by Fran Striker
Chapter XX
RED OAK
Red Oak as a town was badly misnamed. It was utterly devoid of theimplied qualities of sturdiness, solidity, or well-proportioned size. Afar more appropriate name might have been chosen. Something, perhaps,like the night-blooming cereus, or the cloyingly sweet nicotine, thatsleeps all day and spreads its glory of white petals and sweet odorsthrough the night. But that would be slanderous to the blossoms.
Red Oak slept all day behind the drab, sun-bleached, false-frontbuildings on both sides of the only road. In rainy weather, fatteningsows and lame old mongrel curs would wallow side by side in mudholesmade reeking by manure and garbage. When it was hot, the dust wasequally intolerable.
The men of town, men who ran or worked in the resorts all night andslept all day, were tallow-faced, and gave the impression of havinglived beneath a log or rock or in a woodwork crack. The women by daywere sallow, wan, unhappy, and consumptive. Their nocturnal luster waswashed out by sunlight, so they remained out of sight until after oillamps were burning to flatter them and help them sell their wares.
Red Oak's only reason for existence was to serve as an oasis for the menfrom countless miles of surrounding ranch and range land, and after darkshe served and served and served. Proprietors understood their patronsand catered cunningly to their demands for reckless, dangerous sport.They offered varying risks, from loss of cash, through loss of healthand reputation, to loss of life itself.
Young cowhands in their 'teens fraternized with gamblers, and killers,each calling for the drink he could afford. Easy women, whose garish,imitation jewelry reflected the glitter of lights through the nebuloustobacco smoke, flaunted their soft hips freely before eyes that wereaccustomed to longhorned cattle and hard fists of men. For those whoserecklessness in younger years had dulled their desire for women, therewas gambling and drinking to suit any taste or pocketbook. Bets could bemade in thousands, and covered; on the other hand, loose change wouldbuy an evening.
There was a jail, a one-room flimsy structure, designed to holdobnoxious drunks whose cash was spent. Slim Peasley was the turnkey.The office was one that would have been beyond his scope if he had triedto fulfill the duties of a deputy sheriff, but Slim didn't. He shuffledabout town, his heavy badge weighting down his dirty, limp shirt,cadging a drink where he could and prying his long nose like a chiselinto things that were none of his concern, while he closed his eyes toflagrant violations of civil, moral, and spiritual law.
Slim seemed to have no chin at all. His chest was in a hollow made byrounded shoulders. In profile the most striking things about him werehis nose and Adam's apple; he had a close resemblance to a questionmark.
His stretched suspenders let his pants drop low, and his shirt andunderwear were generally apart at his stomach, so that he could scratch.There seemed always to be some part of Slim's anatomy that neededscratching, and the degree of his absorption in whatever he might belooking at could be measured by the part he scratched.
It was Slim Peasley who had locked Mort Cavendish up. Bryant had turnedhis nephew over to the deputy at nine o'clock, before the evening in RedOak got really started. Slim had actually looked frightened when hefound he'd have to guard a sober man until the sheriff came from thecounty seat to take over. When Bryant placed the charge of murderagainst his nephew, Slim grew pale. Only stern Bryant's blusteredthreats made Slim accept the responsibility as the lesser danger. ThenBryant had limped his way along the street, cursing the trollops whoaccosted him. He had entered the hotel and rented a room in the rear ofthe first floor so that he wouldn't have to torture himself needlesslywith stairs. He was asleep when the evening reached a peak at midnight.
At midnight, or shortly after, the Lone Ranger reached the outskirts ofRed Oak, not far from the center of the town. He turned off the trailand guided Silver to the rear of the row of buildings on one side. Hefelt considerably rested after dozing in the saddle during the ride fromthe Gap, and ready for whatever might be ahead. His original intentionto talk with Bryant Cavendish had not been changed by the confession ofhis prisoner, who had escaped.
In the shadow of the buildings he dismounted and left Silver, to proceedon foot. Coming to the back of the hotel, he turned and passed throughthe space between the buildings. At one end of the porch he halted. Aman was coming along the road. The Lone Ranger held cupped hands closeto his face, as if in the act of lighting a pipe. The gesture, togetherwith his forward-tilted hat, served to conceal the fact that he wasmasked. He had to be extremely careful in Red Oak. There were peoplethere in the town who had known him as a Texas Ranger. He had hoped thatthe clerk in the Red Oak Hotel would be a stranger, and that with hismask removed and his face somewhat concealed by dust, he could inquireas to the location of Bryant's room.
He was, however, spared this trouble. Between his fingers he saw theoverdressed man who passed him mount the steps and enter the hotellobby. There was something about the man that was vaguely familiar, yetthe Lone Ranger was sure he never had seen him before. He heard thehigh-heeled, beautifully shined boots clatter on the floor to theaccompaniment of jingling spurs.
He could see through the door at an oblique angle. He heard the strangerask about Bryant Cavendish.
"Room ten," the clerk said curtly, "an' he left strict orders that hewasn't tuh be pestered."
"That's too bad," replied the other, "because I'm going tuh disturb himplenty right now."
