Adam steele 44, p.7
Adam Steele 44, page 7
‘What?’ It was little more than a croak, barely discernible as a monosyllabic query.
‘You and the girl were fooling around with a game of hide-and-seek. And it got quiet. You said.’
Clavell dragged a coat sleeve over his moisture-run face, nodded his head vigorously.
‘Yeah, that’s right. I called out Katy’s name, but she wouldn’t answer. For a while I thought she was still foolin’ around. Then I had this kinda feelin’ … I don’t know. A feelin’ somethin’ was wrong.’
He shrugged, swallowed hard again. ‘I guess like I had just now. God, Mr. Steele, I’m really sorry. The way I acted after you’d taken the trouble to—’
‘Borrowed time, kid.’
‘Uh?’
‘You were going to use your borrowed time carefully. Not waste it: especially now, when—’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ he broke in hurriedly.
Steele continued in the same even tone: ‘… the posse I didn’t know was coming is almost here.’
He gestured with a gloved hand.
Clavell snapped his head round, peered out the window: saw the small group of riders Steele had glimpsed from his new vantage point beside the stove. Let out a groan of despair as he folded through a half turn, pressed his back against the wall. Wrenched his head around to peer at Steele with renewed terror, his face drained of color beneath the burnish. But there was no accusation in his eyes now. His hands clenched into fists, were caught in the same paralyzing grip that trapped the rest of his being.
‘Please … Help me?’ The rasped words hardly scratched the silence. ‘Honest, I didn’t mean to …’ He licked his lips. ‘I just don’t know what come over me, Mr. Steele.’
The Virginian growled: ‘It was a cup of coffee.’
Chapter Seven
DAVY CLAVELL’S HEAD swung rapidly from side to side, his teeth gritted to keep them from chattering, his terror-filled eyes switching from Steele to the slow-riding group on the track between the crop of fields and back again. For stretched seconds as the silence in the wake of the Virginian’s sardonic remark grew heavier with tension, the youngster once more looked close to cracking up into tears.
Until he found his voice, complained bitterly: ‘This ain’t no time for jokes, my God!’
‘My time’s my own to do as I want with,’ Steele drawled. ‘Yours is borrowed. From me as I recall.’
‘So what d’you want me to do?’ the boy pleaded desperately. His Adam’s apple seemed to bob at the same rate his eyelids blinked.
‘Take it easy. You found out just a while ago that getting into a panic gets me mad.’
Clavell’s hands began to clench and unclench at high speed. He was able to keep his voice steady when he pledged: ‘All right, I’ll do my best to stay calm. Honest.’
‘And you’re going to listen to me, do what I tell you?’
‘Whatever you say.’ He sneaked another look out the window. Then backed the assurance with a vigorous nod. Repeated: ‘Honest, Mr. Steele.’
The Virginian jerked a thumb toward the rear corner of the room, beyond the stove. Said against the first faint sounds of clopping hooves and jingling harness brass to reach into the house: ‘Get the hell out through the back door and make yourself scarce. Until I say you can come back in.’
‘What if—’
‘You hear me say to ask questions on my time, kid?’ Steele pointedly craned his head to the side, peered out the window alongside where Clavell was pressed to the wall.
The riders drew inexorably closer along the track, the sounds of their approach swelling in volume.
‘But—’
‘All right. Be stupid kid. Go for your gun again. See if you can drop me before I—’
‘I’m sorry!’ he almost shrieked, thrust up his hands: fingers splayed, palms toward the Virginian in a gesture of total compliance. ‘All right, I’m goin’. I’ll wait for you. I’ll be careful and—’
Steele cut in wearily: ‘Just be gone. Until I tell you otherwise.’
He went toward the front door and Davy Clavell headed for the back one on opposite sides of the table.
The thudding of hooves on the hard-packed dirt of the yard served to cover any sounds of the rear door opening, closing behind the departing youngster.
As soon as he had seen this rear door fold back into its frame, the latch come to rest, Steele turned and swung open the front door. Counted upon the sight of him on the threshold to capture the attention of the newcomers. So they were less likely to catch a glimpse of Clavell if the kid was careless in moving away from the rear of the house.
