There was a broken mirror on the wall near the entrance to the cells. In front of this, Southern smoothed back his hair and carefully placed his white hat. He tried an experimental charming smile, rejected it and tried another. Apparently satisfied with the result, he turned for the door and became aware of the two men watching him. He tried to look nonchalant, but he only succeeded in looking embarrassed.
“I won’t be long,” he said. “You bar the street door and you watch that McAllister like hawks. Hear? If we slip up on this one …”He left the rest to their imagination.
That kept their faces straight until they saw him pass the window on the street.
“God’s gift to the women of Crewsville,” Lancaster said.
“He gives me a pain in the ass,” Tully said.
“Go along with him,” said Lancaster, “till this business is settled.”
Tully thought about that for a moment, then said: “Do you get a bad feelin’ about all this, Billy?”
“Bad feelin’?” said Lancaster. “How the hell can a man have a bad feelin’ about a fortune in gold?”
“The way old Charlie tells it, nobody ain’t gone after this gold that hasn’t handed in his chips. Gives me the creeps.”
“Come off it for crissake,” said Lancaster. “You’re talkin’ kids’ stuff. Growed men don’t go along with that kind of crap.”
“This growed man does. You believe in luck, don’t you?”
Tully was on to a touchy subject. Lancaster knew that everybody believed in luck. A man might not believe in God or the United States, but he had better believe in luck.
“We stick tight,” said Lancaster, firm and sure, “and we come out of this rich men. You an’ me can light out for Mexico or Frisco or where the hell we want.”
“It’s this McAllister that makes me spooky. Christ, you know his record as well as I do. He’s mean as a goddam Indian. We got a caged lion in there.”
Lancaster mocked him with a wide, yellow-toothed grin.
“Man, you’re just a-settin’ there curdlin’ your water. That McAllister ain’t goin’ no place but a foot underground. Nobody ain’t said it, but we all know it.”
Tully argued: “I reckon we’re playin’ this all wrong, Billy. If we knock off McAllister, them Mexes’ll chicken out of this. They ain’t goin’ to poke their noses into the hills without McAllister to nursemaid ’em. It stands to reason for God’s sake. With McAllister locked up here, there ain’t goin’ to be no gold.”
With irrefutable logic, Hank Lancaster said: “If what you say about McAllister is true, he is the original snappin’ turtle. If he is out we don’t get any gold either. He’d shoot our asses off.”
At that moment, Mark Southern was still being pleased with himself as he walked along Main. After all, he had something to be pleased about. And proud. He had taken a formidable man prisoner. If you had told him a week back he could take in a man reputed to be as hard and as cunning as an Indian he would not have believed you. And here he was with McAllister safely in jail. The powers that be in this man’s town would have to defer to him in future. He was no longer the outsider grateful for social and political crumbs. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Fortuna’s face when he told his news.
When he could see the waters of the creek glittering softly in the moonlight, he turned left to the last house in town. This was a plank house all painted white standing in a pleasant yard surrounded by a white picket fence. This garden was Fortuna’s pride and joy. As he walked from the gate to the house, the fragrance of her flowers seduced his senses. He felt suddenly and gloriously that it was very good indeed to be alive.
He rapped on the white front door crisply with his knuckles. That positive knock that comes naturally from a man of destiny. It was opened after a moment’s delay by the Swedish hired girl. She gaped at him as if she had never seen him before.
“Judge in?”
She continued to stare.
“Tell the judge that Sheriff Southern is here.”
“Oh, ja.”
But she didn’t move and he had to wave her away to her duty with both hands, making encouraging noises as he did so. Reluctantly she turned away, twisting her head around to watch him as she retreated down the hall, as if she expected him to spring on her if she turned her back.
Almost at once, Fortuna Tynsdale appeared from a doorway. She always looked more beautiful than he had remembered her. It seemed unjust and cruel that such a peach should be married to Tynsdale. Maybe he’d put that right one day. Just let him get his hands on the Mexes’ gold.
