by E. R. Slade
“The way to be safer,” Ben said, after swallowing another spoonful of stew, “is to do something about the Clausons. What do you think, Mr. Ryan?”
“I agree. But there’s nobody in town who could out shoot them, at least Ike. The Kid might not be so hard to do something about, if it weren’t for Ike.”
“But wouldn’t it make a difference if people got together and confronted them? He can get away with running things only if people let him. No matter how much of a shooter he is, if he finds out he’s up against the whole town, he’ll have to back down.”
Ryan brought a hand up to soberly stroke his chin, regarding Ben thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I’d count on that,” he said.
“Well, I intend to talk to the councilors and try to get them to tell him to leave, if we can round up a bunch of men. Would you be willing to side me, and do you know anybody else who might?”
“Gilbert, no,” Mrs. Ryan said. “Please.”
“I’m not much of a shooter,” Ryan said apologetically.
“You don’t have to be, not if there are enough of us. Mrs. Ryan, haven’t you been living in fear long enough? How much longer do you want to do so? I know that seems a brutal thing to say, but the fact is the terror remains while the Clausons are at large. The only way out is to get rid of the Clausons. And that will take every man in town who feels like we feel being willing to stand up against them.”
What color remained in her face was draining. He wasn’t sure if she had even understood him until she said, “I know you’re right, but ...”
“If I were a man and knew how to use a gun, I’d help you,” Mary said, “and I bet you would too, Nancy, wouldn’t you?”
Nancy smiled across at her friend and then glanced up at Ben. Mary looked from Nancy to Ben and back again with an intense interest, though Ben was too preoccupied to notice it particularly.
“If it’s ever going to be done,” Ryan said, “it’ll have to be done that way.” He patted his wife’s hand. “But I doubt you’re going to be able to convince the Council to take that kind of stand. I can give you a few names of people I know who don’t like the Clausons, but I can’t say whether any of them would be willing to try facing them down.
“The other thing you ought to know is that a lot of people like Ike Clauson as marshal, even if they don’t care much for his brother running loose. Some of them might decide to take up on the Clauson side just because they think the Clausons will win and they don’t want to take any chances on what Ike might do if he thinks they are against him.”
“I certainly wouldn’t ask anybody to do this if the Council is going to be on the Clauson side,” Ben said. “But they may not want to do anything unless they know a lot of men will back them up. How many men can you think of who might be worth approaching?”
Ryan finished his stew and sat back to think about the question and Mary abruptly said, “Oh!” and jumped up to check the bread in the oven. She removed the pans and dumped out the loaves on the counter to cool, then came back. Ryan had been silently counting on his fingers.
His wife got up and flustered around a bit, got some butter to put on the table, offered Ben more stew, which he accepted and made point of complimenting her on in the slight hope it would help to take her mind off the situation. He felt sorry to bring her such anxiety, but now he had he wanted to find a way to end it.
“I can think of about six or maybe seven,” Ryan said slowly. “I mean men who might possibly be willing to actually do something.”
“You have to go back to work this afternoon, I assume,” Ben said. “No chance you could go see these men quietly and try the idea on them? Maybe after work?”
“Actually, most of the men I’m talking about work at the sawmill where I do. I guess I could ask them what they think.”
“Good. I’ll hunt up the councilors and see if can get anywhere with them. First, though, to save Mrs. Ryan worries, I’ll find Miss Bailey some other place to stay.”
“Not if you don’t want me to worry more,” Mrs. Ryan said.
Both Ben and Nancy tried to get her to admit she’d feel better if they left, but without success.
“Thank you,” she said. “But I want you here so I know you’re safe.”
“All right,” Ben said. “But if you change your mind just say so and we’ll leave immediately.”
They polished off the hot corn bread, and then Ryan left for work.
Nancy came with Ben when he went to the rear door.
“Kid Clauson was shooting at my house, wasn’t he,” she said.
“Yes, he was.”
He hadn’t intended to tell her that, but he wasn’t going to lie to her. Somehow it seemed unthinkable to lie to Nancy.
“Mr. Gordon, you may have saved my life.”
“That would be hard to say. Now, please stay inside and don’t show yourself at any windows. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“Be very careful, Mr. Gordon. I guess I don’t need to tell you that. But it makes me feel that I have at least done something useful. I suppose that’s silly.”
“It’s good advice,” he said, putting his hat on. “Think I’ll take it.”
He looked out the window, then opened the door a crack, then more in order to look both ways. All was clear.
As he started to step out, she said, “You are a very fine man, Mr. Gordon.”
Several things came to mind to say, but he was afraid she’d think them presumptuous, so he just tugged at his hat brim and went.
Ryan had told him who the councilors were and where to find them. Two were the Larson brothers, who ran the sawmill Ryan worked at, and Ryan said it might be best to wait on them since they were amongst those who made out to be quite satisfied with “Marshal” Ike Clauson. There was a cooper named Hunter, a saddle maker named Stevens, and a lawyer named Wade. The lawyer was the chairman, and even though this was the man Nancy said went out of his way to be best friends with the Clausons, Ben knew enough of the ways of lawyers not to count on that being particularly revealing of what the man actually thought of the situation. For one thing, with no court held and the other two lawyers that had once been in town driven off, the remaining lawyer’s practice would of necessity be reduced to writing wills and contracts and suchlike. Maybe Wade didn’t care about that, or maybe he did.
