by E. R. Slade
He pulled up to kneel on the roof, holding himself there by pinching the window sill with the fingers of both hands.
He was looking into a bedroom. Not much in there, just a bedstead, a table next to it with a lamp burning, a chair, and a chest of drawers. Nobody in sight.
He drew a few long breaths to get hold of himself. Then he tried the window. It was counterweighted and went up easily and stayed there. The lamp flickered with the rush of cool air. The door leading out of the room was closed.
Ben made himself take a moment to listen carefully. Far away down in the building he could hear the orchestra playing. They seemed never to stop. But that was all he heard.
He hauled himself through the open window and listened again after he was standing inside. Then he stepped quietly to the chest of drawers. In the top drawer, a few shirts, and under them a couple of bottles of whiskey. Trousers in the next drawer, with more whiskey under. Empty bottles in the next two drawers. The trousers and shirts looked like the kind the Kid favored.
He felt around under the mattress, found an extra pistol, loaded. Also, some money in gold and silver in a small drawstring bag.
If this was Kid Clauson’s room, did that mean it was Ike who had her? Mary had said it was Kid Clauson who kidnapped her, but that didn’t mean his brother hadn’t caught up with him. If he had, it was likely because Ben had told him Nancy was missing.
He whipped out his Remington, went to the closed door, listened carefully at it. The fact that it was so quiet terrified him. If Nancy was nearby not making a sound ...
Hearing nothing more than the distant strains of music, he tried the door handle. It turned easily. Fortunately without squeaking.
There was a hall outside, lamps spaced along the walls in niches. Several doors in sight.
Now he heard boots, as though on stairs, from beyond the turn in the hall down to the left. Ben stepped back into the bedroom and pulled the door to. Gun tipped up in his hand, standing just to the side of the door, he listened.
A man humming to himself. He came along until he was almost opposite. He belched. His breathing was heavy and wheezy. Ben heard a click, steps. Then a door shut and it was quiet again. Ben went out into the hall. Now he could faintly hear the humming. Whoever it was, it was not one of the Clausons, he was close to certain.
Maybe these were all rooms for guests of the gambling hall. Maybe neither of the Clausons had quarters up here.
Except, the trousers and shirts he’d found were not the sort of duds a wealthy gambling patron would choose, and the whiskey was not the high-toned kind, either.
Ben went softly along on his toes, trying to make as little noise as possible on the polished hardwood floor. He tried the next room to the left of the one he’d come in the window of. The door was locked.
He put his ear to it, listened. Nothing. He slipped along to the third and last door on this side of the hall, found that one locked as well. No sound could be heard here, either.
A couple more steps brought him to where he could look down the stairs. They dropped down a flight, then turned right out of sight. The endless soft music from the orchestra could be heard a little more strongly, but still distantly. There was also perhaps the faint murmur of voices.
There were three rooms on the other side of the hall. The first two were locked and quiet. Through the third came the humming of the man who’d come up the stairs.
Ben licked his lips, holstered his Remington, adjusted his hat. He knocked on the door.
“Mmm,” came a surprised sound from inside, then heavy footfalls, and the door was opened by a portly man with an impressive set of whiskers, and heavy dark eyebrows hoisted up. “Who’re you?” he demanded.
“You seen Ike Clauson? Or the Kid?”
The brows came down in a frown, then one lifted again.
“Not in their rooms?” he asked.
“Which are their rooms?”
“Right across the hall.” He pointed at the room Ben had come in through and the room next to it.
“Well, thanks,” Ben said. “I’ll try them again. But I didn’t get an answer just a couple of minutes ago. When’s the last time you saw either of them?”
“Hour or more ago. That was Ike. I haven’t seen the Kid in a couple of days, but he comes and goes different times than I do. Just who are you, anyway?”
“You haven’t seen one of them with a girl, have you?”
That brought a wheezy laugh, followed by some coughing. “Ike always has one girl or another with him. He’s got plenty to choose from.”
