The Killing Season (44 page)

“Come on to the kitchen,” Annie said. “There'll be coffee in a few minutes, and we're cooking supper. Or breakfast, I suppose. There'll be ham, eggs, and biscuits.”

Nathan kicked a chair back against the wall and sat down. Empty sat beside him, eyes on the unfamiliar women.

“Why is he looking at us like that?” Myrtle asked.

“He doesn't know you,” said Nathan, “and he doesn't trust you.”

“And what about you?” Annie wondered.

“That's a pretty good standard for dog or man,” said Nathan.

“If we hadn't spoken up for you,” Myrtle said, “you'd have just walked out without any reward, wouldn't you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Nathan. “I don't want money from a man who begrudges it, so I'm a mite choosy about who I work for.”

“Yet you'd work for us,” Annie said.

“Why not?” said Nathan. “Do you believe you should be held accountable for all that Slaughter has done or failed to do?”

“I believe the coffee is ready,” Myrtle said.

Nathan's question went unanswered, and he said nothing more. He accepted the coffee Myrtle poured for him, and when the food was ready, moved his chair to the table. Without being asked, Annie filled a bowl with ham and placed it before Empty, and he waited until she turned away before eating. The meal was eaten in silence. It was Annie who spoke when they had finished.

“I'll show you to your room, Mr. Stone.”

“I'd prefer that you call me Nathan.”

“Nathan, then.”

Nathan and Empty followed her down a hall that led to another wing of the house. It had four rooms, and she led Nathan to the second one on the right.

“Myrtle and me will be in the rooms across the hall.”

“What about this one next to me?” Nathan asked.

“Nobody sleeps there,” said Annie. “That's a storage room.”

Nathan wondered where Woodard Slaughter slept, if he occupied the room with Annie, but he said nothing. Somehow, he believed Slaughter had a room of his own, in some other part of the house. At the first opportunity, he would enter the room next to his, to learn what was stored there.

“I reckon I don't have to remind you and Myrtle to lock your bedroom doors every night,” he said.

“No,” she said, “but when we were abducted, we weren't taken from our beds.”

“Then maybe I should be outside at night,” Nathan said. “I'm not sure it's proper, me being alone with two married ladies.”

“That's our decision, not yours,” said Annie. “We want you inside. This key that I'll give you fits your doors and ours. Feel free to enter our rooms at any time, if you feel there is cause.”

Nathan said nothing. It was an outrageous thing for a married woman to say, and it told Nathan a lot about the probable relationship these women had with their much older husbands. But he was less concerned with that than with the possibility that this same key might also unlock the storage room. Taking the key she offered, he unlocked the door to his room and stepped inside. Empty followed, and he closed the door. He waited, listening to Annie's receding footsteps. Easing the door open, he looked out into the hall. At the far end, where they had entered, a bracket lamp burned. Nathan tugged off his boots, stepped out into the hall, and went to the door of the storage room. Quickly he tried his key, but the lock held fast. He dropped the key in his pocket and returned to his room, elated over his discovery. Striking a match, he lighted the lamp on the dresser. As he had approached the house, he had seen the high gables, suggestive of an attic. Carefully he studied the ceiling and then took the lamp into the closet. There was no evidence of a trapdoor to the attic anywhere in the ceiling. Any time he left his room, he must be careful, because he had no doubt that just as his key would unlock the doors to the rooms occupied by Annie and Myrtle, their keys would unlock the door to his room. He set the lamp on the table beside the bed and sat down in the room's only chair. Empty sat down on a throw rug, his eyes meeting Nathan's.

“Damn it, Empty, we stacked the deck and everything looks good, but I got me a gut feeling that I could end up with a busted flush. Are these women what they seem, or have they seen through Bristow's plan, pulling me in to keep an eye on me?”

Tossing his hat on the dresser, Nathan hung his gun belt on the head of the bed. As he so often had done when faced with uncertainty, he blew out the lamp and stretched out on the bed, fully dressed. It was a long time before he slept.

 

Nothing had been said to Nathan about when his day would begin, and he was awake well before first light. He waited awhile, until the first gray light of dawn swept away the darkness. He then stepped into the hall, Empty following. He moved quietly, listening, and he soon was rewarded with the sound of voices. Woodard Slaughter was angry.