“Ah, Mark, how nice. Step inside.” Her formal yet friendly words were meant for her husband who was, no doubt, listening. The message from her eyes was something else. But her tone was just pitched right.
My God, the sheriff thought, she wants me. Right here and now she wants me this very minute. Her mouth looked hungry, her eyes were starved.
“Just stopped by for a word with the judge, Fortuna. I hope I see you well.”
“Well enough. But this dratted climate: Oh, what it does to a lady’s looks!”
He guessed this called for a compliment. Here in the West a man didn’t miss an opportunity for a compliment.
“Can’t see that it’s affected yours adversely, ma’am. Quite the contrary.”
Her tongue was between her lips and for a moment she leaned against him and it was as if his whole body sprang to meet hers. I could take her, he thought, right here and now.
The judge’s voice boomed from the room to the left of the hall. Tynsdale was in one of his avuncular moods, the sheriff could tell. Which meant that he was about halfway through his evening’s drinking. Another hour and he would be surly, suspicious of all around him.
Southern patted Fortuna’s bottom and looked up to find the hired girl watching him. He walked into the room and there was Tynsdale, cigar between the fingers of his left hand, drink in his right. He glowed, a cross between your favorite uncle and a prototype figure of all successful businessmen and wise judges. Gray hair swept back from a high forehead, proud nose thrusting aggressively at the world, the whole handsome equipage of the face held together brightly by a gentle smile. I am strong, the face said, and can afford to be merciful and kindly.
“Evening, judge.”
“Evening, my boy. Sit down. Fortuna, a drink for our friend. You’re looking pleased with yourself. Never seen you look so damned pleased. What are your tidings from the rough world of law enforcement and crime?”
The man was a living lie. The bluff honesty he radiated was not even skin-deep; the smile on his lips was reflected by the friendliest glow from his eyes while the mind behind them was hard and opportunist. None of the outward show fooled Southern. If you intended to climb over men like this judge, you couldn’t afford not to know them.
He sat down and took the drink from Fortuna, thanking her with the old-fashioned charm he employed when in the presence of her husband. She sat on the far side of the room and took up her sewing.
“Good news,” said the sheriff. “The best. I have McAllister under lock and key.”
The judge’s eyes were instantly wary. He was surprised, but there was no hesitation before he said: “Well done, Mark. By jingo, you earn your keep. Don’t he earn his keep, my dear?”
“Indeed he does,” said Mrs. Tynsdale meekly. So meekly that the sheriff nearly burst out laughing. Who could imagine what a tigress she was with her clothes off?
The judge cleared his throat and said delicately: “I wonder if you would indulge me, Fortuna.”
“In what way, judge?” (He loved her calling him “judge”.)
“By leaving us alone for a while. I prefer you shouldn’t hear the kind of stuff we’re going to be discussing. Not the kind of thing for a lady at all.”
She rose, looking modest, and said: “Of course.” She laid down her sewing and, after a little smile at the sheriff behind her husband’s back, she left the room.
“You’re a lucky man, judge,�
�� said the sheriff.
“I know it, sir,” said the judge most heartily.
“And, if I may say so, she’s a very lucky woman.” Flattery never hurt. It was cheap and it came easily.
“Why, thank you, my boy. That’s handsome of you. Now, to business. I suddenly have an uneasy feeling that we’ve caught the goose that lays the golden egg a mite too soon. Will the Mexicans hold back now we have McAllister?”
“That’s a chance we have to take, judge,” Southern said. “I’m sure our chances of getting it with him free would be a good deal less.”
The judge knocked the ash from his cigar and looked thoughtful. “How was the girl? Was she convincing?”
“Enough. But she only made her mark on the statement. I never thought of her not being able to write. I just hate marks. They’re suspect from the word go.”
“She’ll give evidence in court.”
“Will it ever get to court?”
