Build My Gallows High (12 page)

Red gave his attention to his food, eating hungrily, glancing now and then at Whit and at Guy, both silent, both waiting, the one toad-like, the other loosely coiled. Out on the lake a speedboat drew a curving line on the smooth paper-surface of the water. In the tree beyond the porch a squirrel noisily took a sugar-pine cone apart.

‘Guy isn’t going to like this,’ Red said at last. ’Guy is in love and Guy has lost all sense of proportion.’

Guy’s hand moved for his pocket.

‘I took it—remember?’ Red asked. ‘The heart wound heals. The yen fades.’

‘No,’ Guy cried out.

‘Guy would even double-cross a man for love,’ Red said. ‘A new phase. A dangerous one.’

Whit transferred his beady-eyed malevolence to Parker. Whit said, ’That’s why you didn’t tell me.’

‘He’s lying.’The words came from a dry throat. Guy wet his lips and studied his knuckles.

‘Perhaps I figured you out wrong,’ said Red. ‘I was under the impression you wanted Mumsie. So it was the small investment after all.’

Guy’s chair legs scraped the floor as he pushed it back.

‘Sit still,’ Red warned him. ‘I can take you both apart. But a gun is simpler.’

The chair stopped moving. Guy propped himself against the back, gripping the seat with whitening hands.

‘The cops get Mumsie and Joe Stefanos,’ Red said. ‘Guy gets his dough back. I get enough to spend my waning years on the cliffs of Acapulco or the beach at Mazatlan. Not much. My wants are few, Whit. And you—’ he wagged a finger at Sterling— ‘you gain a world. Pages and pages of beautiful figures. Freedom. All this—a view of a lake instead of San Francisco Bay.’ He rose. ‘I’ll go out on the porch and watch the squirrels and let you talk it over. Guy’s good at frames, Whit. Let him figure out the best way to take the cops off my tail.’ He smiled, stepped through the low window and crossed the porch to the steps. He sat down with his back to them.

Clouds formed in the north, struggling with a wind that seemed intent on keeping the sky neat. He’d miss these clouds and he’d miss these hills but there would be other clouds and other hills. And there would be Ann. If she’d have him, there would be Ann. If not? He didn’t know the answer to that question. He didn’t want to know.

Behind him footsteps crossed the stones. He stood up and turned. Guy wore his mask again. Whit was sullenly resigned.

‘All right,’Whit said. ‘How much?’

‘Fifty thousand.’

‘I haven’t got it here.’

‘Get it.’

‘Tonight. I’ll have to go to Reno. Where’s the file?’

‘It will be mailed to you.’

‘No.’

‘Yes,’ Red said, ‘I crossed you once. I know better than to try it a second time. I’ve a reason for living. I’ve a reason for wanting to be let alone. So you’ll get it. But not until I’m out of reach.’

The fat on Whit’s shoulders quivered in a shrug. ‘That’s it then.’

Red nodded. ‘I’ll pick up the dough late tonight or early tomorrow. Keep a couple of grand back and get me a plane—you must know a pilot who can keep his mouth shut. Have him set it down tomorrow at nine in the meadow off the American River road. Before you start up to Echo Pass.’

‘It’ll be there,’ Whit said.

‘Don’t look so stricken, Guy,’ Red said. ’You’ll get over her. I did. Come on.’ With that he crossed to the far stairs that led down to the waiting car.

Jim Caldwell was lounging in the doorway of the hardware store talking to Ellis Gore when Ann parked her car in front of the Safeway. Caldwell kept on talking but now he wasn’t looking at Gore. He was watching Ann as she got out of the car and crossed the sidewalk, trim and cool in white shorts and white blouse.

Gore’s wise old eyes sized up the situation. He said he’d better quit wasting time and get back to work—he had a lot of bills to mail out, he said. Not that it did any good because people paid him when they got around to it.

