Passin' Through (1985) (20 page)

There was another dead silence, then Clinton looked over at her. "Just what do you mean, Pan made a mistake?"

"I would call it that. He tried to kill Mr. Passin'."

She was obviously enjoying herself. She was in danger, and she knew it now. She knew the kind of people she was dealing with and she knew they did not intend for her to live, so she was playing every card, trying to undermine their confidence in themselves, in their plan, if they had one. The more I listened the more I believed they were just cheap, clumsy murderers who had killed a man, faked a will, then claimed the ranch, all with too little information. Now they would try to cover their mistakes with more murder.

Clinton was bothered. He leaned his knuckles on the table. "What do you mean he 'tried'?"

"Just that."

"What happened?"

"I don't know exactly, except that Pan Beacham isn't with us anymore."

Again there was silence. When Clinton spoke again his voice was shaking. "You're lying, damn you! You're lying! Nobody could beat Pan! He was the best! He never took a chance!"

Janet, pale and quiet, sat very still. Her right hand was close to the table knife. "I believe," she spoke quietly, "you had better drive me into town. Or give me a horse and I'll ride. I think you should realize that you're through here, all through."

"Like hell!"

"Your luck's run out," she persisted. "You can't go against that. From the beginning everything has gone wrong for you. If you persist you will wind up hanging.

"Let me go, and get out of here as fast as you can."

"I think she's right," Matty said.

"Shut up!" Mrs. Hollyrood's tone was hoarse. "Keep out of this!"

"Nobody could beat Pan," Clinton repeated sullenly. "You're lying!"

Again I looked around, looked around carefully. There was nobody in sight, not much of any place for anybody to hide, close up. I was hoping she would talk her way out of it, although I hadn't much hope. So far she'd been uncommonly cool. Scared, yes, but handling it better than most and trying to use every chip she had, which wasn't much.

Their efforts had been a botched-up mess from the beginning. Most murderers were people of low intelligence no matter what their income or their station in life, and murder was a difficult thing to hide.

A lonely old man had taken her to dinner a few times and no doubt talked with enthusiasm about his ranch. Knowing little of ranches and not realizing Phillips' enthusiasm for his place, she had pictured it far different than it was. She made her plans, with or without help from Matty or Clinton, had murdered Phillips, and then come west to take over the ranch, using a forged will.

They had, because he seemed to be alone, assumed he had no relatives. He might even have said he had no wife or children. Arriving, they had found the ranch less than expected. It was a good ranch, but it needed to be worked and work was no part of their planning. Mrs. Hollyrood had then decided to sell. Perhaps she even had ideas of murdering me for whatever I carried, be it a few hundred or a few thousand dollars. Most criminals are optimists. They have to be. They have to believe in their projects and they convince themselves everybody else is stupid. Why else would a person risk several years in prison for a few dollars? It never made sense to me.

Now they had planned to murder Janet. To get her out here where nobody could say what happened, and where she would not be expected back by anyone. Her possessions gone from the hotel, they would assume she had gone about her business.

At first my help must have seemed important, just doing work they did not wish to do. Then I'd gotten that tally book, and looking into the drawer Mrs. Hollyrood must have seen a stain where something else had been. Naturally suspicious, she began to wonder. And then they had decided to kill me. I simply knew too much and was becoming dangerous. Actually, I knew very little.

"You could go now," Janet was saying. "You could get over the county line and keep going. Nobody would find you and I doubt if they'd keep looking for long."

Somehow I had to get her out of there alive. How to do it was the question. Clinton was good with a gun, and he'd be in a panic and liable to start shooting. In a case like that, Janet could get shot very easily. I had to get her out of there and away.

At any time one of them might decide to make a move and do so without warning. They had about talked themselves out. If they started to move, I would act, but there should be a better way.

Janet had offered them a way out, but she should realize that if they took it they would murder her first, to leave no witness, nobody to set the police on them.

Who else might ask a question? There was only me. And they would think of that, too.

But I was a drifter, and nobody might listen. The solution they came to would always be the one they wanted to find.

"All right." Clinton's tone was resigned. "You're right, of course. We'll have something to eat and then I'll drive you into Parrott."

He looked up. "Matty? Will you fix something?"

"Don't bother, Matty." Dory Hollyrood was on her feet. "You go to your room. I'll do it."

Matty hesitated and seemed about to speak, but before she could say what was on her mind, Mrs. Hollyrood said, more sharply, "Matty? Go to your room!"

Matty turned and without a word went up the stairs.

Janet pushed back a little from the table. "Can I help?" she asked.

"No, honey, you sit right there. We'll have something together in no time.

"I always did like to fuss around a kitchen," she said. "Folks wouldn't be likely to think that was so, with me being an actress, and all.

"That's the trouble with being on the road, a person doesn't get a chance to cook, fix up, or sew. You never really have a home to go to.

"I'm sorry," she added, "that we got into this little mix-up. It hasn't been as bad as it sounds, and I am sure poor Mr. Phillips made some kind of mistake. You get to thinking about it and you will understand.

"He was a kindly man. Liked to do things for folks. Evidently when he wrote that will leaving everything to me, he forgot about anybody else for the moment. If he had lived he would have made things right.

"You say you like a ranch, and ranch life? Well, you just keep the ranch. We'll go back to show business, Matty and me. Of course, we could do with a little traveling money, so I'd sell my share to you for whatever you can offer. We'll just put it down to a mistake by poor Mr. Phillips."

