Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  "Get out here!" Flint barked. The elephants trumpeted again, and Cully's eyes widened in shock at the unfamiliar noise.

  When the deputy had joined him on the boardwalk, Flint pointed at the elephants as they charged by. "You see that?" Flint demanded.

  "What the hell!" Cully shouted. "It's the elephants!"

  Flint nodded. Another camel trotted by, following the elephants, and it glanced in their direction, its gaze baleful. "That whole damned circus menagerie must've gotten loose," Flint said. "Get your pants on. We'd best start rounding them up."

  Cully looked down, realizing he was clad only in his long johns. He shook his head and said, "Marshal, just how do you round up an elephant, anyway?"

  "Same way as you do a cow—I hope." Flint holstered his gun. "I'll get some help."

  While Cully ducked into the office, Flint ran down the boardwalk past Rose Keller's office to Angus's Tavern. Several men were standing in front of the Scotsman's saloon, looking up the street with stunned expressions on their faces.

  "Wha' the bloody hell was tha', Lucas?" Angus demanded as Flint pounded up to them. "Sounded like the skirling o' the bagpipes o' hell, it did!"

  "Elephants," Flint said simply. "They've escaped from the circus, along with Lord knows what else. You men come with me, and we'll start rounding them up."

  One of the men held up his hands and started backing away. "I ain't no elephant-puncher, Marshal," he protested. None of his companions looked very enthusiastic about the idea, either.

  "I'll help ye, Lucas," Angus declared. "The beast ain't been born tha' Angus MacQuarrie kinna handle."

  "Come on then." With Angus at his side, Flint started back up the street, following in the wake of the runaway animals. Other men were pouring out of the open saloons.

  Cully hurried from the office in time to nearly trip over a small, furry form. He caught himself, reached down, and picked up a bear cub. Holding the cub up so that Flint could see it, Cully called, "What'll I do with this one, Marshal?"

  "Put it in a cell," Flint told him. "That's about all we can do with the smaller animals."

  Cully grinned and turned back into the office. "Come on, you hairy little desperado."

  Within minutes, the onslaught of the circus animals had thrown the town into chaos. Flint ran from place to place, accompanied by Angus, as shouts of surprise and fear told them where the beasts were. Lights began being lit all over Abilene as the commotion spread.

  On the outskirts of town, in the parsonage of the Calvary Methodist Church, the Reverend Joshua Markham heard the uproar as he worked in his study on his next sermon. He was in shirtsleeves, his tie loose around his neck. Frowning, he stood up and went to the open window, peering through it toward downtown.

  There was a soft knock on the study door. Joshua called, "Come in," and Sister Lorraine opened the door.

  "Several of the children were awakened by that commotion in town, Reverend," the nun said. "Can you tell what it is?"

  Gunshots rang out, followed by whoops and shouts. Joshua shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said, "but whatever it is, it certainly has the town aroused."

  "I'm afraid that now most of the children are awake and curious. I left Alice to watch them, but I'm sure they won't settle down until we know what is going on."

  Joshua nodded. "I'll go check. It sounds as if my help might be needed, anyway."

  As he shrugged into his coat and left the parsonage to get his horse from the stable, a smaller figure darted after him. "Wait up, Pastor!" Patrick Hammond called. "Take me with you."

  Joshua turned to face the boy. "I most certainly won’t. I'm not going to take a young boy into what might be bad trouble." The minister frowned. "I thought you were supposed to be with your sister and the others."

  "Aw, Alice thinks a person should run and hide whenever anything good happens. Sister Lorraine, too. They already chewed my—yelled at me for getting back late from the circus."

  Joshua tried not to grin. "Go on inside, Patrick," he said firmly. "I'll tell you all about it when I get back."

  Grumbling, Patrick turned toward the parsonage, and Joshua went into the stable to get his horse. A few moments later he rode quickly down Elm Street toward the main section of Abilene.

  He didn’t notice the boyish figure hurrying on foot after him, staying in the shadows.

