The E.R. Slade Western Omnibus No.1

by E. R. Slade

  “Son,” McHenry said, rallying a bit, “it would be irresponsible for me to give Miss Bailey that amount of money. She might well be robbed.”

  “No one will rob her if I accompany her, I assure you.”

  Nancy looked at him with a mixture of surprise, concern, and something more he didn’t think he should guess at. She was on the verge of saying something, but McHenry spoke before she could.

  “You, son? It would take more than an out-of-work cowboy to keep her from being robbed if word got around she had that amount of money with her—even if I thought I could trust you.” His faint smile made it plain he believed he’d finally found an unanswerable objection to giving up the money.

  Whatever Nancy had originally been intending to say got displaced by sudden irritation at McHenry. “I will vouch for Mr. Gordon,” she said. “I would sooner trust him than you at this point.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Miss Bailey. I should have thought that it would count for something that I’ve known you all your life. How long have you known this young man?”

  “With some men,” she said, “it doesn’t take years for them to reveal their true character.”

  “My offer to buy you a train ticket still stands,” the banker said in his smoothest, most reasonable voice, but his face was gray. Ben suddenly felt pity for him. The man was so scared of Clauson that he wouldn’t take even a slight chance of offending him, though it would be to help the daughter of a murdered friend. He might want to pass his actions off as reasonable, but he was going to have trouble looking in the mirror after hearing Nancy’s opinion of him.

  “I would not think of asking you to buy a ticket for me,” Nancy told him icily, getting to her feet and ignoring McHenry as he fumbled in a drawer and pulled out a small amount of cash.

  There was the sound of the street door opening, then shutting, then voices.

  “In there?” they heard.

  The voice was Clauson’s.

  McHenry hastily dropped the money back into the drawer and closed it, his hands shaking.

  Chapter Four

  Ben got to the office door in three quick strides and opened it before Clauson could.

  “You are just the man we wanted to talk to,” Ben told him. “Have you found out who broke into Miss Bailey’s house yet?”

  Clauson’s brows gathered. “I told you to leave town,” he said.

  “I’m not here on my account,” Ben told him, standing aside so Clauson could come into the office.

  “He’s here on mine,” Nancy said. “I got lost and he brought me home.”

  “That a fact,” Clauson said as he came in. Ben left the door open. He had not put the thong back on his Remington and he made sure his right hand wasn’t too far from it while he waited to see what Clauson might decide to do.

  “I want to know why you have stolen my property,” Nancy said to Clauson, and McHenry’s eyes got big. You could see he wanted to stop her from crossing Clauson—but she wasn’t looking at him and he didn’t dare to speak up.

  “Stolen!” Clauson said, as though affronted. “Whatever gave you that idea? It’s my job to protect the citizens of this town, and that includes you, Miss Bailey. You are only a girl and someone needs to see to it that your father’s property is well taken care of.”

  Ben asked mildly, “You don’t think McHenry here could give Miss Bailey whatever aid she needs in looking after her affairs? I gather he and her father had been friends for many years.”

  Clauson turned on him. “I’m losing patience with you. I told you to clear off.”

  “I’ll be going as soon as I can,” Ben assured him, still in a mild tone, but watching Clauson carefully for any move toward his pistol. Clauson wore no thong on his Colt, and his hand hung casually within inches of the gun.

  “But,” Ben added, “I am trying to help Miss Bailey get her affairs in order, and that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “I have already put her affairs in order,” Clauson snapped, his eyes beginning to narrow and blacken. “You have no further business in this town, is that understood? I’ll look after Miss Bailey.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” she said. “I demand you tell Mr. McHenry to release my father’s money to me.”

  Clauson drew a long breath to get hold of himself. “Miss Bailey,” he said, “I’m making sure your money is not stolen. A defenseless girl known to have property is a target. It would be irresponsible for me to put you in that position.”

  “Then in that case,” she returned, “release the money to Mr. Gordon.”

