by E. R. Slade
Daintily, with infinite dignity, she sat down. He did also and unobtrusively leaned his rifle near to hand against the wall.
“Miss Bailey? Are you all right?”
“Of course, Mr. Gordon.”
“I hope you are.”
“He took care of the horses after he tied me to the table, so I didn’t see where he went with them.”
“I’ll find them.”
A silence. Then she asked, “How are Mary and her mother?”
“They are safe at the Sikes’. So is Mr. Ryan. Mrs. Sikes thinks he will live.”
She closed her eyes. “By the sound of his pistol butt hitting Mrs. Ryan’s head I didn’t think she’d survive it. I can hardly believe they are all still alive.”
“I feel responsible for what’s happened to them,” Ben said, hoping maybe it would lessen any feeling like that she might have; then he wondered if it was a mistake to bring up the subject at all. He had diminishing confidence in his ability to do or say the right thing for Nancy’s benefit.
“No,” she said, firmly. “It was my idea to come back.”
“Not originally, it wasn’t, which was what involved the Ryans. You wanted to leave. But I had what I thought were good reasons.”
“They were good reasons, Mr. Gordon.”
“Here comes the sun.”
Light started flooding over the horizon, as though there was no reason in the world for anything but gladness.
When Ben looked to see if Nancy was watching, her cheeks glistened with tears and her lips were quivering. His automatic reaction was to put his arm around her, but she seemed to stiffen so he took his arm away.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not myself quite yet.” She blew her nose forcefully.
“It’s all right. You’ve had a hard time.”
“I’ll be all right in a little while.”
“There’s plenty of light and I don’t see a sign of a body anywhere down there,” Ben said. “I think I’d better go and look things over.” He was increasingly concerned to know for sure what had happened to Ike Clauson.
He stood, hefted his rifle, looked down at her. She had not gotten up.
“I’m a little tired,” she said. “Maybe I will sit here a while longer, if you don’t mind.”
“Sounds like a good idea. I shouldn’t be too long.”
As he started to walk away, she said with sudden urgency, “Please don’t go out of sight, Mr. Gordon.”
“I won’t,” he promised, going on down the slope, telling himself that just because he had prevented Kid Clauson from having his fun with her it didn’t mean she wanted Mr. Gordon to get too familiar. He had clearly offended her on that score, and he should see to it he didn’t do so again.
And if that made him feel hollow inside, it was his problem, not hers.
Not that he could really make any sense of it. What about her holding his hand? And throwing her arms around him in the livery? And again just a short time ago? But those were not normal circumstances. Now maybe she wanted normal back. Which didn’t include him quite that close.
Yes, his problem, not hers.
But at least she was safe. For right now.
There were a few scattered trees on the slope below the cabin, and some rocks big enough to take cover behind. He looked until he found empty Winchester shells near one of the rocks. There was also blood.
After squatting to examine it, he stood up shifting his hat to better shade his eyes. On the rocky ground it was hard to tell which way Ike had gone. But clearly he hadn’t been shot dead. He was still out there somewhere.
Ben went slowly in widening circles, watching the ground very carefully, but he saw neither tracks nor more blood. It was no surprise not to see any tracks since there wasn’t much to make a track in, but the fact that there was no more blood to be found suggested the man had been in a condition to bind up his own wound.
That could mean he was also in a condition to fire a pistol, at least, and perhaps also a rifle, although if he’d been able to do that, why had he stopped shooting?
Ben had pretty much relaxed about the danger from Ike Clauson, but now the tension was back. He had a vulnerable woman and a wounded man to get safely to town, with the possibility of being shot at.
So what about the horses? Had Clauson taken them all? Maybe even found Ben’s pony?
It was time to find out.
