Death Rides the Night (6 page)

He set the light on the center table and left it there, trusting it to throw a faint illumination through the hallway and into the door of the back bedroom where Sally was asleep on the big double bed.

He hated to go into the bedroom because Sally was a light sleeper and likely to wake up at the slightest noise, but his guns were in there, hanging from two nails above the head of the bed.

He had tried several times to leave his guns in another room where he could get at them at a time like this without the risk of disturbing Sally, but she always found them and carried them back into the bedroom. She admitted that she did it because she couldn't bear the thought of him slipping in and getting them without her knowing about it. It was one of the perversities of Sally's nature that didn't make sense, but which she stubbornly clung to. Pat had tried to convince her she would worry less if she
didn't
know when he came in for his guns, but she shuddered and declared obstinately that then she would be worried
all
the time when he was out. In the end, Pat gave up arguing with her and left the two cartridge-studded belts hanging from the wall at the head of the bed.

He took off his boots and left them standing in the living room, began moving cautiously down the hall in his sock feet. There was a loose board along here that creaked when it was stepped on. It had been loose for a long time and Pat had meant to nail it down but kept forgetting it. He cursed himself now for his negligence as he moved each foot ahead and felt for the board. He found it and withheld his weight before it creaked under him.

He took a long step over it and reached the closed bedroom door. His heart was pounding as he gently turned the knob. It was a crazy thing to be doing, creeping along through his own house like a thief, but right at the moment it seemed the most important thing in the world to get into the bedroom and out again without disturbing his sleepy wife.

He sure didn't want to do any explaining to Sally. Not tonight. If he could get his guns and get out again without her knowing it, she would have one more night of good sleep anyway. He could leave a note for her on the kitchen table in case he wasn't back before she woke up in the morning. But' if she wakened now—

He had the door open and the dim light behind him threw his shadow waveringly across the bedroom onto the wall. He could hear Sally's steady breathing now. The bed was right beside the door. She was sleeping less than two feet from where he stood. He took another cautious step into the room and stood looking down at her. Moonlight crept through the open window and lay lightly upon her slender form curled up beneath a blanket. She lay on her side turned away from the edge of the bed, with her left palm beneath her cheek, her right arm flung forward as though she sought in her sleep for the reassuring presence of her husband beside her. Her breath was strong and even.

Pat loved her so much that it hurt as he stood silently beside her. It was a wonderful kind of love that had grown between them during the dozen years they had been married. It made the fierce passion of youth seem pale and inadequate by comparison. This was so much richer and deeper, built upon understanding and tolerance, compounded of mutual respect and strengthened by all the misunderstandings that had come between them, an essence distilled from all the precious moments they had known together;

Pat's hand strayed out and would have touched the soft blond hair that lay like a halo about her face on the pillow if he hadn't checked himself.

It was because of their love that he mustn't awaken her now. He lifted his hand toward the heavy belts suspended from the wall above her head.

He lifted one down soundlessly and transferred it to his right hand. He had to lean a little further over her to reach the other gun-belt.

Sally stirred and turned her head on the pillow. She opened her eyes and stared up at him, waking as easily and trustfully as a child. “Is that you, dear?”

Pat said, “It's me.” He lifted down the other belt, hoping she would close her eyes again and not see what he was doing.

Sally sat upright, clutching the blanket up about her throat. Her eyes widened in the dim light and she asked, “Are you coming to bed?”

“Just a minute,” Pat mumbled. He put both gun-belts behind him to hide them from her searching gaze.

“You've got your guns,” she cried out with a sharp note of alarm. “You're trying to slip out with them. You weren't going to waken me, Pat.”

“Well now, I didn't want you to worry, old lady,” Pat drawled defensively. When he called her ‘old lady' in that tone, Sally knew he was badly upset. She threw the cover aside and reached down beside the bed for a pair of beaded moccasins, warning him, “Don't you dare go off without telling me about it.” She stood up and caught hold of his arm tightly.

“It ain't much,” he lied. “Some of the boys drank a little too much beer in town. Figured I might have to lock some of 'em up.”

