They quit the room quietly and, for a long moment, Lennox Bell sat staring at the closed door, feeling the fear and the strain easing out of him. By their very nonchalance, their casual acceptance of his overpowering predicament, these casehardened drifters had restored his confidence.
Chapter Eight
Time to Kill
Over lunch at Stilmeyer’s, the taller Texan reasserted his resentment of being forced into the background.
“There I’ll be,” he complained, “squattin’ on that doggone roof, while you ...!”
“Soft,” grunted Larry, as he forked up another mouthful of beef stew. “Keep it soft.”
“While you,” whispered Stretch, “are havin’ yourself a big time!”
“You think it’s better I should squat on the roof?” challenged Larry.
“Damn right,” nodded Stretch.
Larry shrugged impatiently, produced a silver dollar. “We’ll toss for it,” he suggested, “then will you quit bellyachin’?”
“I reckon that’ll be fair enough,” Stretch conceded.
“Heads I go to the ball,” said Larry, “keep an eye on Brayner and his pards and tag ’em when they sneak out. Tails you wait on the bank roof. Okay?”
“Okay,” nodded Stretch. He held out a hand. “Only I’ll toss that cotton-pickin’ dollar, amigo.”
“You don’t trust me?” prodded Larry.
“Sure,” grinned Stretch. “Like I’d turn my back on a hungry cougar.”
Stretch took the coin, flipped it, caught it, slapped it on his wrist. Slowly, he drew his hand away and studied the gleaming dollar.
“Well?” Larry demanded.
“Tails.” Stretch scowled in disgust, returned the dollar. “Which means I gotta squat on that consarned roof.”
Poker-faced, Larry pocketed the coin and continued eating. “Next chore for us,” he pointed out, “is we find the bank and look it over, scout around awhile and calculate how far Brayner’ll have to travel, when he sneaks out of City Hall.”
“And then what?” asked Stretch.
“And then,” frowned Larry, “we find Brayner and his pards. Yeah.” He nodded grimly. “We’ll need to look ’em over.”
“So we’ll know ’em,” winked Stretch, “next time we see ’em.”
“Could be plenty hombres’ll be quittin’ City Hall tonight,” Larry reflected, “comin’ in and out all the time, hightailin’ it to the nearest saloon for an extra bottle. There’ll be quite a crowd, so I want to know just who I have to watch.”
After quitting the diner, they took a leisurely stroll along Main Street. Locating the First National was no difficult chore, since it was the oldest and largest establishment of its kind in Horton. They loitered by the bank’s hitch rack and, from there, Larry threw a thoughtful glance downtown. The new City Hall, an imposing structure, was clearly visible—but a goodly distance away.
“Smart,” he commented.
“Uh-huh,” grunted Stretch. “Damn near far enough for nobody to hear the shootin’—if there’s gonna be shootin’.”
“We’ll take a look around back,” frowned Larry.
“Whole durn town’ll be at the ball,” Stretch pointed out. “They could easy bust in through the front door.”
“They could,” Larry conceded, “but I’m bettin’ they’ll settle for the rear door. Main Street would be a mite public for what they’re plannin’. C’mon.”
They loafed along a narrow side alley and into the lane running parallel with the main street. The bank’s rear door appeared formidable, but Larry adhered to his hunch.
“It’s likely barred nights,” suggested Stretch.
“Front door, too,” shrugged Larry. “But I guess they’ve already figured a way of gettin’ inside.” Again, he stared downtown. “This could be the route they’ll travel.”
“All the way from City Hall,” Stretch agreed, as he raised his eyes to the roof, the section above the rear door. “Well, I guess I could climb up there.”
“Could and will,” Larry assured him, “right after sundown.”
“I bet it rains,” sighed Stretch.
“You won’t brace ’em,” said Larry, “until they’re comin’ out of the bank.”
“We could easy stop ’em from bustin’ in,” argued Stretch.
“Better when they’re comin’ out,” Larry insisted. “We stop ’em at the start, they could maybe run a bluff on these Horton badge-toters, maybe even convince ’em it was us tryin’ to bust in.”