“It has to. There must be no obvious dirty business in all this.”
“I promised McAllister a lawyer.”
“You did quite right. Give him Harkless. The poor son-of-a-bitch don’t know whether he’s coming or going.” He waved a hand in the air. “That’s just fine, Mark. You’re doing well. Any word from your Mexican spy?”
“He keeps me informed regularly.”
“Bully. So what goes in the Mexican camp?”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t had word since I put McAllister away.”
“Will this spy of yours be in Charlie Arbiter’s party?”
The question caught Southern on one foot. He was surprised that he could be surprised. He hesitated. The judge caught the hesitation at once and leaned forward in his chair, pointing the cigar like a gun-barrel at the sheriff. “Good God, man, I’m not asking you his name. You mean you can’t tell me if you’ll have an ally in Charlie’s outfit?”
The sheriff turned a little surly.
“Yes. He’ll be there.”
“All right,” said the judge, “Now run along. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The facetiousness sat oddly on him. His eyes twinkled. He was the epitome of the nice man being just the smallest bit naughty.
The sheriff stood up. “I’ll leave you to speak to the lawyer, Harkless?”
The judge waved the suggestion aside as unimportant. “Of course. Good-night to you, Mark.”
The sheriff bade him goodnight and walked to the door. He knew the judge would have something to say before he got through the doorway.
“Mark.”
“Judge?”
“You won’t let McAllister get away, will you, Mark?”
Their gazes met. Southern felt his wither. “You bank on it, judge.” He turned and closed the door behind him. He hated that goddam judge. He always went in there feeling calm and in charge of his own destiny and came out feeling like a little boy who was not quite trusted. But the situation was evened up when he thought of Fortuna. He raised his eyes and there she was. She came very close and touched his face. There was a marvelous smell about her, heady as strong drink, half-animal and half-flower.
She said very softly: “He’s playing cards with Dysart later. I’ll let you know in the usual way.”
He kissed her on the neck and felt her body stiffen. She gripped his hand and dug her nails into his flesh. She said: “Get out of here before I make a fool of myself. I can’t wait, Mark.”
He headed for the front door and found that he was shaking uncontrollably. As he walked down the path to the wicket gate, he thought: We’ll put all that right before midnight.
Instead of turning right into town, he turned left down towards the creek. There was a soft breeze moving here. It did little more than stir the warm air, but it refreshed him. He loosened his necktie and unbuttoned his collar. He checked almost superstitiously that his gun still hung at his side. He did so a dozen times a day. The gun gave him reassurance.
His footsteps sounded loud on the creekside trail. A few small rocks rattled. He listened to the crisp sounds of his footsteps and wondered what the future held. Would he get away with what he planned? Would he end up with the woman as he dreamed? He wondered also if he were making a fool of himself. He knew that he was besotted with her. What chance, he asked himself, did a man like the judge have up against a man like him?
He came to the willows, stopped for a minute to peer into the deep shadows and stepped carefully down the bank of the creek. A moment later he was walking noiselessly on sand. When he reached the shadows, he said softly: “You here?”
The voice replied in Spanish: “I’m here.”
Southern put his hand on the butt of his gun and stepped forward into the shadow. He had met the man here a dozen times, but never without a last-minute misgiving. A man who could betray his friends could betray anybody.
The man said, still using Spanish: “You can take your hand from your gun. I’m unarmed. As always.”
“Well, what do you have for me?”
“Nothing that you do not know yourself. You have McAllister. Is it true? Did he rape the girl?”
Southern put a small note of disapproval into his voice. “Of course he did. I run a straight office.”
The man in the dark chuckled briefly. “So you have been very clever, my friend. You have taken the strength from the Mexican party. You have weakened the one side of my plan. Now that you have McAllister I must play the game entirely your way.”
The sheriff pushed a hard tone into his voice: “I told you at the start—you’re not dealing with a soft one or a fool.” He knew the Mexican was smiling. “You’ll get your share all right, never fear.”