“And you rode all the way home to get your guns just for that?” Sally scoffed at him. “You know you can never lie to me, Pat.”

He sighed deeply. He knew he couldn't. Not and get away with it. He went out to the living room and Sally followed him. In her white muslin nightgown that came all the way down to her moccasined feet, with its gathering of blue ribbon around the throat, she looked like a slender and frightened little girl standing there in the yellow lamplight.

Pat couldn't stand to look at her. He couldn't meet her accusing eyes. He lowered his gaze and became very busy swinging the heavy belts about his waist and settling the heavy holsters low on each hip.

Sally studied him in complete silence. When she finally spoke, there was a queer little catch in her voice, “You've forgotten your star again, dear.”

Pat said heavily, “I haven't forgotten it, Sally.” He jerked one of the belts tighter than necessary and forced the brass tongue of the buckle into the last hole. He drew in a deep breath and looked up at her. “I've done resigned.”

Sally didn't move. Her arms hung straight down at her sides, and she balled her hands up into fists in a convulsive and involuntary reaction to his words. She echoed, “Resigned?” and the single word resounded thunderously in Pat's ears in the night-silence that followed.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat and grinned wryly. “That's right. Some of the fellows decided maybe I've been sheriff of Powder Valley long enough an' had ought to give some other jasper a chance.”

“Who?” Sally's voice was like a whiplash.

“Why … just some of the fellows.”

“Who did they give your star to?”

“Waddie by the name of Tripo.”

Sally caught her lower lip between her teeth. She said, “I don't know anybody named Tripo.”

“From down Texas-way. He's sorta new in the Valley. An' you know the ol' saying … 'bout a new broom sweepin' clean.”

Sally went to him quickly. “You're not telling me the truth, Pat. Not all of it. Was that why you weren't invited to the meeting tonight? Is that why Ezra didn't want you to go? Because he knew your supposed friends were going to vote you out of the sheriff's job behind your back? After all you've done for the Valley?”

“Well, I reckon Ezra an' some of the others thought maybe it'd be easier on me not bein' there,” Pat admitted uncomfortably.

“Oh, Pat! How could they do a thing like that to you?” Sally's small fist pounded at his shoulder and tears of anger came into her eyes. “Damn them, oh
damn
…”

“Shh.” Pat grinned and put a big hand over her mouth. “Cussin' right out loud,” he reproved her. “Yo're gettin' mighty tough in yore old age.”

“I mean it,” she said stoutly. “I'd say worse if I knew the right words. It was mean and cruel of them to do that. Just let me find out which ones voted against you. I'll tell them a thing or two. I'll …”

“No, Sally,” said Pat sharply. “They're not to blame. Not one of 'em. They're caught. They had to vote right when Harlow cracked the whip.”

“Harlow?”

“That's right. It was him that engineered the whole deal. Tripo is his right-hand man an' he wanted him for sheriff instead of me. So Mister Harlow pulled some strings. Lotsa people owe him money, Sally. He's been loanin' money right free-like to anybody that wanted some.”

“What reason did he have for wanting another sheriff?”

“Claims he's been havin' cattle rustled an' I ain't done nothing to stop it.”

“Has he?”

“I dunno. He claims Ezra has stole a dozen head of his blooded stuff an' has got 'em in his pasture right now. He made it look like I hadn't done nothing because Ezra's my pardner.”

“Oh, Pat! How terrible. You know Ezra wouldn't steal anything.”

“Shore.
I
know it. But I reckon he'll have proof. I'm not doubtin' that there's a dozen head of his stuff in Ezra's pasture right now.”

“Then he must have put them there,” Sally said fiercely.

“Why, yes. I reckon maybe that's the way of it.”

“Then Ezra ought to get out there and run them back into the VX ranch where they belong.”

Pat sighed. “Trouble is, Ezra can't do it. Not right now.”

“Why not?”

“He's in jail.”

Sally drew back and stared up into Pat's face in consternation. “You mean the new sheriff arrested Ezra already? It's a good thing Sam wasn't there. With him always carrying his gun in town there would have been trouble sure. And I'm glad you didn't wear yours tonight.”