“I savvy what you mean.” Such mental exertion caused Stretch to squint. “They can’t talk their way out of it—if the sheriff finds the dinero in their baggage.”
“That’s what I’m thinkin’,” nodded Larry.
They visited the Blue Belle to attend to their permanent thirst, and to engage the informative barkeep in casual conversation. McMahon, it transpired, wasn’t personally acquainted with Brayner and Company, but knew them by sight.
“Five mighty important jaspers, believe you me,” he told the Texans. “It was a big day for Horton, when Mr. Brayner and his friends came to town. You know about ’em?”
“Know scarce anything about ’em,” shrugged Larry. “Only reason I’m curious is I keep hearin’ talk of ’em every place I go.”
“Only natural folks’d talk,” grinned the bartender. “Can you imagine? A Hartigan Hotel—right here in Horton.”
“They’re in the hotel business?” prodded Larry.
“In the hotel business?” McMahon chuckled heartily. “Hell, Mr. Brayner is the assistant manager of the whole Hartigan Combine, and them other four gents are—uh— directors, or somethin’. Like I say, Tex, they’re mighty important jaspers.”
Soon afterwards, they were able to make a thorough appraisal of their potential enemy. They were, at that time, emerging from the livery stable after checking on the welfare of Larry’s sorrel and Stretch’s pinto. Three well-groomed men were strolling the opposite boardwalk and winning a great deal of attention, not to mention adulation. Women accorded them polite smiles. Some townsmen even doffed their hats to them.
The livery proprietor came out to stand beside the Texans, who had readily recognized the taller man as the hombre with whom they had briefly tangled, during their first interview at the Bon Ton.
Larry nudged the livery proprietor, and remarked, “They anybody special?”
“Special enough.” His informant nodded emphatically. “The tall gent is Mr. Philo Brayner himself. Feller in the black duds is Mr. Harmon. The other one—the red-faced gent—is Mr. Russell. Guess you heard about ’em, huh? They’re here to buy up enough Main Street land to build a new hotel—a Hartigan hotel no less.”
“Well now—that new hotel ought to be somethin’ to see.”
“You betcha life,” nodded the livery proprietor.
At a distance, they tagged the three handsomely tailored men. Brayner, Harmon and Russell eventually reached the Republican and, for some short time, conversed on the front porch with two equally well-groomed individuals. The drifters drifted past and, from under the brims of their battered Stetsons, gave all five a thorough once-over.
“That,” guessed Stretch, “is the whole passel. And they bunk at the same hotel with the governor! How about that?”
“I hanker to be sure,” drawled Larry.
When Brayner and his cohorts retreated into the hotel, Larry waited a few moments before following. The lobby was temporarily deserted, except for the desk clerk. He viewed their approach with mild interest, listened to Larry’s query, then nodded and grinned.
“Yes, friend. Mr. Brayner and his associates. Just about the most important guests we’ve ever had here—not including Governor Bell, of course. Great honor for the Republican.”
“Just goes to show,” drawled Stretch, “how lucky you can be.” He followed his partner out into the sunlight, and quietly enquired, “You reckon you’ll know ’em—next time you see ’em?”
“Any time,” growled Larry. “Any
place. Day or night.”
“You and me both,” Stretch assured him.
In the privacy of Brayner’s suite, the conspirators were engaged in a final council of war. The boss-thief was as poised as ever, but brisker now, as he planned his counteraction to every possible emergency.
“Transportation ...?” He snapped his fingers, eyed Innes enquiringly.
“All set,” frowned Innes. “A sizeable buggy. Double-seater with ample room in back. Two horses. I’ll be in position with the rig stalled in the back alley.”
“Fine.” Brayner nodded approvingly. “We’ll be relying on you to act as lookout. I doubt if it’ll be necessary, but, when we’re this close to a fortune, let’s take no chances.”
“We tote the loot out in our bags,” prodded Harmon, “stow it in back of the rig—then drive downtown to the depot and load it aboard the special car ...”
