Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  "I was going to see the elephants," Patrick said. "I never saw elephants before tonight."

  "Fond of the mighty pachyderms, eh? What's your name, kid?"

  "Patrick. Patrick Hammond."

  "Well, Patrick," Grady said, "you may not know this, but the elephant handlers always hire some of the local fellows to haul water for them. Those big beasts drink a lot, let me tell you. Come on with me, and I'll see if we can get one of those jobs for you."

  "You mean it?" Patrick asked incredulously. That would be the height of good fortune, to have a job that would actually pay him to be around the circus animals.

  "Well, I can't promise anything, but I tell you what. Touch me on the head."

  Patrick frowned. "What?"

  Grady patted the top of his head. "Touch me on the head. It's good luck to touch a clown, and it's especially good luck to touch a midget clown. That's an old circus superstition, and it can't hurt anything."

  "Well... all right." Feeling rather foolish, Patrick reached out and patted Grady on the head.

  "Now, come on. By the way, do your parents know where you are?" Grady asked.

  Patrick shook his head. "I don't have any parents. I'm an orphan."

  Grady grimaced. "Sorry, Patrick. My folks died when I was pretty young, so I know how you feel. I'm just glad I found the circus. Traveling with it is like having a great big family, and they're good people. Have you ever given circus life any thought?"

  Patrick swallowed as he followed the clown. "I—I hadn't," he admitted, "until now."

  But he would in the future, Patrick knew. He would give the matter a great deal of thought.

  Lucas Flint was at his desk in the marshal's office an hour later when a knock came on the door. Flint pushed his paperwork aside and got up to answer the summons. Not surprisingly, Professor Horace Houser stood on the boardwalk outside.

  "Good evening, Marshal," Houser said as Flint stepped back to let him into the office. The ringmaster had changed from his eye-catching circus outfit into a sober suit of brown tweed, and he wore a dark brown bowler on his head. He went on, "You know why I'm here."

  "I was expecting you," Flint replied. "I've sent Cully to fetch Emery Thornbury. We'll get to the bottom of this business about the horse being shot." The marshal went behind his desk again and sat down, gesturing for Houser to take a seat opposite him. "I don't suppose Cooper showed up out at your camp after Cully and I left, did he?"

  Houser shook his head. "That obnoxious young man didn’t put in another appearance, for which we may all be thankful. Are there many such troublemakers here in Kansas, Marshal?"

  "We've got more than our share." Flint sighed. "There are plenty of cowhands who decided driving cattle was too much work, like Cooper. Plus, we've got all kinds of drifters and criminals from back East. A lot of them are just passing through on their way to California."

  Houser sniffed. "I suppose there are men everywhere who have to muddy the waters, so to speak."

  "Everywhere I've been," Flint agreed. He spotted two figures passing the window on the boardwalk outside. "Speaking of whom..."

  Cully opened the door and stepped back to let Emery Thornbury precede him. "Go right on in, Mr. Thornbury," the deputy said. "Marshal Flint is waiting to talk to you."

  Thornbury stalked into the office, glanced at Houser, then confronted Flint with an angry look on his face. "See here, Marshal," he snapped, "I demand to know what this is all about! Your deputy comes dragging me out of my house in the middle of the night—"

  "Take it easy, Mr. Thornbury," Flint cut in. "Have a seat. There's just a little matter that needs clearing up."

  Thornbury glanced at Houser again as if wondering who he was, and then he reluctantly sat down in the chair Cully shoved up behind him.

  Flint clasped his hands together on top of the desk and asked, "Where were you late this afternoon, Mr. Thornbury?"

  Thornbury frowned. "Why, I was at the school all afternoon. Where else would I be?"

  "The children are finished for the day at three o'clock, isn't that right?"

  "Yes, it is."

  "Was anybody else there besides you after that?"

  "No, I was working alone—" Thornbury broke off and stared suspiciously at Flint. "Why are you questioning me? Who is this man?"

  "You do not recognize me, sir?" Houser asked.

  Thornbury shook his head. "You look familiar, but no, I don't place you."

  Flint performed the introductions. "Mr. Thornbury, this is Professor Horace Houser."

