by E. R. Slade
“I’m going to go see Fred Sikes,” Ben said. “To try to line up someone to look after Mr. Ryan. Will you consider leaving if I can do that, Miss Ryan?”
“No,” Mary said, in a tone of finality. “But if you can find someone to stay with us, that would be a good idea.”
“Mr. Gordon,” Mrs. Ryan said, “go talk to Mr. Sikes. And when you come back, bring horses. Mary, I insist you go with Mr. Gordon and Nancy. You cannot do more for your father than the doctor and I can. One big worry is all I need right now. You will do me a favor. I know you will be safe with Mr. Gordon.”
“But Mama, I can’t possibly ...” Mary began.
“Yes, you can,” her mother said. “And you must. For my sake.”
Mary’s large eyes glistened with tears. Nancy went and held her, began to weep herself.
Ben felt as totally helpless as he’d ever felt in his life.
“I’ll go,” he said, and started for the door.
“Mr. Gordon,” called Mrs. Ryan after him, and he turned back to her. “I want you to know that whatever ... happens, I don’t blame you. I think Nancy has found herself the finest man she could ever possibly hope to. I think, in fact I’m sure we all think, that you are a hero.”
Ben was so astonished at such undeserved praise he could say nothing at all. Then he thought he might be overpowered with emotion himself and mumbled something incoherent as he turned to get out the door.
Once outside he paused to swallow down the lump in his throat and attempt to get his bearings. A hero! They were all far more heroic than he’d ever be.
Gun drawn, full of confused thoughts, he slipped through the darkness until he was some distance from the Ryans’ house before going to look into the street.
He stopped, thinking, in an obscure alley. Would they leave? If not, he’d have to stay there with them. But that was no real solution. He could do nothing staying on guard at the house. If he went out looking to shoot Clausons, they’d be in the house unprotected. If the Clausons knew he was here before he got them both, and they figured out where he was staying ... Which wouldn’t take long. Be about their second guess, at best.
He hadn’t been away from the house more than a few minutes and already he was starting to feel a dread of their being alone there. In his mind’s eye he could see Gilbert Ryan lying on his cot, so still, his wife’s hand moving round and round, the way Mary’s eyes got anxious whenever they turned to her father, and Nancy ...
He hadn’t known Otis Bailey, though the effect of his murder on Nancy had pained him. He had known little of Buddy Winston, so his hanging merely grimly confirmed his estimate of Ike Clauson without effecting him too much emotionally. The professional gunfighter had gone into the fight with Clauson knowing the risks of his profession, had done it by choice, and was not a man to inspire much but fear in anyone in any case. He didn’t know who was lying dead in the street.
But Gilbert Ryan—he almost felt like family. A good man, a man to like and respect, careful, thoughtful, who meant everything to his wife and daughter. A man who in no sense deserved the evil that had been visited on him. He might die, and it could be because Ben Gordon had asked him to find men to face down the Clausons. Just how responsible he was for the disaster visited on the Ryan household was hard to say, but it was a very bitter thing and not something he ever wanted to see repeated.
Somehow he had to get them out of that house, and if possible, out of this town. There was no other way. And Ryan needed to be guarded, also moved as soon as it seemed safe.
Cautiously, he looked the dark street over in detail. The only light to be seen was the lamp burning in the marshal’s office. Was that where Ike was?
For a few moments he stood thinking about that, then, jaw set, returned to the Ryan house and got his rifle from just inside the back door. He didn’t go in to see how everyone was; he could hear their low voices and knew that so far all was well. He went to where he could see straight across the street into the lit window from the alley. Sweating, he wiped his palms dry, aimed the rifle, waited.
But no one appeared in view through the window, though he watched for several minutes. Aware of time passing and of a growing worry about what might happen at the Ryans if he was away too long, he lowered the rifle, feeling slightly shaky. He’d been raised to think only the worst kind shot men in the back or from the dark. Was that sensible under these conditions? He didn’t know, also didn’t know whether he could have actually done it or not, or what he’d have thought of himself if he had.
