“I’m fine. Now go home, and take them others with you.”
After the mutterings of his would-be rescuers faded into silence, Kelly turned in the doorway and looked at Clayton.
“Did you think that was fast, Mr. Clayton?” he said.
“I’ve never seen faster,” Clayton said.
“Hell, and I wasn’t even half trying,” Kelly said.
Chapter 5
Cage Clayton woke after an hour of restless sleep.
Kelly was gone and Hinton had locked himself in his office, making a point of slamming the bolt home so Clayton would hear it.
Clayton glanced at his watch. It was two thirty, the dead of night. He rose, dusted straw off his pants, and stepped to the livery door. The town was quiet, sleeping under a lilac sky aflame with stars. The air smelled of pine, carried on the wind off the Sans Bois Mountains a few miles to the south, and to the north, out on the prairie, night birds called into darkness.
Clayton walked a few yards away from the barn and looked down the shadowed street. Somewhere out there was a man who would try to kill him. Not tonight, but maybe the day after or the day after that.
He lit a cigarette. He knew that if he stepped out of line, Nook Kelly would gun him. But where was that line?
Only the marshal knew, and he wasn’t telling, at least not yet.
Kelly told Hinton he was bored, wanted to see what would happen. But when it did happen . . . what then?
Clayton might have to kill a man Kelly didn’t want dead. The little gun exhibition he’d given tonight wasn’t really directed at Hinton. It was a warning to Clayton: Cross me and I’ll kill you.
The rancher’s cigarette had gone out. He lit it again, the match flame reflecting orange on the lean planes of his face. Clayton had no crystal ball. He couldn’t predict the future. But one thing he did know—he could never match Nook Kelly’s skill with a gun. Not in this lifetime or in any other.
He ground out the cigarette butt under the sole of his boot and shook his head. All he could do now was take things as they came. There was no use building barriers on a bridge he hadn’t even crossed yet.
Yet, as Clayton lay again on his uncomfortable bed of straw and sacking, a man was already plotting his death.
He didn’t know it then. But he would know it soon.
Chapter 6
“He’s here. The man you said would come.”
Two figures were silhouetted in the dark room. One on his feet, one sitting up in bed.
“Bounty hunter?” the man in the bed said. His voice was the weak whisper of a man who found it hard to breathe.
“Rancher. Or so he says.”
“How do you know?”
“Egan Jones, the ferryman. Rode into town on a lathered mule, maybe an hour ago, to spread the news. Kelly told him he already knew, so Jones came here, figured you’d want to hear it.”
“He did right. But he knows too much, that damned ferryman, or guesses too much.”
“You want me to get rid of him permanent?”
“No, not yet. Give him ten dollars and tell him to keep his big mouth shut.”
“Sure.”
“What’s this man’s name?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t give Jones his handle. Said he was from up Abilene way, though.”
“Then this has got to be the work of that Kansas farmer, damn him to hellfire and perdition. How can a man nurse a hate for twenty-five years?”
The man in the bed grabbed a bottle from the table beside him and rattled two pills into his hand. His tall companion poured him water and watched as the sick man palmed the pills into his mouth.
He lay back on the pillow, his voice even weaker now. “You’ll get rid of him?”
“Of course.”
“I want it done quickly and quietly. Oh, and let the Fat Man know you’re taking care of the situation. One other thing: Make it look good for Kelly. I don’t want him on the prod.”
“I got rid of the Pinkertons. You hear anybody complain, Kelly included?”
“No, you did well and helped me repay a favor.”
The sick man on the bed raised a white hand with blue veins. “Lee mustn’t know about this. I want her kept well out of it.”
“She never found out about the Pinkertons.”
“No, she didn’t. So do the same with this stranger from Abilene.”
“A good thing Lee doesn’t know about our other . . . enterprise. I hope no one ever feels the need to tell her.”
“Who would tell her?”
“I might, if it was to my advantage.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Old man, push me hard enough and I’ll dare.”
A silence stretched between the two men; then the tall man said, “I still want her.”
“I’ll see you in hell first,” the man in the bed said.
“One day, when I’m ready, I’ll take her.”
“She wants nothing to do with you. She set her sights higher than Texas gun trash when she married me.”
“I can make her change her mind.”
The bed creaked as the older man leaned forward, peering into the gloom. “Touch my wife and I’ll kill you.”
The tall man moved to the door and looked back. “You’ll kill nobody, you damned cripple. Just remember, I can wring your scrawny neck like a chicken anytime I feel like it, or spill the beans to Kelly and have him do it with a rope.”
“And you’ll swing with me.”
The tall man smiled, his teeth a white gleam in the darkness. “It might be worth it to see you dangle at the end of a rope.”
A sudden fear gripped the man in the bed. Best to play for time. Pretend a small surrender. “We’ll talk. Kill the man from Abilene and then we’ll talk.”
“Damn right we’ll talk. When I want a woman I take her and I won’t let her husband or her daddy or the Devil himself stand in my way.”
The right hand of the man on the bed rested on the walnut butt of a Colt. And for an instant he tensed, ready.
But the moment came and went.
He couldn’t kill this man. He needed him too badly.
After the man from Abilene was dead . . . well, there would be time enough.
“Don’t fail me,” he said.
“Have I ever failed you before?”
The tall man slammed the door behind him.
Chapter 7
A slamming door woke Cage Clayton. Benny Hinton stood over him, grinning.
“Figured that would wake you up.”
“You always slam doors so loud?”
“Only when I want to wake fellers I don’t like to see sleeping in my barn.”
Clayton rose to his feet and stretched, working the kinks out of his back. He took time to build and light a smoke, then said, “Is there a place where I can get breakfast?”
“Sure. Mom’s Kitchen and Pie Shop, just down the street a ways.”
“Is that all she sells, damned pies?” Clayton was in a sour mood and his back and hips ached.
“No, Mom will cook you up a good breakfast, steak and taters, if you can pay for it.”
“I’m buying Mr. Clayton breakfast this morning.”
Nook Kelly stood at the barn door. He was freshly shaved, his dragoon mustache trimmed, his clothes clean and pressed.
To Clayton’s disgust the lawman looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as though he’d spent the last ten hours sound asleep in a feather bed.
“You ready?” Kelly said, smiling.
“Give me a minute,” Clayton said. “I ain’t hardly awake yet.”
He washed his face and hands in the horse trough and used his bandanna to dry off. He settled his new hat on his head, then ran a forefinger under his mustache. “Now I’m ready,” he said.
“And you’re surely a joy to behold,” Kelly said.