  "The man from the circus!" Thornbury exclaimed.

  "And I know all too well who you are," Houser said coldly. "You, sir, are the man who shot a defenseless horse."

  Thornbury's eyes widened in a stunned stare. "What?" he gasped.

  Flint leaned forward, wishing that Houser had let him handle this in his own way. But it was too late for that now. He glanced at Cully and saw the smile on the young man's face. Cully was enjoying this.

  "The horse that you had that run-in with this morning during the parade has been shot and killed," Flint said. "It happened out at the circus camp sometime this afternoon."

  "Well, I certainly had nothing to do with it!" Thornbury declared. He glowered at Houser. "And I resent being accused of such a thing!"

  Flint opened the drawer of his desk and took out the small pistol that had been found at the scene. He pushed it across the desk toward the schoolteacher. "Take a look at this, Mr. Thornbury," he said. "Is that your gun?"

  Thornbury picked up the Allen and Thurber .34, which Flint had unloaded earlier. "It's not mine," he said flatly. "I've never even seen a gun like this, to tell you the truth."

  "It's a pepperbox," Cully put in, leaning a hip on the corner of the desk. "The kind of a gun that a city feller would carry."

  Thornbury frowned up at him. "I tell you, it's not mine."

  "Look at the grip," Flint suggested quietly.

  Thornbury's normally pale skin blanched as he saw the name carved in the wooden grip. "I...I don't understand," he began.

  Houser slapped the desk with an open palm. "Well, I understand perfectly!" he roared. "You came out to the circus and shot that horse, you...you sour-faced pedagogue, and I intend to see you in jail for it!"

  "Hold on!" Flint said, coming to his feet.

  Thornbury quivered with anger as he scraped his chair back and stood up. "I won't tolerate this!" he said. "It's perfectly clear, Marshal. Someone out at that circus killed the horse and is trying to cast the blame on me. They put my name on this gun!"

  "You blithering idiot!" Houser shot back. "Why the devil would any of my people do that?"

  Thornbury shrugged his narrow shoulders. "How should I know? Who knows why you degenerates do the things you do?"

  "Degenerates?" Houser exclaimed. He took a step toward Thornbury.

  Flint came out from behind the desk and moved smoothly between the two furious men. "Both of you shut up!" he snapped. Glancing at the grinning Cully, he went on, "And if you're not too busy enjoying yourself, Deputy, you might give me a hand here."

  "Sure thing, Marshal." Cully put a hand on Thornbury's shoulder and drew him back. "Just sit back down like a good boy," Cully told him, giving him a slight shove into the chair.

  "You, too, Professor," Flint said to Houser. "Sit down and keep that temper of yours under control."

  "Very well," Houser sniffed. He sat stiffly in the ladder-backed chair.

  Flint turned back to Thornbury. "Professor Houser does have a point," he said. "Nobody with the circus would have a motive for killing the horse, at least not as far as I can see. And you did threaten the animal, Mr. Thornbury."

  Thornbury shook his head. "I was just angry at the time. I had nothing to do with this." As nervousness replaced the anger in his eyes, it was plain that the schoolteacher was beginning to realize he might be in serious trouble.

  Coldly, Houser said, "If you didn't do it, and none of my people did, then who do you suggest is the culpr
it?"

  Thornbury looked from Flint to the ringmaster, then back to the marshal. "I...I don't know. Perhaps, uh, perhaps one of my students... Yes, that could be it!" He shook a finger in the air. "You know how some of those children like to cause trouble, Marshal Flint. Why, only yesterday two of them tried to burn down the entire town!"

  Cully grunted. "Hector and Billy wouldn't kill a horse. They're good kids."

  "They're hooligans!" Thornbury insisted.

  Flint shook his head dubiously. "That doesn't sound very likely to me, Mr. Thornbury, but I suppose I can look into that angle. For the moment, though, I don't have any choice but to regard you as the main suspect in this business."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Professor Houser here wants me to arrest you," Flint said.

  Thornbury turned toward Houser. "You have to be reasonable, man. I'm innocent, but even so, if I'm thrown into jail I'll be ruined. I'm a schoolteacher. I can't allow even a hint of wrongdoing!"

