When they came alongside they drew to a halt and spread out so they were blocking the trail. None of them looked like regular ranch hands to Tulane. He knew the type well. The man who appeared to be their leader gave them a hard stare before he spoke.
‘Turn right around,’ he growled. ‘This is private land.’
‘We’ve got an appointment with Marsden Rockwell,’ Tulane replied.
The man regarded him closely through slitted eyes. ‘Who are you?’ he said.
‘The name’s Tulane, Clay Tulane. This here is Pocket.’
The man’s eyes slid towards the boy. ‘Ain’t you the young whippersnapper that works for old Skip Malloy?’ The boy nodded. ‘Thought I’d seen you before.’ The man turned his attention back to Tulane. ‘I got a feelin’ I’ve seen you somewhere too,’ he said.
‘Well, I can’t say that I recall the pleasure,’ Tulane replied.
The man stroked his grizzled chin and looked at his two comrades. They remained stony-faced.
‘What business you got with Mr Rockwell?’ the man resumed, addressing Tulane.
‘That’s my affair,’ Tulane replied.
A look of anger crossed the man’s countenance. He hesitated for just a moment before going for his gun but, quick as he was, Tulane was quicker. Before the man’s gun was out of its holster he was looking down the barrel of Tulane’s .44.
‘Now that wasn’t sensible,’ Tulane said. Out of the corner of his eye he detected a flicker of movement from one of the other two riders. ‘Don’t make any false moves,’ he said. ‘All of you; take your gunbelts off and throw them on the ground.’
With a glance at their leader, the other two began to unbuckle their belts. One of them threw his down but the second man suddenly reached for his gun. Tulane’s reaction was instant. As the weapon appeared in the man’s hand Tulane squeezed the trigger of his revolver. The man shouted in pain as the bullet tore into his hand and his gun went flying into the air.
‘The next one is for right between your eyes,’ Tulane said. He turned to Pocket. ‘Step down and collect those guns.’ The boy sprang from his horse and picked them up before remounting.
‘Well, that was all a bit unnecessary,’ Tulane remarked. ‘Like I said, we’re on our way to see Mr Rockwell. I suggest you accompany me to the Bar Nothing without any further ado.’
The three men glowered at Tulane and the boy. Pocket looked up at Tulane with a question in his eyes.
‘You better ride on back,’ Tulane said.
‘But I want to come with you.’
‘Yeah, but you can see how things are. I don’t think Miss Winona would thank me if I placed you in any more danger.’
‘But what about you, Mr Tulane?’
‘Don’t you go worryin’ about me. Just wait for me back at the Sumac. I’ll be along pretty soon.’ The boy’s face showed his disappointment. ‘Go on,’ Tulane said. ‘And when I get back, you can play me that tune on the banjo.’
The boy’s expression brightened. ‘OK,’ he mumbled. He hesitated for just a moment longer before turning his horse and riding away. When he glanced back over his shoulder, Tulane and the three horsemen had already moved on.
As they rode the leader of the Bar Nothing group gave Tulane a concentrated look from time to time. Tulane’s attention was fully occupied in watching for any tricks they might be tempted to pull but he was aware that he was the object of the man’s scrutiny. Eventually the man gave a loud laugh.
‘Hell, I knew I’d seen you before,’ he said. ‘Leastways, it ain’t so much you I recognize as the horse. That’s a mighty fine animal.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tulane replied.
‘Hell, ain’t you the hombre we found lying out on the range the other day with his head bust? I figured you were dead.’
Suddenly he had Tulane’s attention. ‘Go on,’ Tulane prompted.
‘Like I said, me and Walbrook found you. Looked to me like you’d been buffaloed.’
‘You were the ones who brought me in?’ Tulane said.
‘Yeah. Me and Walbrook. We left you with Skip Malloy. He’s the doc as well as the undertaker. So you weren’t dead after all. It must have been a close thing.’
Tulane was trying to assimilate the information. ‘So what else do you know about what happened to me?’ he said.
‘Nothin’ other than what I just told you.’