“And then,” smiled Brayner, “we return to City Hall. Not all at the same time, of course. Separately.”
“This buggy I’ve hired—and the horses,” offered Innes, “could take us a long way from Horton, and fast, if needs be.” He raised a hand placatingly. “All right, Philo, all right. I’m not forgetting that we’re supposed to travel west with the governor—but you did say we have to cover every emergency, and something could go wrong.”
“It might be just our crazy luck,” mused Underwood, “that some fool towner would stumble into that back alley and spot us. Or maybe more than one, Philo.”
“Speaking for myself,” scowled Russell, “I don’t aim to be buried in Horton. If we’re challenged ...”
“If we’re challenged,” frowned Brayner, “we’ll have no option but to shoot our way out. You think that hasn’t occurred to me? Luke is right. We could travel far and fast in the buggy, and be clear of Horton County by sunrise.” He grinned complacently. “But I doubt if we’ll encounter any opposition. Tonight, my friends, City Hall will be the center of attention. What’s more, it isn’t likely a gunshot would be heard so far away. The governor’s ball, I’m sure, will be a rather noisy function.”
At two o’clock, to the accompaniment of loud cheers from a vast assembly, Horton’s new City Hall was officially declared open by the visiting governor. Again, there were speeches, some of them prolonged, disjointed and spiked with bravado, extravagant predictions regarding the territory’s future prosperity, some of them brief and to the point.
Never the kind to thrust themselves to the fore, the Texans were content to view the proceedings from a distance. They had climbed to the awning of a building situated directly opposite City Hall. There they squatted, chain smoking, idly studying the excited throng.
“They’re all here,” Stretch observed, during the governor’s speech. “There’s Brayner and his four sidekicks movin’ in. See how folks stand aside for ’em—like they was more important than the governor hisself?”
“And it goes to prove,” drawled Larry, “how a handful of smart thieves can get a whole town eatin’ out of their hands. Fancy clothes and smooth talk is all it takes.”
“Governor looks fine,” suggested Stretch.
“Yeah,” grunted Larry. “Like he don’t have a care in the world.”
He narrowed his eyes against the sun-glare and studied the erect, impressive speaker. Lennox Bell’s speech was coming to an end, his voice clear and penetrating, thanks to the respectful silence accorded him by his hundreds of well-wishers. The great man appeared serene and affable. Inwardly, as Larry well knew, he was plagued with tension, fear and doubt, and these emotions would continue to bedevil him until the end of his day, until he was assured that a bank robbery had been foiled and that his future was secure.
What did the Texans know—or care—of politicians, national leaders, elder statesmen? Very little. Affairs of state were somewhat out of their line. But they could admire a man of Bell’s caliber. Such admiration came easily to any who believed in the principles of self-improvement and rehabilitation. Wasn’t Bell a fine example of these principles? A brawling roughneck had struggled to conquer the restrictions of his environment, educating himself, fighting his way to a better life and, finally, becoming the political leader of thriving, fast-growing Colorado.
A great man, but vulnerable, maybe more vulnerable than most. So thought Larry, as he listened to his partner’s drawled comments.
“I’ll say this for Governor Bell—he’s got sand. Takes a heap of nerve and gizzard to stand up in front of such a crowd and make a polite speech—when he’s all froze up inside. Blackmail’s dirty, huh, runt?”
“As dirty,” declared Larry, “as back-shootin’ or horse-stealin’. Maybe dirtier.”
Thunderous applause bedeviled their eardrums. Bell had concluded his speech and was re-seating himself. Grinning broadly, Mayor Flake began reminding his fellow-citizens—somewhat unnecessarily—of tonight’s grand function.
“Everybody welcome,” he assured them. “It’s gonna be the finest function ever held in Horton County, and it’s gonna start on schedule—eight sharp. Of course, our distinguished visitors will have to say goodbye at twelve-thirty, because the railroad has to stick to its timetable, and Governor Bell—your friend and my friend—will be on his way by one-thirty. But that doesn’t mean the ball will end. His Excellency has insisted that we keep right on celebrating after he leaves ...”