He went along to Sikes’ livery, determined now to focus on only one thing: getting the women to safety, and arranging protection and care for Ryan.
He knocked at the back door. He heard Sikes’ cane tapping inside. He’d said he didn’t need it all the time, only when his rheumatism was acting up. Seemed to be taking him forever.
When at last the door opened, Ben immediately said, “Mr. Sikes, I’ve got to get the women out of town to safety before anything else happens. Have you got some good fresh horses we could use?”
“I’ve got plenty good horses. Did you talk to Wade?”
“I did. Told me the Council will make me marshal if and when I get rid of the Clausons.”
“If and when?”
“If and when. Want me to shoot them first and be official afterward. I don’t like it.”
“That’s what you get with a lawyer,” Sikes muttered. “Why don’t you tell them to make you official first? They’ll do it. They’ve got no choice. You are the only man in this town worthy of being called one.”
“Don’t know about that. Right now I’m more interested in getting Miss Bailey and her friends out of town, if I can convince them to go. They don’t want to because they don’t want to leave Ryan. Ryan shouldn’t be moved, according to the doctor. Do you know anybody who would stay with him, make sure he’s safe and being cared for?”
“Can’t move him to the doctor’s?”
“His daughter says he can’t even be moved upstairs to his own bed.”
“I can maybe see not trying to climb stairs with him. Where’s he now?”
“On a cot next to their kitchen stove.”
“Wal, can’t they just git a couple men and lug the cot, real careful? Bring him here. Martha knows considerable about gunshot wounds. Had a lot of practice patching me up through the years. I’d put her up against the doctor any day, tell you the truth.”
“That’s a mighty fine offer,” Ben said, caught off guard, though afterwards he realized he shouldn’t have been. He was thinking of risks to the Sikes now. “I had thought in terms of somebody going to stay in the house, partly to protect the house, as well. Somebody who can shoot, ideally.”
“Any of them Clausons come in here I’ll blast ’em.”
When Ben hesitated, uncertain what to say, Fred Sikes gave him a look and said, “What’s the problem, son, think the old man ain’t up to it?”
“Not that. I’m done underestimating you after the way you found us in the dark. But I don’t like to load you up with more trouble and danger than I have to.”
“Hell, don’t worry about that. You send ’em all over here and we’ll look after the lot.”
“I’d really rather get the women out of town.”
“Won’t happen. First of all, no woman is going to let herself be taken off someplace else while her man lays dying.”
“I agree Mrs. Ryan might be hard to convince. But she agrees with me about the risk to the two girls. They don’t want to leave her, naturally, but both the Clausons have their eye on Miss Bailey, and Miss Ryan could easily become a target as well, I think. I don’t dare leave them anyplace the Clausons might find them.”
“Well, if you can convince them to leave you can have the hosses. You going to see Wade now?”
“I can come back later and talk to Wade. He’s the least of my problems.”
“It’ll be a lot better if you’re official when you clean up them Clausons, and this is the time to ge
t that authority. You need it now, not just sometime. I can handle the hosses. You go on and see Wade, straighten him out. Then when you come back to town he’ll have a badge all ready to pin on you.”
“Maybe. Let’s get those horses ready.”
Sikes came slowly out and they went along to the livery barn and he rolled open the back door. They brought in three horses from the corral, including Ben’s, and saddled them. Ben put his rifle in the saddle scabbard.
“Now you git along and talk to Wade,” Sikes insisted. “He’ll still be up to his office. Maybe it warn’t obvious to you, but Mr. Wade is a treed coon, and he knows it. He wants to hear from you awful bad. No better time to get the best bargain out of him.”
“All right,” Ben acquiesced, with little enthusiasm. “I’ll be back very shortly.”
Ben didn’t want to spend any time on it at all, but he supposed he ought to at least let the man know how he saw the thing.
Gun drawn again, he went along to the alley by the bank and slipped quietly to the street and to look out.