‘Steele,’ Len Fallows greeted curtly as he and the six other warm-coated, fully-armed men reined their horses to a halt in a haphazard line out front of the house.
‘Sheriff,’ the Virginian responded, inclined his head a couple of times as he let his gaze range over the rest of the grim-faced men.
Most of them acknowledged his greeting in a similar manner. They were the O’Malley brothers, Jack and Jethro, Kenny Coggins and Pete Ryan: along with the Providence liveryman Harlan Grout and the newspaperman Huey Attrill.
They did not present the appearance of the kind of posse that would cause hardened criminals to worry over much. But they looked more than adequate to deal with a running scared boy of sixteen.
Only the stocky, running-to-fat Grout attempted anything approaching an amiable smile. And this quickly slipped from his ruddy complexioned face to be replaced by a frown to match those worn by the others, when Fallows announced:
‘We have us a serious situation in the valley, Steele.’
The Virginian replied, even toned: ‘I’m grateful you took the trouble to ride out and tell me about it, Sheriff.’
‘Just listen to the man, why don’t you?’ This from the tall, muscular-bodied, hard-eyed Ryan. There was even aggression in the way he shifted his fat cigar from one side of his mouth to the other when he was through talking.
‘Quit it, Ryan,’ the barrel-bodied Jack O’Malley snapped.
‘Yeah, shut up, Pete,’ his just as bulkily built brother added, less forcefully.
‘The Taggart girl got hit harder than any of us realized at first,’ Fallows explained, fingered his bushy mustache while his dark eyes still glittered with the animosity Steele’s response generated. ‘Doc Mackay doesn’t give her more than a fifty-fifty chance of coming out of the stupor that the blow put her in. And even if she does, he says there’s a danger she may not be as she was before.’
‘She could have brain damage, Mr. Steele,’ the slightly built newspaperman elaborated.
‘Maybe have no memory left,’ Harlan Grout added.
Steele sighed and replied: ‘That’s tough. I hope the coin comes down in the girl’s favor.’
‘There can be few people in the valley who aren’t aware of just how tough you are, sir!’ Huey Attrill pronounced. ‘You certainly don’t have to adopt such a hardened attitude with us. It’s not what we hope you will—’
‘Taggart’s steaming mad, Steele,’ Fallows cut in, directed a withering glare at the newspaperman. ‘He’s … Well, he’s …’
‘Demented is most likely the word for which you are searching, Len,’ Attrill said, almost obsequious after getting himself on the wrong side of the lawman. ‘Just like the whole town seems to be over this terrible business.’
‘Shit, this whole thing is a waste of time!’ Ryan snarled. Glared at Fallows for a moment, then at the Virginian in the doorway. Went on in a disparaging tone: ‘Seems certain people around here figure you’re the cat’s whiskers when it comes to trackin’ sign and that kinda stuff, mister. That’s why we’re out here. Like I say, wastin’ time.’
‘Pete, shut the hell up,’ Jack O’Malley urged.
‘No, it’s all right,’ Fallows allowed, quite willing to have somebody else make the request which was the reason they were at Trail’s End. To have done so himself would have stuck in his craw.
Steele eyed the most aggressive member of the posse with mild curiosity. And Ryan eagerly took up the invitation offered by the lawman.
‘The Taggart guy is out for blood: the kid’s blood. And he’s stirred up a whole bunch of others to feel the same way. They ain’t gonna wait around and find out if his daughter wakes up and tells what happened to her.’
He paused, rolled the half-smoked cigar from one side of his scowling mouth to the other again.
Jethro O’Malley, in the process of tamping tobacco into the large bowl of his pipe, shook his head, said miserably: ‘Reckon there ain’t no doubt about what happened this mornin’, Pete. Young Davy must’ve figured he got the come on from the girl. Lost his head. Panicked when she changed her mind.’
‘I ain’t disputin’ it’s what could’ve took place,’ Ryan growled. ‘That ain’t no reason though for a bunch of guys to start a lynch mob. The girl’ll maybe come out of it. The kid oughta get the chance to speak his piece in court!’