  Flint had gathered quite a force of would-be animal handlers, but so far, they hadn’t been very successful at recapturing the escaped beasts. All the zebras had been hazed toward the livery stable, where they were now corralled, but the other animals were still running loose. Cully's bear cub was the only other captive.

  It was all so damned ludicrous, Flint thought as he watched Angus chasing a monkey past the Bull's Head Saloon. Where were the people from the circus? They ought to be here helping to clean up this mess. So far, Joshua Markham was the only one helping who hadn’t been in the saloons when the stampede started.

  Angus came down the boardwalk toward him carrying the monkey. It was screeching and trying to twist around in his grip so that it could bite him. Gritting his teeth, the tavern keeper said, "I'd be obliged if ye'd take this creature off me hands, Lucas."

  "Bring him into the jail," Flint said. They locked the monkey in the cell next to the one occupied by the bear cub. Maybe they wouldn’t fight through the bars, Flint thought. At any rate, this was the best he could do. Flint pushed his hat back and wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

  Whoever was responsible for this little escapade was going to have a lot of explaining to do. Somebody was going to pay.

  Crouching in the shadows of a storefront on Texas Street, Patrick Hammond thought that he had never had such an exciting night in his life. First the actual performance of the circus, next his meeting the clown Grady, then the job hauling water for the animals, and now this—elephants on the loose in Abilene! He could barely believe his eyes.

  Getting into trouble with Alice and Sister Lorraine had been worth it, since he had gotten to stay at the circus camp after the performance and work with the animals. He knew they would be angry with him again for slipping away from the orphanage, but this was going to be worth it, too!

  Now he watched as riders tried to turn a camel toward the livery stable. The funny-looking animal didn’t want to go, and so far, it had eluded its pursuers. Patrick laughed as he watched the antics, until the sound of frenzied barking drew his attention.

  He looked down the street and saw one of the mongrel dogs that frequented the alleys behind the saloons. The dog was in the middle of the street now and lumbering toward it was one of the elephants. The dog was either too scared or too stubborn to move, because it was standing its ground and yapping at the approaching behemoth.

  Acting without thinking, Patrick came to his feet. He ran down the boardwalk, then leaped into the street and dashed toward the dog. The elephant was only a few feet away when Patrick reached the small animal. He scooped up the barking dog and threw himself to the side. Patrick felt the earth shake beneath him as the elephant thundered by in the dusty street. Releasing the squirming dog, he rolled over on his hands and knees to watch as it tore away, its tail between its legs.

  Stupid dog! It had almost gotten him killed—

  "Look out, kid!"

  The frightened cry made Patrick's head jerk up. A camel had broken away from the men trying to capture it, and it was galloping down Texas Street straight at him. The ugly, awkward-looking beast was anything but slow and clumsy now as it raced toward him.

  Patrick's eyes widened in horror. He knew he would never be able to get out of the way in time.

  A man on horseback came out of an alley a few feet away. Digging his heels into the flanks of his mount, the man held on as the horse lunged forward. Deputy Cully Markham leaned far over in his saddle to grab Patrick's belt and lift him into the air. Cully's horse leaped out of the way as the camel went crashing by.

  Cully lifted Patrick and dropped him into the saddle in front o
f him. "Don't know what the hell you're doing here, Patrick," the deputy said, "but you'd better stay up here with me, out of the way, until we get these animals penned up."

  "Sure, Cully," Patrick said breathlessly, his heart still pounding from his close brush with catastrophe. The only thing that could have improved this night was to ride with his hero, Cully Markham. "Thanks for saving my life," he went on.

  Cully grinned. "I was just postponing things. I knew Alice and Sister Lorraine would be madder'n hell if I let that camel stomp you before they could get hold of you."

  Patrick gulped. Cully was right about that.

  It was long past midnight, and Flint still had quite a mess to clean up. Houser, the roustabouts, and the animal handlers finally had arrived from the circus, and with the help of the townspeople, all the beasts had been recaptured. They were being taken back to the circus encampment now, and Abilene was settling down in an effort to salvage what was left of the night.

  Flint followed the men and animals across the prairie to the camp. He wanted to be certain there were no more mishaps on the way. He also had a few things to say to Professor Horace Houser.

