Colorado Sam (20 page)

 

   Eldon Payne knelt beside Nathan. “The loss of that dog will break Alana's heart,” he said, passing Nathan's missing pistol to him.

   Nathan laid Sam's head on the snow and holstered his Colt. “Yes, and I'm the one who must tell her.” He pushed to his feet. “Thank you for saving my life, Mr. Payne.” 

   “You can thank your man Westfall. He spied me running up the street and motioned for me to follow you,” Eldon Payne said. “We best check on the outcome yonder, don't you think?”

   “Yes,” Nathan agreed. ”I'll retrieve Sam later.” 

   The shooting on Hunt Street had ceased and curious townsfolk, lanterns yellow as lightning bugs, wandered from building to building, staring at the dead, trying to resurrect what had happened and in what sequence. Wilbur Knight lay where he'd fallen. Nathan remembered Ira saying Jack Allred had been wounded, and since the constable was missing, he assumed Allred was alive and that Ira had moved him, most likely to the hotel, where Doc Ellie could look after him.

He marched toward the hotel with Eldon Payne, wincing at the pain in his rib cage, but learning much from the random comments of the milling crowd. “Yesiree, that's Luther Buckman with that bullet hole plumb betwixt his eyes.” 

   Further along a voice exclaimed, “Well, counting the one in the gutter, the one on the bakery roof, Luther Buckman, and poor Wilbur—that's four dead by my count.“ 

   Lanterns hung from the porch railing of the Imperial House. Blood, both drops and splatters, glistened on the snowy steps of the porch. The moon-faced, overweight policeman guarding the entryway was sixty, if not older. Through the door glass Nathan saw that Doc Ellie, utilizing beds from the guest rooms, had converted the lobby into a makeshift hospital. At the moment she was bent over the bed nearest the door, probing Jack Allred's chest with a long silver instrument. Olney held a lantern over doctor and patient while Mr. Ming clutched a shallow pan.

   Ira Westfall was perched on the other bed minus his derby, sack coat, and left shirtsleeve, pressing a red stained cloth to his bicep. More blood showed on his right thigh where a long slit had been cut in his pants leg. 

   “Doc Langston doesn't want anybody interrupting her,” said the rotund policeman blocking the entryway. 

   “Patrolman, my ribs may be broken,” said Nathan. “I have need of the doctor, too.”

   The policeman squinted at Nathan. “You young Tanner?” Nathan nodded. “Big fellow done all the killing said I was to let you through,” the policeman said, waving Nathan inside. “He didn't say any such thing about you, Mr. Payne.”

   The merchant took no offense. “Nathan, if you have no further need of me, my daughter will be worried nigh onto death.” 

   “Goodnight, Mr. Payne, and thanks again for downing Roan Buckman.” 

   “Shooting that turd was a pleasure,” Eldon Payne declared as he descended the porch steps. 

   The hotel lobby smelled of blood, disinfectant, and damp cloth. A metallic ping confirmed the successful removal of the bullet from Jack Allred's chest. Ellie Langston paused to stretch her back and spied Nathan. “You hurt, Mr. Tanner?”

   “Maybe a broken rib or two.”

   “Thank goodness. I've enough to deal with right now. Wait with Mr. Westfall while I finish closing the constable's wound.” 

   Not even his thick walrus moustache could hide Ira Westfall's welcoming smile. “Well, lad, we're alive and a lot of people aren't. Have a seat and tell me what happened in that dogtrot.” 

   When Nathan informed Ira that Eldon Payne had shot and killed Roan Buckman, the ex-copper's smile returned. “We've accounted for everyone involved in the ambush and Cal Buckman wasn't with his brothers this evening. Maybe he hasn't been a partner to his brothers in all this.”

   “What you mean?” a puzzled Nathan asked.