There was the door to the stairs. And Clauson leaning against it, feeding shells into the cylinder of his pistol.
Ben was going to jerk back out of sight, but Clauson said, “You just never do actually leave, do you?” He held his pistol pointed up at a forty-five degree angle.
Ben was doing the same.
“Lame horse,” Ben said. “Been thinning out the citizens, I see.”
“None of ’em as didn’t need it.” Then, harshly, “So where’s the girl?” He pushed away from the door.
Ben turned square to face him. “That,” he said, making his own tone aggressive, “was why I came to find you.”
Clauson stood there a moment, silent. “Just what is it you’re trying to say?” he demanded.
“That brother of yours still alive? Or did you kill him?”
“Kill him?” Clauson scoffed. “A rock slide couldn’t kill him.”
“You know where he is?”
There was a pause. Then, “Why would you care about where he is?”
“Miss Bailey is missing. Is the Kid missing?”
Clauson cursed and jammed his pistol back in its holster. “I thought he was drinking his troubles away.”
And off he went across the street. Ben let him disappear into the darkness and then went back down the alley and ran along to Sikes’. He hoped the ruse would keep Clauson busy long enough for them to get out of town.
“What’d he say?” Sikes wanted to know.
“Never got there. Clauson was leaning against the street door. I’ve got to go.”
He took the horses, two leads in one hand, one in the other. “You tell Wade my answer is no, will you? You know why. Sure you won’t take some money for the loan of these horses?”
“Not a penny, not a penny. But when you bring ’em back, let’s have a talk about how to clean up Taylorville.”
“Fair enough.”
He walked the horses along almost to Laskey’s livery, then left them and went very cautiously to look into the street.
All quiet. No Clauson in sight. Not that it meant too much. He wished he’d thought of a different ploy. Clauson could go to the Ryans’ any minute to look for Nancy.
He went and got the horses, led them through the alley.
Still all apparently quiet. He didn’t like it that both his hands were occupied and his gun was in its holster.
But he got across all right, led the horses around to the rear.
The back door was open.
Heart in his mouth, Ben ran inside, gun drawn.
The inner door was also open. The dim lantern showed him Mrs. Ryan sprawled on the floor beside the cot. Gilbert Ryan was still in it, apparently undisturbed.
No one else. The table was tipped over. So were two of the chairs. He knelt beside Mrs. Ryan. A weak pulse. She’d been hit hard on the head with something, probably the butt of a gun. She was not conscious.
“Nancy?” he called desperately. “Nancy! Mary?”
The place was silent.
He ran into the front room. No Nancy. No Mary.
“Knew we shouldn’t have come back,” he muttered under his breath, starting to shake, whether from fear or anger he couldn’t have said.
He darted back outside, looking around. He wished for some light to see tracks by.
Had to be Kid Clauson, he thought. Or did it?
Had Ike come here looking for Nancy? Because he’d said she was missing?
The idea made him frantic. He charged out the alley to the sidewalk, looked up and down the street.
Silence.
No, here came a swishing, as of skirts. Out in the muddy street somewhere.
“Nancy?” he called softly, feeling a rush of hope.
Running footsteps, and the girl came out of the darkness and threw her arms around him.
Not Nancy. Mary. Even in the dark he could see that the side of her face was swollen.
“Oh, Mr. Gordon,” she sobbed. “Oh ... He’s got her. I’ve been trying to find you ...”
He half carried her into the alley for the sake of safety.
“Who’s got her?”
“Kid Clauson. He came in the back, we thought it was you ... He swung his pistol butt at Mama ...” She sobbed, then went on: “We were trying to stop him. Then he knocked me down. I didn’t know anything for a while, and Nancy was gone. I think Mama is dead ...”
“No, she’s unconscious,” he said.
“Alive? Oh, Mr. Gordon! I was so sure ...”
“Are you all right?”
“I want to see Mama.”