“I know I shall. You don’t know where the gold is.”
“Do you?”
“That remains to be seen. We have made a bargain and I shall stick to it.”
“See that you do,” said Southern. “Out there nothing would be said if a man was killed.”
“Which goes both ways.”
“I shall be heading a legally constituted posse.” He had had enough of this fellow. “All right, I’ll give you the word when to move tomorrow night, same time. If any emergency comes up I’ll give the signal.”
The man said: “Good,” and was then gone with such silence and speed that Southern stood amazed. He stayed still for a moment, feeling that this exhibition of speed and stealth was some kind of warning. It was as if he were being told that he was not dealing with any commonplace informer. He listened to hear if anybody was near the creek, then slowly walked back along the little beach and up on to the trail above. He walked back the way he had come and lit a stogie to calm his nerves. He hoped those two deputies of his were watching McAllister closely.
He followed the creek trail until he was immediately below the judge’s house and here he stopped. Looking up at the house which stood at a distance of no more than a couple of hundred paces, he saw that the light was on in the upper room. The curtains were closed. His nerves started settling. He was thinking of something else now.
He waited for ten minutes and was beginning to think that something had gone wrong and that Fortuna was not coming, but as he tossed his stogie into the creek he heard her skirts brushing through the long grass. A moment later, she was in his arms, almost crying in the intensity of her passion.
“Let’s get off the trail,” he said.
“No,” she said, “Here and now.”
“Somebody might be along.”
“Goddam,” she cried in a sudden fury, “I can’t wait.”
His own urgency vaulted to meet hers. He dropped to the ground, taking her with him and for a moment they strained fruitlessly at each other. His last thought, before he let himself be submerged in the heat of his appetite, was: I’d like that old bastard of a judge to see me now.
Five
McAllister said through the crack in the wall: “I’ll tell you just the once, Jack. When I get to the bit where you think I’m lyin’, you sing out and I’ll shut up.”
“All right,” said Jack Clegg.
McAllister told himself that he knew this fellow could be there talking with him for no other reason than he had been put there by Southern and whoever was backing him. It was a gamble that had to be taken. McAllister needed some help like he had never needed it before. Those men out there in the office were not going to take their hands off their gun butts until he, McAllister, was made helpless by being fixed in some way or was dead. He had the feeling that Southern would prefer to have him dead rather than proved guilty of rape.
“I have a means,” McAllister said, “of layin’ my hands on a fortune in gold. How’m I doin’ so far? Am I liar?”
“Hell,” said Jack Clegg, “how do I know if you’re a liar? Most folks’re liars when it comes down to it. Let’s say I have an open mind. If you could find a way out of here, I’d go along with everything you say.”
“I don’t just need you while we’re gettin’ out of here, Jack,” said McAllister. “I need you after.”
“If there’s cash money in it, I’m your man.”
“All right,” said McAllister, “here’s my yarn.”
He spun it. Clegg listened with scarcely a word. When McAllister was through, he asked Clegg: “Well, am I a liar?”
“Man, I can’t tell if you’re a liar or if you ain’t. But I’ll go along with you. Jesus, you either trust a man or you don’t. I’ve heard about you an’ I’d gamble your word was good. Does that make us partners?”
“It does.”
“We’ll shake on it when we get out.”
“Done.”
At that moment, they heard voices in the sheriff’s office. Among them was the voice of a woman. Both men in their tiny cells rose instantly to their feet and rammed their right eyes against their peep-holes.
“Goddamit all to Hell,” exclaimed Clegg, “I can’t see a goddam solitary thing.”
McAllister said: “I can see all I want to see. If any man wanted to see more, he’d want a head doctor.”
“Tell me.”
“Wa-al, she’s tall,” said McAllister. “She’s around five five.”
Clegg said: “I just love ’em tall.”
McAllister 2 Page 3