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High Hander

<h2>XXII</h2> Late in morning the town began to fill up. By eleven-thirty the saloons were doing a jumping, three-deep-at-the-bar business. Extra bartenders, armed and on hand as guards, were pressed into service. Gambling tables that usually didn't open till evening were solidly ringed with players and kibitzers. Other men stood in little groups out of the flow of traffic, talking softly or just waiting. Sid Saul, owner and operator of the Silver Slipper, remarked cynically that he wished some bull-ragging troublebuster would threaten a shut-down every day. But even as he said it, he dabbed at his bald head with a handkerchief and kept his big, vacant, puppy-dog eyes on the door. Over the next half hour it came to Sid gradually that something more than curiosity was responsible for this crowd. First, he overheard some of the talk and gathered that Ben Vickers had given the whole crew several hours off and had meted out fifty cents apiece drinking money to boot. Second, he realized with a shock that this was not a drunken crowd; the hum of steady talk was not punctuated by song, raucus laughter, or quarreling. Third, by the time Sid's big gold watch told him it was four minutes till noon, the jam had swollen beyond reason. Men stood almost solid from wall to wall, and Sid could scarcely see the door. He tossed his sweat-soaked handkerchief into a cuspidor and took a place behind the bar. "Where's Madrid?" he demanded. "He ought to be down here. Eddie, go find Madrid." Sid served no drinks. He just stood with one hand on the bar and the other within reaching distance of a sawed-off shotgun stashed under it. Except for a quick glance at his watch every minute or so, he kept his eyes on the door. "Where's Madrid?" he demanded again at one minute to twelve. "Where's Eddie?" The batwings eased open, but it was only another knot of workmen crowding in. They shoved up to the bar directly in front of Sid. They were all big men, and he couldn't see the door at all now without moving out of reach of the gun. It was noon by his watch, a minute after. His fingers touched the stock of the shotgun. He craned his neck and found himself looking into the grinning Irish face of Keef O'Hara. "Take care with that trigger finger, lad," O'Hara said. "Blast one of these terriers, accidental or not, and the rest will decorate a rope with you." The truth of this struck Sid like a blow, and he took his hand off the gun. He knew now that he wasn't going to use it. You couldn't shoot anybody in this mob, terrier or troublebuster, and hope to live. The crowd was pressing around the ends of the bar. He whirled, making a pushing gesture with his hands; then he whirled the other way, astonished to find himself alone; the bartenders had been swallowed by the crush and passed from hand to hand. Then someone was reaching past him, taking the sawed-off shotgun from under the bar. It was Tesno. He said, "Get out of town, Sid." Sid went weak and sick and then into a blind rage. He knocked the gun aside and drove a fist into Tesno's stomach. Tesno took the punch, stepping back with it; his bootheel caught and he went down, turning sideways and landing on one knee. Sid strode forward, starting a kick, but Tesno rolled into his legs, grasped one of them, drove a shoulder into Sid's groin. Sid lit flat on his back, got an elbow in the stomach that took the wind and the fight out of him. He was hoisted to his feet, spun around the bar and through the crowd to a group in the center of the saloon. These were the bartenders and the gamblers, ringed by a little cordon of guards. "They kept pressing in till they swallowed us up," one of the dealers moaned. "I reached for the revolver I had in my pocket and there was already a hand on it...." The crowd was briefly unruly now, scrambling for the contents of the cash boxes and the liquor on the back bar. A half dozen men with axes on their shoulders filed through to the back rooms. There was a prolonged crash of glass from the storeroom. Dave Coons wove through the crowd then, saying, "Drift down to the Big Barrel, boys.... The Big Barrel next...." <hr class="tb" /> Mr. Jay and Pete Madrid stood at a window of Mr. Jay's hotel suite and looked down at the street, which was nearly empty. They had watched the mob pour up the street from the Silver Slipper to the Big Barrel to the Western Star, which had completely swallowed it now. The window was open. Madrid held a rifle in his hands. "It'll be over in a moment," Mr. Jay said tiredly. Almost at