The E.R. Slade Western Omnibus No.1

by E. R. Slade

  If she lived long enough.

  He wanted to ask how she felt but Nancy was still asleep.

  Fred Sikes seemed to be dozing also, and his wife had been to look in on her patients in the other room and now took up some knitting and sat in her own rocker next to him.

  Ben wasn’t really comfortable doing nothing, knowing Ike Clauson was loose somewhere. If he’d come back to town, the likeliest place to find him would be in his room at the gambling hall. He was wounded ... this would be the time to confront him ... better go see if Clauson was there, if he could get himself up ... better go see ... use the ladder, go in the window ... there’d be that steep, slippery roof ... he could feel himself sliding, nothing to hold onto ...

  And next he knew, he was waking to a knock on the door, suddenly panicked that he’d fallen asleep—how much time had passed?

  Fred Sikes wasn’t in his chair, and neither was Mrs. Sikes in hers. No Mary, either. Nancy remained asleep.

  Ben got up quickly, his hand automatically checking for his gun.

  Which wasn’t there because he’d left his gun belt in the other room.

  Chagrined, he went and got it before going to the door.

  A boy stood on the sidewalk, soaking wet, wind-driven rain lashing past him into the doorway.

  “Mr. Gordon?” he said. “The doctor says to tell you Kid Clauson needs to stay warm and shouldn’t be moved until tomorrow at least.”

  “Tell him that’s fine but he should keep watch on him. It’s hard to tell what he might do. If he tries to get away, I want to hear about it immediately. And if you see his brother, Ike, I want to hear about that, too.”

  “You going to shoot him?” the boy asked eagerly.

  “If I can’t jail him.”

  “Lots of people’ll like that,” the boy said, and gave Ben such a grin that it lifted his spirits.

  The boy went off and Ben came back and sat down.

  Mrs. Sikes had gone into the kitchen to make lunch, it appeared—he could hear her in there. Mary had come back into the room.

  Nancy was awake now.

  “You look better,” he told her, and was aware of Mary observing.

  “How long have I been asleep?” Nancy asked.

  “A little while,” Mary told her. “Do you want some more soup?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Where’s Mr. Sikes?” Ben asked.

  “Gone to do chores in the livery,” Mary said. “Don’t worry,” she added, apparently reading his mind, “he took his shotgun with him.”

  And not his cane, Ben noted. It was leaning against his chair.

  “I didn’t intend to fall asleep,” he said.

  “It was only of a couple of minutes,” she assured him. “Even heroes need to sleep sometimes!”

  “How is your face?” he asked, immediately questioning whether he should have brought the subject up.

  But she touched the place gingerly with her hand and said, “Mrs. Sikes thinks there won’t even be a mark.”

  “I really feel badly about how things have turned out,” he said. “If we hadn’t come to your house ...”

  “I won’t listen to a word about that,” she interrupted. “Mrs. Sikes says my parents will probably live. Anyhow, it’s the Clausons’ fault they’re hurt, not yours. I’m quite lucky, really, to be alive, and Mrs. Sikes wants me to stay here as long as possible. I really like Mrs. Sikes. She always wanted a daughter, she says, so while we’re here I intend to be all the daughter she can stand!” Then she said, “Well!” and bounced to her feet. “I’ll go help her in the kitchen and let you two have some privacy.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to go on my account,” Nancy said, with, Ben thought, a slight alarm.

  “But,” she said brightly, “Mr. Gordon might want to propose to you or something!”

  Then she looked from one of them to the other and sank back into her chair. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Mary,” Nancy said, attempting to sound like a tolerant older sister, “you really are incorrigible, you know that? With everything that has happened, leave it to you to think up the most silly romantic ideas.”

  “Silly?” Mary said. “Mr. Gordon has just risked his life to rescue you, and he’s been sitting here watching over you with the most tender look on his face. I think it’s you who are being silly.” Then she smiled at Ben. “If Mr. Gordon were my beau you’d never catch me calling his feelings silly.”

