by Adam Brady
Halliday blew out a loud breath and said, “He sure does have a bee in his bonnet, Finch. Best watch him.”
Instead of answering, Rogan threw his drink down in one gulp and busied himself with refilling the glass from the bottle on the counter.
Halliday watched this performance in silence, and then he said;
“What’s this feller’s name you keep talkin’ about, Finch?”
Rogan shook his head.
“Would it be Harp McPhee?”
Rogan dropped his gaze and failed to respond.
“Figured as much. Seems you’ve been swallowed up by a bigger fish.”
Rogan swung to angrily confront him.
“What the hell are you talking about, Buck? What the blazes do you know about this, anyway?”
Halliday told him what he had seen on the railroad siding on his way into town. When he described how Tom Mahoney had refused McPhee’s five dollars a head and taken his herd home to die, Rogan thumped his fist despairingly on the counter.
“Dammitall,” he said hoarsely, “you’re right. I was a gullible little fish and that bastard has swallowed me up, and everybody else in the county with me! The money he put into the bank was the bait that did it. Everybody borrowed, and now McPhee owns the lot.”
“And I guess it’s all legal?” Halliday asked softly.
Rogan went to move away, but Halliday put his hand out to restrain him.
“Sit still and think it out, Finch,” he advised.
Rogan shook his hand away, saying, “I can’t. I’ve got to do something!”
“Like what?”
“Like finding McPhee and wringing his goddamn neck for him.”
“That’s just what he’d be expectin’ you to do,” Halliday said. “You don’t have to give him everything he wants. He’s got enough already. I’ll hang around and you just go about your business, same as usual, and wait for McPhee to make his play. Leonard’s gonna fight him, and so is Tom Mahoney. There’ll be others who’ll back them.”
“Lord knows what good it’ll do them,” Rogan said sourly.
From the corner of his eye, Halliday saw Rudder return to the saloon, smiling faintly to himself.
Halliday understood now that the gunman was the walking, talking proof of McPhee’s business acumen. The wheeler-dealer had planned everything to the last detail, right down to hiring Rudder for the time when people began to suspect just who was behind all their troubles.
“Somethin’ will turn up, Finch,” Halliday said quietly. “In the meantime, why don’t you get outta here and go see that pretty girl of yours? From what I saw of her, she has what it takes to make a man forget his troubles.”
“She’s a fine woman, Buck,” Rogan said stiffly.
“Nobody said otherwise, Finch,” Halliday said calmly. “That’s why you’ll be better off spending a few hours with her instead of tryin’ to drown your troubles here. Who knows? Somethin’ might turn up in the morning. Worries always seem easier to handle in the daylight, I’ve noticed.”
Rogan finished his drink and suddenly lifted his head, a hopeful gleam appearing in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said, slapping his palm down on the counter. “Melissa! Why didn’t I think of it before?”
“She got money?” Halliday asked.
It seemed unlikely that a lawman’s daughter would have the kind of money to measure up to Harp McPhee.
“I made some investments for her, and they paid off well,” Rogan said. “Hell, I made plenty for her in the beginning, and she’s no spendthrift. There might be enough to help Tom Mahoney, anyway. That will be a start. Then we can look for ways to prop up the others, maybe even Jeff Leonard.”
Rogan grinned and extended his hand.
“I knew you’d be a help to me, Buck, but I never figured you’d be givin’ me financial advice. Thanks, pard.”
Rogan was heading briskly for the door when the batwings swung inward and a tall, prosperous-looking man stepped into the room. He stood there for a moment, surveying the saloon as though he owned it.
Halliday knew without asking that this could only be Harp McPhee. He turned his back to the bar and leaned on his elbows, content to wait to see what would develop.
The batwings swung in again and old Tom Mahoney marched in with his worn-down boot heels thumping the floor at every step.
