by Alan David
‘Could be,’ he replied, snatching at the excuse. ‘I’m not cut out for all this trouble. I like a quiet life. I feel that I don’t belong here any longer.’ He arose from the table and went to the door. ‘I’m gonna take a walk across to the office before turning in. Goodnight.’
He departed before his mother could say more, and Netta considered his departure, wishing that she could follow him to check upon his movements. It was in her to tell Chet of her suspicions of Willard, for if he could uncover anything then it would help him, and right now she was prepared to do all she could to assist the man she loved.
Willard went across to the depot to check on the latest news, but there was a sense of restlessness gripping him and he walked along the street to the small bar. He sat drinking sparingly until it was time to go home, and as he walked a trifle unsteadily along the sidewalk he staggered into the big, motionless figure of the town marshal, who was making his rounds.
‘Steady there, Willard,’ Chilvers said good naturedly, reaching out a hand to steady the reeling figure. ‘It ain’t like you to take on too much likker. But I suppose the news from end of track has thrown everybody off balance, huh?’
‘Yeah, it could be that. But I’m on my way home to bed now. Say, you got anything on that feller attacking all the women around here? When I went off to Broken Rail the school marm had been hit. Is she okay?’
‘Yeah. She got the shock of her life and a whale of a beating, but she’ll get over it with nothing worse than nightmares for the rest of her life. I’d like to have that jasper, whoever he is, in a cell alone for just ten minutes. I’d straighten him out okay, you can bet.’
‘It’s a bad business.’ Willard drew a deep breath as he thought of Netta, and lurched away from the lawman. ‘Goodnight, Marshal.’
‘Goodnight, Willard’
Willard went home, finding the house in darkness, and he checked the time. It was past eleven. He removed his boots and carried them in his hand as he ascended the stairs. But after depositing them in his room he went to stand by his mother’s door for some minutes, restraining his breathing as he listened intently. The house was silent as the grave and he could hear the blood pounding at his temples.
Going on to the door of Netta’s room, he tried the handle, and gulped in anticipation as it turned easily under his furtive hand. He entered the room and closed the door, then crossed silently to the bed, his eyes fixed upon the girl’s motionless figure. Netta was asleep, breathing steadily, and he mentally cursed her for being responsible for all his problems. But now she would have the opportunity of trying to solve them for him, and he bent over the bed to press a powerful hand across her mouth.
Netta came awake instantly, struggling for breath, and her wide eyes, bemused by sleep, saw only a shapeless figure over her. She immediately thought of the maniac attacker who haunted the town, and fear almost stole her senses. Then Willard spoke hoarsely, cautioning her to remain silent, and she lost some of her terror.
‘Don’t make a sound unless you wanta waken my mother,’ he whispered in her ear, getting on the bed beside her, and his hands became cruel. He seized her, aware that she would not cry out, but she beat at him impotently with her small fists.
‘You’d better get out of here before I call Aunt Polly,’ she said, keeping her voice low in a contradiction of her words.
‘Go ahead and call her. I’d like to see her face when she opens the door and I tell her you invited me in,’
‘What do you want?’
‘To finish that business we started in the barn the other night. I got problems with my women because of you, and I figure you’re the only one can straighten me out. I won’t use violence unless I have to, but you’ve heard all about the women in town getting beat near to death, ain’t you?’
‘Three of them were killed,’ she said, with horror mounting in her mind. ‘Did you do it, Willard?’
‘You ain’t gonna say anything because you’re scared for my Ma and Pa. Now you’re gonna be good to me, or, by God, I’ll kill you. I carry a knife all the time. It’s on my belt. Stay quiet or they’ll find you dead come sun-up.’
She could smell whisky on his breath and knew instinctively that he was capable of anything. Fear caught at her, constricting her throat, and she fought against unreasoning panic.
‘If you hurt me they’ll know it was you,’ she said.
He laughed, and it was an ugly sound in the darkness. ‘There are two ways of doing it,’ he said, ‘and it’s up to you which way it’ll be. I don’t care anymore. I’ve suffered hell for years, and it would be a relief if it all came out. It started with you when we were kids and it’s got to end with you.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, hoping to humour him. ‘Tell me about it.’