once, the splash of shattered glass came to their ears. Mr. Jay closed the window. "He's got to show himself sometime," Madrid protested. "He's keeping to the alleys," Mr. Jay said, "taking no chances. Anyhow, the confusion is over and the chance is gone. The mob will mill around town for a while, then go back to camp." Madrid put the rifle into a corner and loosened his revolver in its holster. "Then I'll go down and find him. Face to face, I can out-gun him, Mr. Jay." "Pete, that mob would pick you to pieces." Madrid stared absently at the street. Men were beginning to trickle out of the Western Star. "Then the town is his—and Ben Vickers'. I'm getting out, Mr. Jay. If I were you...." "Just listen," Mr. Jay said. "He's going to be looking for you. I want you to run. He'll follow. Draw him out of town away from the mob. Then turn on him." Madrid squinted thoughtfully. "But in town I have authority, the right to kill him." "Do it my way once more, Pete. And when you've killed him, keep going. Go over Runaway Mountain and down the Green River to Tacoma. Sell your horse and take a ship to San Francisco." Mr. Jay extracted a sheaf of bills from a wallet and passed them to Madrid. "This is expense money. Go to the Palace Hotel. Register under a false name—Williams, George Williams. Stay sober and do nothing to attract attention. In a few weeks, I'll contact you. There'll be a payoff." "I want five thousand, Mr. Jay." "You shall have it, provided you kill Tesno. Now get some gear together and ride out of here. See that somebody gets word to Tesno just as you're leaving." "You'll be—all right?" Madrid said. He stuffed the bills into a pocket. "Of course I'll be all right! They have nothing on me but accusations they can't make stick—not with Tesno out of the way." They left the hotel together. Madrid hurried off to throw a blanket roll together and get a horse. Mr. Jay made his way to the townhouse. This was going to be an expensive business, this saloon-wrecking. But perhaps it was for the best. He would be elected mayor and would build a tight town organization that could stand up to Vickers, the Ellensburg politicians—anybody. Tesno would be dead. When he, Mr. Jay, had things solidly under control again, the saloons would open. He would go ahead with the plan to issue scrip.... A dozen men idled in front of Persia's end of the townhouse. Two saddlehorses and a mule browsed nearby. Mr. Jay thumped the knocker once and walked in. He came to a stop as he entered the parlor, startled to see that Tesno was here, standing at the center of a group scattered around the room. The others were Dave Coons, Judge Badger, Keef O'Hara, and Mr. Parris. Persia sat beside Sam Lester on the sofa. Judge Badger stepped forward to greet Mr. Jay. "I'm glad you're here, sir. Perhaps you'll reply to some of the charges—very extravagant charges—that Mr. Tesno has made against you." Mr. Jay threw back his head and pointed his beard at one and another of the gathering. "Charges? Be damned to Mr. Tesno and his charges! He has no authority to make charges!" "I'm accusing you of conspiring to murder Willie Silverknife and his prisoners," Tesno said in a snow-soft voice. "Tomorrow I'm taking you and Madrid and my witnesses to Ellensburg." Mr. Jay drew himself up even straighter. "Slanderous nonsense! I assure you that you are taking me nowhere." "He claims he has found an Indian who saw Madrid at the scene of the murder," Judge Badger said, "and a maid-servant who overheard you planning the crime." Sam Lester got to his feet. "That will be Stella, Mr. Jay," he said. "She overheard you say that Willie was taking a dangerous chance—something like that. She misinterpreted it to mean that you wanted him killed. But there's nothing to worry about. Persia and I were present at that conversation. We know that there was no such implication." "I should hope you do," Mr. Jay said. "We will both testify to that—if necessary," Sam said. Tesno's eyes swung to Persia. She met them defiantly and said, "We certainly will." "And you'll be perjuring yourself to protect a murderer you ought to be doing everything possible to expose," Tesno said. "Really, Jack, you're being unbearably sanctimonious," she said. "You killed a man less than a week ago. And you have the gall—" "You don't understand," he said. "Mr. Jay, shall I tell her how you got your first contract—how you took over when the contractor went over a cliff? How many other associates of yours died suddenly and without witnesses, Mr. Jay? How about that partner of yours who fell off a trestle in Idaho?... Persia's