  Clauson’s black look came back briefly as he glanced at Ben, but once again he struggled it down. Ben would have felt less concern if Clauson hadn’t bothered since there could be only one explanation for making the effort: Clauson wanted Nancy even more then he wanted her property.

  “I’m trying to keep your property out of the hands of men like Gordon,” Clauson said, attempting to sound reasonable.

  “I’d gladly risk my property in Mr. Gordon’s hands before I’d risk it in yours.” She fixed him with a look that would have withered most men.

  Clauson acted as though she’d slapped him, jerking his head back slightly and reddening. Then his eyes narrowed, getting a hard glint; he might have decided it was time for a change of tactics.

  Ben didn’t like the look of it, so he attempted a distraction. He said, “If what you want is to protect Miss Bailey, there’s no reason not to let McHenry manage her affairs for her.” And before Clauson could say anything, he turned to McHenry and asked, “You wouldn’t let anyone steal from Miss Bailey, would you, McHenry?”

  McHenry hadn’t expected to be put on the spot right then.

  “Why, no, I, no, I don’t believe, no, of course not,” he said, gripping the edge of his desk for support. You could smell him sweat in the small room.

  “If I wanted your advice, Gordon, I’d ask for it.” Clauson’s eyes glinted harder yet as he looked at Ben. “Now get out.”

  “Clauson,” Ben said, having to work at keeping his temper, “you and I don’t like each other—there’s no way around that. But you say you’re trying to do for the best for Miss Bailey, and so am I. The moment I’m satisfied that this question about Miss Bailey’s property is settled to her satisfaction, I’ll ride. Now, what’s wrong with letting McHenry handle her affairs? Would that be all right with you, Miss Bailey?”

  “It would be better than Mr. Clauson handling them,” she said.

  “I’ve told you the matter is settled,” Clauson said. “Now are you leaving, or do you want a week in jail for vagrancy?”

  “The lady does not want you in charge of her affairs.”

  “The lady is none of your business, Gordon. One last warning: make tracks or sleep on a board in a cold cell for a week.”

  “Mr. Gordon,” Nancy said, “we’re wasting our time here. Let’s go.” And she started for the door.

  Clauson’s hand shot out and he got her by the arm.

  There was a short, tense silence.

  Ben opened his mouth to speak, but Nancy spoke first: “Mr. Clauson,” she said, “take your hand away.”

  Instead he squeezed. Sweat was beading on McHenry’s forehead, as though it were his arm getting squeezed, but Nancy stayed cool and collected.

  “Let her go,” Ben said sharply, stepping closer.

  “Miss Bailey isn’t going anywhere with you, kid,” Clauson said, almost in amusement. He let go her arm but put his own in front of her. “You stay away from this man, Miss Bailey,” he said. “Don’t leave town. Do you understand?”

  “You may have stolen my property, Mr. Clauson,” she returned firmly. “But you’ll not own me.” She stepped around his outstretched arm and started again for the door.

  Clauson looked after her, wetting his lips as though she were a meal he was anticipating.

  Ben quelled the urge to wipe that look off Clauson’s face and instead followed Nancy.

  The teller was nowhere
to be seen behind the bank window. Probably down out of sight in case bullets flew, Ben thought. Smart fellow.

  “Gordon!” Clauson roared.

  Ben paused but didn’t turn around, wanting Clauson’s attention on him long enough for Nancy to get out the door.

  “Well?” Ben asked.

  “You got five minutes. That’s it.”

  Ben raised his left hand in enigmatic acknowledgment and went out.

  “You’re going to leave now, aren’t you?” she asked him.

  “I’m going to see you get a ticket on the next train,” he said, “just as I promised I would. Then we’ve got to find a safe place to be until it comes.”

  They started along the board sidewalk toward the train station, a hundred yards to the right along the street on the same side.

  “I can get the ticket,” she said. “I don’t want you going to jail on my account.”