‘See you around,’ Caldwell said absently. Then, elaborately casual, he sauntered across to the store and pushed through the turnstile. He didn’t see her at first because she was squatting in front of the spice shelf trying to find a can of black pepper. He looked up and down the aisles, knowing that his neck was getting red, knowing that Mrs. Pringle, the gaunt, gray-haired woman at the check stand, saw through him. He knew that within an hour all her cronies would be in possession of this dramatic tidbit. Yes, sir—he comes walking in tryin’ not to look like he was followin’ her, she would say, licking her thin lips. To hell with her! Caldwell thought. Throwing aside all pretense he went boldly toward the back. Ann stood up, saw him and held out the heavy basket.

Caldwell took it from her and felt good again. This was as it should be—moving along beside her while she pulled cans and boxes from the shelves and dropped them in the basket. One of these days she’d be using his money. One of these days she’d be going home with him and he’d carry the carton full of groceries into the kitchen and help her put the stuff in the cupboards. Winter would be best, coming in out of the snow to the bright warm room that would smell of spices and wood smoke.

For something to say Caldwell asked, ‘How’s Canby?’ He had talked to Miller half an hour before.

‘He’s fine.’ Ann put a box of soap powder in the basket, consulted her list. ‘That’s everything.’

‘Looks like the Miller family’s going to eat for a while anyway,’ Caldwell said. ‘You ought to keep a pack-mule just to go shopping with. Lead him around and fill up the kyacks.’ He put the basket on the check stand, and with a glance told Mrs. Pringle to go ahead and gossip her goddamned head off because what did he care? Sure he loved Ann. Sure he followed her around like an old dog grateful for a careless pat on the head. But it wouldn’t always be this way.

The forefinger of Mrs. Pringle’s skinny right hand punched the keys on the tabulator while her left hand fished the groceries from the basket, it sure is nice to have a man around,’ Mrs. Pringle said. ‘A man who don’t mind helping you shop. That’ll be five-sixty-two. How’s your mother, Ann? She looked sort of peaked last night.’

Ann put a ten-dollar bill in Mrs. Pringle’s hand. ‘Mother’s all right.’

‘Saw her at the movie,’ Mrs. Pringle said. ‘Her and Canby. Here, Jimmy, make yourself useful and put the stuff in this carton like a good boy.’

Caldwell packed the carton, carried it out and put it on the rear seat of the sedan. Through the door he could see Mrs. Pringle watching them and he thought, The old bitch, the skinny, nosy old bitch! Why can’t she keep her nose out of things? That was the trouble with towns like Bridgeport. Everybody tried to live your life for you.

Maybe he was wrong to buy the Carlisle place, maybe it would be better to go to L.A. or Reno and have people around who didn’t give a damn who you were or what you did.

‘Thanks, Jimmy.’ Ann brushed her hair back and smiled up him.

‘I was thinking,’ Caldwell said awkwardly. ‘Maybe you don’t have to hurry home. Maybe we could run up and see how things are coming along at my new place.’

She wanted to say no. She wanted to say, ‘Jimmy, it’s no good hoping or planning because tonight I’ll push through the willows and he’ll be waiting by the creek.’

‘It’ll only take a few minutes.’

Ann didn’t look at him. She didn’t dare look at him because she knew her eyes would tell him. ’All right.’

He went around and got in beside her. He let one arm rest on the cushion so that his stubby fingers touched her shoulder. As they drove away he sent one challenging glance at Mrs. Pringle. Let the old bitch talk her head off.

The sun was a blessing and the wind a promise. Tonight—where the creek turned under the fence into the Miller pasture and the willows walled in a tiny stretch of sand. Hurry, sun, her mind said. Hurry down the sky and hide behind the hills.

‘I’m going hunting next week,’ she heard Caldwell say.

‘That’s fine.’

‘Why don’t you come along?’

‘We’ll see.’

‘You got to watch your step these days,’ Caldwell said, ‘if you want to keep living. More guys around who’ll shoot at anything.’ He rambled on, talking about things like guns and ridges where the big bucks lay, hills they had climbed and creeks they had followed before a man called Red Bailey had come along to wake him from a dream.

