Silver Rock

by Luke Short

Dr. Richards came over with a wet swatch of alcohol-soaked cotton and scrubbed the spot beneath her shoulder joint. “I don’t find them amusing,” he observed stiffly.

  “Well, you always have the last laugh, don’t you?”

  “How’s that?”

  “They’re all your patients, aren’t they? A blunt hypodermic needle, for instance, can make up for a lot of rude remarks.”

  Dr. Richards smiled sourly. “They’re never sick. If I depended on them for a living, I’d starve.”

  Sarah remembered then, and she giggled.

  “What’s funny?”

  “What about Justin Byers’s gas?”

  Dr. Richards’s hands, poised for the shot, halted, and he looked blankly at Sarah. “His what?” he echoed.

  “I said, what about Justin Byers’s gas?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s never come to me for anything. Now, hold still, will you?”

  He administered the shot expertly and when he was finished, Sarah continued, “He came to you about eleven o’clock last Monday, didn’t he?”

  “Certainly not. I was in Galena a week ago today.”

  He turned away to clean the syringe, and Sarah rose and reached for her coat. In her mind she was reviewing the exact happenings of last Monday morning. She was certain that after Tully left the commissioners’ room Byers went out. He returned later, presumably after making a phone call. It was then he had announced that he would countersign the warrants later since he had an appointment with the doc.

  “Come back a week from today,” Dr. Richards said.

  “All right,” Sarah said. And then added, “Are you sure Byers didn’t come to you Monday?”

  Dr. Richards looked sharply and unpleasantly at her. “I haven’t so many patients, Sarah, that I forget them. I’ve never treated Justin Byers for anything. I never see him except at commissioners’ meetings.”

  Sarah shrugged. “It wasn’t important. Goodbye.”

  Out on the street Sarah looked at her watch. It lacked a few minutes of noon, and she turned upstreet, leisurely heading for Joe’s Restaurant. Dr. Richards’s words about Byers, however, bothered her. She stubbornly remembered Byers’s statement that he had a doctor’s appointment. Since Dr. Richards was the only doctor in Azurite and since there was no dentist closer than Galena, his meaning was unmistakable. Carefully now she thought back. When Byers left the room he had turned left. Only the Assessor’s office lay in that direction. If Byers had made a phone call it must have been made on the phone in that office.

  Sarah was passing the hotel now and impulsively she slowed her pace, then turned and went into the lobby, heading for the phone booth. Once there, she called Ann Hoffman at the Assessor’s office. After identifying herself, she said, “Ann, were you in the office last Monday morning?”

  “All morning,” Ann said. “Why?”

  “Did Justin Byers come in the office around eleven o’clock? Remember, that was the day the commissioners met.”

  There was a short silence at the other end of the wire, and then abruptly Ann said, “Why, sure. He came in and asked to use the phone.”

  “You didn’t hear any of the conversation, did you?”

  Ann’s voice took on a note of huffiness. “He made very sure I didn’t. He sent me out of the room before he even started to dial. Why?”

  “Nothing. Just county business. He promised to make a call and I never found out if he did or not. Thanks, Ann.”

  Sarah hung up and sat motionless in the booth. All she knew now was that Byers had made a phone call and lied publicly about the person he had called. He had also made the call seem urgent enough to leave the commissioners’ meeting. Swiftly then, she reviewed what had taken place at the commissioners’ meeting. There was nothing of importance that had occurred except the stubborn interview with Tully in which the commissioners rejected all Tully’s requests for county aid. Turning that over in her mind, Sarah felt a growing curiosity. That interview with Tully must have been so important to Byers that he found it necessary to make an immediate call and to lie about it.

  Slowly, Sarah rose and walked out into the lobby, heading for the street. She decided now that she was being a plain snoop. Yet the thought persisted, Why should Byers lie? There was something else about Byers, too, that Sarah wondered about now. During the past week Byers had been spending quite a bit of time in her office, looking at the county records. As a commissioner he had every right to do so, but it did seem a little strange. Added to this business of the phony call to the doctor it was all very mystifying. Probably the best thing to do was forget it, she thought, as she headed up the street toward the restaurant.