  The camp was ablaze with light as Flint approached. Several roustabouts held torches while others worked with the animals. The smaller animals were being put back in their cages, and the elephants, camels, and zebras were tied once more to their stakes. Flint spotted Houser near the corral, supervising as some of the roustabouts tried to repair the trampled fence.

  "Ah, there you are, Marshal," Houser hailed him. "I was hoping you'd come out here. I want to talk to you."

  "Not as much as I want to talk to you," Flint said as he swung down from his saddle. Angrily, he continued. "This is just the kind of thing I was afraid would happen when I heard your circus was coming."

  Houser frowned. "Really, Marshal, you can't blame this on us."

  "No? Then whose fault is it those animals terrorized my town and nearly trampled some folks?"

  Houser held up a piece of rope, one end of it cut cleanly. "It's the fault of whatever villain released them, Marshal. All of the ropes holding the larger animals were cut, and the cages containing the smaller ones were opened."

  Flint reached out and took the rope from Houser. Studying the end in the light from a nearby torch, he saw it had indeed been cut. He glanced up at the ringmaster. "There's no way those monkeys are agile enough to let themselves out?"

  Houser shook his head. "The cages are designed to prevent just such an occurrence. No, Marshal, this was sabotage."

  Flint started to ask who would do such a thing but before he could say a word, a scream ripped through the torchlit night. Both lawman and ringmaster whirled around as a woman came stumbling out from behind a nearby wagon. Flint recognized her as the female member of the trick-riding team. She had her hands pressed to her mouth, and now she took them away to cry, "It's Joel! Somebody's killed Joel!"

  Houser caught her arm. "What? Where is he?"

  The woman pointed shakily toward the shadows beside the wagon. "O-over there," she quavered.

  Flint and Houser exchanged a look, then Flint started toward the wagon. Houser handed the shaken woman over to one of the other performers and followed the marshal.

  Passing one of the roustabouts carrying a torch, Flint reached out and took the blazing brand from him. He turned toward the wagon and lifted the torch so that the shadows fell away.

  An unmistakable air of death hung about the sprawled body on the ground next to the wagon. "It's Joel, all right," Houser said from behind him as they knelt beside the body. "He's one of the roustabouts. My God, what happened?"

  Flint studied the bloody shirt for a moment, then pulled it back to reveal the thin wound. "Looks like somebody stuck a knife in him," Flint grunted.

  Houser shuddered and ran a hand over his beard. "Who would do such a monstrous thing?"

  "Did this fellow usually stay out here close to the animals at night?"

  Houser nodded. "He was fond of the camels, of all things. Filthy beasts, they are."

  "He probably saw whoever was turning them loose," Flint mused. "He tried to stop it and got a knife for his trouble." The marshal glanced up at Houser, and his eyes were bleak. "You and I have got to have a long talk, mister."

  "Yes," Houser said absently. Obviously, he was shaken by the violence. "Yes, I believe we should."

  One of the roustabouts was sent into Abilene on horseback to fetch the undertaker. Houser called a tall, burly bald man over to the wagon and said, "Bruno, will you keep an eye on poor Joel's body until someone from town comes for it?"

  Flint recognized Bruno as the circus strong man. Bruno nodded, a solemn expression on his face. "Sure, Professor," he said. "What happened, anyway?"

  "I hope we can figure that out, Bruno," Houser said wearily. Turning to Flint, he went on, "Why don't we go back to my wagon for our discussion, Marshal?"

  "All right with me," Flint said. "Lead the way."

  The two men made their way through the confusion of the camp to Houser's wagon. Once inside, Houser lit an oil lantern. His face was a haggard mask as he sank down wearily in a chair and rubbed his eyes. After a moment, he looked up and said, "I'm being a poor host. Would you like a drink, Marshal?"