  Ben looked back to see whether Clauson had come out of the bank: he had and was standing looking after them.

  But what was of more concern to Ben was that their horses were no longer in front of Nancy’s house, nor anywhere to be seen. Where had they gone?

  “It’ll only take a few minutes,” he said, deciding not to worry Nancy about the missing horses.

  She didn’t like it, but he insisted. Ben guessed the five minutes were up by the time they reached the ticket office where a white-haired man with a very impressive handlebar mustache eyed them with a sober, hound dog expression.

  “Here to buy a ticket for the lady,” Ben said to him. “How much to Jasper? Or do you want to go further?” he asked Nancy.

  The ticket agent looked apologetically from one of them to the other. “I have orders not to sell any tickets to either one of you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  Ben had faintly suspected something like this might happen, once he realized the horses were missing, and considering Clauson had just stood there and watched them hurry down here to the station—after having told Nancy she wasn’t to leave town.

  “Whose orders?” Ben demanded, though he already knew the answer.

  “Marshal Clauson’s orders, sir.”

  “The railroad takes orders from Mr. Clauson?” Nancy’s voice fairly crackled.

  “Not the railroad, Miss Bailey,” said the ticket agent, “but I have to.”

  Ben led Nancy outside, but the back way onto the empty platform rather than onto the street. He wanted Clauson to assume for a while yet that they were still arguing with the ticket agent.

  He looked across the tracks, thinking. Beyond the railroad embankment, the ground trended down with areas of fir and lodgepole pine. If they had to clear out on foot ...

  That would at best be a very temporary solution—but they might need any sort of solution until they could figure out how to proceed.

  He looked at Nancy: she was near tears again, though she returned his gaze bravely.

  “I’ve got to find out where our horses have gotten to,” he said, as though to imply they might have just wandered off, though he didn’t believe that was the case.

  Her tears started to come then, and he wished he hadn’t loaded the missing horses on top of all the rest of her problems, though it would have been hard to keep it from her for long.

  She put her face in her hands and he ached to hold her but was afraid she might consider it too familiar. After a moment, he patted her shoulder and said, “We’ll find them. They can’t be far.”

  “He’s got them, too, doesn’t he?” she said, lifting her chin. But her resolution was fading.

  “If he does, I’ll get them back. I’m going to get all your property back.”

  “No, Mr. Gordon, you’ll just get killed.” She got out her little handkerchief and wiped her face and around her eyes, though the tears kept coming.

  “If anybody gets killed, it’ll be Clauson,” Ben said, “though,” he added, to soften it a little for Nancy’s benefit, “I’m going to try to get rid of him without any shooting if I can.”

  “You can’t do that,” she said. “He’ll never leave unless somebody can force him to.”

  “I’m going to force him to, or see him buried.”

  It came out harshly and he let it stand that way.

  Nancy said nothing, looking up at him, her lips quivering slightly. He watched as she moved a few stray wisps of light brown hair away from her face with a shaking hand and resolved that Clauson was never again going to touch her.

  “Is there anybody you could stay with for a few days while I sort this out?” he asked her gently. “Somebody Clauson would never connect you to?”

  She drew herself up, shakily but firmly. “You have come here on my account,” she said. “I can’t leave you to look for the horses alone. We have to find them and ride away.”

  “We’d need supplies,” he pointed out. “It’s a ride of several days to the next town, I understand. And Clauson might come after you. He doesn’t want you to leave town, remember?”

  He didn’t say it, but if Clauson had his horse he also had his rifle, and without the rifle they’d be at a severe disadvantage.

  “There was still a lot of food left in the house,” she said. “We can go in the back way if we can get across the street without being seen.”

  “Where do you think he’d take the horses?”

  “There are two liveries in town. Fred Sikes used to be a U.S. Marshal once long ago and he and Clauson don’t like each other, so I would guess Laskey’s. But maybe he took them somewhere else.”