The car turned off the highway and he got out and opened the gate. He stood looking at the big house while she drove through and waited for him. Solid. Built for keeps. Like his love for Ann. Love had started when he was a freshman in high school and she had the seat in front of him. From that day on she had been his girl. The memory of all those years gave him back his confidence. He’d get his dream back. He’d get his world back.

They could hear the pounding of hammers and the hum of a power saw as they drove into the yard. He led her across the porch, smug in his renewed self-confidence. He took her from room to room and her exclamations of pleased surprise at the changes were like sweet balm. A fireplace was taking shape in the kitchen. New windows let the sunlight in. New windows framed the mighty wall of the Sierras and the lush, green carpet of the great meadow. Down by the creek a bulldozer gnawed a hole in the black loam. Soon the hole would be a tiled swimming pool. The fences no longer sagged. They were trim, white, mathematical patterns.

The stone mason grinned and said hello. The two carpenters—old men Caldwell had known all his life—told Ann she was looking mighty pretty, then soberly accepted as their due her words of praise. They were glad she liked the way the place was shaping up. They were sure she was going to be mighty happy here.

Then Jim Caldwell knew. Her eyes told him. Her flushed face told him.

‘Come on,’ he said coldly, heading for the door. ‘I better be getting back.’

Tom Douglas sucked at his cold pipe and looked across at Caldwell. ‘Tonight you think?’

‘I’ll know for sure if the Kid goes fishing,’ Caldwell said, his eyes hard and angry.

‘He’ll lead us to Red?’

‘No. Away from Red. So we string along. Some of your boys and some of the state coppers take out after him. Let him think we’re being played for suckers. You and the rest of your boys and the rest of the cops stick around the radio. I’ll take one of the state cars and when I give you the go signal on the radio you close in.

’It’s worth trying.’

‘Maybe it won’t be tonight,’ Caldwell said. ‘Maybe it will be tomorrow or the next day. But it will be soon.’

Douglas found pity for the big, awkward fellow sitting taut and desperate in the chair beyond the desk. Tough. To love a girl and know she’s going to be in another man’s arms pretty soon. To have so much hatred in you you could taste it.

That morning Douglas had been driving in the hills and had seen a coyote sitting in the brush just off the road, so spent he had no fear left in him. Douglas had drawn his gun but his finger would not pull the trigger. He had driven away. Now he thought of the coyote and he thought of Red and wondered if, finding the man in the trap, he would want to let him go. A hell of a business this. Passing judgment—when who were you to judge? And what would it get Jim Caldwell? Would it clear the road? Would it return to him something he had lost? Douglas thought not.

‘You sure this is the best way to handle it?’ Douglas asked.

‘It’s the only way’ Caldwell replied.

‘We’ll give her a whirl then,’ Douglas said.

The sun was behind the ridge when the Kid locked up the station and got his roadster out. He drove slowly through town, past the highway patrol station and the sheriff’s office. As he headed for the sharp turn south he kept looking into the rearview mirror. He grinned as he saw the sheriff’s car pull out from the side of the building and stop in front of the office. They had seen him. Pretty soon they’d be moseying along after him and he’d give them a run for their money. He’d lead them so far away from town they wouldn’t get back until midnight. His lips shaped themselves for a whistle and his mind made gay and silent music. His mind imagined sounds—water leaping over rocks, wind running light-footed through a forest. Then the music died because he thought of Ann and Red who knew what love was. Not for him. No love for him anywhere in the silent waste that was his world.

Far behind him a black sedan loaded with armed men and a white and black car with three state coppers in it followed and then, glancing in the mirror, he saw them sneaking along his trail.

Night drained the color from the sky and for a while the mountain range was a ragged outline against the darkening wall of nothingness. Then it became part of the darkness.

A car pulled out from behind the state highway patrol office and headed west, lightless, driven by a thick-set young man in a green uniform. Before it reached the Miller place it swung into a lane, south a mile, then along another to stop by a watering trough where a dozen cattle slept. Jim Caldwell got out, climbed through the fence and made his way cautiously through the pasture. As he came nearer the house he heard the blat of the radio. Canby would be sitting by it reading and Ann and Mrs. Miller would be in the kitchen washing dishes.