The clerk tried to argue but got nowhere. "Room ten," marked the LoneRanger. He left his post beside the porch and hastened to the rear ofthe building. A dark window from room ten was opened wide. The maskedman crouched beneath it as he heard an insistent pounding on the door.
Bryant Cavendish groaned first in sleep and then in waking. "What thehell?" he grumbled.
The bed creaked. Then the rapping on the door again.
"G'way," snapped Bryant, "I'm sleepin'."
"Open the door," replied a muffled voice.
"Who is it an' what d'ya want?"
"Wallie."
That accounted for the familiarity in the man's face. Wallie Cavendish,who had a resemblance in the eyes and forehead to both Vince and Jeb.
A matchlight flickered in the room, and then the steadier light of acandle. The Lone Ranger risked discovery to peer over the edge of thewindow. He saw Bryant, shirtless, sitting on the edge of the bed,rubbing his eyes sleepily. The man muttered something beneath hisbreath, then rose and steadied himself by gripping the edge of a table.
"I'm comin'," he called, "wait a minute." The old man had to resume hisseat on the bed and rub his knees. Again he stood, and this time managedto get to the door and slip the bolt.
The Lone Ranger felt guilty at his eavesdropping, yet he felt that hewas justified in gathering what facts he could in any way that he couldget them. The game he played had life itself as the stake, and the oddswere against him to begin with.
Wallie entered the bedroom with a swaggering manner and closed the doorbehind him. "Yer stayin' in Red Oak all night, eh?" he asked.
"Did you wake me up tuh ask _that_?" snarled Bryant. "What the hell doesit look like I'm doin'? It's too hard a trip fer me tuh go back home.I'll go back in the mornin'."
"That's not what I came for, Uncle Bryant," said Wallie hastily. "Don'tjump me so till I finish."
"Wal?"
"I found a woman that'll look after the kids."
"Humph! I didn't think you could tend to a job as complete as that.When'll she come to the Basin?"
"That's just it," replied the fop hesitantly. "I--I tried tuh talk herintuh goin' there, but she wouldn't. She said that she'd look after 'em,if we paid her of course, an' if we brought the kids here tuh live withher."
"I knowed it. Well, find someone else! Find someone that'll come tuh theBasin."
Wallie shook his head slowly.
"I dunno as I can. It ain't easy tuh find a woman around here that'dtake good care of the youngsters."
While Bryant appeared to ponder this, Wallie went on quickly.
"I thoughtmaybe Penelope could come along with 'em fer a few days, till Mrs.Hastings gets sort of acquainted with 'em. Wouldn't that be a good way?"
"Maybe so."
"Good enough then, Uncle Bryant. I didn't want tuh do nothin' till I'dtalked tuh you about it. I won't bother you no more now. I'm sorry tuhdisturb you, but I figgered on ridin' back home with the rest of theboys, an' I wanted tuh get yer okey on this Mrs. Hastings so's I couldtell Penelope."
"You through talkin' now?"
Wallie rose. "Reckon so. You'll be comin' back on the buckboard, won'tyuh?"
"How else could I git home? Didn't I fetch the buckboard?"
"That's right, Uncle Bryant, I'm sorry not tuh have thought it out."
"Now get the hell outta here an' lemme git some sleep."
Still Wallie didn't go. He shifted his weight uneasily from one foot tothe other. "There-there's somethin' I wanted tuh say," he fumbled. "I--Idon't want yuh tuh git sore about it...."
"_Wal?_"
"I thought it was a right smart scheme of yores, the way yuh handledMort."
"Mort kilt his wife, didn't he?"
"That's right, Uncle Bryant."
"I wouldn't let that squirt called Yuma know I turned Mort over tuh thelaw; he'd figger I done it on account of bein' scairt o' him. I wouldn'tgive him the satisfaction of knowin' Mort was jailed fer murder."
Wallie grinned synthetically. His whole manner before Bryant Cavendishwas one of cowering subjugation, of fawning in a way that must have beenrevolting to the hard old man.
"Yuh done jest right," he said. "I'd never o' thought of it, UncleBryant. Yuh jailed Mort, an' that took care of the legal angles; ofcourse yuh couldn't be expected tuh let him be swung from a rope."
Bryant looked up sharply.
"No one'll ever know how he busted out. Fact is, he might o' broke outenthat jail without no outside help."
"He's out?" exclaimed Bryant.
Wallie nodded, a look of surprise on his face. "Didn't you know it?"
"No. I didn't know it. I been sleepin' here. How in the devil would Iknow?"
"Gosh! Then he must've got out without no help, unless be bribed SlimPeasley."
"Where is he now?"
"I dunno. I jest heard a while ago in one of the saloons that he wasloose. Peasley acted real upset about it."
Surprisingly, Bryant made no further comment.
Wallie waited a moment longer, then turned and opened the door. "Goodnight, Uncle Bryant," he said.
Bryant said nothing. The door closed, and the old man sat there forfully five minutes, muttering unintelligibly. Then he rose and wouldhave blown out the candle, but he was halted by a voice from the window.
"Stay right where you are and don't yell."
The Lone Ranger stepped easily over the low windowsill and into theroom, as Bryant Cavendish turned.