  “Where’s Laskey’s?”

  “On this side of the street past the bank at the end of the town. Almost across from my house.”

  “I’d still feel better if you were someplace safe while I hunt up the horses. There might be trouble, you know.”

  “Won’t it help to have somebody keeping watch for ... danger?”

  “You are a brave young lady, Miss Bailey.”

  “This is my problem you’re involved in. It’s not right to go sit in somebody’s parlor by the stove feeling sorry for myself while you try to get the horses back. Besides, the sooner we can leave, the better. We may need to ride away immediately and come back at night for supplies.”

  Since Nancy seemed to have recovered her composure, and since what she said made a certain amount of sense, Ben decided that maybe it would be as well for her to be with him. Who else could he count on to defend her against Clauson?

  “All right, then, let’s go,” he said.

  They halted behind Laskey’s when they got there, saw that neither of their horses was in the corral out behind.

  “What should we do?” she asked.

  “I’m going to go in the back door and see if our horses are inside. Stay right up against the wall outside the door and come in if you see anybody. Don’t holler unless there’s no other way.”

  “Be careful. Kid Clauson might be on guard.”

  Ben hadn’t been thinking about him, but had to admit she could be right. They stepped beyond the manure pile and Nancy took up her position back-to the wall beside the battered door. Ben pulled his Remington, checked the load, then decided to holster it after all.

  She watched him return the gun to the holster with a questioning look.

  “No point waving a gun around until I know what the situation is,” he said, and swung the door open cautiously.

  It was very dim inside, and at first all he could make out was half a window at the other end of the building. Then his eyes adjusted enough to show him the back ends of a number of horses to the left, and the straw scattered on the floor. The smell of horses, hay, and oiled leather was reassuringly familiar and made him relax slightly. He’d always liked being around horses.

  He stepped in, pulled the door mostly to, and started along behind the row of rumps. Three stalls in, there was Nancy’s horse, and two stalls beyond, his own dappled pony turned to look at him, ears pricked.

  “He’p you?”

  Ben peered into the gloom ahead and
to the right trying to make out the owner of the voice. The man was coming toward him, carrying a pitchfork, a dilapidated straw hat on the back of his head. When he got closer, and as Ben’s eyes adjusted further, he saw the stalk of timothy in one corner of the man’s mouth.

  “Who brought my horses in here?” Ben asked.

  “Which ones?” The fellow stepped next to him, chewing on the stalk of hay. He didn’t seem particularly threatening or suspicious, which raised Ben’s hopes a little.

  Ben pointed them out. “They were left in front of a house across the street.”

  The man’s demeanor changed considerably. He stepped back as though to put distance between himself and Ben.

  “Marshal brought them horses in maybe a half hour ago. Said they was impounded.”

  “Impounded?” Ben made it sound as surprised as he could. “Those horses?”

  “Yep. Them’s the ones.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense. One of them belongs to Miss Bailey, I believe; at least she was riding it. That one there is mine.”

  “Wal, I can’t he’p it.”

  “Must be he didn’t know whose they were. The saddles here?”

  The man pointed to a rail behind them along the right hand wall. Ben went over and looked.

  “What happened to my rifle?”

  “Marshal took it.”

  “Guess I’ll have to go get it back from him. But I’ve got to have the horses. How much for their keep?”

  “Mister, you don’t git it. Them hosses ain’t goin’ nowhar.”

  “Listen,” Ben said, “I don’t have a lot of time to fool around. What’ll you take to let me have the horses? You don’t have to admit you were here when they disappeared, you know.”

  Ben dug out one of two twenty dollar gold pieces he possessed, held it up.

  “I ain’t crossing the marshal,” the man said, backing away, shaking his head emphatically. “No indeedy I ain’t.”

  Ben considered a minute, then pocketed the gold piece.

  “I guess I’d better get him,” he said, and walked out.

  Chapter Five

  “Impounded,” he told Nancy, after closing the door.