“I don’t mean that kind. I mean a decent girl. Not one from the gambling hall.”
“I never seen Ike with anybody like that. What would Ike want with a decent girl?” And he haw hawed, ending up coughing again. “He likes squeals and screams.”
Ben’s jaw set hard against the image that came to mind. “How about Kid Clauson. He ever have a girl up here?”
“Oh, sure. He gets the leftovers.” More haw hawing. “The ones Ike doesn’t want or is done with. He likes to beat on ’em as much as anything, to judge by the hollering that goes on. But he hasn’t had one up for a while that I know of. If you’re looking for a decent girl, mister, you come to the wrong place.” And more haw hawing.
“Guess so,” Ben said. He turned away.
“Hey, you never did say who you are,” the stout man called after him.
“Nope,” Ben agreed, “I didn’t.” And he went along to the top of the stairs before looking back, though the man slammed the door before he got there.
Then Ben slipped quietly back to Kid Clauson’s room and went in. He looked briefly for anything that he might use to force a door open, but since nothing offered, he went back out on the shed roof and bellied along to the next window, which let into Ike’s room.
All dark in there. He tried the window. Wouldn’t open.
He tried harder, cursing under his breath, but it stayed shut. He shifted to the side, turning his head away, and used the butt of his pistol to break the glass. If this was Ike’s room, he had to know whatever the place might tell him.
He reached in, found the latch and slid the mostly-empty window frame up. Nearly all the glass had fallen inside.
He pulled up and got in, his boots finding and breaking some of the shards.
Footsteps in the hall.
“Hey,” he heard at the door, and the knob rattled. It was the man from across the way. “What’s going on in there?”
Ben stayed still.
“If you’re in there, mister, you better know Ike won’t like you breaking in. He ain’t in a good mood today, from what I hear.”
Ben said nothing.
The man snorted in disgust and went away. Ben heard him going ponderously down the stairs.
There was not going to be a lot of time, that was for sure.
Ben felt his way around, found a lamp and some matches. The lamp showed him that the room was better than twice the size of the Kid’s room, but there wasn’t a lot more in it, except two racks of guns on the wall, and the drawers were more full of clothes, and better ones, including a suit good enough to pose as mayor in.
In the bottom drawer, under the clothes, he found a wooden box. In the box was some money, jewelry of the heirloom kind, and a little sheaf of photographs. One of them was strange yet familiar: a little girl that had to be Nancy, with a careworn-looking woman holding her hand.
When he searched the rest of the room he found, under the mattress, another picture of Nancy, much more recent, dressed up as for church perhaps, and holding a bunch of flowers. Her smile was radiant, and he had to swallow hard, several times, at the combined effect of her beauty mixed with the thought of a man who liked his women to “squeal and scream” having “plans” for her.
Not a year ago he’d seen what a man with eyes like Clauson’s had done to a pretty little Mexican girl. She’d ended up dead, and a lot had happened to her before she died. He hadn’t known the girl, but seeing what had
been done had made him have to go off alone for the rest of the day to get his equilibrium back.
But Nancy might not yet be in his hands. Instead, she might be in Kid Clauson’s, who liked to make them “holler.”
Ben slammed his fist against the top of the dresser hard enough that it hurt, then turned away in disgust at losing his temper so uselessly. Deliberately, he attempted to get hold of himself. He had to think clearly and not waste motion.
Now he heard two sets of footfalls on the stairs, coming up and moving right along, too. Ben put the picture from the mattress in the wooden box, latched the box, jammed the chair under the door handle, blew out the light, and went out the window.
There wasn’t going to be time to belly across the roof. He thought it wasn’t more than eight or ten feet from the edge of the roof to the ground. Holding the box tightly, he lay down and let himself slide, slowly, down to the edge. Once his feet went over, he slipped quickly off.
When he hit he absorbed the shock with a crouch that turned into a roll, and above he heard voices at the window.
