Moontrap - Don Berry (19 page)

Webb stood by the wall in a small clear circle, the
muzzle of his rifle still pointed at the ceiling. Above his head the
great mushroom of white smoke piled and rolled against the raw boards
of the ceiling. Webb lowered the gun slowly to the floor and leaned
on the smoking barrel. He calmly surveyed the hundreds of eyes turned
toward him. Deliberately he leaned forward and spat on the floor. He
looked up at them again, closing one eye.

"Y're a damn noisy pack o' niggers. Y'are now,"
he said contemptuously.

Judge Pratt sat back down, tiny globes of sweat at
his hairline. He looked thoughtfully at Webb. Into the utter
stillness of the room he said quietly, "Marshal, when you've
finished with the woman, eject that man from the courtroom. He will
be fined. He ought to know better than to fire a rifle in a court of
law."

The crowd began to seat itself again, frightened and
silent. Meek looked across their heads at Webb. "Sorry, Judge,"
he said. "Just a iggerant friend o' mine." He grinned at
Webb. "And of mine," Pratt said absently, looking at the
top of his gavel. Then he slammed it down abruptly and said, "Does
the defense wish to continue?"

3

Webb was waiting for Monday outside when the trial
was over, having permitted himself to be thrown out without
objecting. He squatted on his haunches against the wall to the right
of the door, watching the people file out. Occasionally one would
glance at him quickly, then turn away. There was something about
Webb's impassive scrutiny that suggested a man hunting, and it was
not a comfortable sensation.

Monday made his way out. "Hooraw, coon," he
said, "she's all over."

He sat down heavily beside Webb, sighing. "Going
to be a bit of a wait for the hangin' though. Account o' havin' them
carpenters on the jury, they didn't get the gallows done. An' they
won't work tomorrow account it's the Sabbath."

"W
agh!
"
Webb snorted. "Give th' preachers a chancet t' pray f'r them
Injuns' black souls. Expect they'll like that."

"Ain't goin' to make no difference at th' end o'
the rope."

"Y'iggerant dunghead! Meant the preachers. Make
'em feel right godlike. Forgivin' an' all."

"That's fact. Y'know, coon, there's times I
ain't real proud to be people."

"How'd the boys take it?"

"Mixed. Tamahas an' old man Kiami took it good.
Others looked scared. That Tamahas is one mean son of a bitch, he is
now. Meek give'm a glass o' water, an' he knocks it square out o' his
hand and busted it on the floor. Looks at Meek an' says, 'What kind
of man are you? Give water to me whose hands are still red with the
blood of your people.' "

"
Wagh!
Pretty heavy run on water glasses, what with that lawyer an' all
besides."

"
Was
,
now. Kiami stopped 'em for a minute, though. Judge asks 'em one by
one if'n they got anythin' to say, 'n' Kiami gets up and says, 'Kiami
has done nothing.' Judge says, 'Then why are you here, Kiami? Why'd
you give y'rself up?'

"Kiami says, 'You tell us Christ died to save
his people. So we die, to save our people.' Ever'body laughed,
naturally, but it made 'em a wee bit nervous."

"
Wagh!
"'
Webb spat between his feet. "Iggerant dunghead, him. Ain't goin'
to do his people no more good'n Christ done his, either."

The last of the spectators were still filing out of
the building, murmuring excitedly at the prospect of the hanging.
Webb stared at them. "Look at 'em," he said thoughtfully.
"Walkin' shitheaps, ever' one of 'em, still warm an' steamy,
walkin' around makin' b'lieve they's alive."

Toward the end of the crowd, Meek and Judge Pratt
appeared. Meek looked a little worried. The judge, now divested of
his robes, walked over to Webb and extended his hand. "Webster,
your name is? Allow me to shake your hand, my friend. You wouldn't
have twenty dollars about you, I suppose?"

Webb took his hand gingerly. "Hell, no. What
would I be doin' with twenty dollars?"

Pratt sighed. "That's what I was afraid of,"
he said.

Meek stepped forward. "Judge has t' fine y'
twenty dollars for shootin' off the gun, hoss."