  “I’d take you to dinner tonight,” Sam said to Beth in the late afternoon, “except there isn’t a joint in town where the food wouldn’t poison a coyote. We can get a couple of cans of dog food and cook ‘em over a hot plate if you want.”

  Beth was seated at her desk, and she looked over at Sam who was seated at his. “I’ve got a better idea than that. Come to our place for dinner.”

  Sam grimaced. “I want your company, not Mrs. Kelly’s, thanks.”

  “I meant Ben’s and my house.”

  Sam scowled. “And get a tomahawk buried in my skull?”

  “Ben’s out of town and will be for a week or so. It’s perfectly safe.”

  At seven o’clock that evening Sam rang the doorbell of the Hodes’s house, and was admitted by Beth. She was wearing a gray gabardine dress and a red scarf at her throat, and as she stepped back, holding the door open, Sam whistled appreciatively even before he greeted her.

  “Don’t ever show up at the office looking like that,” Sam said as he stepped in. “If you do you’ll be fighting off all the wolves in town.”

  Beth blushed faintly, but Sam knew she was pleased. She took Sam’s hat and coat and the package he offered, and then led the way into the living room, Sam following. The first time he had been in this room he had entered almost with fear and trembling, which turned out to be justified. He had quarreled with Ben Hodes and left in anger, and his memory of the place was unpleasant. Tonight, with Ben gone, the atmosphere was different, and he looked about him with pleasure. That the Hodeses were well off he already knew. Beth’s father had owned and operated one of the most prosperous mines in Azurite. This room, the whole big house, reflected that wealth. The furniture was simply good and expensive, more masculine than feminine. Logs were crackling in the big fireplace, and Sam had the momentary impression of walking into the club of a very rich man.

  Beth put the gin and vermouth on the small bar against the far wall, saying, “There’s ice and a shaker here, boss.”

  Rubbing his hands together Sam came over to join her. He noted the olives, the pearl onions and the lemon rinds on the tray, and he said, “Looks like you’ve made these before.”

  Beth nodded. “Once,” she said soberly, and both she and Sam laughed.

  When Sam had finished making the pitcher of martinis and had poured their drinks, he raised his glass in a toast. “Happy Hooligan.”

  Beth said after tasting her drink, “That’s one I never heard before.”

  “Oh, I’m full of surprises.”

  Beth looked directly at him. “You know you really are.”

  “Am I? Like what?”

  Beth shrugged. “Well, like giving Ed the day off to go hunting, like being able to run a linotype yourself, like hiring me.”

  “You know,” Sam said soberly and with total irrelevance, “you can really spell.”

  Beth threw back her head and laughed. “You make that sound as if it were in the same category with being able to dance well or to cook well.”

  Sam grinned. “It is.”

  Beth rose. “Speaking of cooking, I’d better take a look at our dinner. Come on out in the kitchen.”

  Sam lifted the pitcher of martinis on the tray and followed Beth through the hall and the dining room out into the immaculate kitchen. Seating himself at the table, he
looked about him and decided that every known gadget relating to housekeeping was housed in this bright room. Beth stirred something on the stove, took a peek in the oven, switched on the ventilating fan, then produced from the oven a plate of warm thin toast covered with a linen napkin. Afterwards she took from a shelf the stand for a small chafing dish, lighted its alcohol lamp and from the oven drew out the chafing dish. Sam watched her curiously as she sat the dish on the stand then lifted the lid. “Good Lord, what’s this?” Sam said.

  “I’m a patsy for shad roe,” Beth said seriously, as she lifted the lid off the dish.

  Sam looked at the beautiful golden stuff and his mouth began to water. “You’ve got a whole week’s wages tied up in that pot, lady.”

  Beth giggled. “It’s only money.” She scooped some of the shad roe onto one piece of toast and handed it to Sam. It melted deliciously in his mouth, and afterwards he sandwiched in a sip of martini and had another. Presently he leaned back in his chair, regarding Beth, and murmured, “I wonder what the peasants are doing.”

  “Eating cake.”