  Flint shook his head. "No, thanks," he said curtly. He was looking around the inside of the wagon, surprised that it offered as much comfort as it did. There were several chairs, a table, a good-sized bunk, and a thick rug on the floor. The walls were decorated with circus posters, handbills much like the ones that Asa Parker had tacked up all over Abilene. The colorful sheets advertised not only Houser's own show but other traveling circuses as well. It was a very masculine place, and Flint supposed that Houser had changed it after the death of his wife. The man probably didn’t want to be surrounded by reminders of her.

  "Quite an evening, eh?" Houser asked, chuckling humorlessly. "I daresay you'll be glad to see us go, Marshal."

  "Not until we've got this murder cleared up, not to mention all the other trouble you've had."

  "Ah, yes, trouble. We've had more than our share, I have to admit that." Houser's self-assurance seemed to have deserted him. "I don't mind telling you, sir, that we have been plagued by problems for months now."

  Flint turned a chair around and straddled it, his interest quickening. "What kind of problems?"

  "Well, we've had quite a few vehicles break down, as I believe I mentioned to you. There have also been instances where funds have turned up missing."

  "Somebody's been stealing from you?"

  Houser nodded. "Indeed. And there was a small fire that destroyed some of our equipment a few weeks ago. Never anything too serious, mind you. Certainly, no one's life has ever been in danger, like poor Joel's was tonight."

  "That was bad luck," Flint said, pushing his hat to the back of his head as he thought about what Houser was telling him. "If he hadn't come along when he did, nothing would have happened except that the animals would have gotten loose. That posed a problem in town, but I'm starting to think that whoever's behind your problems didn't intend to kill anybody. After all, none of the really dangerous animals were let loose."

  "I can't understand why anyone would want to cause trouble for the circus—unless, of course, it's that fellow who interrupted Jemma's act tonight."

  Flint rubbed his jaw and hesitated for a moment before voicing the thought that was on his mind. Then he said, "Ned Cooper could be involved, but that wouldn't explain your other troubles. Let me ask you—could your wife's accident have been part of all this, Professor?"

  Houser blinked, old pain flaring in his eyes. "How...How do you know about my wife, Marshal?"

  "Asa Parker told me. He had an accident, too. Could he and your wife have both been victims of this mysterious troublemaker?"

  Houser shook his head emphatically. "I assure you, Marshal, both of those horrible incidents were completely accidental. They were similar in nature, in fact. In both cases, a somersault was mistimed. The catch
er was in position, but Asa and Moriah both failed to reach him. If there is any blame to be attached to their tragedies, it must go to me for not insisting that they use nets."

  "Parker said the acrobats didn't want the nets, even after he was hurt."

  Houser shrugged his shoulders. His eyes were damp now. "I should have insisted."

  Flint sat there watching the ringmaster for a moment. Houser's face was downcast, and his sorrow and regret certainly seemed genuine.

  Before Flint could say anything else, someone banged on the door of the wagon. Cully Markham called, "Marshal? You in there?"

  Flint stood up and opened the door. Cully stood there, the splash of lanternlight from inside the wagon revealing his tense face.

  "You all right, Marshal?" Cully asked.

  "Sure. What are you doing out here, Cully?"

  "I rode out with Worden, the undertaker. One of the roustabouts came into town and said somebody'd been killed out here. I thought I'd better see what it was about." Cully looked past Flint and saw Houser sitting with his hands over his eyes. "Is he all right?"

  His voice low, Flint quickly explained what had happened. Cully nodded in understanding. Flint finished by saying, "It looks to me like someone traveling with the circus is out to destroy it."

  "That seems more and more likely." A worried expression crept over Cully's lean face. "Have you seen Miss Richardson since you came back out here, Marshal?"

  Flint thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I don't believe I have."

  "If it's all right with you, I think I'll go check on her—just in case Ned Cooper was involved."

  The marshal nodded. "Probably a good idea. I want to talk to Houser some more, see what he thinks about the idea that he's got a traitor in his troupe. I'll be here for a while."

  Cully moved off into the darkness, searching for Jemma Richardson's wagon. He asked a passing roustabout for directions, and a few minutes later he was knocking on the door of a small, nondescript wagon. Evidently Jemma saved all the fancy frills for her act.

  "Who is it?" a female voice called from inside.