“McPhee!” Mahoney grated. “Did you really think I’d go for that deal of yours? I’d run the whole damn herd off a cliff before I’d see you profit from the hard times that’s hit this county!”
“Business is business,” McPhee said over his shoulder.
Mahoney followed him into the saloon, but suddenly Rudder was there, grabbing the tough old man by the shoulder and pulling him away.
“Mr. McPhee don’t like to be bothered,” the gunman said. “You better get a hold of yourself, mister.”
Mahoney rocked back on his heels, his face going scarlet with rage. It was clear that he was intending to go for Rudder, but Finch Rogan got to him first and restrained him.
“Hold on, Tom,” the banker said quickly. “Tell me just how much is owin’ on your place and what the due date is ...”
Mahoney glared at him resentfully.
“You oughta know that, Rogan! You was the one that sucked me into the deal and—”
“Tom!” Rogan snapped. “You’re not the only man around here that’s in debt, you know. I don’t carry around all those facts and figures in my head. Just stop snapping and snarling for a minute and tell me what I’m asking.”
McPhee had moved away from the two and was standing beside Rudder now. His stare was fixed on Rogan, and his expression had changed from smug satisfaction to annoyance.
The usual saloon uproar of clinking glasses and competing conversations had died away to an enthralled silence.
Cowhands, cattlemen, farmers and townsmen all strained to hear the old rancher’s answer.
“A thousand damn dollars, and it’s due on the day after tomorrow.”
Rogan smiled at him.
“Then you can quit worrying, Tom,” he said. “You’ll get your money, at normal rates of interest with any extensions you need, too. Come to the bank first thing in the morning.”
Mahoney’s jaw dropped.
“I hope you ain’t kiddin’ me,” he said slowly.
“When did you ever know a banker to make jokes about money?” Rogan said with a grin. “I’ve got things to do now, so I’ll leave you to it. Come and see me in the morning.”
Mahoney seemed to be rooted to the spot. He had the look of a man who wanted to have hope but could not quite bring himself to risk it. Then he spotted Buck Halliday, and Halliday jerked his chin as an invitation to join him.
McPhee and his gunman had stepped away from the crowd now and seemed to be deep in serious conversation. Finally, McPhee nodded and went back to the door without ever taking a drink. Rudder ambled over to a card game and watched without much interest as the gamblers played a couple of hands. At least to Halliday, it was clear that the gunman had other things on his mind.
“Hey, Tom,” Halliday said. “You look like a man who could use a drink ...”
Four – A Woman Makes Her Move
Tom Mahoney was finishing his drink and grinning at Buck Halliday when gunfire cut through the late-night quiet of the street, sending the saloon crowd into shocked silence.
Halliday turned casually to scan the bunch in the saloon.
Rudder was still there, and he gave Halliday a mocking grin when their eyes met and locked.
“Got to see about this, Tom,” Halliday said, and went for the street at a run.
He was just in time to see Finch Rogan staggering toward the bank. The banker almost made it to the steps, but then his legs buckled and he was falling to the ground.
Halliday was the first to reach him, only a few seconds before Sheriff Luther Hahn came running.
“Where are you hit?” Halliday asked, but then he saw the answer for himself.
<
br /> Blood was already soaking through Rogan’s jacket, just below the shoulder.
“Dammit!” Rogan whispered. “It ain’t the first time, but I still purely hate getting shot.”
“Know what you mean,” Halliday agreed, and then the sheriff was puffing and blowing beside them.
“Not you again, Halliday?” Hahn snarled.
“Don’t you think it’s more important to get this man out of the street?” Halliday snapped back at him. “Come on, give me a hand.”
Silently, the two men helped Rogan to his feet.
All the while, Halliday’s eyes were sweeping the street, first at ground level and then along the rooftops.
The only sign of life came from the saloon as the patrons crowded cautiously out onto the boardwalk.
Rogan was swaying on his feet now, but when the sheriff reached out to steady him, the banker pushed him away.