  Houser grimaced as he pondered the situation. Finally, he said, "I don't want a scandal. Even though I consider you one of the most reprehensible individuals I have ever met, sir, I am willing to forgo any legal action if you'll make appropriate restitution."

  "What'd he say?" Cully asked.

  "He wants Mr. Thornbury here to pay for the horse," Flint told him.

  "That's right," Houser confirmed. "Since I suppose you were provoked, Thornbury, if you'll simply pay for the horse, I'll drop any formal complaint. I believe one hundred dollars should cover it."

  "But...but..." Thornbury's face was darkening with anger again. "But I'm innocent! I refuse to pay this... this extortion!"

  "Then I shall file a complaint, and you, sir, will be jailed. Isn't that correct, Marshal?"

  Flint sighed. "I would have to take some sort of action if the professor files an official complaint, Mr. Thornbury."

  Thornbury's face grew bleak as the seriousness of his problem finally sunk in. "I don't have any choice, do I?" he grated.

  "We've all got choices," Flint said. "It's just that sometimes we don't like any of them."

  "All right," Thornbury said savagely. "I'll pay. But I still say I had nothing to do with any of this. And I insist that you continue your investigation, Marshal," he told Flint, who nodded in reply.

  Houser stood up. "I'm glad you came to your senses, sir. I don't imagine you have that much cash with you, eh?"

  Thornbury shook his head and said, "I'll have to go to the bank in the morning. Is that all right?"

  "That will do nicely. You can give the money to the marshal here, and he can deliver it to me later. Is that satisfactory, Marshal?"

  Flint nodded. "Fine by me."

  Thornbury pushed his chair back and stood up. "This is not right," he declared. "I've done nothing wrong. But you'll have your blood money tomorrow, Houser."

  With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the office.

  "Quite an unpleasant chap, isn't he?" Houser asked.

  Flint wasn’t very happy to have been placed in this position by the ringmaster. He ignored Houser's comment and said, "I'll bring the money with me when I ride out for tomorrow night's performance."

  "Excellent. I'll see you then, Marshal. Good night."

  When Houser was gone, Cully looked at Flint and said, "I thought the fur was really going to fly for a while there. Maybe we should've let them fight it out, Marshal. Might've been interesting."

  Flint sat down behind his desk and grunted. "It's been a long day. Why don't you go get some sleep?"

  "I'll just do that." Cully grinned. "Reckon I'll dream about that sharpshootin' gal?"

  "I wouldn't be surprised," Flint told him.

  9

  A three-quarter moon floated in the dark Kansas sky, casting its cold light over the quiet circus camp. The hour was late, and although some of the animals were still awake, the human occupants were sleeping. Several of the big cats paced back and forth in their wagons, their instincts telling them that they should be out on the hunt.

  A figure slipped from shadow to shadow, moving soundlessly. In the brief moments when the figure was illuminated by the moonlight, it resolved itself into a human shape. The man glided past the darkened wagons where the members of the troupe slept. He was heading for the animal cages.

  As the figure flitted past a wagon where a tiger prowled restlessly, the big cat growled. The intruder ignored the sound, not stopping at these wagons.

  Instead, he went to the area where the cages containing the smaller animals were kept. There were monkeys and bear cubs and several kinds of exotic birds. The man went from cage to cage, unlatching the doors and swinging them wide open. The dozing animals watched him sleepily but didn’t try to escape from the now-open cages. They were accustomed to the enclosures and regarded them as home.

  When he finished this part of his mission, the intruder moved stealthily toward the compound where the largest animals were penned. He paused at the makeshift fence, regarding the shadowy bulks of the elephants, camels, and zebras. The animals were all tied to stakes driven in the ground. The ropes were what actually held them; the flimsy fence wouldn’t stop a charge.

  The man opened the gate into the compound, and its hinges gave a slight squeak as it swung back. Stepping inside, the intruder went first to one of the zebras. He slipped a knife from inside his coat and bent to slash the rope.

  "Hey! What the hell are you doing?"