The Texans had heard enough. They descended from their perch and, by the time the assembly dispersed, had retreated to the Blue Belle.
~*~
After supper that evening, nine-tenths of Horton County’s population prepared for the ball. Stretch’s new black suit had been returned to the Ringberg Emporium and his money refunded. There were times when even the carefree Stretch could be downright practical, and this was one of them. As he remarked to Larry:
“Ain’t no sense me gettin’ purtied up—just to belly down on a roof top and trade bullets with a passel of bank-robbers.”
“Speakin’ for myself,” drawled Larry, “I wouldn’t want to shame Annie and Beth.”
They had returned to their room at the Blue Belle after a substantial supper at Stilmeyer’s, and Larry was now donning his new finery. His holstered .45 lay on his bed— cleaned, oiled, loaded in all chambers. Caring naught for the bulk, nor its effect on the hang of his coat, he strapped the belt about his hips.
“You look,” sighed Stretch, “damn near as handsome as me. It’s a mortal shame none of them women’ll get to dance with me.”
“It’ll break their hearts,” said Larry, “but they’ll get over it.”
“Well ...” Stretch yawned boredly, got to his feet and donned his hat, “I guess it’s time I wasn’t here.”
“Go quiet,” ordered Larry. “Sneak along the back alley and, when you climb up to that roof, make sure nobody spots you.”
“Yeah—sure. I’ll be seein’ you, runt. Here goes nothin’.”
“Take care,” quipped Larry. “Don’t shoot any honest people.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” promised Stretch, very solemnly.
~*~
In her luxurious bedroom, Beth Baldwin stood before her mirror, fastened her necklace and adjusted her hair. Her father ambled in to inspect her.
“What’s the verdict, Mr. Baldwin, sir?” she good-humouredly enquired. “Any chance I’ll be noticed?”
“An understatement, my dear,” said Baldwin. “An understatement.”
He propped a shoulder against the doorjamb, studied his elegant daughter and smiled with affection and pride. She would do him justice this night. The white gown shimmered, hugging her shapely torso, flaring from the waist. The raven hair glowed and her smile dazzled.
“I understand the orchestra has been rehearsing all month,” he offered, “so the music should be bearable. You’ll save me a waltz, of course?”
“Would I pass up an opportunity,” she teased, “to dance with Horton’s most distinguished citizen?”
“I’ll be with the official party,” he frowned
. “Probably, I’ll be expected to dance attendance on the governor, most of the time. But I don’t really mind. They tell me he’s very sociable, and an interesting conversationalist.”
“Hadn’t you better be running along?” she asked.
“I’m waiting for you,” he told her. “We’ll use the surrey.”
“Fine,” she nodded. “I’m ready when you are, but you’ll have to go in without me. I’ll be waiting for a friend.”
“Somebody presentable, I hope?” he challenged.
“Very presentable,” she smiled.
~*~
In her poorly furnished bedroom, Annie Stogie stood before a none too clean mirror, nervously brushed her hair and coiled it atop her head. Her son lounged in the doorway, blinking at her. It was the first time he could recall seeing her so elegantly-garbed. The white ball gown was an excellent fit. The transformation was startling.
“Well?” She threw him a sidelong glance. “You reckon folks’ll notice me?”
“I dunno how they’re gonna miss you, Ma,” he frowned. “You look plumb elegant, and that’s a fact.”
“Hogwash,” she snorted.
“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “Honest Injun, Ma. It kinda scares me—seein’ how much you’ve changed.” He grinned his guileless grin. “Durned if I ain’t proud of you.”
She smiled wistfully, stole another glance at her reflection.
“Things are gonna be a heap different for us from here on,” she promised. “You needn’t be ashamed to show your face in town, and ...”
“Never was ’shamed,” he assured her, as he trudged over to the mirror and studied himself. “I ain’t so ugly. There’s plenty hombres uglier’n me in Horton.”
“I don’t mean on account of your face,” she frowned.
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