“All right then,” Hahn said, “tell me who did it.”
“How the hell would I know?” Rogan said weakly. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s dark out here!”
“Don’t snap at me!” Hahn said with rising anger. “It ain’t my fault you stopped a bullet. And I only asked you a simple question.”
“Well, I don’t have a simple answer,” Rogan snarled, “but there’s one thing I can tell you. It wasn’t anybody that owes money to the bank, so don’t waste your time thinking it was. Try looking somewhere close to Harp McPhee.”
“Judas!” Hahn breathed. “Do you know what you’re sayin’?”
“You asked me, and I’m tellin’ you,” Rogan whispered.
“Well, you better think twice about—”
“Leave him be, Sheriff,” Halliday said. “The man’s been shot, after all.”
“That don’t give him the right to accuse somebody when he doesn’t have the proof. Why—”
Rogan began to go limp in Halliday’s grip, but Halliday held him upright.
Ignoring the lawman as though he were no longer there, Halliday said;
“You’re gonna have to tell me where to find the doctor, Finch.”
They left the sheriff standing there as they moved haltingly along the boardwalk with Halliday following Rogan’s directions.
When Rogan was lying on the table in the doctor’s office, Halliday touched his arm and said;
“Now you just take it easy and don’t move. This is as good a place as any to spend the night.”
Rogan opened his eyes and winced as the doctor cut away the bloodied coat and shirt to inspect the wound.
When the medic stepped away from the table, Halliday went with him, and the doctor muttered;
“Likely chipped a bone, but the bullet went straight through. He won’t be laid up for long, but it’s going to take time to get that arm working right again.”
“Can you keep him here for the night?” Halliday asked.
“I could, but I don’t see that it’s necessary.”
“Buck?” Rogan was calling from the table. “Go tell Melissa I’m all right but that I have to see her tonight. Tell her I’ll come as soon as I can ...”
“Just let the doctor do his job,” Halliday said as he stepped outside.
Hahn was waiting for him, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.
“So?” the lawman asked when he straightened.
“He’ll live, Sheriff. So where can I find your daughter this time of night?”
“I can’t see why she has to be disturbed in the middle of the night over this,” Hahn argued.
“Just tell me where she is.”
Hahn gave Halliday a stern look, but he said;
“You just steer clear of my girl. There’s been nothin’ but trouble ever since you set foot in this town, and I sure don’t want you dumpin’ it on her doorstep. I never liked the idea of Rogan hangin’ around her, and I figure Melissa is now beginnin’ to wake up to herself. Stay away from her, Halliday, and don’t forget that I want you outta town by mornin’.”
Halliday let out a long, gusty sigh. He could see that with Rogan laid up and Rudder riding high, there was nothing to be gained by ruffling the sheriff’s feathers anymore than necessary.
“I don’t expect there’ll be trouble from now on,” he said reasonably. “It could be that you’ll finish up with a real nice town again before long.”
He could feel the sheriff’s angry stare burning holes in his back as he walked away, but his mind was on other things, all of them to do with the shady Harp McPhee. They included McPhee’s interference in the sale of Mahoney’s cattle, McPhee putting the squeeze on Rogan’s bank, McPhee putting a gunman like Rudder on his payroll ...
They all added up to an unpleasant smell hanging heavy over what apparently had been a quiet town with a bright future.
Like a chess player deciding on his next move, Halliday was turning over the possible ways that he might be able to help Finch Rogan. The banker had been as good a friend as a man could ever hope to have, and now he was downhearted.
He passed the saloon on the opposite side of the street and headed for the edge of town. The street was briefly busy again with cowhands galloping back to their distant ranches and bunkhouses, and towners wondering how to slip in the door without waking their wives. By the time Halliday reached the spot where the street played out in a network of ruts and dried-out potholes, Redemption was settling down for a last few hours of sleep before the coming of a new day.
He smoked one last cigarette and started back, thinking mainly of how it would feel to lie down in a real bed for a change.