‘Now why would you do anythin’ to help me?’ Tulane said. ‘You don’t exactly strike me as the carin’ type.’
The man paused before replying. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Ain’t you Lonnie Spade? I figured it was a long shot, but Walbrook reckoned there was a good chance.’
Tulane was thinking fast. He had never heard of Lonnie Spade but he had an inkling that it might be to his advantage to play along with what the man had said and pretend to be Spade.
‘What made Walbrook think that?’
‘Well, ain’t you Spade? Isn’t that why you were headed for the Bar Nothing?’
The man had obviously either forgotten about Pocket or accounted for him in some way. The presence of the boy might prove hard to explain, but if the subject came up Tulane would think of some reason for having him along. Another thing puzzled him. Why had they been prepared for gunplay if they thought he was somebody Rockwell was expecting? But then it was only now that the Bar Nothing man had made the connection.
‘Just keep on ridin’,’ Tulane replied.
After Tulane had left with Pocket, the house suddenly felt surprisingly empty to Miss Winona. She busied herself washing up the dishes in the kitchen. She hadn’t quite finished when the doorframe was darkened as the figure of the stranger appeared behind her.
‘Mr Spade,’ she said. ‘You gave me a start. Is there anything I can do for you?’
The man grinned. ‘Now that just depends on what you’re offerin’,’ he said.
‘Have you finished your breakfast? I could make you some more coffee.’
‘It ain’t coffee I’m thinkin’ of.’ The man leered. He came forward and stood before her threateningly, barring the way back into the breakfast room. She felt a tingle of fear run down the back of her neck.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said, ‘I need to collect those breakfast things.’
The man’s mouth twisted in a sneer. She couldn’t help observing how black his teeth were. His breath was rancid.
‘Sure,’ he said, taking a sideways step. ‘I’ll give you a hand if you like.’
‘That’s all right, Mr Spade. I can manage.’
He hadn’t left her much room and she was forced to brush closely against him. She pushed past into the breakfast room but he was close behind her. She was conscious of his proximity as she bent over the table to collect his tray. As she did so he pressed up close to her and she suddenly felt the pressure of his hands on her breasts. She tried to break free but he only cupped them harder.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she managed to expostulate. She was very scared but struggled to maintain her self-possession. She half-turned to look into his twisted features. Suddenly he let out a hollow laugh before taking his hands away.
‘Don’t pretend you don’t like it,’ he said.
She had begun to shake and was trying to stay calm. ‘I want you to leave,’ she said.
‘I can’t do that. Besides, I ain’t even paid.’ He paused a moment. ‘I tell you what. Why don’t you and I go upstairs and settle accounts right now?’
‘Just go,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you in my house.’
‘Now that ain’t the way to treat a man who’s only tryin’ to be nice,’ he said.
For a moment they continued staring at one another; then, unexpectedly, he laughed again and began to move away. When he reached the door he stopped to glance back at her.
‘I ain’t finished my business here yet,’ he said.
Still sneering, he went through and she heard his boots clumping up the stairs. She sank into a chair and put her head in h
er hands. Now she was shaking uncontrollably. Biting her lip, she stood up, gathered the dishes and the crockery, and walked back into the kitchen.
Pocket was very reluctant to leave Tulane. He hadn’t gone far when he drew his horse to a halt. He looked back again but there was no sign of Tulane or the other riders. He was impressed with the way Tulane had dealt with the situation. He could certainly look after himself. After a little more thought he concluded that the best thing would be to do as Tulane had suggested. After all, what could he do in a difficulty? He trusted Tulane’s assurance that he would be back in due course. With the vestiges of a smile still lingering about his features, he tugged on the reins and continued riding in the direction of Water Pocket.
It was getting along towards the middle of the afternoon when he got back. He had intended making straight for the livery stable but instead he carried on to the Sumac where he dismounted before fastening his horse to a rail. He glanced up towards the house. There was nothing untoward that he could detect but nonetheless he had a feeling that something was not right. Then he saw that the front door was standing slightly ajar. With a growing sense of panic, he walked up to the house, mounted the porch steps and carried on inside.
