by Brand, Max
When he reached the hotel, the lobby was empty except for Wilbur himself, who rose out of a chair and pointed toward a bundle.
“Trainor,” he said, “there’s no charge for your use of the room. I’ve got to ask you to step on. There’s your bundle made up for you, and everything in it.”
“You’re turning me out of the place?” asked Trainor.
Wilbur shook his head. “It’s no good. I’m sorry, but I can’t keep you,” he declared.
“You, too?” asked Trainor. “You’re afraid of Doc Yates?”
The lips of Wilbur pinched together, but he nodded. Then he said: “Why be a fool, Trainor? You’ve shown plenty of nerve. You’ve made your try, and a large chunk of this town knows about what you’ve done. But why not get out of the place now and try to live out your life? We’re all dead soon enough, anyway.”
Trainor picked up the bundle and slung it over his right shoulder.
“I thought you were a man, Wilbur,” he said, sneering.
“Not that much of a man,” answered the hotel keeper. “In a town like this, there’s only room for one man. You ought to be able to see that by this time.”
Trainor went out to the stable behind the hotel. He went warily to his mustang, saddled and bridled it, fastened the bed roll behind the saddle, as usual. A Mexican or a half-breed was in charge. He had a sick-looking face, without expression in it except a sort of disgust. He merely said to Trainor:
“No bill for you to pay, eh, señor? Eh, and that’s the luck!”
Even the stableman knew that he was picked out for slaughter. But it was apparent that if he chose to ride away from Alkali at this moment, there would be no more trouble. If he stayed there, he was to be dead before morning.
So, as he turned the horse out onto the street, where it broke into a little shamble, trotting meagerly with the forefeet and walking with the hind, he tried to think this thing out to a conclusion. They would start looking for him, before long. As soon as Cormack or Josh May delivered a report, they would begin the search, and then he would be only a few moments from death.
Where would they search for him?
That question drove him straight toward a desperate resolution. They might comb the entire town, but they were not likely to think of searching in the Golden Hope, any more than bees would search for danger in their own hive.
A cold hand gripped his heart when he thought of the peril of entering the place. But, after all, he had to see Doc Yates. He had to try to wring information out of that master mind. And though he told himself that the thing was impossible, and that he was giving himself from the frying pan into the fire, back towards the Golden Hope he turned his horse.
He did not go directly. He found an empty field, and in the field a cluster of little second-growth trees in the center of which he tied his mustang. From that point he turned up the back street, through the alley, and arrived at the rear door of the Golden Hope.
There was not a single light across the broad shoulders of the place, but plenty of light came from the inside. He could distinguish the laughter in the barroom. He could hear the music and the foot shuffling out of the dance hall adjoining, which must by this time be going full blast. To run such a place, Doc Yates must have a score of retainers, in one capacity or another. To break in on that man would be like —
He took hold of the knob of the rear door and pushed it, knowing that it must be locked. Instead, it opened and admitted him readily. He found himself in a narrow hallway, lighted by a smoking lamp that hung from the ceiling and showed the way up a dim twist of stairs.
He followed that twist, he hardly knew why, except that it took him somewhat away from the noise of the crowd. Upstairs, in the hall of the second floor, he was half-way along the ragged matting before he heard voices of men mounting behind him. One fellow laughed, and the laughter went through Trainor. What refuge? Well, there was the first door at hand. He turned the knob of it and stepped through into thick darkness.
He had a queer feeling that there had been light in the room as he started to push the door open, and that it had been extinguished suddenly, but no doubt this sprang from his having come out of the light, however obscure, in the hallway.
In the meantime, he heard the men walking down the hall outside. Sometimes their shoulders struck against the wall on either side and brought out booming, drum-like sounds. He heard their voices go by, diminishing. In another instant he could get out of this hole of darkness.
And that was when a gesture out of the darkness freed a burst of light that showed him a bedroom, a litter of women’s clothes on a chair, and in the corner, in front of a dressing table with a little mirror and a lamp on it, stood a dark-haired, dark-eyed girl in a rose-colored dress. In one hand she held the cloth which she had just snatched from over the lamp. In the other hand was a revolver with its round, empty mouth pointed steadily at Trainor.
“Hello, handsome,” said the girl. “What dragged you in here?”
She was one of the furnishings of the dance hall, no doubt. She had under-shadowed her eyes with a penciling too heavy, and she had made up her lips with wide, heavy strokes of red that blurred and overran at the corners, so that it looked as though she had been drinking wine carelessly, never wiping her mouth. The same carelessness was in her eyes She could sneer or smile with equal ease, and she was sneering now.
“I got into the wrong room,” said Trainor.
“Lemme put you right, brother, will you?” said the girl. “Hoist your hands and turn your face to the wall, you thief, and I’ll start in putting you right! You’re the dirty sneak that gets into the rooms of us girls, are you, and swipes everything you can lay your hands on? Hoist those hands, or I’ll split your wishbone right in two.”
He looked at her curiously. It was strange that he was not afraid, but he had come to this place with the expectation of a danger so much more vast in his mind’s eye, that the sight of a girl could not move him a great deal, no matter how much bright savagery appeared in her eyes, no matter how masterfully she held the gun.