   “Allred told me Cal and Roan seldom agreed on anything. He feels Cal buried the hatchet where you Tanners are concerned and concentrated on building his grocery business. If you think about it, a small town lawyer like Roan couldn't buy Payne Merchandise without Cal's backing. So, without Cal's help he'd be forced to extort money from Eldon Payne to buy out your aunt. If that scheme failed, his last resort was to murder you and your aunt, and then wrest the store from Eldon.”

   “Did Roan really believe he could kill all of us tonight?”

   “No, probably not,” Ira responded. ”But he was counting on ridding himself of the last of the Tanners.”

   “Do you think he would've gone ahead with his ambush if he'd known Hobie was in jail at Creede?”

   “Yes, Hobie wouldn't have lived to see the inside of a courtroom. Then it would have been Eldon Payne's word against Roan's, if Eldon wanted to risk his daughter's life by testifying.”

   “So you're really saying Roan might have won out if Mr. Payne hadn't shot him tonight?”

   “Nathan, truly ruthless men willing to sacrifice themselves can thwart the law as easily as not. Often they're only stopped by a dose of their own medicine.”

   “Gentlemen, I'm ready for you,” Doc Ellie announced in her no-nonsense fashion.  

   “What about the constable?” Ira inquired.

   “He's lost a lot of blood. To be frank, Mr. Westfall, his chances are slim. Now, let's clean and dress your wounds.”

   Once Ira's arm and thigh had been treated and bandaged to the doctor's satisfaction, she poked and squeezed Nathan's ribs. “You're badly bruised, but nothing's broken. The less you move about for a week, the less you'll hurt.”

   Doc Ellie repacked her black bag. “Before I visit the undertaker's, I'll take a peek at your aunt, Mr. Tanner. Mr. Ming, keep the constable warm until I return in the morning.” 

   Departing the lobby Ellie Langston couldn't resist a parting admonition. “Not that you'll listen, Mr. Westfall, none of you mule-headed jaspers ever do, but a little bed rest wouldn't harm you either.”

   As soon as she was in the hallway leading to Alana's room, Nathan, though tired beyond belief, donned his mackinaw and cap. 

Ira frowned. “Where you bound?”

   “I can't leave Sam out there. The first thing my aunt will ask is what happened to his body.”

   “What do you intend to do with him?”

   “Bury him.” 

   “Hell, Nathan, the ground's frozen hard as stone.”

   “I'll have a casket made, take him to the ST, and cover him with rocks.”

   “That's a heap of work for a dead dog,” Ira said. 

   “Not really,” Nathan said. “I owe that ugly brute as much as I do Eldon Payne.”

   “Then take Burt with you. He's probably barn sour from being caged in Ming's quarters so long. He'll be upset he missed the excitement.” 

   “What about guarding my aunt? We aren't really certain about Cal Buckman yet.”

   “I'll hobble back there and take his place.”

   At Nathan's light knock and soft call, Burt Dawes opened Ming's door. “Damnation, boy, will somebody tell me what the hell's happened? Fish talk more than that Chinaman.” 

   “I'll tell you everything on the way. Grab your coat and pistol and follow me.”

   “Did you ask Ira?”

   “Yes, he'll be responsible for my aunt while we're gone.” 

   “Where we headed?”

   “To see about burying a friend of mine.”

   Nathan made two stops in the lobby. First, Olney provided directions to Crane Undertaking, Coffins, and Hearse Rental on Fifth Street. Then he asked Mr. Ming for his purse. As he anticipated, his purse was strung on a leather thong circling the Chinaman's neck. On the way to the lobby door he lifted a blanket from a pile next to the constable's bed. 

   They walked south on Hunt Street to Sweeney's Bath House, entered the dogtrot, and passed through. Somebody, a group of townsmen by the numerous tracks in the snow, had dragged off Roan Buckman's body. Sam, the wind toying with the hair on his shoulder and tail, appeared a black mound in the moonlight.   Delighted the hound's body hadn't been disturbed, Nathan shook out the hotel blanket. 

   “What're we doing with him, lad?” asked Burt Dawes.

