Close Call

by Clinton Spurr

  “He ain’t around the back there anywhere. What was that shooting across town just now?”

  “Someone shooting at shadows, I reckon. Have you two seen the town mayor?” Lassiter was fishing for information.

  “No. Why?”

  “Something to do with the sheriff. The mayor is back of the Doc’s house. He wants to talk to everyone looking for Lassiter.”

  “Okay, so we’ll go find out what he wants.” The two men went by and Lassiter held his breath as he continued towards the back lots. When he turned out of the alley he sighed heavily, and shook his head in frustration. He seemed to be getting nowhere fast!

  He hurried towards the Judge’s house, and now he was determined to get action. But the house was in darkness, and when he tried the doors they were locked. He dared not make a noise because he could hear voices on the street, and search parties were beginning to get organised. He stood in the shadows and watched four men begin to move along one side of the main street, and they were carrying guns. He didn’t know if they were looking for him or the sheriff.

  Another party started along the other side of the street, and some of the men carried lanterns. He watched the lights spreading out, and he hoped the mayor had managed to pass the word about him being off the wanted list.

  Waiting beside the Judge’s house, he remained motionless and alert, knowing that he would be asking for trouble by moving around town while the search was in progress. He kept his hand on his gun, and was ready for trouble, but nothing seemed to evolve around him. His impatience was growing, but he fought to keep it under control. The thought that Paula might be dying somewhere close by worried him, but there was nothing he could do until he was free to move around town without trouble.

  He started away from the Judge’s house, intending to scout around and try to contact the mayor, and was moving through the shadows at the side of the house when he fancied he heard a woman’s voice, muted and complaining. He froze instantly, looking around, and it was some moments before he realized that it might be coming from inside the house.

  Lassiter moistened his lips. Had Paula been taken into her own home? Was she being held prisoner inside, in the dark? He caught his breath as he imagined it, and he turned back to the house, determined now to enter.

  He went to the kitchen windows and pressed his face against the glass, peering inside. He could barely make out some of the furniture there, but he could see the interior, and he tried the window. It was locked, but the catch seemed loose. He exerted some strength on the frame, and heard it creak in protest. His left arm was giving him hell, but he ignored the pain and continued to force the window. He was afraid of making noise, but his fears for Paula were growing by the minute.

  The window gave suddenly, and the noise it made opening made him grit his teeth. He leaned into the kitchen, his gun in his hand, and he listened intently, hearing nothing but wondering if he had alerted whoever was in the house.

  He climbed through the window and stood then, gun in hand, listening intently, and he could hear the throbbing of blood through his temples. He started for the inner door, moving cautiously, and it was fortunate that he knew the layout of the house. He opened the inner door and stood in the doorway, peering across the hall, looking into the darkness between the parlour and the Judge’s study. There was no sound anywhere, and Lassiter discovered that he was sweating coldly.

  His right hand ached because he was gripping his gun so tightly, and the weapon felt heavy and awkward for once. He could feel a tightening of his nerves as he waited in the oppressive silence, and the darkness was close about him, almost impenetrable, forcing him to rely upon his ears rather than his eyes.

  A noise tremored through the silent house, and he tensed and canted his head as he tried to place it. There was a creaking as a foot touched a loose floorboard, and Lassiter knew he was not imagining it. His breathing grew ragged and shallow, and his imagination thrust up a picture of someone stalking him through the place. He felt the short hairs on his neck lift, and he fought down his feelings, steeling himself to remain cold nerved. He thought of Paula, and his determination gained the upper hand in his mind and he prepared to move on.

  It was impossible to search the house, being unable to light a lamp. All he could do was wait in the silence and listen for sounds, then act accordingly. He wondered about the cry he had heard that alerted him to the situation, and he promised himself that if anything had happened to Paula he would kill Milton with his bare hands.

  The floorboard creaked again, and Lassiter could not place its direction. He figured it had come from upstairs, and he moved out of the doorway and crossed the hall stealthily, pausing at the foot of the stairs. He didn’t feel comfortable with his back to the parlour door, but any sound he made now would place him at a grave disadvantage.

