Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  Early the next morning, Houser called a meeting of the entire troupe in the big tent.

  Flint watched the gathering from the tent's entrance. Houser climbed onto one of the pedestals used by Lothar von Berndt in his animal-training act. Raising his arms and his voice to get everyone's attention, the ringmaster announced that tonight would be their final performance in Abilene.

  "I know that after everything that has happened," Houser said, "many of you will be glad to leave here. I know that Marshal Flint will be pleased to see us go”

  Houser's eyes met Flint's over the crowd, and the marshal touched the brim of his hat acknowledging the comment.

  "Now, I want all of you to give tonight's show everything you've got!" Houser went on. "The good citizens of Abilene are certainly not to blame for the misfortunes that have befallen us here. They have been unstinting in their support, their applause, their good will. Tonight, we shall pay them back. What do you say?"

  The entire troupe let out a cheer. Houser might be a hard taskmaster, Flint reflected, but he definitely commanded the affection and respect of his people.

  "I'll want to get an early start in the morning. Be sure that all necessary repairs are made today. We'll strike the big top tonight after the performance, as usual, and prepare everything for our early departure. Any questions?"

  There were none, and Houser concluded by saying, "I thank all of you for your efforts and your devotion. This is still the best circus in the country, bar none!"

  Again, the performers and the roustabouts cheered.

  Flint spotted Asa Parker in the crowd, standing near Jemma Richardson and the little clown Grady. Parker would probably leave today so that he would have a suitable lead on the circus itself. There were other towns to visit and more posters to put up.

  As the meeting concluded, Houser hopped down from the platform and came over to Flint. "Good morning, Marshal," he said. "I trust you heard all of that."

  Flint nodded. "Yes, I did. And you're not completely right about me being glad to see you go. I like some of you folks, Professor. And you did keep life from being boring for a few days."

  Houser clapped Flint on the shoulder. "Then we've done our job, eh? Now, Marshal, I believe we should start a search for that missing money."

  "That's what I was thinking," Flint agreed.

  Drafting several roustabouts to help them, Flint and Houser spent the morning combing the area where Cooper had been killed. There was no sign of the money box. Houser became more upset as the search failed to turn it up.

  "I can afford to lose a night's receipts," he declared, "but I'm damned if I want to!"

  Flint shrugged. "I don't know what else we can do, Professor. If you'll leave your traveling schedule with me, I'll sure send the money on to you if it turns up."

  Houser sighed. "It appears that's all we can do."

  Wearily, Flint ran a hand across his tired eyes. "I'm going to head back to town. My deputy will be out here in a little while to keep an eye on things."

  "Do you think we'll have more trouble? After all, Cooper and his cronies are dead."

  "I don't know. I'm not of a mind to take chances, though, not after everything that's happened."

  Houser smiled. "I daresay your associate, Mr. Markham, will be keeping an eye on our Miss Richardson."

  Flint grinned back at him. "He does seem to be sweet on her. He's not going to be happy when the show pulls out and she goes with it."

  "As she most certainly will. I know Jemma, Marshal, and as much as she may care about your deputy, she won't give up her traveling life for him."

  "I know," Flint said. "I think Cully does, too."

  Jemma slapped leather, pulling the Colt with blinding speed and triggering four fast shots. The empty tin cans that she had lined up on top of some of the corral posts went flying into the air, perforated by the slugs.

  Cully came around the corner of the wagon in time to see the demonstration of the young woman's marksmanship. He clapped his hands. "Not bad," he called. "Not flashy, but not bad."

  Jemma shrugged as she slid the gun back in its holster. "I won't bother asking if you can do as well," she said. "I know you can. Shooting at tin cans on posts is nothing."

  She didn’t seem to want to meet his eyes, and he could tell something was bothering her. He moved closer, put a gentle hand on her shoulder, and asked, "What's wrong?"

  "Tonight's the last show," she said, still not looking at him.