  “Mary!” Nancy exclaimed. “You mustn’t presume so much on Mr. Gordon’s good nature! It’s not fair to put him in such an awkward position.”

  Mary got up again. “Nancy is so tiresomely proper sometimes,” she said to Ben matter-of-factly. “If you don’t tell her how you feel straight out in the plainest English, she’ll never allow herself to believe it might be true.”

  She gave him a pat on the shoulder and went off to the kitchen.

  “Thank you for getting back the pictures and my mother’s jewelry and things,” Nancy said tentatively, not looking at him.

  “Is everything there?”

  “I think so.” She paused. “Mr. Gordon, I hope you can forgive her. She has been through a lot.”

  “She doesn’t need any forgiving,” he said. “But maybe I do, Miss Bailey. I should have apologized before this for taking liberties at times.”

  There was silence.

  “I’m sorry,” he blundered on, “that I allowed my feelings for you to get out of hand. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

  “Oh, Ben,” she said impulsively, tears in her eyes, “how could I ever hold anything against you?”

  “I’m glad you don’t, Miss Bailey. I’m none too handy at these things, I guess.”

  “Do you know, there’s one person in the whole world that I particularly wish wouldn’t call me ‘Miss Bailey?’”

  “There is?”

  From the kitchen doorway Mary said, gaily, “Nancy, I’d throw a pillow at him, if I were you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was warmer now. The ruts in the street had dried up somewhat. They said that the snow was all gone from the pass. An area just above town on the mountainside was carpeted with wildflowers. Gilbert Ryan was starting to walk a little. He was very thin, a shadow of his former self, but he smiled a lot as he moved short distances with the help of his wife, who was almost entirely recovered. For most people in Taylorville the things that had happened a month ago were ancient history and life was good.

  Of course, Kid Clauson was still awaiting trial, which would come off next week. Sobered up, he was sour and full of self-pity and a great nuisance to have in jail. With his trial right around the corner, he had become by turns abusive and cowering with terror. The chances were the jury would decide he ought to swing from the water tower, and he knew it.

  At the time the Council decided to publicly acknowledge Ben’s appointment as marshal he had made it clear that if he took the job it was not going to include carrying out any sentence against Kid Clauson.

  “I have a personal interest at stake,” he’d told them. “If he’s hanged, it should be done by somebody else.”

  “Everybody in this town has an interest at stake,” Wade had pointed out, leaning across the meeting table toward him. “Besides, it’s part of the job.”

  But Ben had insisted because much as he disliked Kid Clauson, he had no stomach for hanging him. For one thing, he wasn’t convinced the man was completely right in the head. He never missed a chance to claim he’d shot his brother straight through the heart and killed him, and every time he told it he made up more details that Ben knew for a fact couldn’t be true.

  Yet, all he had to do was think of what the Kid would have done to Nancy had he gotten the chance, and he could feel like conniving to make the man’s death last as long as possible. He didn’t like what thinking about the whole business did to him.

  Yet he knew that there’d be a line at the door when it came time to find people to appoint to do the job. Now th
at people felt safe, all you ever heard around town about the Clausons was how richly they deserved to hang, and plenty of people seemed to spend considerable time dreaming up terrible punishments for them, trying to outdo what somebody else had thought of. Ben found it disgusting but hoped that once the Kid was out of the way people would settle down and quit this sort of thing.

  So, here he sat of a fine spring day in front of his office, with most business going on as usual in town. For many, business was better now since word had gotten out that the Clausons were gone and the new marshal was fair and honest. There had been an increase in settlers coming to town, also. Of course, with Ike Clauson’s gambling hall shut down, businesses that had catered to the wealthy high-livers had had a steep drop off in sales, and they had an item on the next Council agenda to reverse the decision to outlaw high stakes gambling. The item wasn’t likely to succeed.