The dog barked once. Smelling a familiar scent it came up to him and nosed one hand. Jim tugged the soft ears and sent him back to the front porch with a whispered order. He went around back of the house and entered the woodshed. From his hiding place he could see into the kitchen with Ann standing at the sink. The sight of her sharpened the bright blade of his anger.

Mrs. Miller moved from the sink to the cupboard putting the dishes away. Every now and then she went to the doorway that led into the living room to tell Canby to turn that thing down—you could hear it all the way to Reno. If Canby heard her, he was not impressed because the radio kept right on blatting.

Hunched down in his musty hiding place Caldwell wished Canby would shut the thing off. Then he could hear Ann’s voice.

The last dish was placed in the rack. Ann scrubbed the sink board and the sink. She dried her hands on a dish towel, took off her apron and hung it on the hook back of the stove. She faced her mother. Her lips moved and Mrs. Miller’s flat, hard voice rose above the blare of the music.

‘Can’t you ever stay home?’ Mrs. Miller mourned.

Suddenly the radio was silent. Canby appeared in the doorway. ’Let her alone,’ Canby said, if she wants to go out, she has a right to, goddamn it.’

‘Don’t swear,’ said Mrs. Miller.

‘I’m only going for a walk,’ Ann said.

‘Seems like you’d get enough walking daytimes,’ Mrs. Miller complained.

‘Do I try to run your life?’ Ann asked.

‘Why should you?’

‘Run along,’ Canby told his daughter. ’We’re going to the movies anyway’

‘We went last night,’ Mrs. Miller said.

‘So we went last night,’ Canby replied and turned back into the living room. ‘Get your hat on.’

Jim Caldwell’s eyes saw nothing in the drab domestic scene to wonder at, nothing to make him consider even momentarily the thought that people got old and people took each other for granted and presently there was no magic in the world. Jesus, she was beautiful standing there under the hard, white light, her head tilted a little, her cheeks flushed, her dark eyes full of stars. She blew a kiss after her father, gave her mother a dutiful peck on the cheek and came out into the back yard. She stopped for a moment to hunt for star patterns through the trees. She followed the path through the gate into the pasture, her step quickened. Jim Caldwell knew only a deep and sullen hatred for everyone.

A night bird cried out. The sound—the distilled essence of all loneliness—had no sadness in it for Ann. The creek talked quietly to itself and a faint murmuring arose in the willows as the wind pushed through. Up on the ridge a coyote yapped shrilly. Another and another set the canyons echoing with their wailing. Below, the dogs answered. Presently deciding that their tame brothers had been annoyed enough, the coyotes stopped yelling. Quiet reigned again.

Ann sat on the warm sand, her ears strained to catch the first faint sound of his approach. Something moved in the willows across the creek and she sat forward wanting to call out but not daring to. Quiet again. The creek chuckled at her and she hugged her knees and savored every moment of this night. This world was not empty now. Never empty any more. Oh, precious night! Oh, warm and lovely dark! Splashing sounded in the marshland behind her as he pushed through the screening willows and she was in his arms.

No words at first because there was no need for words. He drew his face away and said softly, ’Ann, Ann.’

‘Darling.’ Her palm felt the good roughness of his cheek.

‘You didn’t forget me?’

‘I’ll never forget you.’

He dropped on the sand and drew her down beside him. ’Maybe you will.’

‘No.’

‘Wait.’

‘I don’t care what you’ve done,’ Ann said.

‘You don’t believe I’ve done anything,’ Red said. ’That’s the trouble.’

‘No. I don’t care.’

He kissed her again. ‘One thing you know is right. I love you. I always will. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I didn’t wait and send for you.’

‘I would have come.’

‘Sure. Without knowing. Without thinking. So I didn’t send for you.’

‘Don’t tell me anything,’ Ann said.‘I don’t want to know. I don’t want to think.’

‘I killed a guy a long time ago,’ Red said. Her hand pressed against his lips and he pulled it gently away, ‘I fixed it so someone else will get the blame. Now will you follow me?”