Seven
Early in the morning Kid Dunstan was donning his spurless boots. The plump girl amidst the tangled bedding in the house of ill repute said, “Y’know that gunner from Sunrise is in town, doncha?”
He stopped dead with the second boot in his hand. “How the hell do you know?”
“He came in last night, seems like. He was seen goin’ into the hotel. He was with Oley Olsen.”
“You seen him and didn’t tell me.” He swiped backhand at her. “You all know I wanta know when he’s seen.”
She had ducked; her aplomb was undisturbed through practice. “You didn’t ask.”
“Do I got to ask about every damn thing? I told you and everybody.” He yanked on the boot.
She whined, “You didn’t pay me, remember?”
“I ain’t goin’ to, now. You don’t do as I say, you don’t get no money.”
“Kate’ll see about that.”
He snorted. “Kate hell. My old man owns this building.” He would have to get another fancy pair of boots, he thought. A heel on his good ones was broken by the bullet Sam Jones had fired. He almost struck the girl again, then cursed her and went down rickety stairs to the parlor. There were three slatternly girls and Kate, the madam, in the room.
He said, “Why didn’t one of you tell me Jones is in town?”
Kate stared stonily at him, the wreckage of a one-time beauty. “Because you were drunk as a skunk when you got here.”
“I wasn’t all that drunk.” He had been, at that. He had escaped the family and Vera Brazile and hit the bars with Doodles and Monty, two of his drinking buddies.
There was a clatter on the stairway just then and his companions came stomping down. Doodles had on his fixed grin; Monty was beetle-browed, carrying two guns. Both were bleary-eyed. They gave money to Kate and Monty said, “Drink, I got to have a drink.”
Kid Dunstan said, “I’m agreeable.” They went out and their horses stood with heads down, panting. They had neglected to loosen the girths or remove the bridles.
Doodles said, “That’s the first time I ever done that.”
Kid said, “Hell, my old man will murder me. Let’s take ’em to the livery stable.”
They walked the dazed horses across the street and left them to be cared for. They went into the nearest bar and ordered the best whiskey. It was none too good but their thirst was greater than their taste buds.
Kid Dunstan asked, “Anybody in here see that bastid from Sunrise last night?”
“He was seen,” the barkeeper said.
“Whereabouts?”
“In the hotel.”
“Alone?”
“With one of them Olsen twins and the gal.”
“Cassie Dixon?”
“Nobody else.”
“Give us another shot.”
They drank. The Kid said, “We could go to the hotel.”
Monty said, “You do that.”
Doodles guffawed. “Cap sent four men after him. You know what happened to ’em.”
“Yeah. Apaches? You believe that story?”
“You’re scared of him,” the Kid said.
“Yeah. You ain’t?” Doodles retorted. He forbore a reply. Those two knew him.
Monty said, “The Olsens, now that’s a different horse.”
“What about them?”
“Seems like they’re kind of friendly with Jones. You didn’t see it at the dance lesson?”
“Nope. Hey, bartender, you got somethin’ to eat in this joint?” the Kid called out.
“Could rustle up some eggs.”
“Okay. Let’s have another hair of the dog here.”
They drank up. “Them twins, they ain’t one of us,” said Kid Dunstan.
“One of ’em’s got the redhead gal you was after,” Monty said.
“She ain’t nothin’.” But it rankled the Kid. He tossed down the whiskey and poured another. “Mebbe we could get somethin’ about Jones out of the twins.”
“Worth tryin’.”
The eggs came and they wolfed them down and had another drink. Now they were swaggering even as they stood at the bar.
“One of ’em’s always home while t’other’s cuttin’ meat,” Monty said. “Can’t tell ’em apart nohow.”
“That don’t matter. What one knows t’other knows. Damnedest thing I ever see,” Kid Dunstan said.
“Their folks ain’t home,” Doodles put in.
“Let’s ask some questions,” the Kid said.
They had another drink and left the saloon. They walked past the hotel and peered into the butcher shop to make sure one of the twins was working. They went down the alley to the rear of the Olsen house and hallooed.