  Yes, here he sat, but for him the thing wasn’t over because Ike had never been heard from. Most people in town seemed confident that he was dead and gone, that if he hadn’t come back to town by now, he wasn’t going to. The councilors certainly felt that way or they wouldn’t have publicly acknowledged Ben’s appointment as marshal or outlawed high stakes gambling. But Ben wasn’t so sure.

  The day following his return to town with Nancy and the Kid he’d gone to the gambling hall and convinced himself that Ike had not come back there. Then he’d ridden up the mountain and stayed for three days, scouring the area for any sign of Clauson or his horse, without success.

  However, one thing he did find made him uneasy: in the cabin, cabinet doors, which he remembered as closed, were open. That suggested to him that the place had been raided for supplies. Though anyone might have done this, it was hard to escape the suspicion that it had been done by Ike Clauson.

  It would mean that he knew another place to hide out while his gunshot wound mended, but though Ben searched quite an area he never found it.

  Kid Clauson’s wounds were healed enough now that he sometimes rattled the jail door of iron bars using both hands. His brother could easily have healed up as much also. Ben was getting increasingly nervous that one day soon Ike Clauson was going to ride into town. If the bullet wound hadn’t affected his fast-draw hand, Ben’s time as marshal could well turn out to be a brief interlude.

  He’d talked about this possibility with Fred Sikes. Fred agreed with him that there was at least some chance of Ike Clauson’s return, but he said, “Ben, if it happens, don’t forget that calm and steady wins more gunfights than a fast draw. I’ve seen him and I know you. I’d put my money on you any day.”

  Which was just Fred bucking him up all he could. Fred had reached the age where his life was being selectively recalled to neatly fit certain truths, and in any new situation whichever of these truths seemed to best apply got trotted out as a certain predictor of the outcome.

  Not that Fred Sikes wouldn’t face Ike Clauson himself with his old shotgun, if he had to.

  Ben had been sitting in the morning sun, thinking all this over, wishing he could be convinced Ike really had died some time ago on the mountainside, when he heard a swish of skirts and looked up.

  As always, the sight of Nancy made his heart skip a beat and scattered his thoughts like a bunch of birds taking flight at a gunshot. She didn’t even have to be close to have that effect—a glimpse of her at the far end of the street was all it took.

  Great quality in a marshal, he ruefully reflected.

  “Ben,” she said, gathering her skirts in that especially graceful way she had and sitting next to him on the bench. “Are you very busy right now?”

  This was always a precursor to asking for some sort of help managing her store. She’d had charge of it for over a week now, since the new judge had awarded her all of her father’s property. She was plenty shrewd and he doubted she had any real need of his advice on anything to do with the business, but nevertheless she couldn’t get though a day without coming to consult with him.

  As though he minded. “All drove up,” he said, tipping his hat forward to shade his eyes and get the best look at her he could.

  But this time it was different. “Ben, you don’t really think he’ll come back, do you?”

  “What’s got you worrying about that?”

  “I know it’s worrying you,” she said, looking earnestly at him with her clear eyes.

  “Well, that’s true. It does worry me. But there’s not much I can do about it.”

  “I know,” she said pensively. “It’s just that ...”

  He was usually fairly thick when it came to figuring out what was bothering Nancy, but this time he knew. She’d been waiting for him to propose to her. And he had been putting it off, wanting the Ike Clauson business settled somehow first.

  “It hangs over everything,” she said. “Doesn’t it?”

  “You’re right,” he admitted. He was thinking of how Mary had forced both of them into admissions they had been too cautious and careful of each other to make. In one way, Mary had done them a big favor. But it also would make things worse for Nancy if Clauson rode in here one day and shot him down. Her hopes would be up. Yet, the way it was, she might start to doubt he really cared, and that was an idea he could hardly stand.

  So, would it be fair to ask her? He certainly wanted to. But what was best for her?

  “Ben, we can’t wait our whole lives for something that might never happen. And if it does, you will matter as much to me either way. Don’t you know that? Besides, the better I know you the more confidence I have you will manage.”

  He reached out and took her hand, looking away down the street, desperate to solve this somehow, and do it right.