"Must have discipline in court, Mr. Webster.
Even," the judge said unhappily, "if I have to pay it
myself. "

Meek brightened and smiled broadly. "Well, now.
That bein' the case, here's the marshal right here, judge, an' he's
just the proper collectin' officer. I'll take the twenty dollars
now."

Judge Pratt blinked at him. "Meek, if I gave you
that twenty dollars the court would never see it. You and your
friends would drink it up in an hour."

"
Nothin' t' drink in this country, Judge, you
know that. 'Gainst the law, 'n' the marshal's closed down all the
stills."

Pratt shook his head slowly. Finally he said in a
reasonable tone,

"Meek, what would I
be doing with twenty dollars?" With a last nod to Webb and
Monday he strolled off up the street. Watching him go, Meek said, "Y'
know, he ain't the worst nigger ever put on them black robes."

***

Monday talked Webb into coming with him down to the
McLoughlin house to see about the seed wheat he was going to try to
borrow. Secretly he felt a little comforted to have the old coon with
him, though he knew it wasn't going to make any real difference.

Reluctantly Monday tied up in front of the doctor's
house. "Listen, hoss," he said to Webb, "leave y'r
rifle here, will y'?"

Webb muttered, but he left the gun sheathed along the
horse's shoulder. They walked up the short path to the door, past a
neatly painted fence and a well-kept lawn. The house itself was two
stories high, white and boxlike, with shutters at the windows.

Monday rapped on the door and stood nervously
shifting his feet. In a moment the door was thrown suddenly open and
the two men were faced with the great apparition that was John
McLoughlin. The man was huge, six feet four and heavy in proportion.
His hair was a great mane of white, so light that in his constant
movement it seemed almost to float about his head. His eyes were wide
with apparent surprise and disturbance, and one hand absently rubbed
quick little circles on his stomach.

"
Mr. Monday, Mr. Monday," he said excitedly
"Come in, come in. Sir?" He launched his hand at Webb.

"This is—Mr. Webster, Doctor McLoughlin,"
Monday said nervously. It sounded like a lie, but if you wanted to
look at it that way, old Webb was Mr. Webster.

"
Mr. Webster, " McLoughlin said. He pumped
Webb's hand quickly and whirled around, his coattails flying. "Come
in, come in, gentlemen," his retreating voice said, and they had
to scurry to keep up with him.

McLoughlin charged up to the second floor, and Monday
and Webb had just time to see him disappear into a room at the end of
the hall.

"
Damn sight too much misterin' goin' on,"
Webb muttered.

"
Now you stop," Monday whispered.

When they entered McLoughlin's study the giant
white-haired man was standing behind a great oak desk, frantically
shuffling through a stack of papers with one hand while the other
continued the habitual rubbing of his stomach. There were several
leather-covered chairs before the desk and McLoughlin gestured
vaguely at them. Monday and Webb sat down, uncomfortably.

"Mr. Monday, Mr. Monday," McLoughlin said.
He sat down suddenly, sweeping one hand across his white mane. "You
have no idea. I am so pressed, so pressed."

Monday cleared his throat. "Well, if some other
time—"

"
No, no no no," McLoughlin said, raising
one huge hand. "Quite all right. Webster," he muttered,
suddenly pausing for a brief instant to stare at his desk top.
"Webster, yes, Webster. You know some of my people, I believe."

"Don't expect I do," Webb said uneasily.

McLoughlin paused, his eyes wide. "No? No?
But—were you not with Mr. Gardner's brigade in the spring of
'twenty-five? And with Mr. Smith in 'twenty-eight?"

"Well, yes, I—"

"
Good, good," McLoughlin said, relieved. "I
was afraid for a moment—you know, the mind, with age—But you ye
met Peter—Mr. Ogden, and Mr. Ermatinger, and I believe Mr. Panbrun
at Walla Walla?" McLoughlin ticked them off on his fingers.

Webb blinked at him, startled. "That was
twenty-five years-"

"
Yes, yes," McLoughlin said, rubbing his
stomach nervously. "
Tempus fugit
.
And each new year brings new problems. Mr. Monday you have no idea.
Lawsuits, problems, storage . . ."

