to prick up. Turning quickly enough to crack the shotgun’s barrel against Clint’s jaw, he stormed into the next room.
Clint had to get out of there and he had to do it now. The only reason he’d been so easy on Hank was because he could understand why the old man had gotten himself so worked up. He also figured that Hank knew he was in too deep to just let Clint go. Either that, or Hank was just too stubborn to do so. Either way, Clint was convinced he’d be safe until he got himself out.
All of that changed when Clint saw the angry fire in Hank’s eyes. Judging by the voices coming from the next room, that fire wasn’t about to die down anytime soon.
“Where the hell were you, little girl?” Hank roared.
Despite the rage in her father’s voice, Ellie’s remained chipper. “I went to buy a new dress.”
“All this time to get a dress?”
“And I went to Clint’s boardinghouse. I saw my flowers and they were so pretty!”
After a sputtering pause, Hank asked, “What in the blazes is wrong with you? Are you touched in the head?”
“Of course not. Is Clint still here?”
“Of course he’s here. Where can he go?”
“He’s still tied up?” Ellie cried. “You said you’d let him go! You promised!”
“After Mike got back to—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” With that, Ellie’s lighter footsteps fluttered toward the bedroom.
Clint didn’t bother hiding the knife, since his renewed efforts had dug the blade in twice as deep as it had been before. He looked toward the door and did his best to keep her looking at his face instead of his hands. “Have you talked any sense into your father?” he asked.
“Pa’s real upset,” she whispered. “But I have good news.”
“What?”
“I met a man and I think he’s . . . I think . . . I know I felt something the moment I saw him. He felt it, too, and I’m meeting him for—”
“What?” Clint bellowed in a voice that boomed almost as much as Hank’s. “Just get me . . .” Dropping his voice to a harsh whisper, Clint said, “At least get that shotgun away from your father. After that, I don’t care what you do or who you meet.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Do you want to be married to me?” Clint asked.
She winced and lowered her eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you, but—”
“Neither do I,” Clint snapped so he could finish her meandering thought. “Give me a chance to get out of here and we can both be on our separate ways. I also suggest you get the hell away from that crazy father of yours.”
Seeing the confused look in Ellie’s eyes, Clint had to wonder if Hank hadn’t been right about one thing at least. Her being touched in the head, even just a little, would go a long way to explain a lot of things. Finally, she collected herself and straightened up. There wasn’t as much confusion in her eyes, but Clint wasn’t about to take comfort from that just yet.
“I’m leaving,” she declared.
Clint’s jaw dropped as Hank walked into the room. Both of them tried to put some words together, but Ellie cut them off.
“I need some time to figure something out,” Ellie said. “Pa, I want you to let Clint go. If he runs away from me now, he’ll only run away once we’re married.”
“No, he . . . I mean . . .” But Hank wasn’t able to refute his daughter’s point. In fact, it seemed all the holes in his hasty plan of action were now showing through like a fishing net that unraveled after a pivotal strand had been cut.
“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll do it myself. If you want to stop me, then you’ll just have to shoot me.” With that, Ellie knelt down beside Clint and reached for the knot that was positioned on the back side of his wrists.
Before she could get close enough to see the knife he’d been hiding, Clint set it down and pushed it under the bed. To cover the sounds, he shifted his weight and made sure to kick his heels against the floor plenty of times in the process. As a way to explain his sudden squirming fit as well as provide a bit more noise, Clint asked, “What’s going on here? He’s just going to shoot me the first chance he gets!”
“No, he won’t,” Ellie replied. “I’ll guarantee it. Won’t I, Pa?”
Hank was too flustered to speak, but he wasn’t about to shoot his own daughter. Rather than agree or disagree with Ellie, he stormed away.
“You trust me, don’t you Clint?” she asked as she pulled at the knot.
Now that he didn’t need to cover any strange noises, Clint nodded and quietly replied, “Sure. Just think about what you’re doing.”
“I am thinking. That’s why I need some time.”
Ellie got the ropes loose and had done the same for Clint’s ankles by the time he’d shaken free of the ropes around his wrists. When he managed to get to his feet, Ellie was already gone.
THIRTY-TWO
Within seconds after he stood up, Clint nearly fell back down again. After sitting for so long in the same position, the only thing he could feel in his legs was a throbbing pain. With the ropes having been so tight around his ankles, his feet were nothing but deadweight inside his boots. Steadying himself on the bed with one hand, Clint wheeled around to face the heavy steps that came at him like a one-man stampede from the next room.