  Cully reached out and cupped her chin, tilting her head back so that she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Hell, I know that," he said. "And I know you'll be moving on. You don't have to tell me that."

  "Oh, Cully—" She leaned against him, pressing her face to his chest. His arms went around her and held her tightly. Jemma didn’t cry, but a shudder went through her. "I—I just don't know what to do."

  "That's all right," he told her, breathing in the clean fragrance of her hair. "Most folks don't know what they're doing most of the time. But I know what you're going to do, Jemma."

  She looked up at him again. "What, Cully? Tell me."

  "You're going to leave with the circus and keep on doing what you've been doing—bringing happiness to folks in every place you put on a show. I know how important that is to you, Jemma. I'd never ask you to do...anything else."

  "Like stay here in Abilene?"

  For an instant Cully's face seemed carved in stone. Then he smiled and said, "That's right."

  A long moment passed while the two of them gazed into each other's eyes, then Jemma rested her head on Cully's chest again. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for not making it hard on me, Cully."

  "You're welcome," he said, and he meant it. But there was a place inside him that was hurting like the very devil.

  If anything, Flint thought as he surveyed the crowd inside the big tent, more people were in attendance tonight than had come to the first show. He saw Sister Lorraine and Alice Hammond and the other orphans. Rose Keller and Angus MacQuarrie and the Reverend Joshua Markham were all there. Most of the people in the audience had attended at least one of the previous shows, but the citizens of Abilene were well aware they might never have another chance to see a circus.

  Excitement was running high as Professor Horace Houser trotted into the center of the ring to introduce his performers one last time. Sensing the mood of the crowd, the members of the troupe pulled out all the stops, just as Houser had requested in the meeting that morning. They were going to give Abilene something to remember.

  The trick-riding Carstairs family, Count Lothar von Berndt, Jemma Richardson, the acrobats, the clowns—all did their best to top anything that had gone before.

  For two solid hours the huge canvas tent was filled with the sounds of laughter and cheers and applause. When the entire troupe came into the ring for a final bow, the ovation lasted for many long minutes.

  And then it was over. Much as the children and most of the adults would have liked for it to continue forever, the final performance was done.

  The orphans chattered excitedly as Sister Lorraine and Alice tried to herd them away from the tent and back to the wagons in which they had come. One of them hung back: Patrick Hammond was determined to get one last look at the sights that had thrilled him so.

  He and the other boys had been there that afternoon, first thing after school, to do their jobs hauling water and feed. When they were done, Houser had paid them their wages and thanked each one of them personally. Tonight, there was no longer need for their services. The animal handlers would take care of whatever needed to be done. But come hell or high water, Patrick thought as he waited for his chance, he was going to say his own private goodbyes to the elephants and camels and zebras.

  When he saw Sister Lorraine and Alice looking in the other direction at the same time, Patrick seized the opportunity. He ducked around a wagon and headed for the part of the camp where the animals were kept.

  Crouching beside a wagon wheel, he watched, wid
e-eyed, as the animal handlers herded the majestic beasts back into their compound by torchlight. The large animals were staked out in the corral, and the big cats were put back in their cages. The apes and the bears were back behind the bars of their wagons.

  Their work done here, the roustabouts moved on to other tasks. Patrick overheard some of them talking about how the big top would be taken down later. That might be worth staying to see, he thought. But as soon as the men were gone and the area around the cages and corral was deserted, he slipped out to say farewell to the animals.

  "So long, big fella," he whispered to one of the massive elephants as he leaned on the corral fence. He said goodbye to the rest of them, too, and then moved on to the camels and zebras. His chest was tight with emotion. He would never see creatures like these again, he thought, and he was proud that he had helped care for them, even if it had been for only a little while.

  Patrick moved from wagon to wagon, talking briefly to the animals inside, most of whom regarded him with indifference. That didn’t matter; he knew they would remember him.

  He came around from behind one wagon just as a man hopped down from the vehicle. The man, limping slightly and carrying something in his hands, took a couple of steps before he stopped in his tracks and stared at Patrick.