‘Miss Winona!’ he shouted. ‘Are you all right?’
He paused for a moment, waiting for a reply. The back door was also open and through it he thought he heard the sound of footsteps. He ran to the doorway. At first his eyes could see nothing unusual but then he detected a flicker of movement and he had a glimpse of a figure in the bushes at the bottom of the garden. It quickly vanished from sight and he rushed back inside the house. He heard a low moan coming from somewhere on the top landing and dashed up the stairs. At the end of the passageway he saw the recumbent figure of Miss Winona. She was lying with her head partly propped against the wall. Her clothes were torn and blood was smeared on the wall behind. His heart pounding with fear, he ran to her and knelt down at her side.
‘Miss Winona,’ he stammered. ‘Miss Winona.’ He kept on repeating the name. He couldn’t think of what else to say or do, then her eyes flickered open and she spoke in a low whisper.
‘Pocket? Is that you?’
‘Yes, Miss Winona,’ he sobbed.
‘Now don’t upset yourself. I’m all right. But I need you to fetch help.’
He looked at her, his eyes brimming with tears. ‘You’re head is bleeding,’ he said.
‘Yes. It hit the wall. But I’ll be all right. Is Mr Tulane with you?’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘He sent me back.’
Her eyes closed again but she quickly reopened them. ‘Do as I say,’ she whispered. ‘Go and get some help.’ He hesitated, thinking of the shadowy figure he had seen, but she reassured him.
‘There was someone but you scared him off. He won’t come back. There’s no real harm done.’
‘But what happened?’ Pocket asked.
‘Don’t worry about that now. Go and get one of the neighbours or Mr Jordan at the livery stable.’ She attempted to encourage him with a smile and he got to his feet.
‘Don’t worry, Miss Winona. I’ll be right back,’ he said.
He made his way back down the stairs and outside. He kept running, passing several neighbouring houses, not sure where he was going, till he found himself at the livery stable. Jordan was grooming one of the horses and looked up in surprise as the boy came running through the door.
‘Hello, Pocket. What’s up with you?’
The boy could hardly get his words out. ‘Please,’ he stammered, ‘it’s Miss Winona.’
Pocket didn’t have to go into further details. Quickly, the ostler realized that something was wrong.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘Let’s get back to the Sumac.’
When they got there, Miss Winona had succeeded in propping herself further up against the wall and had made an attempt at drawing her ripped and shredded clothes about her.
‘Mr Jordan,’ she breathed, looking up at his approach, ‘thank goodness you’re here.’
The ostler quickly weighed up the situation. Bending down, he carefully took Miss Winona in his arms and carried her gently into the adjoining room where he laid her carefully on the bed.
‘Can you go downstairs and get some water?’ he said to Pocket. ‘And a towel.’
When the boy had left the room, he turned to Miss Winona.
‘Who did this?’ he said.
She shook her head as if by doing so she might erase the memory. Then through clenched teeth she replied: ‘It was the boarder. Mr Spade. But he didn’t get what he was after.’
The boy reappeared and Jordan began to bathe the blood from Miss Winona’s head. Trying his best to be discreet, he made a superficial estimate of the woman’s injuries but they didn’t appear to be as bad as he had at first feared. The main wound was a bad cut to the back of her skull which might have been caused by a bang against the wall. He noticed that her fingers were bloodied and his guess was that she had fought off her attacker and clawed him with her nails. When he had finished she looked a lot better.
‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘and you too, Pocket. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t showed up when you did. Just give me a bit of time and I’ll be fine.’
‘I could send for Malloy,’ Jordan suggested.
Miss Winona attempted a smile. ‘I don’t want any setbacks,’ she said. ‘Really, he couldn’t do anything more. No, like I say, once I’ve had a chance to rest I’ll be OK.’
‘Reckon you could do with a strong cup of coffee, though,’ Jordan offered.
‘Yes, that would be a fine thing.’