“You hear me?” she said. “You poor dummy, don’t you think that I mean what I say?”
She came a couple of quick little gliding steps toward him, soft steps that would not disturb her aim at any moment.
“I hear you,” said Trainor, almost drowsily. “I suppose you mean what you say.”
“Then get your hands up,” she commanded.
He shook his head. “I can’t do that,” he declared.
And then she squinted at him as she added: “What sort of an hombre are you, anyway? What are you doing in here?”
He could not think of anything except the truth. “There were some men behind me. I had to duck out of the way. This door was the closest, so I came in.”
“Hi!” exclaimed the girl in a whisper. “You’re one of the rummies that have been trimmed in the gambling rooms. Or they rolled you at the bar and cleaned you out. Is that it?”
“No,” said Trainor. He smiled, when he thought of the immensity of difference in gravity between his motive and a mere loss of money.
“Come on, come on,” she commanded patiently. “Wake up and talk, will you?”
“Well, I came here to see Yates,” he said. He cursed the tongue that had spoken. But — well, after all, it made no difference. The girl would screech; in a moment armed men would come running. And then — why, he was so close to the finish that nothing mattered very much.
“Yates? You came sneaking here to see Doc?” she asked. “Wait a minute. You came here to see Doc, right in his own joint?”
“You see,” said Trainor, with the same frankness, “Alkali Valley is the place of vanishing men. My brother was one of the fellows who disappeared. Maybe Doc Yates knows something about it.”
“What do you know about that?” said the girl. “Right in here, where the lions are fed, too! Brother, have you ever been in this dump before?”
“I came into the saloon today,” said Trainor. “That
’s all.”
“See anything?”
“A man with my brother’s pocket knife. I asked about it. We had a mix-up. He knocked me silly and threw me into the street.”
“That’s the red lump on the jaw, eh?” asked the girl.
“That’s the one.”
“You tell it straight, too,” said the girl. “I heard the yarn this evening. You don’t put any frills on it. Listen. Are you straight?”
“I don’t know. I’m average, I hope.”
“D’you know that I nearly pulled the trigger a minute ago?”
“I saw your knuckles get whiter,” he agreed.
“Why didn’t you shove up your hands, then?”
“I thought,” said Trainor, “that I was close to the finish, anyway. As soon as you yelped, the men would come on the run, and then — ” He made a wide gesture toward the window. “I wouldn’t have time to get through,” he said, and smiled a little.
A hand knocked on the door, a moment later.
The girl gasped, glanced from the door to Trainor, and then pointed to a quantity of dresses that hung partially revealed behind a curtain that hung from the ceiling. It was the best the room had to offer by way of a closet.
It was folly, Trainor thought, to accept the invitation, but it was better to do that than to stand there and let the unknown walk in on him. He slipped in among crinkling, whispering silks. A wave of sweet lavender filled his nostrils.
“Well?” called the girl, as the knock was repeated.
The door was pushed half open.
“I’m coming in,” said a man’s voice.
“Sure, Doc,” said she. “Come on in, will you?”
CHAPTER VII
Black Ore
EVEN without the nickname, Trainor would have known the pale, handsome face, the youth of it, the shoulders, the black coat, the wide black hat of the man who came into the room. The bed creaked as he sat down, and Trainor, from behind the dresses, could see everything. He could jump out at the fellow, now, but if he did that, he would be betraying the girl. He had a very grim certainty, moreover, that he would never be able to surprise this man sufficiently to beat him. It would be like trying to surprise a wild beast that never sleeps with both eyes shut.
Yates was smoking a cigar. The fine, thick flavor of it came at once to Trainor’s nostrils.
“I’ve got some news for you, Dolly,” he said.
“You’ve always got news, and it’s never good,” said the girl. She went over to her dressing glass and began to do her cheeks with dry rouge and a rabbit’s foot. “What’s the story this time?”
“You’re hitting the hooch too hard,” said Yates. “You ought to lay off that stuff.”
“To please you?” she snarled.
“I don’t care what you do,” he answered, “only I’m telling you something that may be worth while. To you.”
“Thanks,” said she. “Pass the sandwiches to the hungry, Doc.”
“You’re a mean little devil, aren’t you, Dolly?” commented Yates without emotion.
“Easy money and an easy boss to work for, why should I be mean?” asked Dolly. “That’s the question.”
“I’ve got a job for you,” said Yates.
“I’ve got a job for you, first,” answered Dolly.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a hard job. A bit of memory work. Tell me how many gals have broken their hearts on account of that handsome mug of yours, Doc?”
“I’m never a success with the ladies,” said Yates. “Look at you. You never had any use for me.”
“It’s a queer thing,” said Dolly. “You’re the only one that I ever saw through. I don’t understand it. Wait till I close that door into the hall. There’s a draft through here.”
“No, a couple of the boys are out there waiting,” said Yates. “They’d better keep an eye on me, if you don’t mind.”
“You’re fragile, eh?” asked Dolly. “Doc, I sure should think that you’d get tired of being trailed around by a pack of bloodhounds, licking your heels and ready to lick the other fellow’s blood.”