Chapter Thirteen
They made it across the street to Sikes’ place without encountering anyone, Ben with Mrs. Ryan in his arms. He hated to load this on the Sikes but didn’t know what else to do. When they reached the rear door, he had Mary open it and they went straight in.
“Trouble?” Sikes had his heavy outer shirt off and one suspender dangled as he peered around a corner at them.
“Yes,” Ben said. “Miss Bailey’s been kidnapped by Kid Clauson. Mrs. Ryan is in a bad way. Her daughter here was hit, too. You said your wife ...”
Mrs. Sikes now appeared, hurrying toward them. “Come right in here with me,” she said, after taking a look at both Mrs. Ryan’s wound and Mary’s swollen face. She put an arm around the girl.
Mary looked at Ben, blinked back tears, and then they all went into a bedroom and Ben laid Mrs. Ryan on the bed at Mrs. Sikes’ direction. Ben watched Mary, anxiously leaning over her mother, thinking how strong a chance there was of her being an orphan soon. Some hero he’d been.
As though she read his thoughts, she looked up, tried to smile through her swollen face, reached out to touch his arm.
Ben said to Fred Sikes: “I don’t think Ryan should be left unattended in that house all night.”
“I guess not,” Sikes said. “I’ll go round up some help.”
“Before you go, where do I find Kid Clauson?” Ben asked Sikes, like he intended to kill him. Maybe he did intend to.
Sikes brought up a shaking hand to stroke his chin, looking into the middle distance.
“I know both them Clausons live upstairs over the gambling hall,” Sikes said. “In the back, I’ve been told. Maybe there’s a way in through a window. I’ve got a ladder, if you want it.”
“I think I remember a shed at the rear,” Ben said. “And I know I saw a ladder leaning against somebody’s house along there somewhere which ought to be enough to get me onto the shed roof. Windows are just above. Anyplace else you can think of?”
“No more likely place if he didn’t want to be interrupted.”
Ben shuddered. Nancy in the hands of Kid Clauson ...
He sped off, crossing the street without stopping to look, racing through an alley on the other side, running along behind the buildings until he saw the ladder, which he grabbed. It was actually in poor shape, had several broken rungs, but there was no time to worry over that.
<
br /> Carrying the unwieldy thing, he hurried on to the rear of the gambling hall, saw a window dimly lit on the second floor. Images of what might be happening up there made his mouth dry and his hands almost as shaky as Fred Sikes’.
There was the shed roof he’d remembered, and in his haste to swing the ladder up against the edge, one side fell off so all he had was a two-by-four with a bunch of dowels sticking out of it.
There was nothing to do but lay the parts flat on the ground and try to line the dowels up so as to put the thing back together. It turned out to be a very frustrating job; by the time he’d accomplished it, forcing the rungs through as far as they would go hoping to stiffen the ladder a little, his shirt was plastered to him with sweat and he was regretting having turned down Fred Sikes’ offer of a ladder. Whatever judgment he might have once had seemed to have deserted him.
He got the thing stood up against the roof edge in one piece this time, and climbed it hurriedly.
About every third rung broke under his weight, but he kept on, pulling himself up with his hands.
The shed roof was fairly steep, and had wooden shingles on it. In the dew that had fallen, they had a slimy slipperiness. He had to depend on grabbing the edge of the roof as he went up to keep from losing his footing.
All this while he’d been straining to hear any sounds that might be coming from behind the dimly lit window. But all he heard was the pounding of his heart.
The shingles at the top of the shed roof went under a piece of lead flashing about four or five inches wide, then there was sheer perpendicular brick wall. Standing up on the shingles wasn’t going to work without handholds. He felt the flashing with his hand wondering if his boots might get a better grip on it than on the shingles, but the trouble with that idea was that it would put his feet too close to the wall—he’d fall away from it if he tried to stand up.
The window he was after was ten feet off to his left.
He lay flat on the roof to get more surface area on it. His shirt wanted to creep up, but he could stay there fairly well. Very cautiously he slid first his feet, then his waist, then his upper body sideways. It took a while, but he got to the window.