  And here he came.

  Tall and straight in the saddle, riding his big handsome black down the center of the street. The horse had been curried until he glistened, and his long tail swished at every step.

  Ike Clauson himself was dressed to the nines, all in black as was his custom, his black hat exactly level and square on his head.

  He was wearing his marshal’s star, polished so light reflected from it hurt your eyes.

  As he came opposite Ben and turned to face him, Ben stood up.

  “You and I have business,” Clauson said in a calm, even tone.

  “So we do,” Ben said. “I have a warrant for your arrest. Please step down and come into my office.”

  The slightest flicker of a grin twitched the corner of Clauson’s mouth.

  “I don’t think you understand,” Clauson said. “You’ve tried to steal my town. I can’t allow it.”

  The street had cleared. People were peering from doorways and windows in little groups, a few of the braver souls coming out to stand on the sidewalks up against walls, everybody watching.

  “I’ve stolen nothing,” Ben said. “I’m the duly elected marshal of the Town of Taylorville. Pursuant to a warrant issued by Judge Foreman I’m placing you under arrest. Charges are murder, theft, terrorizing, impersonating an officer of the law ...”

  “Young fool,” snapped Clauson. “You’ll answer for this.”

  “Accessory to breaking and entering, and to burglary,” Ben continued calmly.

  “Shut your mouth and get your butt into the street,” Clauson said.

  “That you, Ike?” the Kid hollered from back in the jail. “He’s got me locked up!”

  “Shut up, Kid. I know where you’re at.”

  “Get down from that horse,” Ben said. “You are, as I said, under arrest.”

  “No upstart little smart-mouth out-of-work cowboy waltzes in and steals my town just because he bought a hat too big for him,” Clauson said in his iron-tire-on-glass voice. “Now you can get out in the street and take your bullet like a man, or I can shoot you standing there next to the girl. Which do you want?”

  “One last time. Get off your horse and come inside and you’ll get a fair trial—which is more than you ever gave anybody else.”

  “Scared of a real gunfight, is that
it?” Clauson sneered.

  “All right,” Ben said quietly, then raised his voice so it could be clearly heard by all watching. “You want to die in the middle of the street instead, I call everyone to witness that this is not my choice.”

  Clauson abruptly swung his horse and rode away twenty paces, got down and stepped clear of the animal, feet planted slightly apart, waiting for Ben.

  “I believe in you, Ben,” Nancy said, and you certainly couldn’t tell her tone of voice from absolute faith.

  And if he lost?

  No, he couldn’t afford to lose.

  He stepped into the street, faced Clauson. The sun was pretty near directly overhead, favoring neither of them. The wind was light and not a factor.

  “Go ahead and draw,” Clauson said, all confidence and faintly amused. He’d dictated the terms and this was his game. “If you think you’re man enough to take over my town.”

  “Clauson, this is not your town. It belongs to the people of Taylorville.”

  “This town is nothing without me.” Clauson was clearly annoyed. Ben remembered Clauson so angry at the Council meeting that his gun hand shook. But it wasn’t now.

  Not yet.

  “It’s not the town that’s nothing. It’s you. You’re just a two bit murderer and thief, and everybody in this town knows it.”

  Color started up Clauson’s neck.

  “I’m getting tired of being called a thief and a murderer,” he said. “Now are you going to draw or not?”

  “In good time. You’ve got a pretty big notion of yourself, riding in here on a fancy horse like the emperor of some little kingdom nobody ever heard of, dressed up like an ignorant dude, thinking everybody’s going to bow down and worship the ground you walk on ...”

  Clauson’s face went black and, so quickly you couldn’t actually see it happen, he drew and fired.

  The lead tugged cloth on Ben’s left arm.

  Ben drew and put a bullet through Ike Clauson’s heart. He knew that was where it hit because he saw the shiny badge there flicker in the sun.

  Clauson jolted from the force of the impact, fired once more, but the bullet went off into nowhere, and then he collapsed in a heap amongst the ruts.