He explained some of it; how he’d taken her out back and his father caught them; the beating he received while she stood looking on, and what the beating had done to him. She listened with mounting horror, half believing this to be some kind of nightmare, but the shadowy darkness was vibrant with reality and she knew she could not get out of this. Even if she screamed for Aunt Polly there would be trouble.
‘How do you think I can help you?’ she asked quietly, and the fact that she did not panic seemed to damp his rising passion.
‘Strip off and lie still. Don’t move whatever I do. If you anger me I won’t be responsible for my actions.’
‘Do you always have to hit your women?’ she asked.
‘Always.’
‘Have you tried it without violence?’
‘It doesn’t work. Nothing works. But you’re different. I figure you can unlock me.’
She remained motionless while he divested himself of his clothes, convinced that he was mad. But she dared not rouse him to violence and her body quivered with apprehension as he threw himself upon her, dragging at her nightdress. His hands upon her flesh awakened a deep revulsion and she struggled mentally to refrain from resisting him. He threshed against her, but there was no urgency in his body and his flesh remained weak.
‘Do something,’ he said hoarsely. ‘For God’s sake, Netta. You’re to blame.’ He reached for her hand and thrust it down between his legs, working himself against her fingers, and she grasped him, feeling her own urges beginning to rise despite the situation. She pulled at him, kneading and twisting, trying to arouse some response from his flaccid organ, and he convulsed in a frenzy, his hands at work upon her smooth body. He forced a hand between her legs, opening them, and used his urgent fingers to complete her arousal.
‘Pretend to enjoy it,’ he snarled in her ear. ‘Get moving.’
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine he was Chet. She pushed her body against his hand, growing excited, and fancied there was a reaction in him. He was beginning to animate, and she jerked against him, pretending to try for an orgasm. But his hand was skilled and she soon realised that she did not have to pretend. He worked at her with increasing fervour until she uttered a low cry, arching her back while she clawed her way to the apex of ecstasy. As she writhed through the successive waves of an orgasm he became more agitated, and threw himself across her, demanding an entrance. She gasped him firmly and guided him, and he groaned and flung himself at her in delirious abandonment. Now he was in full cry and used all his strength to hammer against her. His hands came out of the darkness and trapped her breasts. He set his teeth into her shoulder and she clenched her hands against the pain. He went on and on without cessation, amazing her with his stamina and strength, but there was no climax and he groaned and suffered while he strived to find appeasement.
She used her hands on him while he thrashed back and forth, until she felt that she could go on no longer. But suddenly he uttered a long, shuddering cry and jammed hard against her, quivering convulsively, gasping and moaning, his fingers twisting in her hair. When he finally slumped upon her his body was racked by a series of shudders, and he seemed out of his mind with relief. Time passed before he roused himself.
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br /> ‘I did it!’ His voice was sibilant in her ear. ‘By God! The first time ever! I knew you could do it. And I never hit you once.’
‘You’d better get out of here now,’ she retorted, and he arose from the bed without comment, gathering his clothes and departing silently. Netta went to the door and dropped the bar, but when she went back to bed she could not sleep. Her body ached from Willard’s handling and her mind was occupied by the grim secret she now shared with him. He was the maniac Hank Chilvers wanted to arrest. But somehow he had not been responsible for his actions. Now he had unlocked the torment of his mind he might settle down to a normal life, and Netta was aware that she could not reveal what she had learned because of her aunt and uncle.
Willard staggered into his own room and fell on the bed, filled with unaccustomed emotion. He sank into a deep slumber and did not awaken until his mother knocked at the door next morning. Then he awoke with a start, sat up, and remembered what had occurred.
He arose hastily, his hands trembling. If Netta told his mother about what happened he would kill them both! It was an instinctive thought, but then he realised that in the back of his mind he felt differently. He had managed to complete the act, and if he could do it once then there was no reason why he could not accomplish it whenever he wished. He felt the desire to experiment, to test himself. But that would have to wait. First he had to discover how Netta had accepted the incident and what she intended doing about the secret he had shared with her.