husband was your partner, too, wasn't he, Mr. Jay?" Silence smothered the room. Mr. Jay seemed too outraged to speak at once. He glanced toward the door as if he would like to leave. Keef O'Hara and Dave Coons moved squarely into his way. Tesno watched Persia. She had paled. There was a noticeable pulsing in her throat. Mr. Jay's nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath. "Judge Badger," he said, "I appeal to you as a man dedicated to justice. This man is making crude, slanderous insinuations. Will you warn him of the consequences?" "You're a killer, Mr. Jay," Tesno said. "Persia knows that. Sam Lester knows it. But why did you kill Duke Parker? You had already secretly taken control of Tunneltown away from him." "Jack," Persia said in a strange voice, "what are you trying to do to me?" "I'm making you see the truth," he said. He confronted Mr. Jay again and went on without pause. "Duke Parker was trying to blackjack himself back into control, wasn't he, Mr. Jay? Unless you wrote off the debt he owed you, he was going to expose your plan to operate Tunneltown in a wide-open way that would slow down Vickers' work. That would have ruined you in railroad circles. So you killed him—or had someone do it for you." "No!" Persia made as if to rise. "I'm not going to listen to any more of this." "Tell her, Sam," Tesno said. "You must know the truth." "Sam...." Persia said. Sam Lester sat down beside her, took her hand. He said nothing at all. Tesno hammered on mercilessly. "Was Duke Parker killed by a bullet, Sam? Was a log skidded over him to conceal the wound?" "Tesno, for god's sake, have a little consideration for her!" pleaded Sam. "By letting her testify in behalf of her husband's murderer?" Tesno said, looming over him. "Suppose you have a little consideration for her! Duke Parker's body can be exhumed. Persia is going to want that now, unless you tell her the truth. Spare her that, Sam." Persia sat with her head bowed, her eyes fixed on Sam's stubby hand that covered her own. "Tell me, Sam," she said faintly. "Was he murdered? Just say yes or no." "Shut up, Sam!" Mr. Jay snapped. "Don't you see what he's trying to do?" "I've tried to get you away from here," Sam said to Persia, "get you out of this—" "Say it!" Persia demanded. Sam turned his froglike face up toward Mr. Jay. "It's all going to come out, anyhow," he said. "Yes, Persia. Duke was murdered. Madrid shot him. I swear I didn't know about it till it was over. Mr. Jay sent me up into the woods where Duke's body was. He said to help Madrid run a log over it, make sure it was ... torn up." Mr. Jay seemed almost unable to speak. "This is a conspiracy!" he said in a choked voice. "Everyone here is determined to ... to discredit me." Persia had buried her face in her hands. Now she looked up at him in horror. "I shall tell the truth in court," she said, controlling herself with a great effort. "You planned to have Willie killed on the road, and I shall say so." Mr. Jay merely glared in reply. He was tired and sick and weak with anger. He made a feeble effort to shake off Keef O'Hara and Mr. Parris, each of whom had taken him by an arm. "Take him to his rooms," Tesno said. "See that there's a guard outside his door." Persia had buried her head against Sam Lester. Tesno wanted to say something soft and sympathetic now, but he knew it would sound ridiculous. Sam Lester looked up at him expressionlessly. "I'm going to take her away from here," Sam said. Tesno nodded. "Don't either of you leave the county," he said tersely and turned on his heel. Judge Badger caught his elbow. "This man wants to speak to you." Tesno hadn't noticed the little rat-faced man, who must have just arrived. He stepped forward importantly. "Madrid just bought a horse at the livery. Bought it, Mr. Tesno. He just rode out of town. Took the road to the camp. He's riding with saddlebags and a blanket roll." Tesno hurried toward the door. As he reached it, Persia was suddenly behind him, calling to him, dabbing frantically at her face with a handkerchief. "Jack wait. I was so wrong!" "When you get hurt, you're wrong," he said, turning angrily. "You're cruel," she said. "I'm glad you're cruel. You've made me see—" "I'm in a hurry, Persia." "Jack, don't let it end for us. I need you. I think you need me." "What we need, we can't have," he said with soft and incisive bitterness. "We need Willie Silverknife alive." He jerked open the door and strode into the sunlight. <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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