Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  It was going to be more difficult now that Bernie was gone. He would have to find a real manager again, instead of a fake like Talmage. But O’Sullivan was confident that the right man would come along.

  He suddenly wondered if Leslie Garrison had ever given any thought to a career as a manager. Leslie certainly knew the ropes and probably still had contacts in the business.

  O’Sullivan shook his head and pounded a blow into the sandbag. No point in even asking Leslie, he decided. He had never seen a man so content with his lot in life. Nothing was going to pry Leslie Garrison away from his school teaching.

  For almost an hour, O’Sullivan pummeled the bag. From time to time, when he wanted to put a little extra force into a blow, he imagined that he was trading punches with Woodie Price. O’Sullivan's jaw hurt for days after he had taken that sucker punch on Hettie's front porch. He would have welcomed another shot at Price, but the man seemed to have dropped from sight. According to Lucas Flint, Price had been seen around town a few times since the night of the fire, but he was keeping a low profile. The marshal hadn’t been able to locate him to question him about the conflagration that destroyed the empty house.

  By the time he finished the session, O’Sullivan's face glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. He took the towel that Talmage handed him, wiped away the moisture, then draped the cloth around his neck. Talmage unlocked the stable, and they started back toward the boardinghouse.

  As they passed Northcraft's apothecary, O’Sullivan stopped abruptly. "I'm going to be sore in the morning," he said. "I think I'll step in here and see if they've got any liniment."

  "All right." Talmage nodded and began to move toward the doorway.

  "No, that's all right, Sam," O’Sullivan said quickly. "I've got a few coins in my pocket. I can get it." He placed a hand on Talmage's arm to stop him from entering the store.

  Talmage frowned, then shrugged. "All right. I'll wait out here for you."

  "I'll just be a minute," O’Sullivan said, grinning as he ducked through the doorway.

  Inside the apothecary shop he saw that the two side walls were lined with shelves filled with sparkling, colorful jars and bottles. Across the rear wall was one of the new-fangled soda fountains. O’Sullivan had seen a few of them in Chicago, but he was surprised to find one in Abilene.

  Standing at the glass-fronted counter on the left side of the room was the reason O’Sullivan had abruptly decided he needed some liniment. Ellie Barlow was studying the contents of several large jars that sat on top of the counter. O’Sullivan had spotted her through the drugstore's large front window.

  The jars Ellie was looking at contained ribbons of licorice, peppermints, and horehound candies. O’Sullivan suspected she was choosing a treat for Oliver and Netta. With a broad grin on his face, he pulled a coin from his pocket and placed it on top of the counter. "Why not get the little ones some of each?" he asked.

  Startled, Ellie gasped and spun around to look up at him. "Why, Mr. O’Sullivan!" she exclaimed. "I knew someone had come into the shop, but I had no idea it was you. You're certainly light on your feet for...for..." She paused, suddenly embarrassed.

  "For someone as big as I am?" O’Sullivan finished her sentence for her. "That's part of my training, Miss Barlow. And I seem pretty lead-footed to myself at the moment." He gestured at the candy jars. "Buying a little something for the children, are you?"

  Ellie smiled. "Actually, I was trying to decide which one I wanted. I'll get some for Oliver and Netta, too, of course."

  O’Sullivan threw back his head and laughed. "Then by all means get some of each," he told her. "We can't have you worrying over such a decision."

  Ellie looked down at the coin on the countertop and shook her head. "Oh, no, I couldn't—" she began.

  "You can, and you will," O’Sullivan insisted. "Otherwise, my feelings will be hurt."

  Ellie shrugged and smiled again. "Well, in that case I suppose I will try all three of them."

  She turned and caught the eye of the clerk who was standing behind the soda fountain. He came up the narrow aisle behind the counter, and Ellie asked him to put several pieces of candy from each jar into a sack for her. As the clerk filled the bag, O’Sullivan walked to the other side of the pharmacy and reached across the counter to pluck a bottle of liniment from one of the shelves. Returning to Ellie's side, he told the clerk, "I want to buy this, too."

  "Yes, sir," the young man replied. "You're Mr. O’Sullivan, the boxer, aren't you?"