He was stepping back onto the boardwalk when he saw Melissa Hahn emerge from an office not more than twenty yards ahead of him.
Halliday slipped into the shadow thrown by an awning and stood still. He saw the woman turn back to the doorway and lean forward on tiptoe. A black-coated arm caught her by the waist, and it appeared that she was lifting her face to be kissed. Then a deep voice drifted out of the building, saying;
“Hell, can’t you two wait? Well, girl, go and do what you have to.”
From the way she straightened, it appeared that Melissa was annoyed by the remark, but she stepped out of the embrace and for the first time, Halliday saw that Melissa had been in the arms of Wes Rudder, McPhee’s hired gun.
“He’s right,” Rudder was saying. “Just a couple more days, and then we can please ourselves ...”
Melissa seemed to accept what was said, and she started off at once with the quick, no-nonsense walk of a woman out late and on her own.
Halliday trailed along behind her until he saw her turn in at a big, plain building with the paint peeling on the wide-boarded siding. The simple sign mounted on a fence post in the front yard told all there was to know;
ROOMS
He stepped quietly onto the front porch and watched through the half-glass door. It appeared that she had asked the night clerk for writing implements. The man yawned and handed her a slip of paper and a pen. Melissa jotted something down on the paper, folded it neatly and returned it to the man with a smile.
Halliday waited until she had gone upstairs before he opened the door and stepped inside.
“Help you, stranger?” the night clerk asked.
“A room for the night,” Halliday told him.
“Two dollars, payable in advance. You like to sign the book?”
“Might as well,” Halliday told him, and the man turned the register around and held out the pen.
It was still warm from Melissa’s hand.
Halliday scribbled his name and laid the pen and two silver dollars on the counter. The clerk handed him a key and Halliday was halfway to the stairs when the night man called him back.
“Wait a minute, mister,” he said. “I just saw your name in the book. You’re Halliday, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, I’ll be doggoned,” he was saying as he fished Melissa’s note out of his vest pocket. “You only just missed each other. Miss Melissa left this message for you.”
Halliday’s eyebrows rose as he read the note.
“Not bad news, I hope?” the night clerk said with hearty exuberance.
“Depends on how you look at it,” Halliday said vaguely as he headed for the stairs again.
Melissa’s note said she was in Room 7 and would like to see him if he came in. His own was Room 11, at the far end of the corridor. Halliday passed her room and saw lamplight shining under her door.
He went past and let himself into his room, softly closing the door behind him. When he had lit the lamp, he sat on the bed and read Melissa’s note again.
Melissa Hahn ... the sheriff’s daughter and Finch Rogan’s fiancée, but apparently tied in with McPhee somehow and mighty friendly with Harp McPhee’s hired gun.
Halliday decided that for the first time since he hit town, luck might be starting to turn his way. If he had not been in just the right place at the right time, he would not have seen the woman with Rudder. It appeared that Melissa did not know she had been seen on the street. It also seemed that she was not overly concerned about her injured fiancé or her lawdog father.
He washed his torso in the china basin on the washstand and dried his face on a towel that had seen better days. Then he built himself a cigarette and smoked it down.
“Okay, Miss Melissa,” he said softly to himself, “let’s find out what you’re up to ...”
When he was in the hallway, he locked the door and left the key on the dusty sill.
Melissa opened the door almost as soon as he reached it, studying him curiously and smiling. Then she stepped back and said;
“Come in, Mr. Halliday.”
She slid the bolt across the door as he stepped past her. Halliday noticed that her hair was freshly brushed and it seemed that she had just applied some perfume that smelled of fresh flowers.
He crossed to the window and looked down on a town that now seemed so peaceful that it was hard to believe any trouble could ever disturb it.
“I’m glad you could come, Mr. Halliday,” she said. “I’m just so terribly worried.”
“Worried?” Halliday asked, turning to look at her.