   “We'll pack him to Crane's and have them measure him for a coffin.”

   Burt Dawes was incredulous. “Have you gone crazy? They build coffins for people, not dogs.”

   “Well, there's a first time for everything,” Nathan shot back. “He hadn't jumped Roan Buckman, I'd be laying where he is. Help me roll him onto the blanket.”

   Burt offering no further protest, they wrapped the huge hound in the blanket, knotted the ends, and carried him between them, both of them facing forward with Burt in the rear. Wary of clotheslines and other backyard obstacles, they retraced their steps, and once clear of the dogtrot, walked north to Fifth Street. 

   Crane Undertaking, Coffins, and Hearse Rental was three buildings east of Buckman Brothers Groceries and Drugs. Nathan was too tired and huffing too hard to worry where Cal Buckman might be at the moment. 

   The Buckman grocery was dark, but the opposite was true farther down the street. There, morbid onlookers filled the sidewalk, noses pressed against Crane Undertaking's brightly lit windows.  

   No one noticed the approach of Nathan and Burt until an onlooker turned and spat into the street. “Get ready for another dead one, Harvey,” their discoverer yelled. 
   Those on the porch opened a narrow path and stared at the blanketed bundle borne by the new arrivals. “This keeps up Harvey will be rich before morning,” quipped a member of the crowd.

   The contents of the undertaker's public room explained the lingering, gawking crowd. Laying in a row in the middle of the room were Patrolman Wilbur Knight and the two bearded, wool-coated, unknown shooters who had sided with the Buckmans. 

   Nathan and Burt lowered their burden to the floor, and Burt Dawes hollered above the buzz of the onlookers. “Hey, Harvey! We need to talk with you.”

   It took a minute. Then a man they assumed to be the proprietor emerged. He was slightly built and dressed in black except for his white apron. The few strands of hair still growing on his head were plastered to his skull with hair tonic. He smelled of embalming fluid and scented soap. 

   “For your information I'm Mr. Crane, not Harvey,” the slightly built man said haughtily as he eyed the blanketed bundle resting between Nathan and Burt. “Now, what is it you want?”

   “I need a coffin built,” Nathan said.

   Mr. Harvey Crane again eyed the blanketed bundle. “May I ask who we're burying, and who will be paying for my services?”

   “His name's Sam. I'm Nathan Tanner, and I'll be the one paying you.” 

   “Then stretch your Sam out by the others. He'll have to wait his turn,” Harvey Crane said. “I've Cal Buckman's two brothers to embalm first.”

   “Sam won't need embalming, or burying by you, just a coffin. And if you don't mind, Mr. Crane, I'd prefer we put him somewhere out of sight until you have his coffin ready.”

   Harvey Crane snorted. “I'm an undertaker, Mr. Tanner, and I don't store bodies or provide coffins for those not availing themselves of my services. Saul Reid, the carpenter on Fourth Street, will gladly do as you wish.”

   Nathan felt his patience slipping. He leaned and opened the blanket covering Sam. Harvey Crane's jaw dropped, but the undertaker regained his composure just as quickly. “I've never been so insulted. I don't touch dead animals under any circumstances, Mr. Tanner. Please remove that dog from my property immediately.”

   Nathan took a deep breath, and thrust a hand inside his mackinaw. The undertaker, fearing he was reaching for a weapon, stepped backward, prepared to flee for his life.

   The clink of coins gave Harvey Crane pause, and his hesitation was rewarded, for Nathan proceeded to hold forth not one, but three double eagle gold pieces.   The undertaker stared, weighing principle versus monetary reward. It proved a short debate. “Mr. Tanner, the dog must be of utmost importance to you. I'll be delighted to store the remains and provide a suitable coffin. It may, however, not be ready until tomorrow afternoon.”

   “That will be fine. I'd like him wrapped in canvas, if that's possible.”