Chapter Sixteen
The horses Nancy and the Kid had ridden were in a small area of scrubby grass below a trickling spring not too far west around a bulge in the side of the mountain. Ben, accompanied by a quiet and dignified Nancy, brought them back to the cabin, saddled, and then they went and got his own pony, which had wandered to a small patch of grass a ways off and seemed relatively content. They took him up to the spring, but he must have already found water somewhere since he didn’t drink that much. Then they led him into the yard of the cabin, took off the saddle and bridle and let him roll in the dust, which the pony seemed to like as well as if he’d been a donkey or a mule. Then Ben resaddled him.
What they didn’t find was Clauson’s horse. On the stony ground tracking was nearly impossible, and the area of stony ground around the cabin was considerable. Ben could see that picking up Clauson’s trail was going to take some time. He’d have to come back later.
Unless, of course, Ike found him. Maybe with a rifle bullet.
Nancy seemed increasingly tired. When they returned the second time to the cabin, she sat down and leaned back against the front wall with her eyes closed. Ben hated to disturb her and decided fifteen or twenty minutes delay in leaving wouldn’t make much difference and might be important to her.
Every time he looked at her he ached somewhere deep inside. He wanted to make things all right again for her, but felt helpless to do so.
Kid Clauson had come awake sometime while they’d been off collecting Ben’s pony. Now he struggled to sit up, glancing around as though calculating his chances of getting away.
“We’ll be taking you back to town to a doctor, if we can get you there alive,” Ben told him. “Then you go to jail.”
“You ain’t puttin’ me in jail,” he got out hoarsely.
There was a canteen on the Kid’s saddle. Ben opened it and sniffed—whiskey.
“Hey, that’s mine,” the Kid said.
“Don’t worry,” Ben told him. “I wouldn’t touch it. But water would be better for you.”
“I never drink water,” the Kid said in disgust. “Give it here. Come on, just a sip. The pain is killing me.”
“I guess it would help with that,” Ben admitted, and held the canteen so the Kid could drink from it. He only allowed him a swallow or two, then took it away.
“That ain’t enough to make a blow fly drunk. Just one more gulp, so’s I can feel it out into my body.”
“That’ll do you for now. You’re going to have to sit your horse and stay on. Unless you’d rather ride belly-down?”
By the way the Kid went pale Ben guessed he’d had an experience with that sort of ride in the past.
“Something I want to know,” Ben said. “You shot your brother?”
“Yeah, I got him. He’s dead down there somewhere.”
“No, he’s not. There was a little blood, but he’s gone and so is his horse. Any idea where he’d go?”
“I shot him right through the heart, I know I did. He can’t be riding away somewheres.”
“It was dark. How could you tell if you hit him at all?”
The Kid, despite his condition, got belligerent: “I hit him. I know it. He never fired another shot nor said another word.”
“That’s true, he didn’t. And you must have hit him somewhere or he wouldn’t have bled. But he’s still alive and gone off on his horse. He’d go back to town, wouldn’t he?”
“He’s dead,” the Kid said flatly, and that was all Ben could get out of him on the subject.
It took some doing, but Ben managed to get Kid Clauson into the saddle. He seemed
light-headed, but a comment or two about alternate methods of travel seemed to grit him up considerably.
Nancy was awake now, and she got on her horse without help. When Ben asked her how she was doing, she said, “I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Gordon,” as if making small talk in a drawing room.
Ben swung into his own saddle and they were off down the mountain, himself in the lead, Kid Clauson’s horse on a rope, and Nancy coming after. He would rather have had her ride alongside him, but she fell in behind as though by intention and he thought it best not to bring the subject up.
So where was Ike Clauson? If he’d been hurting but able to ride, it did seem likeliest he’d gone back to town. It was the closest place and he had a room to go to and people to keep watch for him while he recovered.
In any case, if he’d wanted to try a rifle shot, wouldn’t he have made the attempt by now?
The reasoning seemed good, but the trouble with it was, as with most reasoning, that there was no way he could be certain he knew all the factors. Such as what Clauson’s intentions might be at this point.