  O’Sullivan glanced down at his clothes and wondered who else the boy might take him for in this get-up. But he just grinned and nodded. "That's right."

  "You'll find that liniment is just the thing to take care of sore muscles and bruises, sir," the clerk began, but O’Sullivan cut him off with a wave of a big hand.

  "I know all about it, son," he said. "Now, if you don't mind, I was talking to the young lady...?"

  "Oh." The clerk grinned and scooped up the coin from the counter. "Of course, sir." He went to resume his position behind the soda fountain.

  Ellie picked up the sack of candy. "I appreciate this, Mr. O’Sullivan, and I know Oliver and Netta will, too. Sweets are a rare treat for the children. I happened to have a little extra money I made doing some sewing, so I thought I would buy a little surprise to give them when they got home from school."

  "You save that money," O’Sullivan told her. "I'm sure there are plenty of ways you can put it to good use."

  "Yes, indeed." Ellie sighed, and the happy glow on her face faded a bit. "There seem to be more expenses than ever these days."

  O’Sullivan understood what she meant. With her father's drinking, it was doubtful that he earned much from the family farm. And from what O’Sullivan had heard, raising children was an expensive proposition.

  "Well, I'd better be getting back," Ellie went on. "Thank you again, Mr. O’Sullivan."

  "Call me Quincy."

  "All right. Thank you, Quincy," she said and started toward the doorway.

  O’Sullivan snatched up his bottle of liniment and fell in step beside her. "I didn't see your wagon outside," he commented.

  "I'm riding one of our mules today," Ellie said. "I'm afraid it's not very dignified or ladylike, but it's easier than hitching up the wagon."

  That explains her outfit, O’Sullivan thought. She was wearing denim pants, a man's shirt, and scuffed work shoes. The garments would be appropriate for riding a mule, even if they were not very glamorous. Nevertheless, O’Sullivan thought Ellie looked just fine in them.

  "Perhaps I should rent a horse and ride out to the farm with you to make sure you get home all right," O’Sullivan suggested.

  Pausing at the doorway, Ellie laughed, then said quickly, "I'm sorry, Mr. O’Sullivan—"

  "Quincy," he reminded her.

  "I'm sorry, Quincy, but you're the visitor in these parts, not me. I've ridden the trail from our farm into town and back hundreds of times. I'm perfectly capable of getting home. But I appreciate the offer."

  O’Sullivan had to grin. She was right. He was letting gallantry—and the desire to remain in her company for a while longer—overcome logic. He said, "Be that as it may, I would like to see your farm sometime."

  "There's really not much to see. Some fields that don't grow as much as we'd like, a few chickens and milk cows and goats."

  "Ah, but to a city boy like myself, I'm sure it would be fascinating," O’Sullivan assured her.

  Ellie looked thoughtful for a moment, then peered at him with the prettiest brown eyes he thought he had ever seen. "Why don't you come out and have Sunday dinner with us?" she asked.

  As anticipation and delight surged through him, O’Sullivan nodded. "I'd like that," he said. Sensing someone watching him, he glanced up and saw Talmage glaring through the window of the drugstore. O’Sullivan grinned and went on, "I'd like that very much."

  "Good. I know Oliver and Netta will, too. The place is easy to find. You just follow the main road south out of town
for about a mile, and then you'll come upon a trail turning to the east. We're two miles down that trail."

  "I'll find it," he assured her.

  A soft smile curved Ellie's lip. "We'll be looking forward to your visit."

  "Not as much as I will be," O’Sullivan promised.

  Ellie said goodbye and stepped onto the boardwalk. O’Sullivan followed, standing and watching as she climbed onto the mule that was tied at the hitchrack. With a cheerful wave she turned the animal and rode off, and O’Sullivan returned the gesture with a broad grin on his face.

  "You look utterly ridiculous," Talmage snapped. He was leaning against the building wall a few feet away.

  O’Sullivan snorted. "No more than you when you were talking to Dr. Keller," he declared.

  Talmage shook his head. "You don't know what you're talking about. My admiration for Dr. Keller is strictly professional." Changing the subject, he went on quickly, "I suppose that was the woman you mentioned the other day."