  The board creaked again, and he realized that it was caused by someone pacing a floor somewhere in the house. Was it Milton? He couldn’t accept that. The sheriff would be about his murderous business of killing the opposition to his plans. The knowledge forced a sigh from Lassiter, and he started up the stairs, intent upon doing something. He could not afford to wait any longer.

  A stair creaked and he froze, stiffening instantly, his trigger finger tightening convulsively, and while he waited he needed all his courage to remain motionless and silent. In all his days of helling around he had never been called upon to use such cold nerve. Sweat soaked him, and he felt unsteady as he waited.

  Then he heard a whimpering sound, as if someone was trying to speak through a cloth. The voice was unrecognisable and muffled, and Lassiter went on again, crouching a little as he neared the top of the stairs. He wasn’t so familiar with the layout above ground, but there were sounds now to lead him, and he heard a man’s voice utter a low curse. The board creaked once again, and Lassiter eased himself flat as he crossed over the top stair. He lay on the floor gripping his gun, and now his eyes were perfectly accustomed to the darkness.

  There was not complete darkness in the house. It was possible to see the passage and the oblong window that overlooked the front garden. The doorways to the bedrooms were apparent, and the one on the right stood ajar. It was from that room the sounds were emanating, and Lassiter let his full attention centre upon it.

  As he started towards the doorway he heard a sound below, in the kitchen, and the next instant footsteps were sounding in the hall. Lassiter clenched his teeth, realizing that he was in a tough spot. He pushed himself up from the floor and moved quickly along the passage, hearing footsteps in the room as he passed the half open door. He crouched again immediately he was past the door, and then sank slowly to the floor in a sitting position, bringing his gun to bear on the sounds ascending the stairs.

  A voice hissed from the doorway of the bedroom, although no one appeared.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Who the hell do you think it is? Dane Lassiter?” came the quick reply in guarded undertones. “You still got the girl and the Doc okay?”

  “Sure I have. You figure they could get away from me?”

  “Milton’s got horses ready just on the edge of town. We’ve got to get them out there now, before the search parties find out what’s going on.”

  “What was the shooting outside? Have they killed Lassiter yet?”

  “Not that I know of. The fools are shooting at shadows, or each other. Yancey said we got to get a move on. Boswell and Carver are both dead, so Yancey said. They had trouble with the town mayor. The danged fool walked into the Doc’s kitchen ahead of Lassiter. He stopped the bullet that was meant for Lassiter.”

  Lassiter showed his teeth in a tight grin as he listened. He saw a man appear at the top of the stairs and move towards the bedroom, and he remained perfectly motionless, hoping his crouching figure could not be seen. He knew now that Paula was still okay, and it seemed that the doctor was here. Lassiter sighed heavily with relief as the newcomer entered the room. He didn’t know who these two men were, but they were mixed
up in Milton’s plot, and Yancey Clark was still around somewhere.

  He slowly rose to his feet and flattened himself against the wall. There were sounds coming from inside the room, and he heard the two men cursing their prisoners. The next moment one of the men came out of the doorway backwards, pulling someone with him, and Lassiter eased forward, swinging the barrel of his Colt. He struck hard and landed on the crown of the man’s hat.

  There was a startled cry and the man began to fall. Lassiter struck again, then lifted his right foot, placed it against the man’s side, and thrust vigorously with his leg. The man pitched towards the stairs and went down them heavily.

  Lassiter looked at the figure that was in the doorway, and saw it was Paula. The next instant the girl was thrust aside and a man appeared.

  “What the hell is going on, Joe?” he demanded, peering hard at Lassiter. Then the tone of his voice changed. “Hey, you ain’t Joe!”

  Lassiter was already striking, and the barrel of his gun struck the man’s gun arm. The thud of a falling weapon followed, and the man uttered a thin yell of pain. Lassiter hit him with a back handed blow, catching him full in the face with the gun barrel. Then he chopped down for the skull, and the man went down in a heap.