When he went into the kitchen he found Netta seated at the table, her eyes downcast. She would not meet his gaze and he went out back to wash, satisfied that she had decided not to tell on him. That was promising, and he hoped for an opportunity to talk to her. But when he went back for breakfast she had left the room. He ate hurriedly, wanting to get out of the house, and his whole attitude towards life seemed to have changed.
He crossed the street to the depot, and his heart seemed to miss a beat when he saw Jay Kelly coming along the street. Ben Yaro would be getting impatient for that information he wanted. A sigh escaped him, for something would have to be done about this situation. He no longer wanted any part of Yaro’s deal.
Hurrying into the depot, he entered the office and settled down to work, but a fist pounded at the door and he looked up quickly, his eyes narrowing when he saw Kelly standing there.
‘It looked to me like you didn’t wanta talk,’ the gambler said harshly. ‘What’s gotten into you, Willard? Not turning chicken because of all the killing, are you? The pay is still good.’
‘Listen, Jay, I don’t want no part of this anymore. I’ve done all I’m going to for Yaro. You can tell him that. He can pay me what he owes me and then find someone else to do his dirty work. I’m through as of now.’
‘You’ll be through all right if I tell him that,’ Kelly retorted, grinning. ‘So you’ve got cold feet! That’s okay. You’ll get over it. Just tell me what I wanta know and I’ll go see Yaro. I expect he’ll wanta have a talk with you when he hears how you plan to run out on him, but that’s your business. Only thing is, I know how Yaro will react. Nobody runs out on him.’ He paused, his eyes slitting, and added, ‘And lives.’
‘I got nothing to tell him now,’ Willard said sullenly. ‘I’m the only one around here. My Pa is out at end of track. This trouble has put a stop to everything.’
‘It hasn’t put a stop to catching rats,’ Chet Manning said, appearing in the doorway behind Kelly.
The gambler froze, his back to Manning, and Willard gazed over Kelly’s shoulder at the big troubleshooter, filled with a mixture of dread and relief. Here was a way out of his trouble, Manning was not afraid of anyone, and would help to set the record straight. But he was shocked by Manning’s appearance, and swallowed quickly.
‘Where did you come from?’ he demanded. ‘Did you hear what was said?’
‘Every word.’ Manning spoke through his clenched teeth, and his face looked as if it had been carved out of granite. ‘Don’t try it, Kelly,’ he added, as the gambler’s right hand moved slightly. ‘I know you’ve got a gun in your vest pocket, and I’d sure like for you to make a try for it. But I can’t figure you out, Willard. The Railroad is your father’s life, and you were brought up with it. What’s it gonna do to Asa when he hears about this?’
Willard shook his head hopelessly. It was useless trying to explain that he had seen the error of his ways. Now events had caught up with him and he would have to take his medicine. But he was pleased that Kelly was in it with him. He looked into the gambler’s pale face and chuckled harshly.
‘I don’t know how you got on to us, Chet,’ he said, ‘but I was ready to shuck my ties with the bunch. Kelly ain’t so happy though.’
‘I’ve known about Kelly since yesterday, and I’ve been watching him, waiting for him to lead me to the traitor in our midst. I didn’t figure it was you, Willard. I guess it’s the end of a lot of things, huh?’
Kelly turned slowly to face Manning, whose gun was holstered, and, at sight of the troubleshooter’s empty hands, he smiled tightly,
‘You’re too sure of yourself, Manning,’ he said. ‘I’m pretty fast with my .38. It looks like we’re gonna find out who’s the fastest. You ain’t taking me without a fight.’
‘You can have it any way you want,’ Manning retorted, his face expressionless. ‘I got my job to do.’
Kelly flicked his hand upwards, reaching inside his coat, and Manning set his own hand into motion. But Willard stepped forward and struck at the gambler’s gun as it appeared, sending it flying from Kelly’s hand. He also managed to get between Kelly and Manning, who cursed and came forward out of the doorway. But Kelly turned, cursing Willard, and threw a punch which crashed into Willard’s stomach.