“Sam was there,” Pat told her gently.

“Oh. Is he all right? I mean … he didn't get hurt?”

Pat said, “He's all right, excepting for a bump on the chin.”

“Then there was a fight. Well,
tell
me about it,” wailed Sally. “Don't stand there like a bump on a log. What happened? Was there any shooting?”

Pat shook his head. “I hit Sam,” he said briefly, “an' then took his gun and held it on Ezra an' walked him out to the new sheriff. That's all there is to tell.”

Sally took a step backward, her blue eyes rounded in dismay. “You knocked Sam down? And then marched Ezra out with Sam's gun?”

“That's right.”

“But you weren't sheriff any more. You didn't have to help arrest Ezra. How could you do a thing like that to Ezra and Sam?”

“Seemed like a good idea,” Pat said mildly. He leaned down to pull on his boots.

“Why did you come home for your guns? Where are you going now?”

“Thought I'd take a little ride.” Pat's voice was grim. He didn't look at Sally.

“It's trouble, isn't it?” she asked in a subdued voice. “You're not giving up so easily. You're going to fight Eustis Harlow and his gang of gun-fighters.”

“Why, I hate to see a fellow like that come in an' mess things up in the Valley.”

“But they've got the law on their side now,” Sally said with sharp fright. “They'll be laying for you, Pat. There'll be just you and your two guns against them all.”

“There's been times before when the law was against me,” Pat reminded her with bleak quietude. “Couple of times I can remember when you knew I was going up against some-thin' like that. An' one of them times there was only the two of us … you an' me … against the law and the whole of the Valley.”

Sally's face tightened. She nodded her head slowly. “I'm thinking of those times too,” she said breathlessly. “Oh, darling, I thought all that was ended. I thought we could go on and live here peacefully.”

“Not while there's men like Eustis Harlow wantin' to crowd other folks off ranches that's rightfully theirs,” grated Pat. “You wouldn't want me to back down from something like that.”

“No, Pat,” Sally told him gravely. “I wouldn't want you to back down from fighting for what's right. Ever.” She went to him steadily and put her hands on his shoulders. She lifted her face to his and there was an unafraid smile on her lips. Her eyes were alight with a radiance born of the frontier spirit within her. “I knew you wouldn't turn your back on Sam and Ezra. Go on out with your guns and show those people that the men of Powder Valley will still fight for their homes.”

Pat said awkwardly, “Yo're mighty wonderful, old lady.” He kissed her on the lips and held her tight for a moment, then put her away from him and turned to stride out of the door.

Sally stood in the middle of the floor and watched him go. Her eyes were so misted with tears that she couldn't see him, but the smile remained on her lips and there was a hard pounding of pride within her breast.

6

“Take it easy, Sam,” Mr. Winters warned the express rider as Sam Sloan sat up on the floor in the back room of the Gold Eagle Saloon and looked around dazedly.

Sam rubbed his jaw and blinked up at Winters. Then his gaze went slowly to the faces of John Boyd and Pete, the Lazy Mare rider who had brought them word of Ezra's impending arrest.

“What hit me?” Sam demanded. “I didn't see no mule backin' up to me.”

The other three men looked at each other uneasily. None of them said anything.

“Where's Pat an' Ezra?” Sam went on. “They was both standin' here when I got kicked in the face.” He slowly got to his feet and his hand instinctively went to the empty holster at his hip. “An' my hawk-leg's gone,” he interjected. “What in hell happened? You rannies all got lockjaw?”

“Pat took yore gun,” Boyd told him.

“Pat? Oh, I get it.” Sam nodded with a rueful grin. “Musta bin Pat that handed me one on thuh jaw.” A note of admiration crept into his voice. “Then I reckon he lifted my six-gun an' herded Ezra out past the sheriff that wanted to arrest him. Doggoned fightin' fool. He didn't want me tuh get mixed up in no trouble account of Kitty so he done it all by his own-self. Was there any shootin' when he took Ezra out?”