“He come in here,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Marshal Clauson won’t like this. There’s a ladder over there. That’s how he clumb up. I’ll go around and take a look.”
Ben got to his feet, picking up his hat and clapping it on, box still safe in his hand, and started running. One foot hurt a little from the fall, but otherwise he was all right.
He crossed the dark street, went along behind buildings to Sikes’ and went in the back door.
He was all out of breath and now that he was in a safe place he got the shakes, as though he’d been in the cold too long. Even his teeth chattered.
Fred Sikes had heard him come in and when he came to see who the visitor was he had a double-barreled shotgun under one arm. He wasn’t using his cane.
“Can’t miss much with this,” he said. “What happened?”
Ben gave a quick account. “When I get my breath back,” he added, “I’ve got to keep searching for Miss Bailey.”
“I don’t know where else to tell you to look,” Sikes mused, rubbing his jaw with his free hand. “I just can’t think ...”
“How are Mrs. Ryan and the girl doing?”
“Oh, the girl’s fine, just a bruise. Her mother is still unconscious, but her breathing and pulse are strong. She’ll be all right. They just brought Ryan in. Martha says she thinks he’ll make it. If she can’t pull him through, nobody can.”
The relief of hearing those casually confident words was so great it befuddled Ben momentarily.
Sikes was saying, “Now where in tarnation would the Kid go? Wouldn’t go to the marshal’s office. Not if he wanted to be private. It almost seems like he’s got to have gone out of town. I know Ike has a hunting camp up the mountain somewheres. Don’t know where, though.”
“Suppose the Kid’s got some hide-out here in town?” Ben asked. “Anybody that might know about it?”
“Hard to say, but I bet not.”
“Keep this box safe. I’ve got to get moving.”
He decided to take a turn around town to see if anything suggested itself—he might hear hollering or screaming, for instance. And he was in the agonizing position of both wanting and not wanting to hear it.
He got onto the sidewalk—at a good distance from Sikes’—and walked to the east end of town, looking into darkened, empty saloons, into dark and curtained windows of houses and businesses. He came back on the far side, found only the gambling hall still going, looking just the same inside, a world apart. It made him want to burst in and shoot the place up.
I’m losing my mind, he thought.
He could go hunt up the man who’d come to see about the break-in, maybe try to extract a little information from him. But in the mood he was in, there was no telling what that might turn into. He had to act out of intelligence, not emotion. Since he didn’t trust himself right now, the thing to do was finish the circuit of the town. Maybe by then he’d have calmed down a bit and thought things through a little better.
There was still a lamp burning in the marshal’s office, still nobody around. He went back into the Ryan house and searched it on the off chance she had been taken upstairs. The place set him shivering again, as though the ghost of Gilbert Ryan had been left here when they carried him out. Mrs. Ryan had been right to worry about taking them in. Yet she had struggled to put down her fear in order to help.
Now both she and her husband were in danger of their lives. Mary could be alone. In a town like this.
But Mrs. Sikes thought they would live. It was something to hang on to. They were not ghosts yet, anyway.
Now he thought of Nancy’s house, and went to search it, kicking himself for not thinking of the possibility before—the most obvious place. He was losing his ability to think clearly. There was, however, no sign anybody had been in the place since he and Nancy had left it, and he went back outside.
The Kid liked to knock them around until they hollered. And Ike ...
Don’t think about it, he told himself. Got to think clearly and do something.
But thinking clearly was coming harder and harder. He was losing confidence in himself. He seemed to be out of options. He could start breaking in doors ...
He turned around, and there was Wade, the Council chairman. He wore a large Stetson, pulled low, his collar was turned up, and he seemed to hide back in the resulting cave watchful as a cat.
“Mr. Gordon,” he said, “I understand you have refused our offer—is that true?”
The last thing Ben wanted to do was talk to Wade or think about anything except rescuing Nancy. “I can’t get into that now,” he said. “One or both those Clausons have kidnapped Miss Bailey. I’m trying to find them. Have you seen either of them?”
