by E. R. Slade
“No,” he said, “I won’t be. It’s time we decided to win, so let that decision start with me.”
“But,” said Ryan, “if it’s hopeless, what’s the point?”
“It becomes hopeless only when you decide it is. I’m not going to decide that. Regardless of the Council.
“Remember, though, I have never been able to talk directly to the Larson brothers. Nobody knows for sure how they’ll vote.”
“They’ll vote Clauson,” Ryan said. “I don’t think there’s much doubt.”
“I know that’s the common wisdom, and may very well be correct. But the right way is to give the Council their chance. If they don’t take it, then we find justice some other way.” He pulled out his Remington and deliberately checked the load, an action more about symbolizing his determination than anything else.
“If you’re going, I’m going with you,” Nancy said, as he started for the back door.
“Please don’t,” he said. “If there’s trouble, I’ll have all I can handle trying to get myself out of it.”
“But ...” She stopped, looking up at him with tears starting in her eyes.
“Miss Bailey,” he said as firmly and as comfortingly as he could, “I have no intention of dying at the hands of the Clausons. I will come back.”
She reached out a hand and touched his arm, then turned away, struggling to keep her chin up. He went out quickly, before he lost his resolve.
After he’d shut the door behind himself, he heard sobs, and Mary saying, “Nancy, oh, Nancy.”
Now he stood irresolute. Maybe this was a stupid thing to do.
But he went over the same old ground again and came out in the same place. The Clausons needed to go and it was up to him to follow through and do all in his power to convince the Council to take the right stand. If he failed, he failed, and then he’d have to make other plans; but at least he could make those other plans with a clear conscience that he had done everything he knew how to do to get things to happen the right way.
He pulled the brim of his hat lower and strode off.
The Taylorville Town Council was to meet in a room in Clauson’s gambling hall. Ben went through the massive, ornate front doors, and was confronted with a second set of doors straight ahead that let into a big chandeliered room where well-dressed patrons sat at cards, often accompanied by overdressed, tightly-corseted women, soothed by soft music played by a small orchestra at the far end, and kept well-supplied with liquor by European-looking waiters.
But a small sign on a tripod directed Council-meeting-goers to the left through a short hall, then to the right and along another longer length of lamplit corridor to a door on the left, which let into a meeting room.
The place was jammed, with men standing in the hall holding their hats in their hands. He was profoundly glad that Nancy had not come. Trying to protect her in a place as crowded as this would have been very difficult.
When Ben approached, they watched him with interest, but it was hard to tell what kind of interest. He recognized some of them, and when he murmured hellos was usually either nodded to or politely answered.
Despite the crowd, everybody moved solicitously aside to allow him to pass through into the room.
For some reason, the first person his eye fell on the moment he stepped in was a man he’d noticed getting off the train that afternoon. Most of the people disembarking had obviously been headed for Clauson’s gambling establishment, but after they had cleared off, this man had been left standing alone in front of the station. He had not been obviously armed, yet there was about him an attitude, a way of standing and looking at everything that had made Ben uneasy.
Now here he sat in the middle of the back row of chairs, in a room in which every single audience seat was occupied except the chairs on either side of him. He was armed now—in a room where other men weren’t—and his Colt had a worn-looking handle of darkly oiled wood and rested in a well-worn darkly oiled leather holster. He sat leaning comfortably back in his chair with his arms folded, seemingly unaware of the peculiar circumstance that in such a crowded place he was the only one in the room with nobody sitting directly on either side of him. He turned his head when people jostled aside to let Ben in. The man had a look to make your blood run cold.
So, Ben wondered, was this what everybody knew about but didn’t mention to either him or Ryan? Interesting that Clauson thought he needed help. For what?
The next question was, would this be a good time to decide to let them have their party and do what maybe he should have let himself be talked into in the first place?
“Ah, Mr. Gordon,” said a calm voice at his elbow, and he looked around to see Wade, with the other councilors following behind him. “Come down to the front of the room,” he said. “We’ll give you a seat right in front of us.”
Everybody that could hear the conversation looked at Ben. He felt like an exhibit in a traveling freak show. There wasn’t much to be done but follow the councilors down front. Two big men with huge wreaths of beard walked right ahead of him. They had to be the Larsons. Neither of them had paid any attention to him, but he noticed them sizing up the stranger.
So far, Ben had not seen either of the Clausons. Maybe the stranger was being sent to do the dirty work?
Ben couldn’t make that theory add up. He took the chair offered—it had been behind the table the councilors sat at and was moved to face them—and Wade called the meeting to order.
Then they took up their regular business, appropriating some money to fix a section of sidewalk that had rotted, then arguing about whether to extend the sidewalks out Larson Lane toward the mill. Hezekiah Larson spoke in favor, then his brother Zachariah held forth. Ben guessed they owned the land and the house lots would be more valuable if there were sidewalks. Stevens, the saddle maker, argued against it. So did Hunter, though with less vehemence. Then they took a vote and the Larsons stood alone and did not look happy about it.
There were a couple of other small things to take care of, and then Wade introduced the next agenda item:
“The Council will hear a presentation by Mr. Ben Gordon concerning Town Marshal Ike Clauson and take any appropriate action. Mr. Gordon?”