‘You dirty turncoat!’ he rasped.
Willard staggered sideways, bending over under the blow. He straightened immediately, and a ray of sunlight coming in through the window glinted upon the blade of the knife he had drawn. Kelly uttered an oath and dived for his gun on the floor, keeping Willard between himself and Manning, who had drawn his gun but could not use it. Willard went forward, following the gambler’s movement, and bent to plunge the point of his knife into Kelly’s throat, causing blood to spray outwards over his hand and forearm. The gambler was in the act of lifting his .38, but his hand began to fall away as a torrent of blood spurted from his throat and mouth.
Kelly slumped back, now using both hands on his gun, and Willard lunged at him again with the knife. The .38 exploded deafeningly in the small office. Dust flew. Willard cried out as the bullet splintered through his ribs and he fell forward upon Kelly, his weight driving the point of the knife into the gambler’s chest. He rolled sideways and ended up beside the dead gambler, lying on his back with his arms outflung, and blood spread quickly over the front of his shirt.
Manning remained motionless for a moment, then holstered his gun and ran to Willard’s side, bending over quickly. Willard’s mouth was agape, and a thin trickle of blood ran from one corner. His eyes were wide, staring, seeming to glaze even as Manning looked at him.
‘Don’t tell Ma and Pa!’ he gasped, trying to clutch at Manning.
‘Don’t worry,’ Manning retorted. ‘Lie still. I’ll fetch the Doc.’ He paused, for the doctor was not in town, and then he saw that Willard was dead. He froze then, paralysed by the events which had overtaken them, until he heard the sound of hurriedly approaching footsteps. He looked over his shoulder and saw Hank Chilvers coming into the office, his face lined with shock.
‘Jeez, Chet! What in hell happened?’
Manning arose, drawing a deep breath, and there was a picture of Aunt Polly in his mind as he gazed almost unseeingly into the town marshal’s gaunt face.
‘We caught ourselves a badman,’ he rasped, his thoughts leaping ahead of his words. ‘Hell, Willard was between me and Kelly so I didn’t get the chance to shoot. Willard surprised Kelly in here. That two-bit gambler was looking through the desk. Willard went for
him and Kelly drew that .38. Willard pulled a knife and they went at each other.’
‘Hell!’ Chilvers wrinkled his nose against the drifting gun-smoke. ‘Wait until Asa hears about this. There’s gonna be hell to pay.’
Manning nodded slowly, his face a stiff mask. ‘Take care of things here, Hank,’ he requested in a harsh voice. ‘I’d better send a wire to Asa, then go tell Aunt Polly. But you can be sure of one thing. Willard died a hero. He was a chip off the old block.’
Chilvers sighed heavily. ‘Where’s it all gonna end?’ he demanded. ‘Rather you than me, telling Aunt Polly.’
‘Yeah!’ Manning smiled wryly. The telegraph operator was peering through the office window, his face pale, haggard with shock as he gazed at the two bodies. Manning went out to him, his mind busy upon the situation, and suddenly he was filled with firm decision. ‘Send a message to Asa,’ he commanded. ‘Tell him what’s happened to Willard and report that I’ve got Ben Yaro cornered if we can act quickly. I want every gunhand on our payroll on that special train and heading back here like hell. The iron is hot and we got to strike.’
He left the astonished operator, dreading the thought of having to cross the street to Asa’s house. But Aunt Polly and Netta were already on the sidewalk, having heard the shot, and he crossed to them, aware that he had to do his duty. But at least he could save them from the humiliation of the truth. Willard would get the credit for killing Kelly, and for that he was thankful.
Chapter Fifteen
Asa Blaine hardly knew which way to turn at end of track. His first sight of the aftermath of the raid shocked him into near paralysis. In all his years on the Railroad, faced with just about every disaster that could befall a construction camp, he had never seen such a mess. But his strict loyalty to duty pulled him through the crisis and he quickly organised the demoralised survivors and the helpers he had brought with him from the town.