It was Oley who answered. He looked at them and asked, “What’s up?”
“We’re up. Wanta know somethin’,” Kid Dunstan said.
“Like what?”
“What’s that Cemetery Jones up to, is what?”
“How would I know?”
“You was with him last night.”
“He didn’t tell me anything.”
“You Sven? Or Oley?”
“Oley. What of it?”
Kid Dunstan said, slurring his speech, “You and Cassie Dixon, you think he’s somethin’, that Jones.”
“Well, ain’t he somethin’? You ought to know.”
It was the wrong thing to say. It struck at Kid Dunstan’s overweening vanity. He let out a wounded yell and threw a wild punch.
Oley ducked. Monty grabbed his left arm and twisted it behind him. Dunstan struck again, hitting Oley at the nape of his neck. He sagged.
Now, the liquor heating them, they all pummeled the helpless twin. He tried to fight loose. Monty hung on, kicking at his legs.
Kid Dunstan delivered one more crushing blow upon the now unconscious form. There was a cracking sound.
Monty released his hold. “Hey, I think you broke somethin’ there.”
Doodles said vacuously, “I heard somethin’.”
Oley lay on his back, sightless eyes staring at the sky. They leaned over him.
Doodles said, “Geez, he ain’t breathin’.”
Monty felt for the pulse of the stricken youth. “It’s beatin’. A little.”
“We better get the hell outa here,” Doodles said. “His old man’ll sure have us kilt.”
“His old man ain’t around,” Kid Dunstan said. He jumped back and fingered his gun. “Maybe we oughta kill him so he can’t talk.”
“You loco or somethin’?” asked Monty. “There’s people get nosey when they hear a gun. Let’s get the hell outa town, Doodles.”
“Hell of an idea.”
“What about me?” The Kid was almost sober, watching the two of them go back out of the alley. “Hey!”
“It was you started it.” They were gone.
He yelled after them. He stood on one foot, then the other. He was not good at making sudden decisions. He knelt beside the still body of Oley. He touched the white face. It was cold. Panic seized him.
He dashed to the mouth of the alley. There were a few people about. He ran back past Oley and stumbled across the back lots. He fell once. He got up and managed to make his way to the livery stable.
His horse was standing in the corral but the mounts belonging to Monty and Doodles were gone.
He fumbled with his saddle, muttering words that made little sense to the attendant boy. He mounted and rode wildly toward the ranch and his mother.
Sam Jones ate a leisurely breakfast and talked with Cassie Dixon and her father. He learned about the mortgage held by Cyrus Dunstan.
“He about owns the whole town,” Dixon said. “No way to get from under his thumb.”
Cassie added, “Where’d we go, anyhow? You say you got a fine hotel in your town.”
“That we have,” Sam said. “Old Cy’s got everyone scared around here. Long as you can meet the payments maybe it’s better you hang in.”
“Thing is, Dunstan’s always talking it up
about the town growin’ and all,” Dixon said. “If he got throwed off a horse and broke his neck we’d really be in it. Think if his wife and that damn Kid was runnin’ the shebang.”
Cassie said, “Please don’t even mention it.”
Sam said, “Perish forbid. I better be gettin’ along.”
“I’ll walk a ways with you,” Cassie said.
“To the butcher shop,” said her father.
She made a face at him and he laughed as she walked to the street with Sam, a tall girl in a long calico dress, youthful as springtime, the sun shining on her freckled comely face.
Sam said, “I’d better get on with it quick.”
“Are you plannin’ on seeing Mayor Dunstan?”
“Probably. What I’m lookin’ for is a rifle with a nicked hammer,” he told her. “I know that don’t make sense to you.”
She was looking down the street. “There’s Sven, comin’ from the shop.”
She called out and the twin came running to them.
“Something’s wrong with Oley,” he said, scowling.
“What is it?” She was instantly alarmed.
“I don’t know. I always feel it, we both do, when something’s wrong.”