Len Fallows sought to reestablish his leadership of the group. ‘That’s about the sum total of it, Steele. The serious situation we have in the valley. Unless this legally constituted posse finds the boy first, and we take him into protective custody, Arnie Taggart and his bunch of hotheads will likely gun him down out of hand. Or string him up. Do any number of damn stupid things they’ll all regret later. Like Ryan says, Clavell’s entitled to the opportunity to tell what happened between him and the girl.’
‘The Taggart faction have almost the whole town behind them,’ Attrill revealed grimly.
‘Includin’ most of the women, would you believe?’ Grout added. Shrugged, allowed: ‘But then, I guess, seein’ what a boy did to a female that’s about to be expected?’
Fallows had been peering fixedly at Steele as the additional details were provided. Now he looked to left and right, swept his questioning gaze over the men he had deputized. All of them seemed to consider the ground had been fully covered. Two signaled this with nods of confirmation. The others just tightened their lips to emphasize they had nothing else to contribute.
Steele nodded then. Asked of Fallows: ‘You recall back on the trail, when we found the girl?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I said then if I ran into Clavell, I’d tell him what Arnie Taggart had in mind for him? And I’d do what I thought was best?’
‘So?’ Pete Ryan challenged; face contorted by a sneer.
‘So nothing’s changed,’ Fallows replied sourly on Steele’s behalf. ‘Unless it happens he can’t avoid it, he figures none of this is any of his concern.’
All eyes swung to become fixed on the Virginian. And the look on each face became progressively more contemptuous as the Virginian nodded his agreement with what the lawman had said.
‘Didn’t I tell you how he’d be?’ Fallows asked rhetorically as he made a rapid survey of the posse, looked back at the man in the doorway. ‘That reputation you have as a hot shot when there’s trouble, Steele? These men who work with the kid, they’ve heard about it. They insisted we come out to see you. Against my advice. I told them what a changed man you figured you were.’
‘I said you’d lend a hand,’ Harlan Grout muttered, disappointed.
Attrill attempted to prod Steele into positive action: ‘I’m sure we’d have a far better chance of preventing a tragedy if—’
‘We all make mistakes, frig it!’ Ryan snarled, snatched up his reins in a way that emphasized his impatience to leave right away.
The skinny Kenny Coggins spoke for the first time. ‘In makin’ this one, I figure we’ve let the trail get too damn cold. Not that any of us was too sure we could follow a hot one, anyway.’
Jethro O’Malley at last succeeded in getting his pipe to draw to his satisfaction, spoke in dull tones around the stem clamped between his gums: ‘Least we can try. Owe it to the kid.’
‘Luck to you,’ Steele said as the others took up their reins. Just when boiling over coffee began to hiss on the hot stove again.
Harlan Grout spat to the rear of his horse and muttered disconsolately: ‘We’re sure gonna need a whole lot of that.’
‘No more than Taggart’s lynch mob,’ Huey Attrill pointed out.
‘It’s Davy Clavell needs it most, is my opinion,’ Jack O’Malley said grimly, eyed Steele like he was vastly disappointed in him. ‘Guess the kid ain’t so much. But he ain’t had enough time to amount to much.’
‘We’ve talked this out, so let’s get out of here,’ Fallows said, tugged on the reins to wheel his horse. And the others did likewise as the lawman claimed: ‘Didn’t it turn out just like I told you men it would? Trying to get Adam Steele to change his mind is like battering your head against a brick wall.’
There was a buzz of disgruntled talk that was difficult to hear clearly against the snorts of horses, the clop of their hooves as the posse started off the yard. Also, each growling speaker competed with all the others. But the Virginian did discern some of the remarks were concerned with how the men would like to crack a brick over his skull: but because he was so hard headed it probably wouldn’t hurt him.
He left the front door open when he turned, went to the kitchen area. Although he wore gloves, he made use of the same cloth as Davy Clavell to lift the bubbling-over coffee pot off the steaming top of the stove.