Ben stood up, feeling all the eyes on the back of his head. He had a nonsensical desire to put his hat back on to shield himself from the glare. The room was absolutely silent.
“I appreciate your taking time to listen to what I’ve got to say,” Ben began, the words sounding distant and strange.
Before he could say anything else, there was a rustling in the rear of the room and Ben glanced around to see what it was about.
There was Clauson, standing in the doorway with men stepping back onto the toes of those behind them trying to give him more room.
Clauson looked from him to the stranger. The stranger glanced at Clauson casually, then returned his attention to Ben. Clauson worked his lips, then came just inside and leaned against the doorpost, watching Ben with an expression unreadable across the room.
Ben turned back to the Council, who also were watching him. He was thinking that so far as he knew, only Clauson, the stranger and himself wore guns.
“I’m here,” he told them, “to urge you to remove the current marshal. I’ve been in town a couple of days and in just that short time the marshal’s deputy murdered Otis Bailey without provocation, and the deputy has not been relieved of his duties or charged with anything; a man who took exception to the murder of Otis Bailey and wanted to do something about the deputy was taken out to the water tower by the marshal at gunpoint and the man’s friends were forced to hang him under threat of being shot dead, without trial; Otis Bailey’s daughter has seen her father’s property impounded, the Bailey house has been broken into and robbed of valuables, the deputy has shot the front of the place full of holes, and Miss Bailey has been instructed not to leave town.
“I have also been told that this marshal is essentially self-appointed, that he shot the previous marshal a
nd deputy and offered to kill anyone who objected to his taking over the position. And I’ve been told he also shot the judge.”
Ben wanted to turn so as to keep an eye on how Clauson might be reacting to all this, but decided not to yet.
“None of this looks too good to me,” Ben told them. “But it’s not my decision what if anything to do about it. It’s yours. This is your town, not mine. I’ll be leaving soon, but all of you have to live with whatever your choice is. This time it was Otis Bailey and his daughter—and Buddy Winston—paying the price of your not standing up to the Clausons. Next time it could be any one of you. It could be your wife or daughter he decides he wants. I’d think hard about this, if I were you.”
Now Ben turned to the audience. Clauson was in a black rage, his gun hand fingers working, yet his eye kept straying from Ben to the stranger, who was the least perturbed person in the room. He sat there with as much bored patience as a man listening to a temperance lecture his wife had dragged him along to.
“Ike Clauson,” Ben said in a raised voice, “I’ve said some hard things about you here tonight. To the best of my knowledge everything I’ve said is accurate. It’s clear what I think of you and your brother, and no mistake. But I want you and everyone else to know that whatever this Council decides I will accept.” He paused, decided that under the circumstances a lie was justified, and continued: “If they vote to keep you in office, you will have no trouble from me. I will leave. That does mean, of course, that I get back my rifle and will ride my horse, whether you consider them impounded or not.” He paused again, decided not to mention Nancy, and finished:
“Now, Clauson, I’ve said I’ll abide by the Council’s decision. Will you?”
There was no trouble figuring out what Clauson wanted to do, but for some reason he didn’t do it. His gun hand actually shook with rage, and he glowered like a pile of embers with the wind blowing through them, but he didn’t do more than stand there.
“I think the Council will want to know the answer to my question,” Ben prodded. He let his own gun hand hover near his Remington, knowing this could be the moment when it was decided which of them lived and which died.
“The Council knows what to do,” Clauson got out, his voice nearly strangled with rage. “They know enough to do it.”
“That doesn’t answer the question,” Ben said, but Wade, behind him, interrupted.
“If that is all of your presentation, Mr. Gordon, you may sit down,” he said in his smooth, practiced, public-speaking voice.
“I’m done,” Ben told him. Before sitting, he turned his chair so he could keep track of Clauson.
Wade looked from side to side at the other councilors and said, “There are a lot of people here. I suggest a public hearing in case anybody wants to speak on this matter.”
This was agreeable, so the public hearing was opened. Wade invited anyone who had anything to say to hold up their hand to be called on.
Nobody raised a hand.
“Is there any comment from the public?” Wade asked a final time, then said, “Seeing none I will close the public hearing.” He brought down his gavel and then looked again at the other councilors. “Discussion?” he asked.
They sat as still as so many busts in a library.
“No discussion? Then, I propose an appropriate action. I move we vote on the following language: Resolved by the Taylorville Town Council: That whereas Marshal Clauson has kept a clean town and no citizen of this town has found any fault with him in our hearing, we continue our support of Marshal Clauson and commend him on the fine job he has done for our town.”
“Seconded,” said Hezekiah Larson.
“Discussion on the motion on the floor?”
Zachariah Larson lifted a finger and was recognized. “I think Marshal Clauson has been the best thing to ever happen to this town. I’m for your resolution.”
Stevens looked back at Clauson and lifted a hand, then glanced away from Ben’s steady gaze.
“Councilor Stevens?”
“I’ll support the resolution.”
