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<h2>XVII</h2> Persia Parker sat in her usual place at the head of the council table and listened demurely while Sam Lester outlined a plan for the town to issue scrip. She didn't know if the plan had originated with him or with Mr. Jay. She didn't thoroughly understand it, but Sam had assured her that there would be considerable advantage in it, if it was done right. When Sam had finished speaking, she turned the meeting over to him and left the room. This had been agreed on beforehand—there seemed to be certain hidden profits in the plan that were best discussed in her absence. She walked along the long hall and entered her parlor, halting in surprise as a man rose slowly from the sofa. He was stocky, brute-faced, and wore a pointed blond mustache and several days growth of pale stubble. He was dirty and looked exhausted. There was a large dark stain on his jeans—a bloodstain. She felt a little stab of panic. "There's a meeting in there," he said, gesturing with his hat toward the other part of the building. "The door was open and I couldn't get past to Lester's rooms, so I come in here." She recognized him now as one of the pair who had hidden in Sam's rooms a few days ago. She had taken food up to them. "I got a bullet scratch on my leg," he said. "It wouldn't amount to nothing if it had been took care of, but I been on the run three days. It's got to be dressed. I got to have some food." He sank down heavily. A blood-stained bandage showed through a tear in the faded cloth of his jeans. He would get the sofa dirty, she thought, and she frowned her annoyance. "I'll go back to the meeting and close the door so you can get up to Sam's quarters," she said. "My horse has got to be took care of. He's out back." "Tell Sam about it." She turned back toward the hall. "It's got to be done quick. I got two men on my tail." "Two men?" "I take one to be a Injun, the other Vickers' troublebuster." <hr class="tb" /> Whisky Willie reached Tunneltown shortly after dark. He left his horse at the livery, unhooked the handcuffs from his saddle and walked stiffly to the marshal's office. Madrid was at his desk behind an oil can and a mound of rags, cleaning his revolver. He leaped to his feet as Willie walked in and dumped the handcuffs on the desk. "I told you, cowboy," Madrid said, swallowing his amazement. "I warned you." "This is a c-c-county badge I'm wearing," Willie said. Madrid gaped at the badge. "What the hell are you trying to pull?" Willie drew the stack of papers from his hip pocket, selected one and slapped it on the desk. "That's the document that goes with the badge, Marshal. You better read it. The sheriff of Kittitas County requests that you give me the use of your jail and your c-co-operation." Madrid made a shaky try at seeming amused. "You really pulled this off, kid?" "You know what c-co-operation means? It means you try to interfere j-just once and I'll jail you like T-Tesno did." Madrid slid shells into his revolver and dropped it into his holster. Grabbing his hat from a peg in the wall, he left the office without another word. Willie watched him from the doorway till he entered the hotel, then followed. When Willie entered the lobby, it was empty except for the clerk, who was sorting mail. "Where d-did the m-marshal go?" Willie demanded. "I thought you got f-f-fired," the clerk said insolently. Willie picked up an inkwell and smashed it on the floor at the clerk's feet. The clerk opened his mouth in outrage, but he saw Willie's hard little black eyes and said nothing at all. "I asked a q-qu-question," Willie said. "I want a b-better answer." "Third floor, I guess. That's where he usually goes." "Who's on the th-third floor?" The clerk consulted a chart. "Jackson, Dockeray, Smith, Jay, Lewis, Mann, Parce, Oliver...." "Who's permanent?" "Mr. Jay keeps his rooms on a monthly basis. He's the only one on that floor who does." "Th-thanks." Willie marched out of the hotel and made straight for the Pink Lady. Pinky Bronklin, who was working the far end of the bar, called loudly to the barkeep who stepped up to serve Willie. "Tell him we don't serve Injuns!" "You an Injun?" the barkeep said and immediately moved away. Feeling the eyes of the crowd center on him, Willie pushed away from the bar and walked down to where Pinky was. "Get the hell out of my place," Pinky said. "T-take a good l-look at my badge," Willie said. "You're t-talking to a county deputy." Pinky scowled at the badge. His eyes lifted to Willie's face. He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and abruptly turned his back. Willie moved up the bar, pulled the wad of papers from his pocket, and threw one of these on the bar with a slap that brought Pinky around. "The Pink Lady is closed as of right now!" Willie proclaimed. "Everybody out!" Pinky unfolded the paper and dropped it like something hot. He motioned to the barkeep nearest the door. "Get Madrid here! Quick!" "B-bring Mr. Jay with him," Willie said. Pinky gave Willie a sick, sagging stare. Willie began to herd customers into the street. Two minutes later the place was empty except for Pinky, one barkeep, and the dealers. Willie waited while Pinky checked in the cash and stowed it into the