“I’m sorry to hear that about Miss Bailey. No, I haven’t seen them. But ...”
“If what you want is to know whether I’ll be willing to kill them when I find them, the answer is yes.” And he didn’t give a damn if it was officially sanctioned or not. The situation had passed the point where that mattered to him.
“I’m sure you will, and you have our blessing. What I wanted you to know is that I have spoken with the other councilors, and we have made you official, pending your acceptance.”
Ben was startled into momentary silence.
“What this means is, we have sanctioned, officially, whatever you are willing to do about the Clausons, including shoot them on sight. You are officially authorized by the Town of Taylorville, do you understand? If, afterward, you decide you want the marshal’s job, it’s yours. We hope you will take it, but you are not obligated. If you want to accept it right now, you can do that, too. Mr. Gordon, we may be terrified, but we are on your side now. Does this seem more satisfactory?”
“Yes, it does,” Ben said, after forcing himself to think about it briefly. “But we’ll have to talk about the details later. I’ve got to get moving.”
“Of course, Mr. Gordon. We only ask one thing, that you keep your new status to yourself until the Clausons are dead or in jail. You understand.”
“In case I fail, you mean.”
“Mr. Gordon, we are none of us the man you are. Take pity on us, will you?”
“Suppose I manage to arrest only one of them—will you back me then?”
Wade hesitated.
“Suppose, for instance, that I manage to jail the Kid. And Ike Clauson is still loose?”
Wade hesitated some more, then he said, “Yes, Mr. Gordon, we will back you.” His voice sounded weak.
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Gordon. On behalf of myself, all the other councilors, and this whole town, thank you.”
“Do you know anyone who would help me? Somebody who can shoot straight?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Gordon, I don’t. I wish I could say I did.”
Wade hurried away, no doubt anxious to get out of sight.
Ben looked after him, trying to reorient his thoughts. He wa
sn’t sure if he felt more relieved or burdened at being made official, but that was something to worry about another time. He pushed it all out of his head, looked around, his mind centering on Nancy again, but only to feel desperately useless.
He turned, looking up and down the street, turned again, irresolute. He crossed to the other sidewalk, still not sure what to do, then saw Laskey’s livery and suddenly his mind focused.
The door was, as always, open. Lantern turned low, hanging on a peg. Straw-hatted man sitting there asleep. As though nothing had happened anywhere in the county in ten years.
“Laskey?” Ben demanded, stepping in.
The man jolted awake and slammed his hat back with a palm.
“What’re you doing here?” he wanted to know, as he stood up, eyeing Ben warily.
“I don’t see that big black of Ike Clauson’s. Where’d he go?”
“You sure are a troublesome fellow. Cain’t figure why you ain’t dead yit.”
“I’m not dead because these Clauson boys are running scared,” Ben said, stepping close and sticking his face within ten inches of Laskey’s. He jabbed a forefinger into Laskey’s chest. “If I can back Ike Clauson down, I can back you down. Now, what I want to know is, where’d they go?”
Laskey made a pained face and took a step backwards, caught his heel on the corner of his apple crate and knocked it over. Ben stepped after him and grabbed the man’s shirt front.
“You want me to work you over first?” he asked. The fact that he was in the mood to do so seemed to register.
“Lo’dy, goodnessgracioussakes,no. I don’t know where they’ve gone to ...”
“They go together?”
“Well, no. Fust it was the Kid come and got his hoss. Then in come the marshal and he got his.”
“How long ago?”
“The Kid? I don’t know. I don’t wear no watch or nothin’, maybe a hour or two. Then maybe twenty minutes after, in come Ike.”
“Ike want to know about his brother?”
Laskey hesitated, so Ben shook him by the shirt.
“Yeah, he did. Wanted to know same’s you asked. Whar he went.”
“And you told him?”
“How could I tell him? I don’t know whar he went.”