  Patrick grimaced. He was probably in trouble now, he thought. He wasn’t supposed to be around this part of the camp. In fact, he was supposed to be heading back to the orphanage with the rest of the children. But there hadn’t been time to duck back and avoid being seen.

  "Hi," Patrick ventured, staring at the dark-haired man. The man had a strange, intense expression on his face, and Patrick suddenly recognized him as Asa Parker, the one who traveled ahead of the circus putting up advertising posters. Cully had pointed Parker out to him.

  Cully had also told him about a metal box full of money that had seemingly disappeared. A box like the one in Parker's hand...

  Patrick started to back away, but Parker took a step toward him, a smile on his face now. "You know who I am, don't you, boy?" he asked. He hefted the box. "And you know what's in this, too."

  Patrick shook his head, instinctively knowing that this was trouble. "I—I don't know anything, mister. I'm just an orphan kid who came to the circus."

  "Don't lie to me, boy. Don't ever lie to me!" Suddenly, without warning, Parker sprang forward toward Patrick.

  Patrick yelped in fear as he whirled around and ran. Parker's hand grasped his coat for an instant, but then Patrick pulled away. This wasn’t the first time he had been chased by an angry adult. Fear gave him added speed.

  But Parker was right behind him! For a man with a bad leg, he was faster than Patrick ever would have expected. As the boy raced through the shadowy camp and darted around wagons, Patrick tried to figure out what was happening. Parker must have had something to do with that robbery the night before—

  He had gotten that far in his reasoning when he spotted two figures, standing so close together in the moonlight that they looked almost like one. He recognized the hat that the taller figure wore. "Cully!" Patrick shouted.

  Cully and Jemma had found a nice, secluded spot to say their final farewells. They had already decided that he wouldn’t come out to the camp the next morning as the circus pulled out. That would have been too painful for both of them. Tonight, they would say goodbye for the last time.

  Cully was doing just that, Jemma wrapped tightly in his arms, when he heard Patrick Hammond's frightened yell.

  Cully spun around in time to see Patrick running hellbent-for-leather toward him. He reached out and grabbed the boy, hauling him to a stop. "Hold on there, Patrick!" Cully said. "What the devil's wrong?"

  Patrick drew several deep, ragged breaths, trying to get enough air to speak. Before he could say anything, Asa Parker came pounding up out of the darkness.

  Cully looked up and said, "What the hell is this, Parker? Were you chasing this boy?" Too late, he spotted the metal box in the man's left hand.

  Parker lashed out, and the box he held cracked against Cully's head, knocking the deputy to the ground. Ignoring Patrick now, Parker lunged toward Jemma and grabbed her arm.

  He whirled the startled woman around, wrapping his left arm around her neck and cutting off her air. The box in his hand dug painfully into her shoulder.

  Parker reached inside his coat with his other hand and brought out a small pistol. He jammed the muzzle of it against Jemma's temple as Cully started to shake his head groggily and tried to get to his hands and knees.

  "Hold it, Deputy!" Parker grated. "I'll kill her. I swear to God I'll kill her!" His eyes were shining with desperation and hate, all the facades stripped away. He started backing up, taking Jemma with him. She had no choice but to go along. Within seconds, both of them had disappeared into the shadows.

  Patrick leaped to Cully's side and grabbed his arm. "He's crazy, Cully!" the boy cried. "He just started chasing me—"

  Leaning on Patrick, Cully got to his feet. A thin line of blood trickled down the side of his face from the cut opened up by the metal box. He shook his head and then took a deep breath.

  "Parker knew more about that robbery than he let on," Cully said as he slipped his gun from its holster. He checked the loads. "He'll use Jemma as a hostage to try to get out of here alive. You go find Marshal Flint, Patrick. He's still around here somewhere."

  Patrick nodded. "Are you all right, Cully?"

  "Better'n Parker's going to be," Cully replied grimly. "Scoot now."