  Paula started back into the room in fright, but Lassiter called her name and she paused, peering at him. He was breathing heavily, and his left arm hurt maddeningly. The next instant another figure appeared beside the girl’s, and Doc Weller peered at Lassiter.

  “Dane! It is you! How’d you get in here?”

  “Questions will have to wait,” Lassiter retorted. He grimaced as Paula hurled herself at him and pushed herself into his arms, hurting his wound. “Are you both okay?”

  “I was roughed up a little, but I’ll heal,” the Doc said thinly. “We’d better do something about these two before they come round and start yelling.”

  “One of them went down the stairs. I don’t figure he’ll give us any more trouble.” Lassiter kissed Paula on the cheek, then pushed himself away from her. He bent over the man on the floor and extracted a gun from his belt. He handed the weapon to the Doc. “Come on down the stairs slowly,” he ordered. “Paula, stay behind the Doc.”

  He started down the stairs himself, and reached the man crumpled on the bottom one. He paused only to check that the man was not dangerous, and then moved on to the back door. He waited there for Paula and the doctor to join him.

  “What happens now?” Weller demanded.

  “We’ve got to get hold of Yancey Clark and Milton. With them under our guns we can call a halt to the whole thing. But you leave them to me, Doc. You’d better take Paula with you and get over to your place. The mayor is shot and needs help.”

  He explained briefly what had happened after his attempt to get Marshall to help him, and the doctor nodded grimly.

  “All right, Dane, but be careful what you’re doing. I’ll soon organise this town. It won’t take me long to tear the blinkers from their eyes. Milton has got away with this trickery far too long. I’ll have every manjack in town after him within ten minutes, and the heat will be off you.”

  “That’s nice to know.” Lassiter smiled grimly. He looked at Paula’s shadowy face and smiled in tight lipped fashion. “Go with the Doc, Paula,” he said softly. “I want you out of harm’s way. It seems to me that Milton has got a one-track mind, and he won’t rest until he’s tried to carry out his murderous plans.”

  “Why don’t you wait until the town has been told the truth?” Paula demanded. “Then you’ll have plenty of help. You don’t have to do this alone, Dane.”

  “I do.” He spoke crisply. “My father was murdered, and Buck Milton killed him. I want to stop him, Paula.”

  She nodded wordlessly and turned away to go with the doctor, who was impatient to leave. Lassiter stood and watched them until they faded into the gloom, and a heavy sigh escaped him as he turned his back on them and began to probe the shadows for some inkling of Milton’s whereabouts. He caught a glimpse of movement and froze, for a man was coming towards the back of the house. Holding his gun ready, Lassiter remained motionless and watched the man coming on, striding quickly through the night. Then he was seen.

  “Hey, is that you, Joe?” a harsh voice hissed. “What’s keeping you? Milton is getting impatient. We’ve got to be quick.”

  “Come on over here,” Lassiter retorted thinly, keeping his voice low so his tones could not be recognised.

  “You got trouble?” The man came on without hesitation, and Lassiter began to lift his gun.

  “You have,” Lassiter retorted, moving in. “I’ve got you covered. Just put up your hands or you’ll stop lead.”

  “Who the hell are you?” The man halted, caught with his gun in his holster.

  “The name is Dane Lassiter, and I reckon it means something to you,” Lassiter retorted. “Where’s Yancey Clark and the sheriff?”

  The man did not reply, and Lassiter closed on him, jabbing at him with the muzzle of his gun.

  “I asked you a question,” Lassiter grated. “The time for keeping your mouth shut is past. The Doc and the girl are free, and pretty soon everyone here in town will know what’s been going on. Murder has been committed here, and someone is gonna hang for that. It could be you. Now tell me where Clark and Milton are!”

  Before the man could reply, another figure appeared from the shadows where the first had materialised, and Lassiter caught the movement from the comer of his eye. He half turned to face it, and in the same instant Yancey Clark’s voice came to him.

  “So you’re still on the loose and fouling up the play, Lassiter,” Clark rapped. “Damn your hide! Can’t anybody kill you?”