The ostler got to his feet. ‘Comin’ right up,’ he said.
Chapter Three
As Tulane and the three Bar Nothing men approached the ranch house, the door was flung open and the figure of Marsden Rockwell appeared on the veranda. He gave the approaching quartet a puzzled look, then his face creased in a broad grin.
‘Hey Walbrook!’ he shouted to someone inside, ‘Come and take a look at this.’
After a moment another man appeared on the veranda. He took in the scene and then burst into a laugh.
‘What happened to you, Folsom?’ he shouted.
The leader of the three Bar Nothing men scowled. He didn’t reply but contented himself with spitting on the ground. Tulane was conscious that the first man’s eyes were examining him. He guessed it was Marsden Rockwell. How much did Rockwell know about Lonnie Spade? He was still uncertain whether to pose as Spade or not. It all depended on whether Rockwell knew Spade. If, as he guessed, Spade was being taken on as a hired gun, it was more than likely that Marsden knew of him only by reputation. That was often the way of it in such cases. A gunman’s reputation was his calling card. Arriving at a decision, he acted on it.
‘Marsden Rockwell?’ he queried.
Rockwell looked up at him. Tulane met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘That’s my name,’ Rockwell replied. ‘Who’s asking?’
‘Lonnie Spade.’
Tulane swung his leg and dismounted. Before he could add anything further, the man Rockwell had addressed as Folsom spoke.
‘We found him and a boy trespassin’ on Bar Nothing range. He claims he’s got an appointment to see you.’
‘You didn’t do much of a job bringin’ him in. In fact, it looks like he brought you in.’
‘We were caught out. He got the drop on us.’
‘At least you admit it,’ Rockwell said.
‘I figure he’s the same hombre Walbrook and me found on the range a few days ago. Do you recognize him, Walbrook? Seems to me we made a mistake ever tryin’ to help him.’
Tulane observed Rockwell and Walbrook exchange glances. Folsom’s words had caused more than a ripple of interest.
‘Well, Mr Spade, now that you finally got here,’ Rockwell said, ‘I guess you’d better come on in and get acquainted.’ He gave a nod to Folsom who with his two companions led the horses, including Tulane’s mustang, in the direction of the
stable, before turning and going back inside.
Tulane followed Walbrook. When the door closed behind them, Rockwell indicated for Tulane to take his place on a leather sofa while Walbrook made his way to a cabinet at the rear of the room and poured three glasses. He handed one to Rockwell and another to Tulane before taking the third himself and sitting opposite Tulane.
‘Well, Mr Spade, what took you so long to get here? I’d been expecting you to arrive before now.’
‘I’d say that was pretty obvious,’ Tulane replied. ‘You just heard what happened to me.’
‘Oh yes.’ Rockwell turned to Walbrook. ‘Do you recognize this man?’ he asked.
Walbrook peered at Tulane. ‘Guess it could be him,’ he replied.
Rockwell seemed to consider his comment for a moment before directing his attention back to Tulane. ‘I’m not sure I understood Folsom correctly. Perhaps you’d better give me your account of what happened.’
‘I don’t know anythin’ more than you,’ Tulane replied. ‘Someone musta bushwhacked me. I got your boys to thank for findin’ me.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘I’m tryin’ to fit the pieces together myself.’
Rockwell glanced at Walbrook. ‘Do you reckon you can throw any light on the matter?’ he asked.
Walbrook shrugged. ‘I don’t know either, but I got my own suspicions.’
‘Yes? And what are they?’ Rockwell said.
‘You know same as me. The way I figure it, the Pitchfork L must be behind it. I reckon they got word somehow that Spade was headed this way and decided to stop him. They lay in wait but something must have gone wrong with their plans. Instead of killin’ Spade, they only injured him.’
‘How could that have happened?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe Spade fought back. Maybe somebody disturbed them and they decided to make their getaway. Coulda been me and Folsom; they coulda seen us comin’.’ Walbrook turned to Tulane. ‘Think hard,’ he said. ‘Can you not recall anythin’?’
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