“I get my share of trouble outside of everything they can do for me,” said Doc Yates. “It’s years since I’ve had no bandages on a fresh wound. But it all pays, Dolly. Outside of the coin, it gives me a chance to talk to the bright little girls like you.”
“How I hate your rotten heart,” said Dolly gently.
“Do you, darling?” asked he. “But I never hate you. I never hate a useful thing. Now I’ll tell you what I want you to do. You see these?”
He held out three little white pills in the palm of his hand.
“Three sleeps for baby?” asked the girl, staring.
“That’s enough to put three men to sleep, all right,” said Yates. “But you use all three on one.”
“You’re a bright boy, Doc, but here you’re up the wrong alley. I take lots of chances, but never on Salt Creek.”
“Of course you don’t,” he agreed. “He’ll get well, after he puts this stuff down his throat, but he’ll sleep twenty-four hours, is all I have to say. And I want him to sleep.”
“What for?” asked the girl.
“You don’t mean that. You mean, what does he look like and where do you find him.”
She stared grimly at Yates.
“All right,” she said, “but what a hot hell you’re going to burn in, Doc!”
“He’s down in the dance hall, right now,” said Yates. “He’s drinking nothing but whisky straight, and his — ”
“Then let one of your bartenders dope him.”
“It can’t be done. He’s drinking the whisky from his own bottle, and paying full-size for the clean glasses. You’re going to drop one of these into each of his next three drinks. Understand?”
“Who’s he with?”
“Nobody. He’s watching the dancing. The girls don’t mean anything to him, but you’ll mean something to him, all right.”
“Maybe,” admitted Dolly, not without pride. “You want this hombre bad, Doc? But I’m not in it if there’s a whang on the head for him afterward.”
“We’re not going to bump him off, I tell you. Go down there and spot him. Blondy, the people call him. He’s as big as a house. Red hair on his wrists and yellow hair on his head. Five years too young to be in Alkali. Go down there and put him bye-bye, Dolly.”
“You’re not going to roll him, word of honor?”
“You little fool,” said Yates angrily, “it’s just a question of him knowing too much for his own good. He knows more than will ride well on his stomach. Can you make any sense out of that? He’s seen something that has to do with a new strike and black ore with gold beads in it. Does that tell you enough, Dolly?”
“All right,” said the girl.
A footfall ran up the hallway.
“Hey, Doc!” called a guarded voice. “He’s here.” A red, excited face appeared at the open door into the hall.
“Who’s here?” asked Yates.
“He’s here!”
“You don’t mean — Wait a minute. Bring him up here. This is as good as any place. It’s more unexpected. Bring him right up here! Dolly, go do your job!”
“All right,” said Dolly, “but I’d like to see you with your big boss on hand. I’d like to see you taking orders.”
“You know too much, and what you don’t know, you guess too much about,” stated Yates. “Now get out and do what you’re told.”
Dolly got out. From the doorway she threw one glance, half-curious and half-sneering, toward the flimsy “closet” that sheltered Trainor. And then she was gone.
Trainor’s whole mind and body tightened for the effort. This might be his one moment for leaping out at Yates. But when he was leaning for the spring, he saw another man come into the hall doorway.
He thought, at first glance, that the fellow must be a brother of Doc Yates, but then he saw the difference. This man was bigger. He had shoulders that reminded the hidden watcher o
f Jim Silver. His face was pale like that of Yates, but there was a difference. Ten days in the sun would put the bronze on Yates, but about this other fellow, Trainor felt that all the sun in the world would never be able to change the clear pallor of the skin. It was a very handsome face, perhaps a little too long, but the features were perfectly formed, sensitive as those of a fine artist, and above all there was a towering, massive, noble forehead. It was a face which one could not ordinarily have connected with evil, but seeing the man with Doc Yates, Trainor suddenly knew that all of the evil in the world might spring from that powerful but tainted intellect.
Yates hurried to meet the other and gripped his hand. He said:
“This is a surprise, Barry. I didn’t think you’d come into town. Come in and sit down. Sorry to bring you up here into a girl’s room, but I thought it might be just as well. No one would look for you here — if anybody should happen to be looking for Barry Christian, just now!”
Christian, lifting his head, looked suddenly, sternly around him, and Trainor winced back farther into his shelter. He thought nothing of the revolver in his hand. He felt totally helpless as he stared out at that man who, as the world very well knew, had been the great enemy of Jim Silver these many years. He had a strange feeling that mere bullets could not harm this devil.
“Use that name only when you have to, Yates,” said Christian. Then he added, stopping short the apology which Yates started: “You’ve already let too many people know that I’m in this part of the world. I told you not to do that!”
“I’m sorry,” began Yates, “but the fact is — ”
“Never mind the facts as you see them. I’ll tell you another fact. It has to do with you and it has to do with me. Jim Silver is in the Alkali Desert!”
“Silver?” repeated Yates stupidly. “Jim Silver — down here?”
He looked half-witted, as he spoke. His mouth opened. He stooped forward a little, exactly like a man who has received a heavy blow that has half-benumbed him.