   With his profit assured, the undertaker became as condescending as if Sam were human. “That will be no problem, Mr. Tanner,” he said, sweeping the coins from Nathan's palm. “I assure you, your animal will be properly cared for while he's in my possession.”

   Nathan's stern gaze made Harvey Crane blink. “I better hear nothing to the contrary,” he warned, pulling the blanket over Sam. 

   Their departure was accompanied by much muttering from the onlookers, those closest to the door having repeated everything said for the benefit of the others in the crowd. It seemed many were dumbfounded that a huge, ugly dog could be held in such esteem that his owner would pay the cost of two funerals complete with embalmment and interment at the local cemetery for a simple coffin.

   The street running west to Buckman Brothers was empty. Nathan plodded beside Burt, too exhausted to think of anything but the bed that awaited him at the Imperial House. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with Cal Buckman, the money missing from Payne Merchandise, the hostility of Laura Payne, and the question of who would oversee the ST while his aunt recovered. There was also the question of how long Devlin Kellerman and his fellow lawyers, more familiar with the courtroom than the operation of riverfront warehouses, could continue to successfully manage the Tanner Supply Company. 

   Burt Dawes was no more alert than Nathan, and the oily slide of metal parts over metal parts, the ratcheting noise produced when a shell was levered into the breech of a repeating rifle surprised and shocked the both of them. They halted in the middle of the moonlit street, mackinaws buttoned, hands stuffed in coat pockets, fully aware they were at the complete mercy of whoever had drawn down upon them. 

   “Don't get excited, either of you,” said a flat, calm voice from the porch of Buckman Brothers. “It's Cal Buckman. I want to parley. I'll shoot either of you if you so much as scratch. Walk over here to the hitch rack real slow.”

   Cursing his carelessness, Nathan tramped to the hitch rack in front of Buckman Brothers. “Put your hands on that top rail the both of you.”

   Cal Buckman was a wide shadow under the overhang of the porch, his face and shaved skull a white blur divided by the black line of his spectacular handlebar moustache. Once he had a grip on the top rail, Nathan spoke, his even tone belying the acute pounding in his chest. “It's your play, Mr. Buckman.“

   Cal Buckman sighed, but his rifle remained level and ready to fire. “My brother was crazy mad for revenge against you Tanners. It was all he talked about, and I couldn't keep Luther away from him. The two of them decided, unbeknownst to me, to hire a bunch of thugs and destroy the lot of you. I got no bad feelings toward you or your aunt. I picked a fight with your uncle before half the town, and he whipped me fair and square. It was a hard lesson, but I learned from it. I got me a good business, a good woman, and three children. I don't want or need trouble with you or the law. You understand me?”

   “I appreciate what you're telling me, Mr. Buckman, and I think I believe you,” Nathan said. “But there's the matter of fifty thousand dollars your brother obtained blackmailing Eldon Payne.”

   “I don't know anything about any blackmailing. With Roan and Luther gone, I'm heir to the holdings of the Buckman family—store, ranch, everything. If there's any such money in Roan's accounts, you have my word it'll be returned to Eldon Payne.”

   Nathan nodded, a big nod Cal Buckman was sure to see. “Mr. Buckman, I bear you no grudge either. It's time the Buckmans and the Tanners made peace.”

   Cal Buckman lowered the barrel of his rifle. “I agree. Good night, Mr. Tanner.”

   “Good night, Sir,” Nathan said, stunned how quickly participants could end a blood feud that had taken nine lives. 

   He and Burt trudged to the Imperial House. Their entry popped Olney from his rickety chair behind the front desk. The clerk ignored the shushing of Mr. Ming and said in a near shout, “Telegram for you, Mr. Tanner.”

   Nathan accepted the Western Union envelope and broke the seal with a fingernail. Its contents settled on his tired shoulders with the weight of an anvil:

 
   “N. Tanner. Stop. Your return within the next three weeks imperative. Stop. Many decisions required concerning Tanner Supply. Stop. Devlin Kellerman.”