  "Ellie Barlow is her name. Did you ever see such a lovely thing, Sam?"

  "As a matter of fact, I have. I suppose she's the reason you suddenly had to go in there?"

  O’Sullivan held up the bottle he had purchased. "I went in to get some liniment, just like I told you."

  Talmage nodded, but his expression made it clear that he didn’t believe O’Sullivan for a second. He turned and started on toward the boardinghouse, and O’Sullivan fell in beside him.

  Sunday dinner. That was two days away, O’Sullivan thought. Two long days for him to wait before he saw Ellie again. He told himself to be patient, but he knew it was going to be difficult.

  One thing was certain. He wouldn’t tell Talmage about it until the last minute; otherwise, the detective would try to forbid him to leave. And O’Sullivan didn’t intend to let anything stand in the way of his visit to the Barlow farm.

  Lucas Flint shook hands with the tall, brown-haired man in a sober dark suit. "Good sermon today, Joshua," Flint told him.

  "Thank you, Lucas," Reverend Joshua Markham replied with a smile. "Do you think that next week we could convince Cully to stop by and offer his opinion on my preaching?"

  Flint chuckled. "You know your brother better than I do. What do you think?"

  Joshua smiled ruefully and shook his head.

  The two men were standing in the vestibule of the Calvary Methodist Church following Sunday morning services. The congregation was filing out, and Flint moved on so that other people could shake hands with Joshua. As he stepped into the bright sunshine, the marshal put his hat on. In the yard in front of the church a large group of youngsters raced about, laughing and letting off steam after sitting quietly for an hour in church. Many of them were orphans who lived in the large parsonage next door. The building had been converted into an orphanage by Joshua Markham and Sister Laurel, the Dominican nun who had brought the homeless children to Abilene. There were also quite a few other children belonging to the families that came not only from Abilene but also from many of the surrounding farms and ranches. The youngsters ran around the buggies and wagons, their laughter filling the air and giving Lucas Flint a feeling of contentment.

  From the little knoll on which the church sat, he could see Abilene spread out before him to the southeast. It was a growing town, a good town, and Flint knew that he had helped make it so, along with a lot of other people. It was a feeling of satisfaction, of working for the common good and getting things accomplished.

  Flint untied his horse and swung into the saddle. He rode down Elm Street, crossing the Kansas Pacific tracks, and turned east on Texas Street. As he pulled his mount to a stop in front of the marshal's office, the sound of angry voices coming from across the street caught his attention. He turned to see Quincy O’Sullivan and Sam Talmage walking down the boardwalk past the Red Top Café.

  "I don't care what you say, Sam, I'm going," O’Sullivan declared in a voice loud enough for Flint to hear clearly. The prizefighter stopped walking and glared angrily at Talmage. "She invited me, and I intend to be there."

  "The hell you will!" Talmage snapped. "I've told you and told you about things like this—" He broke off his protest and grabbed O’Sullivan's arm. "Come on."

  Frowning, Flint dismounted slowly and continued to watch the two men over the back of his horse. From the look on O’Sullivan's face, he expected to see the big prizefighter take a poke at his manager. But O’Sullivan took a deep breath, jerked his arm out of Talmage's grip, and stalked away. Talmage hurried after him, talking in lower tones now, but Flint could see the urgent, anxious look on his face.

  As O’Sullivan and Talmage turned a corner and disappeared, Flint shook his head and stepped onto the boardwalk. He couldn’t help but wonder what the men had been arguing about. In the time they had been in Abilene he had learned very little about them, and he was still suspicious of them, especially Talmage. Flint's instincts told him there was more to the man than he was revealing.

  Shrugging, he went into the office. Sooner or later, he thought, he was going to find out what those two were up to.

  Talmage had reacted just as O’Sullivan had expected him to—like a bullheaded fool. As he stalked toward the boardinghouse, Talmage hurried along beside him, telling him all the reasons why he couldn’t keep his appointment with Ellie Barlow and her family.

  O’Sullivan didn’t care about any of the reasons Talmage was spouting. The only thing that mattered to him was that he didn’t intend to let Ellie down.