  “I can understand Ben’s raising hell when you left,” Sam said. “My God, it’s a wonder he doesn’t weigh three hundred pounds.”

  “He doesn’t appreciate food,” Beth said. “For him it’s just something to kill hunger.”

  Sam poured out another martini for them, then said, “Speaking of that jolly character, did you hear that Tully’s camp was shot up this morning.”

  “Yes, I heard.” Beth’s glance held his. “Are you linking Ben with that?”

  “Shouldn’t I?”

  “You think he’d shoot at a man?”

  Sam held her gaze. “Yes.”

  Color came into Beth’s face. “Ben was out of town.”

  “I know he was, but you asked me a question and I answered it.”

  “Ben’s not that bad,” Beth protested gently.

  “He’s a purple louse and you know it, Beth. Don’t even try to defend him. It’s as hopeless as trying to stuff warm butter down the throat of a wild jackass. He’s a bully, he’s got a tycoon complex and he’s not bright. That’s what I think of him in a few well-chosen words. Now, let’s change the subject.”

  “Not quite yet,” Beth said. She offered Sam some more shad roe and helped herself. “You mind me asking questions I shouldn’t?”

  “I won’t even try to stop you.”

  “If you think Ben is behind all of Tully’s trouble, you’re wrong.”

  “Not necessarily Ben, but someone Ben’s paying.”

  “You’re wrong there, too.”

  Sam said dryly, “Look now, no violins, please. Just tell me where I’m wrong.”

  “Ben made it possible for Tully to open that mine.”

  “What?”

  “But it’s true,” Beth insisted. “He loaned Tully ten thousand dollars.”

  Sam looked at her incredulously, then snorted. “You better lay off the tea, kid.”

  “It’s true, Sam. I got in on the tail end of it and that was only by accident. Remember when Tully gave Ben a thrashing at the Elks party?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Next day Tully came here to talk with Ben. I only overheard the last part of their conversation. I think they had a bet on the outcome of the fight. It was a ten-thousand-dollar bet.”

  Sam whistled in surprise. “Where would Tully get any ten thousand to put up?”

  “I don’t think it was that kind of bet,” Beth said. “If Tully won, Ben was to loan him ten thousand, no collateral. If Tully lost, he was to stay away from Sarah.”

  Sam slowly sipped his martini, pondering this information. This accounted for Tully’s capital. Moreover, if Tully had bet Ben the night of the fight at the Elks Club, that was before Kevin had offered him a half share of the Sarah Moffit. Fantastic, Sam thought, and the rebel in him felt a small delight. Tully not only had the nerve to forge letters from Jimmy Russel, but he also had the gall to suggest and collect on this lunatic bet before he even knew that Kevin would have any part of him. A real parlay, Sam mused. There’s an operator.

  He was called back to the present by Beth’s voice. “Does that make Ben out a dog?”

  “You mean just because he didn’t welsh on his bet?”

  Beth nodded, and Sam was silent a moment, thinking about this. Yes, it all fitted together, he thought, now that he had all the facts. Ben’s actions and Tully’s worries made great good sense. He looked at Beth and smiled crookedly. “How long was the note for?”

  “I looked in the bank files—I’m a director, you know. The note was for one hundred twenty days.”

  Sam lifted the pitcher of martinis and refilled Beth’s glass, then he said, “Lady, you don’t know what you’ve just said.” He paused. “Do you?”

  “Certainly I do.”

  “If you do, then add it up, it’ll come out like this. If Ben can keep Tully from getting out enough ore in one hundred and twenty days to pay back that loan, he’ll move in on Tully like a Sherman tank. Tully’s only assets are his share in the Sarah Moffit. Ben’ll get them. Simple, isn’t it?”

  For still seconds Beth looked at Sam, and Sam realized, almost with shame, that Beth had never before really believed in Ben’s guilt, and that now suddenly she did. He felt an overwhelming pity for her in this moment, but he held his silence. It’s part of growing up, he thought.

  Beth finished her drink, then rose and said brightly, “You have another drink and I’ll get dinner on.”