“This is your fault, goddammit!” Carrying the shotgun in front of him, Hank roared as he flew at Clint.
Clint reacted out of instinct and reached for the shotgun with both hands. He started to lose his balance again, but not until after he’d grabbed the double-barreled weapon and shoved it toward the wall. When he fell onto the bed, Clint maintained his grip and let his moment
um rip the shotgun completely from Hank’s grip. When he rolled to the other side of the mattress, Clint prayed his legs would support him.
“What are you gonna do now?” Hank snarled, “You gonna shoot me? Go on and shoot me!”
Having gone from squirming on the floor to jumping up and fighting to pull away the shotgun, Clint’s breathing was hard and ragged. The feeling was coming back to his feet and legs, but they still felt as if they were being worked over by scores of cold needles.
“I don’t want to shoot you!” Clint said. “All I want is—”
Before Clint could finish his sentence, Hank lowered his shoulder and charged. “Fine, then,” the old man grunted. “Your mistake.”
Clint didn’t think to pull the shotgun’s triggers, even though that would have been a real quick end to a real bad day. He didn’t even get a chance to rethink his position when Hank slammed into him and took Clint off his feet.
Both men rolled onto the bed and fell off the other side in a heap. Clint hit the floor on his shoulder and swore under his breath as his arm jammed awkwardly into his body. Fortunately, it wasn’t the arm that had so recently been stitched.
Hank wrapped his hands around the shotgun and tried to reclaim the weapon for himself. While he was able to pull the shotgun closer, he couldn’t break Clint’s hold on it. He gritted his teeth, leaned back, and pounded his knee against Clint’s ribs.
The blow emptied Clint’s lungs, but also spurred him on. He crumpled to play up how much it hurt, waited for Hank to move in for another shot, and then snapped his right shoulder toward the old man’s chin. It was a glancing blow at best, but it shocked Hank enough to give Clint some room to move. Both of them struggled to get back to their feet, which meant they inadvertently helped the other one up.
All four hands were locked around the shotgun. Hank pulled the gun toward his chest and Clint tugged in the opposite direction. Pouring in just a little bit more strength, Clint waited to feel Hank’s response. Just as Clint had hoped, Hank doubled his own effort to get the shotgun away from him.
Suddenly, Clint reversed his own direction so he was pushing as Hank pulled. That way, all of the momentum was aimed at Hank and all Clint had to do was twist to give that momentum a nudge in the right direction.
The butt of the shotgun cracked against Hank’s face and sent the man reeling. Blood sprayed from a cut in his chin, which Hank wiped away using his shirtsleeve. The ferocity in his eyes dimmed somewhat when he saw Clint open the breech of the shotgun to drop both shells onto the floor.
“There,” Clint said as he tossed the weapon to the other side of the room. “Is this finished now?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes!” Clint exclaimed. “I would! All I ever wanted to do was deliver a goddamn painting!”
“But you . . . you and Ellie . . .”
“That was between me and her,” Clint said. “She’s not a little girl any more. Get used to the idea.”
“I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
“Really? You think knocking me out, tying me up, and trying to force me to marry your daughter is the right thing? I’d hate to see what you think is the wrong thing.” Watching the old man sputter, Clint let out a breath and asked, “Where’s my gun?”
“So you are gonna—”
“I’m gonna take my property back. Then I’m gonna deliver that damn painting or whatever the hell it is and I’m gonna get the hell away from this place. You got any objections to that?”
Slowly, Hank shook his head.
“Now where’s my gun?”
THIRTY-THREE
Acklund arrived at the little restaurant, expecting to be plenty early for his supper with Ellie. After dealing with his brother and watching Mose storm away like a kid with his nose bent out of joint, Acklund hoped he wasn’t too cross to enjoy anyone’s company. He realized the error in that thinking the moment he saw Ellie sitting at one of the front tables, wrapped up in a new dress with green ribbons.
“You look pretty,” Acklund said. “How long have you been here?”
“Not long,” Ellie snapped as she practically jumped to her feet.
The sudden move made Acklund jump as well. He twitched and started thinking of what he would tell her when she asked him about his part in shooting up her father’s house. He was caught even more off his guard when Ellie smiled warmly and approached him.
“It’s good to see you,” she said. “Really good.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Things are just all tangled up. There’s a man. His name is Clint and at first I thought he was so handsome and so heroic. He stepped in and helped me and my father. Now I wish I hadn’t seen him.”
Acklund scowled fiercely when he asked, “Did he hurt you?”