  The intruder spun around and straightened, bringing the knife up. He spotted one of the roustabouts hurrying toward him. A low-pitched curse ripped from him. This was damned bad luck. The roustabout must have been sleeping somewhere on the ground nearby and had been awakened by the noise of the gate opening.

  "Get away from those animals!" the roustabout called. He stopped short as he saw the intruder's face in the moonlight. "You!" he said in surprise.

  The shadowed figure waved the knife in his hand menacingly. "Get out of here, Joel!" he warned. "This is none of your business!"

  The roustabout looked over the intruder's shoulder and saw that the zebra's tether had been cut. "You're turnin' the animals loose!" he exclaimed. "You gone crazy?"

  "I'm warning you, Joel—"

  "Damn you!" the roustabout grated, leaping at the man with the knife.

  The man tried to get out of the way, but Joel grabbed his arm, driving the knife aside, and barreled into him. Both men fell, rolling toward the animals and making the zebras and camels shy away.

  The intruder tore away from the roustabout's grasp and sprang to his feet, realizing suddenly that the knife was no longer in his hand. Looking down, he saw moonlight reflecting on the handle. He realized with a start that the blade was buried hilt-deep just under Joel's rib cage. The roustabout was motionless, his eyes staring blankly at the sky as a large dark stain spread across his chest.

  Kneeling beside Joel's body, the man pulled his lips back from his teeth in a grimace and muttered, "I-I'm sorry...I didn't mean..."

  He stopped. Joel couldn’t hear him. And it didn’t matter now. The damage was done. All he could do was continue with his original plan.

  Grasping the knife, the man pulled it free, wincing at the sucking sound of the blade leaving the wound. He stood up and moved quickly, going from one stake to another and cutting the ropes with the bloodstained knife. When he had freed all the large beasts, he lifted the body of the roustabout under the arms, hauled him out of the compound, and concealed the corpse in the shadows of an empty wagon.

  The man replaced the knife inside his coat and took out a small pistol. Aiming over the heads of the animals, he fired the pistol three times. The sharp cracks sent the animals surging toward the other side of the compound. The fence sagged, then collapsed, as their weight pressed against it, and suddenly the elephants, camels, and zebras were free. The man lifted his voice in a shout and emptied the other three shots in his gun. Behind him, the smaller animals, driven into a frenzy by the noise, bolted from the cages h
e had opened earlier. In front of him, the massive elephants started running away from the destroyed compound, followed closely by the camels and zebras. They were running east in a mad rush— toward Abilene.

  With a faint smile on his face, the intruder faded into the shadows as shouts of alarm began to rise from the camp.

  It had been a long day, Lucas Flint thought as he stepped up onto the boardwalk in front of his office. A damn long day, what with the circus parade, the trouble with Ned Cooper, the situation with Emery Thornbury and the clown's horse, and everything else that had happened.

  He had just completed his final rounds for the night. For the most part Abilene was quiet, although some of the saloons on Texas Street and Railroad Street were still going strong. Flint was ready for some sleep, and he was going to turn in as soon as possible.

  Something made him pause, some flicker of motion barely glimpsed in the dim light cast by the streetlamps and the moon. Turning, he leaned one hand on a post supporting the awning over the boardwalk, and his eyes narrowed as he studied the street. A large hump-backed animal ran past him, its hooves thundering like a horse's.

  Flint stared, then shook his head. Was he so tired he was seeing things? If that was the case, then he supposed he was imagining the monkey that suddenly scurried past his feet.

  Flint reacted instinctively, drawing his gun, and lining its sights before he realized he was about to blast a chimpanzee. He held his finger off the trigger and glanced at the street as more hoofbeats drew his attention. A zebra galloped by, its stripes flickering in the moonlight.

  Then came the most awesome sight of all. Ears flapping, their trunks lifted as they trumpeted their alarm, four elephants rumbled down Texas Street in full stampede.

  "Cully!" Flint yelled at the top of his lungs. He spun to the door of the office and flung it open.

  The shout made Cully Markham rise straight up off the cot where he slept in the back room of the office. His holster and shell belt were hung from a peg beside the cot, and he snagged the Colt on his way up. Landing on his feet, he lunged through the door into the office and saw Flint framed in the entrance.