  They chatted on inconsequential things during dinner, and Sam found himself enormously eager to learn more about Beth. From just a pretty but spineless girl she had turned for him into a generous and courageous person who was starved for affection. It would be pleasant to give her that affection Sam was beginning to think.

  After dinner she and Sam did the dishes and then retired to the living room. There had been no further mention of Ben, and Sam wondered if Beth had forgiven him for his brutal directness in discussing her brother.

  Beth poured brandy into two big snifters and handed one to Sam, then sat down beside him on the sofa. For a moment they idly watched the fire, then Beth said soberly, “I hope Tully makes it, Sam.”

  “All right-thinking citizens do,” Sam said.

  “Is he a nice guy really?” Beth asked.

  Sam wondered how he should answer this. Should he say “Sure, he’s just hungry,” or “Not quite,” or “No, he’s a stinker?” Surprisingly, he found himself saying, “Yes, really nice.”

  Oddly, the question seemed important to Beth. Also she seemed completely satisfied by Sam’s answer, and he was to remember this later.

  Beth rose now and put some Mozart on the record player by the bar, then she and Sam talked shop for an hour in an easy, friendly way. Sam discovered himself telling her his most private hopes and ambitions.

  When he remembered to look at his watch, he rose. “Good Lord. I’m windier than a Georgia congressman. It’s late.”

  Beth rose, almost reluctantly, offered him a drink for the road which he declined, and then she came with him to the door.

  His hand on the knob, Sam turned to look down at Beth. “You know,” he said soberly, “I made a threat once I never carried out.”

  Surprisingly, Beth said, “I know you did.”

  Sam kissed her then, found it very good, kissed her again, then stepped outside, saying good night and thanks over his shoulder. He had not even reached the street walk before he said to himself You slob, you’re in love and you know it.

  That evening as Sarah was about to close the office, old Judge Apperson strolled in. He was an aging, small, dirty, irascible old man who had once prospered as an expert on mining law in Azurite’s boom days. In later years he had fallen on hard times and was now a sort of chore boy for anyone with a grudge who was willing to take it to court.

  He laid a document on the counter and said abruptly, “How’s Harve?”

  “A little better, according to Emma,” Sarah said.


  “How long since he’s been down?”

  “Oh, weeks.”

  “Well, tell him I asked about him,” the judge grunted. He tapped the document. “I want to record this.”

  Sarah took the paper and moved over to the register. It was a warranty deed on a mining claim, Sarah saw. She opened the registry and began to record it. At first the name of the claim, Jote Smith, meant nothing to her, but when she noted that the property was being conveyed to the Mahaffey she frowned.

  Looking up at Judge Apperson she said, “Where’s the Jote Smith? I’ve forgotten.”

  “It’s one of those claims old man Carpenter has been nursing in his bosom for twenty-five years.”

  “Toward Vicksburg Hill?” Sarah asked.

  “I reckon.”

  Sarah finished the recording, appending the recording date and book number on the deed. As she handed the deed back to Judge Apperson, she said, “If that’s the claim I’m thinking of, there’s an easement on it.”

  The judge looked sternly at her. “Well, young lady, an easement is conveyed with the property. What of it?”

  “Nothing,” Sarah said. “That’ll be a quarter, Judge.”

  Judge Apperson paid up, said goodbye and left. For a moment Sarah stared at the door the Judge had closed behind him. It was curious that the Mahaffey should be showing interest in this claim now. Old man Carpenter had been trying to sell his claims at bargain prices for the last ten years, with no takers. Sarah wondered if Ben, who was a good geologist, had discovered that the Jote Smith straddled the same formation as the Vicksburg Claims, and was thereby hoping to profit if the Sarah Moffit profited. She remembered, too, that the road to the Sarah Moffit crossed the Jote Smith.

  There was no use speculating, however, on Ben Hodes’ intentions. He must recognize the easement, and that was all that really concerned her, she thought, as she turned toward the vault to lock up for the day.

  There was a raw wind blowing as she stepped outside. The sky was overcast and as she hurried home past the lighted stores, she looked forward to a comfortable evening at home alone. She could wash her hair, do her nail and listen to music. Tully surely would have found a new cook and left for the mine by now.