As he did so, he accidentally caught a glimpse of his grim-set profile in the mirror hung on the wall by which he shaved. He sighed, became impassive as he muttered, only just out loud to his reflected image:
‘Feller, the way this thing is flaring up, you could get more than just your fingers burned.’
Chapter Eight
HE POURED HIMSELF another mug of coffee, carried it back to the open doorway. Where he leaned a shoulder against the frame, peered out after the departing riders who rode back along the track between the crop fields at the same slow pace as they had ridden in the other direction.
Some of them—never Fallows—directed over-the-shoulder glances towards the house. And then there were one or two double takes as Steele was spotted again in the doorway: the mug of coffee he held seeming to stress his decision to stay here at Trail’s End, not involve himself in the community’s latest troubles.
Sharp words were exchanged, not loud enough to reach back to the house: and the order was given for the posse to move at a canter. So, even after they had gone from sight into the timber, the sound of pounding hooves marked the progress of the posse down the trail for a considerable distance.
While he slowly sipped coffee, reviewing in his mind his handling of Davy Clavell and the group of departing men, he heard no slow-down to a stop and a restart. Knew the men had not reclosed the gate after they rode onto the Trail’s End spread. Certainly no one took the time to dismount and fasten it behind them as they left the property.
Later, when just unobtrusive sounds of nature filtered out from the timber, Steele remained convinced he could not have handled this latest twist in the developing situation any other way.
For he had committed himself. Once he had gained the trust of Davy Clavell and presuming, of course, the kid was still hiding out close by: waiting instructions from his mentor.
It would have been a whole lot better had he not returned home to find the fugitive kid hiding in the barn. Having done so, though, as a law-abiding rancher he could not simply have told Clavell to get the hell away from the spread. He would have had to turn in the kid.
Halfway through the second cup of coffee, he heard a series of small sounds from out back of the house that may have been made by the Holstein milker. But the sounds then culminated in a familiar tentative rapping of knuckles on the rear door.
Again Steele left the front door open as he turned into the house. The knuckles rapped a little harder. He said nothing, swung open the door. And Davy Clavell, in a state of high nervous tension, almost leapt away from the threshold. His mouth was starting to open to ask a question of Steele. It gaped to vent a strangled gasp of surprise before he could speak.
‘God, I thought then …’
He squeezed his eyes tight closed. Only then, in the darkness behind the lids, did he realize fear had caused his right hand to go instinctively for his revolver. And he jerked the hand away from the butt of the holstered gun: fast as he had withdrawn it from the hot handle of the coffee pot a while ago.
Steele told him evenly: ‘No, kid. They all took off.’
‘I heard the horses. But I couldn’t see from over there.’
He was rooted to the spot where he had backed off. His eyes showed a lot less apprehension now as he jerked a thumb across the mound without a marker, already starting to merge into the landscape, where Billy Baxter was buried. Revealed he had hidden behind the end of the barn close to the creek bank.
‘Heard most of the talk. I know you said to stay away until you called. But I just couldn’t wait to get back to the house, Mr. Steele. I … God, I don’t know. I just can’t seem able to stay still. It’s much better for me when I’m—’
Steele emptied the coffee grounds from his mug, backed off the threshold, instructed: ‘Come inside, kid. Pour yourself another cup of coffee. Have yourself a cigarette if you can keep your hands from shaking long enough to roll one this time. I’ll get the horses ready.’
‘Horses?’ Clavell was abruptly mistrustful, made no aggressive move but his stance and expression were challenging. ‘Where we goin’?’
Steele told him wearily: ‘Don’t want to labor the point, kid, but I’m the one supposed to ask the questions.’
‘Dammit, Mr. Steele! I heard some of what them men from town and my buddies said! How they’re about the only people around here who ain’t plannin’ to lynch me! I ain’t gonna go anyplace unless I know there’s no chance a lynch mob’ll get their hands on me!’
Steele started to shake his head, then nodded, replied in the same weary tone as before: ‘I was about to tell you awhile back what I had in mind. Taking you to Broadwater.’
‘Broadwater?’ Clavell chewed the inside of his cheek, nurturing doubt. ‘Then what’s gonna happen?’