“No. It’s just that . . . my father wants me to do something and Clint wants me to do something else and I’m just sick of hearing it. I tried to put a stop to it, but I don’t know what I can do or even if there is something I can do about it.”
“What do you want?”
She blinked and shrugged. “Right now, I want to be where nobody else can find me and pull me back into that mess.”
“I know just how you feel. Would you like to meet some other time?”
Ellie smiled. “When I said nobody else, that didn’t include you. I’m glad you found me.”
“Well, I’m hungry. Do you still want to get something to eat?”
“Yes. A friend of mine cooks at a hotel on First Street. She could make us something. It wouldn’t be much.”
“That sounds good.” Offering her his arm, Acklund put on his best smile and asked, “Shall we?”
“Yes,” Ellie replied. “I think we shall.”
Acklund hadn’t been expecting this. He hadn’t been expecting to find someone like Ellie or to have her actually want to be with him for more than a few seconds. He hadn’t expected Dave to get killed or for Mose to seek out Dave’s outlaw friends instead of listening to his own flesh and blood. Rather than go against it and keep counting up the things he hadn’t been expecting, Acklund decided to have supper with Ellie and enjoy the things that had gone his way.
Dave may have been a rambunctious, pigheaded fool, but he had taught Acklund something: Life was short and it could end at any second.
Acklund allowed himself to be led to a small kitchen that serviced a little hotel. Ellie’s friend cooked up steaks that had been set aside on account of all the gristle hanging from them, as well as some mashed potatoes that were left over from dinner service for the guests. It was the best meal Acklund had had in a good, long while.
THIRTY-FOUR
Clint’s gun belt was buckled securely around his waist as he walked out of Aunt Iris’s cottage. Just to be certain, he opened the cylinder and checked to see if the gun was loaded. Hank wasn’t a complete idiot, which meant the gun was empty but there were still plenty of rounds in the loops of his belt. Clint stuffed fresh bullets into the Colt, snapped the cylinder shut, and glanced over his shoulder.
Since he’d gotten his gun back, Clint had been waiting for the old man to make another move. He didn’t turn his back on Hank until the door was shut between them. Even then, Clint was ready to be shot in the back. After he’d put some space between himself and the cottage, Clint realized the old man had played his hand as far as it could go.
Hank didn’t take a shot at him. He didn’t even watch Clint through the cottage’s windows. Even so, Clint didn’t feel safe until he’d rounded a corner without incident. His first stop was the stable. If he’d taken someone as prisoner, one of the first things he would do would be to get the man’s horse. Apparently, Hank hadn’t planned for that either. Eclipse was right where Clint had left him when he’d first decided to stay in town for more than a few hours. After looking the Darley Arabian over and patting his neck for good measure, Clint left the stable.
“You gonna be stayin’ around for another day or two?” the stableman asked.
Without turning around, Clint replied, “Not if I can help it.”
“You owe me for anything after tonight.”
“I’m good for it.” Since he’d already built up a head of steam, Clint intended on leaving it at that. If the stableman wanted an advance payment that badly, he would just have to come and get it for himself.
Apparently, the other man wasn’t so anxious to stake that claim.
Clint’s next stop was Bernadette’s Room and Board. He pushed open the door hard enough to make it slam against the wall. Even though he hadn’t expected to make so much noise, he was surprised at how little of a reaction his entrance created.
Bernadette looked up from her desk and asked, “Where have you been?”
“It’s a long story,” Clint replied.
“Well, don’t think that means you’re getting out of paying for your room. It was reserved on your account, which means I couldn’t rent it out to anyone else.”
As far as Clint could tell, there wasn’t anyone else in the place, but he wasn’t about to argue the point.
“Speaking of your account,” Bernadette continued, “that picture of yours is done.”
“Picture? Oh, that.”
“Didn’t your little friend tell you?”
Clint narrowed his eyes and growled, “What little friend?”
“The girl with the brown hair. She said she knew you. I think her name was Nellie.” Shrugging, she added, “Seemed sweet enough, but a little scatterbrained.”
“That’d be Ellie.”
“So you do know her.”
“Yes,” Clint groaned. “She was here?”
Bernadette nodded as she got up from her desk. She closed the ledger in which she’d been writing and then walked over to the table that took up most of the dining room. “She said she wanted to pick up your things. I guess she forgot about that when she got a look at this picture of yours. She wanted to take that with her as well, but I wouldn’t let her until I heard from you. She got all worked up and left in a huff. I think she forgot about picking up your things.”
Ball and Chain Page 11