When they were halfway down the mountain, they came on a short level place in the trail and Ben called a halt.
“How are you doing?” he asked Nancy, turning in his saddle to look at her.
“Quite well, thank you, Mr. Gordon. You needn’t worry about me.” As serene as if they were returning from a picnic. You would never know the difference. But what was going on inside her?
“We’ll be back in town soon,” he said. “It’s possible Ike will be there, but if he wasn’t in a condition to pick a fight up here on the mountain he probably won’t want to in town.”
“He won’t pick no more fights,” the Kid said sullenly. “I killed him. Gordon, I got to have more whiskey or I might throw up my insides on account of the pain.”
“All right,” Ben said, “I’ll let you have one more swallow, but that’ll be it.”
As he held the canteen for the Kid, who had hardly any use of either arm, he said, “You know, I probably ought to have splashed some on those bullet holes.”
“Don’t you do no such thing,” the Kid said, smacking his lips. “It’d be plum stupid to waste perfectly good whiskey on that. “’Sides, it’d sting like the devil.”
“Doesn’t matter to me,” Ben said. “I’d just as soon let the doctor worry over you, anyway.”
They rode the rest of the way to town without a lot of conversation. Ben, in worrying about Nancy, had come to feel he ought to apologize to her for presuming too much, but couldn’t seem to make the words go together. So he kept quiet, afraid he’d only make things worse.
It had to be that what she wanted most was to have normal back. Something she might never have again. And maybe she knew that. And knew it was something he couldn’t give her, either.
The sky clouded over and it started to rain and blow, and by the time they went slogging along Larson Lane past the mill, their horses’ feet were loading up with sticky black mud, and they were all wet through and chilled into miserable silence.
As they passed the mill, which poured clouds of steam into the rain, a man loafing in an open doorway took one glance and waved to another man to come look. Then one of them went and got the others. They all stared.
Once out of Larson Lane they found the main street was even more of a mud wallow, and picked their way along carefully, hunting the shallowest route. Ben was thinking now about what this rain must be doing to any tracks Clauson might have left.
People appeared in doorways, pushed curtains aside to look out windows, ran along the sidewalk to tell neighbors.
Ben hoped if Ike was here he wasn’t sitting behind a rifle, waiting. He eyed windows all along the street warily, squinted up through the wind-blown rain at the second floor windows of the gambling hall with particular concern. But all were closed and nothing happened as they passed.
At last they reached Sikes’ Livery and Ben tied Kid Clauson’s horse to the rail outside while he and Nancy led their animals into the barn.
“I’ll be all right now, Mr. Gordon,” Nancy said. He was turning away when she said, “Mr. Gordon, thank you so very, very much.”
He turned back and she was blinking away rainwater which might not have been all rainwater.
Before he thought he reached out a hand and touched her soaking wet, chilled arm—then realized what he was doing and quickly withdrew his hand. “Go on inside and get warm and dry,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I find the doctor and get the prisoner taken care of.”
“He’s right next to my father’s store,” she said, appearing to take no notice of Ben’s momentary indiscretion.
He stepped back out into the rain pondering what if any significance there might be to that.
The doctor was a middle-aged man with a red face and nose showing veins in them. His hands shook slightly also and Ben suddenly wondered if there might be more than one doctor in town, and this was the worst one which Nancy had sent him to. Would she do that to Kid Clauson? Why shouldn’t she?
But he didn’t believe it. It wouldn’t be like her. Her standards for her own behavior were far too high.
“What ails you?” the doctor asked, looking him up and down. “Been burning the candle at both ends, have you?”
“I’ve got a man outside with bullet wounds. I had to drag him out of a cabin that was on fire, then had to get him up on his horse. Maybe it’s for you to say how to do from here.”
The doctor’s eyebrows lifted, and then dropped as he squinted at Ben more closely. Then he put his spectacles on and his eyebrows shot back up.