The lawyer’s office was over the bank, and the only way up was through a street door to a stairway on the right end of the building. Ben therefore had to get across the street and then risk being seen going in that door.
Much as he disliked taking the time, he decided it would be smart to circle the town in the woods. Since he was alone this time and the distance he had to cover was shorter, he made it to the rear of the bank building in just over half an hour. He tried for a few minutes to find a route up to the second floor at the rear of the building, but there were plain brick walls to the second story windows on not only the rear, but both sides of the bank. There was only one thing to do.
He waited in the alley until the street was as full of traffic as possible, with a big wagon drawn by straining oxen blocking the line of sight from the marshal’s office across and down the street—not that he had any way of knowing whether either of the Clausons were there. They were not visible, but that was really all he knew about their whereabouts.
He stepped quickly around the corner and through the door, closing it behind himself without slamming it. There was a window in the door and he stood looking out a few moments to see if anything was going to happen. When nothing did, he turned to the stairs.
They were marble, the railings carved walnut. Somebody had spent some money hauling so much in the way of fancy materials way out here to Taylorville.
At the top of the stairs there was a short hall across the rear of the building, with the windows along the right-hand side overlooking the tracks and the mixed meadows and woods dropping away to the south. More mountains rose across a wide valley, snow still on the peaks.
There
were three closed doors. The first had a small engraved plate that read, “Halsey S. Wade, Esq., Attorney at Law.”
Ben knocked and a nasal voice said, “Come in.”
“You Mr. Wade?” Ben asked the thin-haired, scrawny man who looked up nearsightedly through thick glasses.
“No, I’m his clerk.” He squinted doubtfully at Ben, likely deciding Ben wasn’t going to be worth anything and should be brushed off as soon as conveniently possible.
“He here?” Ben persisted, coming purposefully toward the clerk. There was a door half open behind and to the right of the clerk and Ben was thinking partly about getting into that room as soon as possible hoping he’d be able to see the street below from there—and both Nancy’s and the Ryans’ houses also.
“And who are you?”
“My name’s Ben Gordon. I understand Mr. Wade is chairman of the Town Council and I’m here to talk to him about something important.”
The clerk looked surprised, but otherwise unperturbed. “If it’s about town business, the next Council meeting is tomorrow night at seven-thirty.” He said it dismissively and looked back down at some papers on his desk.
Ben was out of patience with the clerk. He ignored him and went toward the half-open door.
“You can’t go in there,” the clerk said sharply, but Ben went anyway, pushing the door the rest of the way open with a hand, his jaw set and one eyebrow raised.
The room was a mess. Paper was stacked everywhere, including on the floor. Behind a half-buried desk in the middle sat a long, lanky man with a gray beard. He was looking up when Ben entered, watching him with speculative interest. He said nothing, just looked.
“You’re Mr. Wade?” Ben asked.
“That’s right. And you are ...?”
“Gordon. Ben Gordon. I’ve come to talk to you about the Clausons.”
“Have you now.”
“Don’t you think it’s time to tell them to leave town?”
Wade’s thick gray eyebrows twitched. “On what grounds?” he asked curiously.
“Murder, breaking and entering, theft.”
“I see,” the lawyer said, as indifferent as a lamppost is to a dog.
“Do you know Miss Nancy Bailey?”
“Is that Otis Bailey’s daughter?”
“That’s right. You know, of course, that Kid Clauson murdered her father.”
“I heard he died,” Wade said.
Wade’s attitude was wearing thin, but Ben did his best to avoid letting his impatience show.
“He was shot by Kid Clauson. Ike Clauson has taken control of all of Nancy Bailey’s property, including her horse. You might as well call it theft.”
“Marshal Clauson may feel he has a responsibility to protect Miss Bailey,” Wade said blandly.
“If that’s the case,” Ben came back more snappily than he’d intended, “why was Kid Clauson allowed to shoot the windows out of her house not much more than an hour ago? You must have noticed that. It happened practically right across the street from here.”
Ben was standing where he could see the house, as well as the Ryans’ and the sidewalk in front of them. He wasn’t near enough the two tall windows to see much of the street.
“I must not have been in the office,” Wade said mildly.
“Mr. Wade, you can’t live in this town, much less be chairman of the Town Council and not know what’s going on. I’ve been told the Council is afraid to interfere with the Clausons. What I want to ask you is whether it would make a difference if I could find a bunch of men to back up a decision to send the Clausons packing.”
Wade’s eyebrows twitched up again and he took a moment to flex his lips. “Son,” he said, “there are a lot of people in this town who are quite happy with Marshal Clauson’s performance. You have not, I assume, been in town any length of time? You don’t know what Marshal Clauson replaced. It’s safe to walk the streets now, and people’s property is safe.”