“Any other discussion? Then I call for a vote. Councilor Stevens, Councilor Hunter, Councilor Hez Larson, Councilor Zach Larson, and myself in favor, none opposed, the motion carries. Now, Mr. Gordon, you have said you would leave town. I’m taking you at your word. And I assume,” he added to Clauson in the rear of the room, “that you’ll have no objection, Ike, to letting him have his horse and his rifle to facilitate his leaving?”
“No,” Clauson said, his rage replaced with a smug smile. “I’ve tried to get him to leave before but he keeps turning up like a bad penny.”
“You understand, Mr. Gordon,” Wade said, “that if you return you won’t be welcome?”
“I will need to put together some supplies,” Ben said. “And then I will go.”
“That’s good, Mr. Gordon.”
There was no other business and the meeting was adjourned. Nobody paid Ben the least attention now. But there did seem to be a growing tension in the room focused on furtive observation of the imperturbable stranger who now got lazily to his feet, stretched, and clapped on his hat.
Clauson had gone out.
The stranger looked briefly at Ben, smiled faintly, and then turned away to go out. So what was the story with this fellow?
Whatever it was, Ben hoped it didn’t involve him. The Council gambit had failed, as predicted. The big question now was whether it would actually be possible to get out of this town safely—with Nancy.
Chapter Nine
Once the stranger went out, everybody else crowded after, and Ben wound up being one of the last few to leave the room.
He’d been thinking about how to handle running into Clauson if he were waiting just outside the door, but he wasn’t there—and neither was the stranger. Ben trooped along after the rest of the crowd, now having some hope Clauson actually meant to let him leave.
Outside, everybody was milling around, conversations short and in low voices. All eyes were on the stranger, who was walking casually away down the board sidewalk. The marshal’s office was only a few doors along, and when he got there he paused a moment, then went inside.
Ben hoped that whatever this was about concerned himself and Nancy only as a possible diversion of Clauson’s attention, and he went the other way down the sidewalk to the nearest alley, then headed for the Ryans’ at a run.
He paused a few moments in the dark to catch his breath, listen, and look around as much as he could, then went in the back door.
As he stepped into the kitchen, all three Ryans got up and came toward him anxiously. “Thank the Lord you’re still alive,” Mrs. Ryan said. “Have you seen Nancy? She said she was going to the livery to get the horses ready.”
“Did she,” he said. “I’d better go, then,” he added, turning.
“How’d they vote?” Ryan asked.
“The way we thought. If I don’t see any of you again, thank you for taking us in. I just wish the rest of this town were like you. Be very careful, won’t you.”
Mary came and took one of his hands in both of her warm ones. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a braver man than you,” she said. “I wish you were marshal instead of Clauson.”
“Nice of you to say so, but it’s as well I’m not since I haven’t managed to accomplish much. Not yet, anyway. Right now I’ve got to get Miss Bailey safely out of town. If I can do that, I’ll be back. The Clausons haven’t heard the last of me. Goodbye and thanks again.”
Ben went several doors down, and came cautiously out onto the sidewalk. Back up toward the marshal’s office the stranger was coming out of a saloon. Beyond him men were strung out in groups of three or four, all trying to follow the stranger at a respectful distance without letting on they were doing it. Just what the dickens was going on?
Since it was dark except for light pouring onto the board sidewalk here and there from over saloon batwings, Ben could cross the street at no great risk of being seen. He went through another
alley opposite and in the rear of Laskey’s livery.
There was a lamp hanging on a peg near the front door, which was open to the street, through which faintly came the sounds of tinny pianos from a couple of the nearest saloons. Under the lamp, sitting on the end of an empty crate, feet sprawled out on the floor, leaning back against the wall, straw hat down over his eyes, was the man Ben had talked to before about the horses. There didn’t seem to be anybody else in the place, and Ben’s heart went up his throat imagining Nancy in Clauson’s clutches somewhere.
He started forward urgently, then felt a hand on his left arm. “Ben?” she said in a soft whisper, and he was so relieved he took her in his arms, only to instantly realize the unasked-for liberty he’d taken and he stepped back.
But her arms had gone around him, too, and though she removed them quickly as he went to step back, the feel of them somehow remained.
“My apologies, Miss Bailey,” he whispered. “It’s just that ...”
“I couldn’t convince him to let me have the horses,” she whispered, “so I left and then circled around to hide back here until you came. I’m so glad to see you, Mr. Gordon.”
“I wish I had good news, but they voted no. There’s something else going on I can’t figure out. I’m hoping whatever it is will keep the Clausons occupied long enough for us to get out of here. That fellow over there seems to be asleep.”
“He’s been so for a while, I think,” she said, peering past Ben.
“I’m going to go get our saddles and put them on the fence rail out back. Then I’ll try to get the horses out.”
“What if he hears us?”
“Then I’ll deal with him and you take the horses out.”
He got the saddles without trouble and untied Nancy’s little gray mare. He handed the lead through the door to Nancy and went back for his own horse.
“He’p you, mister?” The man struggled to his feet, yawning, taking off his hat and passing a hand back over his hair before putting the hat on again.
“I’ve come for my horse,” Ben said, like any ordinary patron—the man didn’t seem to recognize him yet. “How much do I owe you?”