  "Look, just forget it!" O’Sullivan snapped, cutting off the detective's angry speech. "I'm sorry I ever brought it up. I thought it would be safe to take a ride in the country, but I guess I was wrong."

  "You certainly were," Talmage said stiffly. "You've wandered off entirely too much since we've been here."

  "We haven't had any trouble, have we?" O’Sullivan asked.

  "What do you call that brawl in Angus's Tavern?" Talmage demanded. "And that night when Price jumped you at the boardinghouse?"

  O’Sullivan poked a blunt finger into Talmage's chest. "And neither one of those ruckuses had one damned thing to do with Savage and Easton and the real reason we came out here," he pointed out. "They were just pure bad luck."

  Talmage pushed O’Sullivan's finger aside. "There's no such thing as bad luck, only bad planning," he snorted.

  There was no arguing with such reasoning, O’Sullivan thought. He turned and started toward the boardinghouse again.

  Talmage thought he had won, O’Sullivan mused grimly. But the detective would soon find out just how wrong he was.

  When the two men entered the boardinghouse, they discovered that Sunday dinner was on the table and that the other tenants had gathered in the dining room and were just sitting down.

  "Well, we were about to decide you two weren't going to make it today," Hettie called from her seat at the head of the table. "Have a seat, gentlemen."

  Talmage sat down in the vacant chair where he had been taking his meals. The chair next to it was empty also since O’Sullivan usually claimed it.

  O’Sullivan hesitated, waiting until Talmage was seated to say to Hettie, "I'll be right back, ma'am. The rest of you go ahead and start without me."

  Talmage started to slide his chair back and stand up, but O’Sullivan's hand came down hard on his shoulder. "No need to get up, Sam," the prizefighter went on. "I'll just be out back for a few minutes."

  Talmage and Hettie Wilburn both flushed, the detective from anger, the landlady embarrassed that O’Sullivan had made it so clear he was going to visit the outhouse. The other boarders paid no attention to the exchange; they were busy passing around the platters of food Hettie had prepared. Talmage glared at O’Sullivan for a second, then settled back down in his chair and reached for a plate of biscuits. There was no way he could insist on accompanying O’Sullivan without looking utterly foolish.

  O’Sullivan nodded to Hettie and ducked out of the dining room, going down the hall to the rear door of the house and stepping o
utside. He was grinning as he skirted the outhouse and walked briskly toward Texas Street.

  He hadn’t known if his ploy would work, but luckily Talmage's sense of decorum had prevented him from following O’Sullivan. The inspector had to be sitting at that table in a rage, knowing that O’Sullivan had given him the slip.

  When O’Sullivan reached Abilene's business district, he headed for the livery stable where he worked out. He knew most of the men who worked there, and when he got to the barn, he saw that an older fellow named Wendell was sitting in the office today.

  "Hello, Mr. Wendell," O’Sullivan nodded to the man. "Not very busy today, is it?"

  Wendell shook his head. "Not right now. Might be some folks wantin' to rent buggies later for Sunday afternoon drives. You come to punch that sandbag some more?"

  "Not today," O’Sullivan told him. "I want to rent a horse."

  The older man frowned. "I didn't know you could even ride, Mr. O’Sullivan."

  "Well, maybe now would be a good time to learn," O’Sullivan said with a grin. "Have you got a nice gentle mount that I could ride out into the country?"

  "Reckon I do. You headed any place in particular?"

  "Just out for some fresh air," O’Sullivan told him. "Thought I'd ride into the country south of town."

  Wendell nodded and stood up. "Come on. I'll show you a couple of mares I've got that are good riding horses. You'll need a saddle, too, won't you?"

  "The whole outfit," O’Sullivan agreed.

  He left the livery stable a few minutes later, mounted on the horse that he had selected with Wendell's assistance. It was a five-year-old mare, sturdy enough to carry his large frame without any trouble yet easygoing enough for a novice to manage. Awkwardly he pointed the animal's nose south and managed to get her moving. As he rode out of town, he hoped that Ellie didn’t think he had forgotten about her dinner invitation. He was going to be a little late, but he was sure now that he was going to get there.