  When Patrick began running toward the big top, Cully started in the direction where Parker and Jemma had vanished. There was no telling where Parker would go, not for certain. Cully thought back over the evening and remembered seeing Parker's wagon parked on the other side of the main tent. He started circling in that direction, the Colt poised in his hand.

  Just as the entrance of the big top came in sight, Cully suddenly spotted movement. It was Parker, he saw with a surge of anger, recognizing the limping gait. The man still had Jemma with him, dragging her along.

  "Parker!" Cully shouted.

  Parker whirled, putting Jemma in front of him like a shield. He pulled the gun away from her head long enough to snap a shot at Cully, making the deputy dive behind a wagon. Parker hauled Jemma into a run.

  Just beyond the big-top entrance Lucas Flint appeared in the torchlight. The marshal thrust Patrick Hammond behind him as he brought up his gun.

  "Hold it, Parker!" Flint barked.

  Caught in a crossfire, Parker did the only thing he could. He ducked through the entrance to the big top, taking Jemma with him.

  "Dammit!" Cully said as he ran toward the main entryway. There were several smaller openings around the tent, and Parker could slip out through any one of them. He and Flint could not cover them all.

  The two lawmen reached the main entrance at the same time, pushing through the canvas and then splitting up in case Parker was waiting to ambush them. The roustabouts had doused most of the torches after the performance ended. In the dim light of the few still shining Cully saw the man in the center of the ring. Jemma wasn’t fighting him, but she wasn’t helping either, and bringing her along had slowed Parker down.

  Abruptly the flaps of the other openings were thrust back, and several members of the troupe appeared, led by Professor Horace Houser. "My God!" Houser exclaimed as he saw Parker holding Jemma hostage. He and the others had come to see what all the commotion was about, and this was the last thing they had expected.

  Parker was surrounded now. The only thing protecting him was the gun he held to Jemma's head. Grimacing, he looked around wildly for an escape. His eyes fell on something that was familiar to him— the ladder leading up to the trapeze platform, far above the dirt of the ring.

  Parker shoved Jemma toward the ladder. "Climb!" he ordered.

  Her face pale with fright, Jemma put her hands on the rungs and started awkwardly to ascend the ladder. As some of the circus performers started forward, heedless of P
arker's gun, Flint called across the ring, "Stay back!"

  Parker was right behind Jemma as she climbed. While the others watched, dumbfounded, Houser hurried across to Flint and Cully and asked, "What the deuce is going on?"

  Flint said, "Parker's got the money box, and he took Miss Richardson as a hostage when Cully saw the box. Is that about the size of it, Cully?"

  The deputy nodded, his bloody face bleak. "He must've been in on that robbery with Cooper, Professor. Could be he's the one who's been causing you trouble all along."

  "But why?" Houser asked in dismay. "Why would Asa Parker do such a thing?"

  "That's not important now," Flint said. "What's important is getting Miss Richardson down from there." He raised his voice again. "All of you folks keep back! Don't do anything to spook him!"

  Everyone was looking up, watching the progress of the pair on the ladder. For a second Cully thought about trying to shoot Parker down, but the angle was too severe. The shot would be too dangerous. If he missed—or even if he hit Parker and the bullet went right through him—Jemma could get in the path of the slug.

  The few torches still lit were in the lower portion of the tent, leaving its upper regions cloaked in gloom. But enough light reached there for the stunned spectators to see Parker and Jemma climb onto the tiny platform where the acrobats usually began their performance. As they balanced there precariously on the perch, Parker again grabbed Jemma and pressed the gun to her head.

  There was something eerily familiar about the scene. It reminded Cully of the chilling showdown the night before with Cooper's partner, Dawson. But tonight, there would be no distraction in the form of a Prussian animal trainer. Not sixty feet above the ground—and with no net below; it had been taken down earlier, right after the performance.

  "Can you hear me, Parker?" Flint shouted up at them.

  "I hear you, Marshal," the answer came back down.

  "Why don't you just give up and let that young woman come down? You're not doing yourself any good!"