“Is he doin’ the chores?”
“Yes, it’s his turn.” Sven started toward the Olsen house, Cassie and Sam on his heels. People stared at them as Sven began to trot. They came to the alley and the twin dashed ahead to where his brother lay on the ground. Cassie uttered a cry of horror and rage as she ran to kneel beside the unconscious Oley.
Sam said, “Don’t touch him. Looks like bones are broken.”
She snatched back her hands. “He’s been beat up.”
“Looks like it.” Sam was gently feeling the chest and shoulder of the boy. “One of you better get the doctor.”
Sven said, “I’ll go. I can run faster.” Tears were streaming down his cheeks. “He’s alive, ain’t he? I know he’s alive.”
“He’s alive. Looks like he was hit hard back of his neck. See the lump?”
Sven said, “So long as he’s alive,” and was gone, sprinting.
Cassie’s voice was muffled but steady. “Whoever did this is goin’ to die.”
“Now, now. We’ll know when he wakes up.”
“How do you know he’s goin’ to wake up?”
“I’ve had some experience with broken bones,” Sam said. “Better a doctor, though.”
She said, “I love him so,” and began to cry, sobbing without sound.
Sam examined the earth around Oley. The markings were plain as day. There had been three men. The scuffle had been brief. One had certainly held the twin while the others beat on him. The despicable attack had taken place not very long ago, probably within the hour. He did not want to leave the girl while he went to ask questions ... which would be of dubious value in this town anyway, he thought. Time enough when Oley recovered consciousness, as he had told the others.
The girl had stopped weeping, still kneeling beside the unconscious boy. Sam looked at the battered features as she gently wiped blood from them and the gnawing, deep passion that he experienced before action began to burn his innards. His voice was deep in his chest when he told Cassie, “They’ll pay the fiddler, don’t you wonder. Time’s a-wasting for these people in this town.”
“There’s too many of ’em,” she said dully.
“There’s an old sayin’. ‘Be quiet, be sure, be loyal and move.’ Movin’, that’s my part. Think of the rest of it, Cassie. Hang on.”
She bit her lip. Color was returning to her face. “So long as he lives.”
He was impatient to move, but he leaned against the wall and considered which way to go. There was the threat to Renee. There was this terrible wrong against a decent and friendly young man. There was the force of the town against himself, one man.
The sun was directly overhead when Sven came with a young medico, bearing a stretcher made of two poles and rolled canvas. “Dr. Fox,” Sven said. “Please, tell us how bad it is, Doctor.”
The young man produced a stethoscope and examined Sven’s chest. “Strong heart,” he muttered. He felt of the body with expert hands. “We had better move him into the house. It would be dangerous to carry him farther.”
Sam helped. The girl followed them as they struggled through the door and into a bedroom that contained two cots, one for each of the twins. The neatness of the house was impressive. Sam remained while the doctor completed his findings.
“Broken arm. Probably broken collar bone. A slight concussion. He may remain unconscious for a time. I can set the arm and bandage him. He’ll need nursing.”
Cassie said, “He’ll get nursing.”
“He will need medication.” The doctor took out a pad and pencil and began to write. Sam edged to the door. The doctor was dressed in a frayed blue jacket and trousers a bit too tight. It was not a time to ask questions as to his loyalty. Better to go into action.
Sam departed without goodbyes. He walked back to the main street and stopped by the butcher shop, to inform the man named Pate what had occurred. Then he went to the hotel, where Dixon was behind the desk.
Sam said, “Bad news. Oley was beat up. You’ll want to see what you can do. Your sweet daughter will have to nurse the boy.”
Dixon said, “Damn! That stinkin’ Dunstan kid I bet. He’s always been jealous of the twins, ’specially Oley.”
“I’ll be tryin’ to do something about it.” Sam left to walk across the street and stop in the telegraph office. Asking for help was something he had never done and he had to search his mind for the right words. Finally he said, “Mister, I can read your key. You savvy?”
The middle-aged operator said, “You want to send a message? Send it.”
