“You can bet your bottom dollar,” Galloway said, “they’ll never get out of there tonight.”
The thing that worried us, suppose one of those sky pilots who had been out of town should return?
Only they didn’t.
Chapter 4
Galloway and me, we rode up to the hitch rail in front of the Lady Gay and stepped down from our saddles. We were hungry and tired, and it was coming on to storm. As we stood on the boardwalk sizing up the town, lightning flashed out over the prairie.
“Looks to be a gully-washer,” Galloway said. “I’ve been watching those clouds all the way in.”
“You go ahead. I’ll put up the horses.” I hesitated there a moment, then added, “You might look to see if Judith has switched her gear over to that room Fetchen got for her.”
The street was empty. I could hear boots on the walk down half a block or so, but could see nobody. The saloons were all lit up, going full blast, but there were few horses or rigs around because of the storm a-coming.
Leading both horses, I walked across the street and went on down to the livery stable. On the corner I held up for a moment, watching a tumbleweed rolling down the street and thinking of that Judith. Of all the contrary, ornery, freckle-faced … Trouble was, I missed her.
There was a lantern over the livery stable door, the flame sputtering in the wind. Nobody was around, so I led the horses back to their stalls and tied them, then went up a ladder into the loft and forked hay down to both of them. I was finishing off the last fork of hay when I thought I heard a step down below, a slow, careful step.
The loft where I was covered the whole top of the barn, and there were three ladders up to it – three that I’d seen, two on one side, one on the other. Come to think of it, there should be a fourth ladder, but if there was it must come down in an empty stall at the back of the barn where the liveryman hung spare bits of harness, tools, and suchlike.
All the time I was thinking of that, I was listening. Had somebody followed me in? Or was it some drunk hunting a place to sleep away from the storm? Or maybe somebody coming to get his horse?
The way those footsteps sounded made me think it was surely not one of the last two. My Winchester was down there beside my saddle and my slicker, waiting to be picked up before I went to the hotel. Likely that man down there had seen them and was just a-playing ‘possum, waiting for me to come down and pick them up. And whatever lead he could throw at me.
Now, some folks might think me a suspicious man, and they’d be right. Many’s the time I’ve suspected something when I was wrong; but there were other times I’d been right, and so I was still among the living.
Slipping the rawhide thong off the hammer of my six-shooter, I put that pitchfork down as easy as I could. Then I straightened up to listen. If he knew I was up here I’d best stir around a mite, or he’d be suspicious.
Many a cowpoke slept in a livery stable, and that was the idea I hoped to give him. What I figured on was getting him to come up that ladder, instead of him catching me coming down.
All the same, I started figuring. Seems to me a man can most usually take time to contemplate, and if he does it will save him a lot of riding and a lot of headaches.
Now, suppose I was down there and wanted to shoot a man on one of those ladders? Where would I take my stand so’s I could watch all three to once?
It didn’t leave much choice. Two ladders were on one side of the loft, opposite to him; the other ladder he knew of was on his side of the loft, up toward the front. If the man below wanted to keep all of them under cover, he had to be somewhere on the right side of the stable, toward the rear. If there was another ladder, which went up from that empty stall, one long unused, it would be behind the watcher.
If I made a try at coming down any one of the three ladders now, I’d be climbing down with my back to the gunman – if that was what he was.
The first thing I did was to sit down on some hay. I fluffed some of it around as if I was shaping a bed, and not being careful about noise; then I took off my boots and dropped them on the floor. After that I picked them up, tied them together with a piggin string, and slung them around my neck. Then, just as carefully as I could, I stood up in my sock feet. The floor was solid and not likely to squeak, so I eased across, soundlessly as I was able. And I waited.
There was not a sound from below. Near me was a bin full of corn, unshelled corn waiting to be fed to some of the local horses. I tossed an ear of that corn over to where I had taken off my boots, and it hit the boards near the hay. I hoped he would believe I’d dropped something, or something had slipped from my pockets. Then I eased along the side of the loft till I was over that empty stall. Sure enough, there was an opening there, with a ladder leading down.
It was well back in the stall and in a dark corner.
The chances were that few of the stable’s customers had any idea that this ladder was there.
Crouching by the opening, I listened, but heard no sound. I drew my Colt and carefully lowered my head until I could see into the lower level … Nothing.
Swinging my feet down, my Colt gripped in my right hand, I felt for the first rung of the ladder, found it, and then the second. Lowering myself down, clinging to the ladder, I searched for him but could see nothing. I came down a step further, and heard a shout.
“Got you, damn it!” A gun blasted not over thirty feet away. The bullet smashed into the frame of the ladder, stabbing my face with splinters, and I fired in return, my bullet going slightly above and left of the flash. I realized even as I fired that my shot was too high, and I triggered a second shot lower down.
At the same instant I let go and dropped, landing on the balls of my feet, but I tumbled forward with a crash of harness and a breaking chair; and then came the bellow of a gun, almost within inches of me. Rolling over, I fired again.
Outside I heard a shout, heard running feet, and I sprang up. Down the far side of the stalls near the horses a man was staggering. He was bent far over, clutching at his stomach, and even as I saw him he stumbled forward and fell on his face.
The running feet were coming nearer.
Ducking out the back door of the barn, I slid between the corral bars and, still in my sock feet, ran lightly along the area back of the buildings until I was close to the hotel. I paused for just a moment and got my boots on, and then I went up the back stairs of the hotel, and along the hall.
Several heads appeared from doorways, and one of them was Judith’s. She saw me, and for a moment I thought I saw relief on her face. “Flagan, what is it? What’s happened?” she asked.
“Some drunken cowhand,” I said. “You’ve got to expect that in Dodge.”
She still stood there in the door of her room. She was fully dressed, although it was very late. “I will be married tomorrow,” she said, almost tentatively.
“I wish you luck.”
“You don’t really mean that.”
“No, ma’am, I don’t. I think you’re doing the wrong thing, and I know it isn’t what your grandpa wanted … nor your pa, either, I’m thinking.”
“Mr. Fetchen is a fine man. You’ll see.”
We heard voices from down below, and then boots on the stairs. Colby Rafin was suddenly there, Black Fetchen behind him, with Norton Vance and Burr Fetchen coming up in the rear.
“There he is!” Colby yelled.
He grabbed for his gun, but I had him covered. Back in Tennessee those boys never had to work at a fast draw, and the way that gun came into my hand stopped them cold.
“I don’t know what you boys are looking for,” I said, “but I don’t like being crowded.”