safe. Then he dismissed everybody except Pinky. "J-jail for you t-tonight. T-tomorrow I'm taking you to Ellensburg." He marched the saloonkeeper into the marshal's office, finding that Madrid hadn't returned. He locked him into the cell, pocketed the key, and returned to the street. A weariness rose in him now. The worst was over, he guessed. In the morning, he would take Vickers' doctor to the Pink Lady and they would search it for knockout drops.... Something moved against the dark wall ahead of him. He stopped stark still. A man stepped out of the shadows, staggering a little. Willie brushed past, smelling whisky; then he whirled in surprise at hearing himself addressed in the Yakima tongue. "It is Silverknife, the grandson of my mother's brother." Willie peered closely at the dark face. He, too, spoke in Yakima, stuttering not nearly so badly as he did in English. "It is Red Iron of the Kilickitats. He sees better in the darkness than I, even when he is drunk." Muckamuck Charlie touched Willie's badge admiringly. "It seems you have become a tyee among the white men. But then you have their blood." "What are you doing here?" Willie asked. "I am to be given chikamin for watching a man...." Willie listened tensely while Charlie explained about being hired by Tesno, their pursuit of Palma, and his coming alone to Tunneltown. Charlie had taken it upon himself to examine the hoofs of all the horses in the livery barn, and he had found the animal whose shoe marks he had been following for three days. So Palma was here, and Charlie had been watching the street for him. He had discovered a place where an Indian could buy whisky, so he had been able to keep his stomach warm while he watched. "Did you ask the man at the livery about the horse?" Willie said. "It was not brought in by Palma but by a tyee of the town who lives in the big house with two doors. The one called Sam Lester. You got whisky?" Willie took him to a restaurant and bought him a meal, tapping his badge when the waitress protested about serving Indians. Charley said he would sleep in the livery barn, where he could keep an eye on the horse. Reluctantly, Willie lent him a dollar for a stomach-warmer. Willie went to his room and crawled into his sagging cot. He sank almost at once into thick slumber. The door to his room was without a lock, and he did not hear it open. Nor was he disturbed by the dark, cat-careful figure that stole about the room. When he woke at daylight, his badge was missing—along with his precious stack of court papers. He went at once to the marshal's office and found it deserted. The cell door stood open. Its padlock—picked or forced—lay on the floor. Pinky Bronklin was gone. Willie sank down at the desk, feeling foolish. Without evidence of authority, he was nothing. Pinky Bronklin would laugh in his face. If he rode back to Ellensburg and reported what had happened, they were likely to laugh at him there, too. He asked himself what Tesno would do. Damn it, he would go ahead anyway. He never did have authority. When Willie returned to the street, the town was coming to life. Stores and saloons were opening. Workers from the night shift trudged the boardwalk, hunched against the early chill. The big door behind the Pink Lady's batwings had been swung wide.... Willie found Ben Vickers at the cookhouse, bent over a stack of flapjacks. Ben listened eager-eyed as Willie outlined a plan. Ten minutes later Willie entered the supply building and handed the clerk a note signed by Ben. The clerk issued one stick of dynamite, one cap, one fuse. Willie fitted on the cap and fuse, shoved the dynamite into a hip pocket and walked back to town. There were two customers at the Pink Lady bar. One faro game was going with three players at the table. Pinky Bronklin sat nearby and sipped coffee. "We don't serve Injuns!" he called when he saw Willie. Willie stepped up to the bar. "I want a cigar," he said. He faced Pinky. "Two more charges against you. J-jailbreaking. Failure to obey a c-c-closing order." "You b-been warned," he said. Customers, faro dealer, and barkeep plunged for the door, colliding as they reached it, careening into the street. Pinky Bronklin seemed petrified. When he managed to speak, he stuttered worse than Willie. "Y-you c-can't b-bluff me," Pinky said. "Who's b-bluffing?" Willie said. He touched the cigar to the fuse, which began to sputter merrily. He gave the stick of dynamite another flip in the air as Pinky tore for the batwings with hands straight out in front of him and hit the street screaming for Madrid. Willie waited till the fuse had burned down a bit; then he laid the dynamite on the bar and strolled through the door. A crowd was gathering a little way down the street. Pinky had almost reached the marshal's office and was gesturing wildly to Madrid, who was coming out of it. They both started toward the Pink Lady at a trot. Willie met Pinky head on and spun him around. "B-back to that cell," Willie said. "This t-time, I'm going to handcuff you to the b-bunk." The roar shook the town. Afterward, there was a lingering tinkle of falling glass. Kind of like music, Willie thought. <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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