“All except for Miss Bailey’s.”
“As far as I know, her father’s estate has not yet been probated. She would have no right to any of the property until after probate, in any case.”
“And when would you predict that will happen?”
“That I could not say.” Wade looked smug, sitting back as he was, elbows on the arms of his chair, the tips of his fingers neatly together.
“You can’t say because there is no judge. Clauson shot the judge, I hear.”
“It’s true there might be a wait. But the law is the law, in any case.”
“The law in this town is self-appointed,” Ben said, unable any longer to avoid showing his irritation.
“That is hardly true,” Wade protested mildly. “He has the blessing of our Council.”
“And it’s okay with you if Ike Clauson pins a star on his brother and lets him shoot up saloons, kill Otis Bailey, and randomly fire rounds into the front of Miss Bailey’s house, which might have killed her.”
“Just what is it you want from me, son?” Wade asked gently, as though Ben were a fractious small boy.
“Your clerk says the Council will meet tomorrow night. I’d like to talk to all of you about getting rid of the Clausons.”
“Well,” Wade said patiently, “we don’t have a very long agenda tomorrow. I don’t see why we can’t put you on it. But there are to be no slanderous remarks. Is that understood?”
“I’ll tell only the truth, as I know it.” Ben was startled to have been put on the agenda that easily and wondered what he should make of it.
As he turned to go, Wade added, “Of course, Marshal Clauson will be notified so he’ll have a chance to defend himself.”
Ben turned back, seeing now what Wade was up to. “Do you think that’s smart?” he asked. “Are the councilors going to be willing to vote their conscience with Clauson sitting there watching them?”
“I don’t see why not,” Wade said, as though genuinely surprised at the question. “I think you may have a very mistaken impression of what we are like here in Taylorville.”
“Guess we’ll find out about that,” Ben said, and left.
Chapter Seven
There were no Clausons in sight through the window in the door at the bottom of the stair landing, and Ben got out and around the corner into the alley without trouble. The saddle maker was next door to the barbershop, not too far down toward the railway station, and the back door was open.
A tall man with an outsized mustache, small round spectacles, and a slight stoop was tooling a piece of leather in a fancy design. When Ben came in his back door, he straightened a little and looked over his glasses at the visitor.
“Most folks like the front door,” he said as though faintly amused.
“Are you Lonny Stevens?”
“That’s me.”
“On the Council?”
Stevens laid down his tool and pulled off his glasses, got out a cloth to wipe them. “That’s right.”
“Ben Gordon,” Ben said, holding out his hand. They shook, the saddle maker looking him over carefully, maybe a little warily.
“How do you feel about the Clausons?” Ben asked.
Stevens looked down at his glasses, breathed on them, wiped some more. “What kind of question is that?” he asked in return.
“If I could find some men willing to stand up to them, would you vote to kick them out of town?”
“You don’t beat around the bush much, do you. Who have you got lined up?”
“I’ve hardly started on that. Wade says he’ll put it on the agenda for tomorrow night. I’m trying to see if the votes’ll be there before I try to round up anybody.”
“Wade’s put voting the Clausons out of office on the agenda?” Stevens looked up at him sharply.
“He’s put me on the agenda to try to convince the Council to do it.”
Stevens pursed his lips, making far more of a job of wiping his glasses than they needed. “That’s interesting,” he said. Then he fixed Ben with a direct gaze. “You’re
not telling me Wade has told you he’s ready to vote against the Clausons, are you?”
“He didn’t say that. But he didn’t say he wouldn’t, either.”
“Humph,” said Stevens.
He put the glasses back on, far down on his nose, and went to the open front door to the street, looked carefully both ways, then came back.
“Let me put it this way,” he said. “If you can round up a minimum of ten armed men to bring to the meeting, and can assure me there’ll be at least three votes, including mine, on the Council, I’m with you. Otherwise not. And I’ll deny this conversation ever took place.”
“Who are the best bets?”
“On the Council? Bob Hunter, probably. Not the Larsons.”
“That means Wade, then.”
“That’s right.”
“Any guess?”
“I’d say not.”
“How about men who might come to the meeting on our side?”
“You can try some of Buddy Winston’s friends, although I don’t know how much you could count on them.”
“I’m going to see what I can do,” Ben said.
“Best of luck, son.”
Ben had to cross the street to visit the cooper. It was getting late in the day by this time and Ben didn’t want to spend a lot of time circling through the woods, so he went along to the water tower—Winston’s body had been cut down—and from the shadows underneath it took a good long, thorough look up the street. At length, hoping that if he didn’t see them they wouldn’t see him, he slogged across through the mud as quickly as he could.
He seemed to be in luck: he got over and into the door of the cooper’s without incident.
“Mr. Hunter?” he asked one of the men assembling barrels on the shaving-strewn floor. The man aimed his thumb toward the rear of the shop, and there Ben found a solid, short man at a small writing table going over what looked like receipts by late afternoon sunlight coming in a west window.
When Ben explained his business, Hunter’s eyes began to gleam.