  Lassiter lifted his gun instantly, but Clark’s voice was drowned out by a blasting gun, and Yancey Clark triggered his six-shooter until every load had been fired. Lassiter was practically covered by the man standing before him, and the first bullet took the man in the back. As the string of shots blasted the night, Lassiter dropped flat.

  There was a storm of lead cleaving the darkness around him, but Lassiter was untouched. As he hit the ground hard the man he had accosted was falling on top of him, and Lassiter felt the body jerk a couple of times as it took lead that was meant for him. His ears sang to the racket, and he clenched his teeth as he stared at the orange gun flashes that split the night. His gun was entangled with the body lying across him, and he couldn’t find the strength in his left arm to thrust the man aside. Then the shooting stopped and he twisted and heaved against the dead weight of the man. He wriggled clear, pushed himself to his feet, and started towards the spot where the shooting had erupted. He had counted the shots and he knew Yancey now had an empty gun.

  There was faint movement ahead, and Lassiter yelled for Clark to halt. He narrowed his eyes, trying to keep the movement in view, and when he made out the figure of a man turning to face him he lifted his gun.

  “It’s my turn now, Yancey,” he shouted, his ears still filled with the echoes of Clark’s gunfire.

  “Don’t shoot, Dane,” came the swift reply. “My gun is empty. I’m surrendering.”

  Lassiter felt his lips curl back from his teeth as contempt hit him. He went forward swiftly, gun ready, and when he came up with Clark he saw the man’s hands were empty.

  “Nobody can kill you,” Clark said.

  “You tricky cuss!” Lassiter fought down his feelings. “You tried hard enough to get me. Now where’s Milton? He’s the one I want.”

  “He’s waiting a couple of hundred yards that way, with horses.” Clark spoke reluctantly. “I ain’t done nothing. Milton forced me to act for him. I didn’t have no choice.”

  “That’s not for me to judge,” Lassiter told him. “Lead the way to him, and keep it quiet. You’re a dead man if you try anything, Yancey.”

  Clark turned obediently and started through the night, and Lassiter went behind him, holding his gun tightly in his right hand. He was aware of nothing now but the urge to get Buck Milton. The
sheriff had a lot to answer for. Now he would have to start paying.

  “He’s got your brother out of the jail, and Charlie Logan,” Yancey said worriedly. “They’re tied to saddles. He’s planning on running them out to your place and killing them. The Doc and Paula were supposed to go with them.”

  “Keep going, and don’t try anything, Yancey. I’m itching for the chance to blast you.”

  They went on, and Lassiter keened his ears. The shooting had almost deafened him, and there was a singing in his head as he looked around. Then he spotted horses ahead, saw the indistinct silhouettes of a couple of men lolling in their saddles. The next instant a guarded voice called to them.

  “Is that you, Yancey? What the hell was all that shooting about back there?”

  “The townsmen are hunting Lassiter,” Clark said before Lassiter could prompt him.

  They kept moving forward, until Lassiter had a clear view of the renegade sheriff.

  “Hold it, Yancey,” Lassiter said in low tones, and the man halted instantly.

  “Where’s the Doc and the girl?” Milton demanded. He was standing left of the horses, and Lassiter could see there was a gun in his hand.

  “They’re not coming, Milton,” Lassiter snapped. “They’re out of your hands. I’m here in their place, and I want you for murdering my father.”

  Milton fired instantly, and Lassiter heard Clark cry out in pain. As Yancey twisted away, Lassiter fired, holding his aim low. He dropped to one knee as Milton’s gun blasted again, and he felt the jerk of the slug as it tore into his holster without touching him. He fired again, and saw Milton stagger, and then his emotions got the better of him and he triggered the gun until it was empty.

  The night was riven with flashes, and the thunder of the gun was all powerful. Buck Milton was battered to the ground by the string of shots, and when the hammer clicked on a spent shell, Lassiter took a deep breath and straightened, coming to his feet wearily and automatically reloading. He stood breathing hard while the echoes fled, and there was nothing in his mind for a moment. He was drained of all emotion.