“I know who you are,” he said, and went to the open door. “Well, I’ll be.” He stepped quickly out and Ben followed.
Between them they got the Kid down and into the office. The Kid did plenty of moaning and groaning, though the doctor made a point of not moving the injured arms any more than necessary.
“Who shot you?” the doctor asked, and he started removing the makeshift bandages.
“I did,” Ben said. “The man is my prisoner. You fix him up, and when you say he can, he’s going to jail.”
“You ain’t puttin’ me in jail,” the Kid said emphatically.
The doctor’s mouth dropped open as he looked around at Ben. “Er, what happened to Marshal Clauson, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I killed him,” the Kid said, and gave Ben a look as though daring him to contradict him. “When I’m fixed up, I’m going to do for Gordon here. This is my town, now.”
“He shot Ike,” Ben said. “But we don’t know if he’s dead or not. Didn’t find a body.”
By this time, faces had appeared at the windows, people looking in.
“Don’t let him go anywhere,” Ben told the doctor. “If I have to shoot him again, maybe he’ll die next time.”
“You won’t shoot me again,” the Kid insisted. “You better leave town before I’m back on my feet. I’m warning you.”
Ben went out and people backed quickly aside to make room.
“Is the marshal dead?” somebody asked.
“Not yet, I don’t think,” Ben said, and there was a lot of exchanging of glances, and the little crowd melted away as fast as it had appeared.
Ben went to Sikes’, and when he got there he found Nancy curled up on the couch in front of the fire wrapped in blankets with something hot to drink and Mary at her elbow. Mrs. Sikes hovered nearby.
“My goodness, you are drenched,” she said, when she saw Ben. “You go right into the other room and get out of those wet things before you catch your death. Husband has some clothes that might fit. If not, there are more blankets on the bed in there. I’m going to have something hot for you to drink when you come over to the fire.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Sikes. I sure could use something hot about now. But I have to leave pretty soon, and then I’ll be all wet again, so I might as well just try to dry out a little in front of the fire.”
“Leave!” she exclaimed. “Whate
ver for?”
“Ike Clauson is still out there somewhere. I’ve got to go back up the mountain and try to find his tracks. How are your patients?”
“Mary, as you can see, is coming along very well. Her parents will be a while, but are improved already. Mrs. Ryan is conscious and she knows her daughter. That’s a good sign. Now, you need to dry off or we’ll be worrying over you next.”
“You won’t find a thing in this rain,” Fred Sikes spoke up. He was in his favorite rocking chair near the fire. “Might as well dry out and let the weather clear.”
“I know the rain won’t help, but I’ve got to know where he is. If I wait very long it’ll be dark by the time I get back up there, and then it’ll be tomorrow before I can do anything.”
“Not worth it,” Sikes said. “Any tracks are long gone already. Won’t make any difference to wait. Besides, where can he go? Right back here.”
“I guess you’ve got a point,” Ben admitted.
Nancy had mostly finished her hot drink and had fallen asleep, and suddenly he realized how tired he was himself.
“It’d be quite a thrash trying to get up the mountain anyway,” Sikes said. “It’s only blowing a little down here, but up there it could be a howling gale. Why, I recall ...”
“Let him get dry, Fred,” his wife interrupted him and shooed Ben into the other room.
Ben tried some of the clothes that had been laid out. They were small but he could get into them. He brought his own clothes out to dry before the fire. Mrs. Sikes handed him a cup of hot chicken soup.
He drank it off, sitting in a chair near Nancy, listening to the rain lash the windows and the fire crackle in the stove. He had to admit it was nice to be inside, and Sikes was probably right about any tracks having been washed away.
Mary looked much better than before, though she had a nasty purple welt across her cheek, and there was still a little swelling. She sat on the other side of Nancy watching him. Whenever he looked at her she smiled, though it must have hurt.
With all that had happened to her, and knowing it had in part because of his blunders, she could still smile at him. She was going to make some man a very fine wife one day.