“... know nothing about the man, except that he's quick with a gun, and was once on a Pinkerton reward dodger. Damn it, we're in no position to take in strangers. There's too much at stake, and it's almost time ...”

“Give Myrtle and me credit for some sense,” Annie snapped, “and for God's sake, do lower your voice.”

Slaughter did lower his voice, and Nathan heard nothing more. He waited until there was no more conversation, so they wouldn't know he had overheard anything. He then made his way to the kitchen, wondering what Slaughter had been about to say. Annie and Myrtle sat at the table drinking coffee. Nathan took a cup, poured coffee for himself, and dragged out a chair at the end of the table. He drank his coffee and kept his silence. After what he had heard, he believed he had them on the defensive. After a prolonged and uneasy silence, Myrtle spoke.

“We have no plans for today. Just remain near.”

“I'll be outside, near the stable,” said Nathan.

The very last thing he wanted was to spend the day trapped in the house with these two strange, unpredictable women. After breakfast, he and Empty headed for the stable. He doubted he would learn anything at the stable, but he was more comfortable there than in the house. Finally he climbed into the loft and stretched out on the hay, leaving Empty on watch below. The day dragged on. The stable was back far enough for him to see beyond the house, and he saw nobody until Slaughter drove up in a buckboard, an hour before sundown. He entered the house, leaving the team hitched. Nathan waited a decent interval before going to the house. When he entered, he closed the door loudly enough for them to be aware of his presence. When he reached the kitchen, there was only Annie and Myrtle. Nathan took a seat at the table, his back to a wall. Nobody said anything until they heard the buckboard being driven away, and it was Annie who spoke.

“Mr. Slaughter has decided to take a room in town for a while.”

“I'm not surprised,” Nathan said. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“He rarely confides in me,” said Annie. “You'll have to ask him.”

“Then I reckon he'll be even less likely to confide in me,” Nathan said. “If he wants me to know what's on his mind, then he'll just have to stand up on his hind legs and tell me.”

Myrtle Hohnmeyer laughed, smiling at Nathan as she poured herself another cup of coffee. Annie said nothing, her eyes on Myrtle, and Nathan didn't like the expression on her face. Supper came and went, and with nothing better to do, Nathan made his way down the hall to his room. Empty followed, not liking this house or the people inhabiting it. Nathan closed and locked the door to his room, wondering what good it would do, with these two strange women having keys. Empty lay down beneath the window, his eyes on the locked door. Nathan didn't bother lighting the lamp. Again, he removed only his hat, his gun belt, and his boots before lying down on the bed. Empty got up, walked to the door, and stood there, as though waiting to go out. Nathan got up and unlocked the door, but when he opened it, the dog turned away and lay down beneath the window. Uneasy, Nathan got up. He bunched the blankets so that in the darkness it might appear that he was under them. Then, taking his pillow and one of his Colts, he stretched out on the floor beside the bed. He lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep. Finally he dozed, only to awaken to a low growl from Empty. But there was only the chirp of crickets and the distant bark of a dog. But something—more sensed than heard—was bothering Empty. Nathan moved farther from the bed, out of line with the faint starlight that shone through the window. The sound, when it came, was so faint that had Nathan been asleep, he wouldn't have heard it. The key turned slowly, and then there was only silence. An arm around Empty to quiet him, Nathan waited. The door's hinges being well oiled, it opened without a sound, its only warning a breath of air. In the stillness, the shotgun blast sounded like a cannon. The lethal charge tore into the bundle of blankets on the bed, and from flat on his back on the floor, Nathan fired three times. The door was slammed shut from the force of the lead and Nathan remained where he was listening. Had the attack taken place in the open, the gunman would be dead, but with the door for a partial shield, Nathan couldn't be sure.

“Nathan? Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Nathan replied.

The door opened and Annie Slaughter stood there in a nightgown, holding a lamp. In the hall behind her was Myrtle Hohnmeyer. Nathan got to his feet, keeping away from the window. Empty growled.

“Dear God,” said Annie, her eyes on the mutilated blankets and the splinters torn from the bed's wooden headboard.

“I suppose neither of you saw anybody in the hall,” Nathan said.

“No,” said Annie.

“Then get back to your rooms and lock your doors,” Nathan said. “We'll talk about this tomorrow.”