Sam recited it slowly. “Beaver McLaine. Sunrise City Hotel ... You mind where we picked up the horses ... Meet there tonight ... signed ‘Sam.’ Want to read that back?”
“You’re Sam Jones,” the operator said. “Don’t you worry none. It’ll go like you say.”
“Send it.” Sam put a five dollar bill on the counter.
The man said, “You don’t need to over-pay.”
“Glad to hear it. There’s some scared folks in this burg.”
“I ain’t one of ’em.”
“Glad to hear that.” Nevertheless he listened while the message was tapped out. The time had come when he could believe no one in Dunstan except the twins and the Dixons.
Satisfied, he went to the stable and saddled up Midnight. He mounted and rode for the Dunstan ranch, the road to which was plainly marked. Beaver was the only man in Sunrise he could call upon with a clear conscience, he thought. Adam was newly married and settled down. He could scarcely ask Donkey Donovan to desert his job. There were no other real fighting men in town. Brave men, but family bound and proper for use as defense only.
Two men against an army—it was plain foolish. He had faced odds in his life but this was the biggest gamble of all. The old Mountain man was the best he could imagine ... if he lived to meet him at the deserted cabin in the woods. Beaver had no responsibilities; he loved action; he was tougher and smarter than anyone Sam knew.
He came to the wide open gate of the ranch, over which was an ornate filigree of iron which sported the brand, D Bar D. He rode the circular driveway and tied up his horse to the hitching rack. He went up on the porch and before he could knock a maid opened the door.
He entered to find Cyrus Dunstan grinning at him.
“Saw you comin’, Sam. Glad you could visit.”
“Not a real visit,” Sam said. “Got bad news.”
“Come in and have a drink and tell me all about it. We’re just about to eat. Glad to have you join us.”
Mrs. Dunstan and Vera Brazile were in the parlor. Sam remained in the hallway. “Three men beat up Oley Olsen. Real bad.”
“Beat him? One of the twins? Whatever for?”
“Not the point, is it, what for? You tell me Captain Fisher is the
law around town. I heard he was here, came to let him know about it.”
Fisher came down the stairway. He was wearing a light bandage around his head but appeared to be steady on his feet. “What’s this? Someone hurt?”
“One of your young men,” Sam said.
“Oley Olsen,” added Dunstan.
“We’ll see about that,” Fisher said. “Any idea who did it?”
“Just a notion,” said Sam. The anger was boiling and he fought for control. He spoke directly to Dunstan. “Did your son come home within the hour?”
“Why ... I dunno.” But the mayor was on the alert.
Fisher said, “I’ve been resting. Had a bit of trouble.” He touched the bandage lightly.
“I heard,” Sam said. He took the cartridge with the nick in the rim from his pocket. “Like to have you two take a look at this.”
Dunstan turned it in the light. “Got a mark. Hammer mark.” He handed it to Fisher. “See it?”
“Uh ... why, yes.”
Sam knew in that instant that it was Fisher’s gun that had fired the shot at Renee. He controlled himself—he could not be certain that it was Fisher who’d had the gun in his hands at the time.
He said, “Whoever owns the gun knows who took a shot at the lady in Sunrise.”
Dunstan said, “Now that’s a circumstance. How you goin’ to find that partic’lar gun?”
“That’s my problem,” Sam said.
“Mighty big one, seems to me.”
“Problems keep comin’ up,” Sam said. “I wanted to keep you informed.”
“I just don’t see how we’re consarned,” Dunstan said, frowning.
“About the Olsen boy? Or the gun?”
“Well, now the Olsen boy, that’s definitely ours,” Fisher said. “The gun—I don’t see how we can help.”
“Truly, I didn’t expect you would. But the gunner rode this way, y’see. Thought—but then you all said you didn’t know anything about it.”
“That’s right. Meantime, you sure you won’t have a bite with us?” Dunstan was insistent in his hospitality.
“No thanks. I’ll be runnin’ along.”
Fisher said, “I’ll be in town later if you’re still here.”
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