"I heard there was some trouble about the land,"
Monday said, embarrassed. The trouble was simply that the Americans,
Thurston most prominently, were methodically stripping McLoughlin of
all his holdings in the Oregon Country, their only legal weapon a
campaign of hate against the "damned Jesuitical rascal of a
Hudson's Bay man."

"Yes, yes, quite. But it has all been turned
over to intermediaries for settlement, now, and I am a bit hopeful. I
am expecting them momentarily with the papers. But now—"
McLoughlin suddenly swept his arms up in a great despairing gesture
to heaven. "Now, Mr. Monday."

"Sorry to hear about it," Monday mumbled,
looking at his hands. He wished he'd picked a less worrisome day to
come begging.

"The devil! Mr. Monday, if you'll pardon the
expression. The devil!"

"
What—ah, what's come up now?"

McLoughlin leaned forward on the desk, his hands
lacing and unlacing in front of him. "It is minor, quite minor,
I suppose. But just as an example of—in any event. Mr. Monday, I
confess to you that I have a terrible fear of rats."

"Rats?" Monday said, beginning to lose his
tenuous hold on the conversation. He was not entirely certain whether
McLoughlin referred to Thurston or the other kind, and he thought
he'd best not ask.

"Rats, Mr. Monday, rats. You perhaps know that
in the warehouse at my mill—or, I should say, what used to be my
mill—I have a large store of seed wheat. Yes, large stores.
Normally it is gone by now, but by hazard I have quite some left. And
the rats, Mr. Monday, the rats have gotten into it."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear—As a matter of fact—"

"They are attracted to the wheat, and now, Mr.
Monday, they threaten all my stores. The devil, Mr. Monday, the
devil!" McLoughlin rubbed his stomach worriedly and frowned down
at his desk. "I am unable to find anyone to take it off my
hands, and it is driving me frantic with worry. The rats, you have no
idea—" Suddenly he stopped, caught by an idea. He leaned
forward again intently.

"
Mr. Monday, I do not mean to pry, but—have
you considered putting your fields in wheat this year?"

"
I was figuring to do that," Monday said.
"But—"

McLoughlin sat back, disappointed. "But you have
your seed already, like everyone else." He raised his hands in a
discouraged gesture. "There is no one who can take this doubly
cursed rat-candy from me. And I am terrified even to set foot in my
own warehouse."

"
No, I don't have it," Monday said. "But
the trouble is, I got no money either. "

"
Who has money at the beginning of a season?"
McLoughlin said.

"Mr. Monday, are you aware that writing was
invented, not to communicate ideas of literary worth, but to keep the
accounts of some Phoenician brewers?"

"
No," Monday said doubtfully, "can't
say I was."

"And that is still its principal use, keeping
accounts. If you could consider taking some of this wheat I could
make a very attractive price, because of the rats. But it is a matter
of urgence; you understand I could not possibly wait until you raised
the money"

"If you'd be willin' to carry me another year—"
Monday said.

McLoughlin pulled open the drawer of his desk,
rummaging around for an account book. "Yes, yes, quite," he
muttered nervously. "No question."

When it had all been entered properly, McLoughlin
entered the customary "Interest at 8%," which through
carelessness he marked as "4% ." "Mr. Monday, you have
no idea what a relief this is to me. I feel like a free man again."
He sat back in his chair, breathing a deep sigh.

"
Tell me something, Doctor," Monday said.

"Yes, yes, of course."

"Has Joe Meek been around talking to you?"

"
Yes, yes," McLoughlin said hastily. "I
see Mr. Joe frequently. Frequently, several times a week. I paid him
twenty-five cents yesterday evening, in fact, tax on a cow."

"
I thought you'd quit running cattle,"
Monday said curiously, "Yes, yes, this was for one I loaned some
years ago to a gentleman in the valley."

There was a quiet knock on the door of the study and
McLoughlin called, "Come in, sir, come in."

A neatly dressed gentleman opened the door and
stepped into the room. McLoughlin stood and charged over to him,
taking his hand in both his own.