Rather than light the lamp, Nathan waited until dawn to examine the splintered door to his room. His three slugs had struck the thick edge of the door, where it met the frame and none of them had gone on through. That meant the gunman had escaped unharmed, and faint powder burns on the edge of the door was Nathan's only clue. He already knew what he was going to say when Annie and Myrtle questioned him about the shooting. When he reached the kitchen, he poured himself a cup of coffee and took a chair at the table. Both women looked at him as though they expected to see some change. When he said nothing, Annie spoke.

“Do you have any idea who shot at you last night?”

“I don't have a name,” Nathan said, “but I know he's left-handed.”

“How could you know that?” Myrtle asked.

“There are powder burns on the door's edge,” said Nathan. “He stood to the right of the door as it opened. A man firing right-handed would have stood to the left of the door, and if the weapon had touched anything, it would have been the door frame. There are no powder burns on the door frame. Who do you know that's left-handed?”

“I don't know,” Annie said. “I can't think of anybody, except ...”

“Woodard Slaughter,” Nathan finished.

“Why, that's ridiculous,” said Annie. “Woodard doesn't even own a shotgun.”

“Nobody said anything about a shotgun,” Nathan replied.

“Nobody had to,” said Annie. “I've fired one myself. So has Myrtle.”

“But neither of you are left-handed,” Nathan said.

“Are you going to the law?” Myrtle asked.

“The law's never been around when I was in need of it,” said Nathan, “and I've always stomped my own snakes.”

“If you believe someone's trying to kill you because of us,” said Annie, “we won't try to keep you here. You can leave.”

“I wouldn't think of it,” Nathan said. “I'll finish what I started, with one difference. I won't be spending my nights in a bed. I may be in the house or I may be outside. Nobody is going to know for sure. Next time the varmint cuts down on me, there won't be a door between us.”

 

At Peavey Hohnmeyer's residence, Hohnmeyer and Slaughter were seated at the table in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of bourbon.

“I tried, damn it,” Slaughter growled, “but the bastard wasn't in the bed.”

“You worry too much,” said Hohnmeyer. “Hell, we're indebted to Stone for stirring up Annie and Myrtle. Otherwise, it might not have been so easy, gettin' the two of them to move out on us. A week from now, we'll be in Mexico, with a million in gold.”

“I don't feel right, leavin' Annie,” Slaughter said. “It don't bother you, leavin' Myrtle behind?”

“Don't go soft on me now, damn you,” said Hohnmeyer. “We're goin' to be dead, remember? Besides, it wouldn't surprise me if Stone's taking turns sleeping with Annie and Myrtle. With half a million in gold, you can snare any woman in Mexico, and if you don't like the pickings there, you can import some.”

They laughed. Hohnmeyer refilling their glasses from the almost empty bottle.

 

Nathan did exactly as he had promised, spending his nights in different places, always where he could observe the house. Depending on Empty to warn him of impending danger, he slept well. His third day at the Slaughter house, he rode to town and bought copies of the St. Louis and Kansas City newspapers. He unsaddled his horse, climbed into the loft, and settled down to read the papers. Normally he didn't read newspaper gossip, but there were the names Slaughter and Hohnmeyer in the headlines of an article. The writer seemed very much aware of trouble that had been brewing in the homes of the Slaughters and the Hohnmeyers, and as evidence of his knowledge, pointed out that Woodard Slaughter had moved in with Peavey Hohnmeyer, while Myrtle Hohnmeyer was dwelling with her sister, Annie Slaughter. There was speculation that the separations might become permanent, but not a word as to the cause. Certainly it was to the credit of B.H. Bristow that he had kept Nathan's name out of it. That wasn't surprising, but another part of the story was. It claimed that Slaughter had moved in with Hohnmeyer, while Annie had specifically stated that Slaughter had taken a room in town. Why were Slaughter and Hohnmeyer together, and why had they wanted it known? Nathan had his suspicions, and late that night when he might have been watching the Slaughter house, he saddled a horse and rode into town. The lobby of the Pioneer Hotel was deserted, except for a sleepy desk clerk, and Nathan made his way quietly up the stairs. He tapped softly on the door. Twice, then after a pause, the third time. The door was opened, and after he was inside, immediately closed.