As she chattered, she was working. Her fingers were quick, and she seemed to know where everything was.

"There now! We'll have things ready in a minute. You drink up your coffee now -"

"I'm afraid it's gotten cold."

"Now, now! Cold coffee's not all that bad! You just drink up!"

"If you like cold coffee," Janet said, smiling, "drink this. I haven't so much as touched it."

Clinton looked over at Mrs. Hollyrood. "She knows," he said.

At that moment I heard a faint sound from above. Matty was in the window on the second floor. She was looking down at me.

Chapter
Nineteen

Our eyes met and for a moment they held, then she withdrew her head, and I waited, but nothing happened. My eyes returned to the scene within.

"She knows," Clinton repeated.

"I only know that I wish to return to my hotel." Janet was on her feet. "I believe our lawyers can handle this better than we. Evidently," she added, "my uncle's memory seemed to have failed him. We had always been very friendly partners, and it was my understanding that when he died I was to have his share also."

"Sit down," Mrs. Hollyrood said. "We are not through."

Janet remained standing. "I believe we are." She was very cool but I could see that she was frightened, and they could see it also.

How could it be otherwise? She was alone, far from town, and with two people whom she must by now realize were murderers. Phillips would not have forgotten his "beloved niece," so the will they had must be forged.

"We will write a bill of sale," Clinton said, "and when you sign it, you can go."

"I do not believe Mr. Passin' would advise it," Janet said. She was alert, ready to move. What she had in mind I'd no idea, but she was ready, ready for anything that offered a way out.

"Your Mr. Passin' is not here. There's nothing he could do if he was. It is all up to you now. To you, and to us. After all"

Clinton smiled - "it's just land, and you're young. Why risk a life that is so young?"

She smiled back. "You may be right. My aunt told me I wouldn't like it here. In fact, we have a little wager. She offered to bet I would be back in Durango within ten days. That" - she was lying coolly "was nine days ago. She will be expecting me to be here when they ride out to see me."

"She's lying!" Mrs. Hollyrood said irritably. "Can't you see she's making it all up?"

Charles Pelham Clinton hesitated. He was beginning to like this less and less. I could see it in his manner.

"Suppose she isn't? Suppose this aunt of hers rides out to see her?"

Dory Hollyrood was impatient. She got out a tablet and a pen and ink. "Pell? Write it out. She'll sign it if she knows what's good for her."

Clinton hesitated, then sat down. Taking up the pen, he started to write. He was at the opposite end of the table from Janet and she was standing. Suddenly she stooped slightly and shoved hard on the table.

She moved so swiftly her action was totally unexpected. The end of the table smashed against Clinton's breastbone, and the bench upon which he was sitting went over backward, spilling him to the floor in a tangle of chair, table, and his legs. With almost the same movement Janet threw the coffee, cup and all, at Dory Hollyrood, then she was out of the door.

It caught me flatfooted as well. Then I was around the corner of the house.

"Janet! This way!"

She had hesitated, not knowing which way was safest. Instantly she came to me.

From inside there was an angry scream. "Pell! Get her!"

We were running back toward my horse and I had jerked the slipknot when two men stepped from the shadow of the oaks.

The nearest one was Lew Paine, as I knew the voice. He said, "Now I've got you, you -!"

He always had to shoot off his mouth.

I shot off my gun.

Runnin' like that, I was all keyed up, an' when he spoke I just naturally hauled iron and let him have it. The other man turned to run and fell on the rocks. He had sense enough to lay still and I let him lay. Clinton was coming from the house, and whilst I might have gotten aboard and away, there was no time for the two of us on the same horse, so we ducked into the brush.

Clinton came up, a rifle in his hands. "Who's that? What happened?"

Somebody groaned, and I guess it was Paine. The other man said, "I dunno. He come out a-foggin' it an' when Lew spoke he just let him have it."

Clinton swore. The blue roan had walked off a few steps and was standing, ears up, head lifted.

"Where'd he go?" Clinton demanded.

"Into the brush." The speaker got to his feet. "There was somebody with him."

"Kill him tonight and I'll give you a hundred dollars," Clinton said. "Cash on the barrelhead."

"No, sir, you won't. I might kill a man because I was mad or to help a friend, like Lew here, but not for money." He hitched up his belt. "Anyway, this here's one old he-coon. I wouldn't go back in that brush after him for a gold mine. If you want him dead, you go make him that way yourself.

"Anyway," he added, "I got Lew to think of. I gotta get help for him. I think he's bad hurt."

Clinton swore, then walked back to the house. Very gently I lifted a foot, felt for a good place, and put it down. Janet followed.

We were out on a hillside where there was some brush and in the distance a forest of ponderosa. Our only chance to hide was to merge with the small trees and brush, and there was no good place to be.

Where was the roan? It had walked off somewhere and my eyes failed to pick it out of the darkness. Gently, I took another step, letting my foot down slowly until it held my weight, then moving the other. I didn't want him shooting at sound. He might hit one of us, and in his frame of mind he might just start firing into the darkness.

They would be desperate now, but desperate or not, they would be cautious. Pan Beacham, Janet had told them, was dead. That would be warning enough for Clinton.

That fool Paine! My guess was that he'd had enough, but something led him back there and he believed he had me dead to rights. Why couldn't he have left well enough alone? Had he not reentered the picture, Janet and I would be riding double on the roan and halfway to Parrott.

My head was aching again and I was tired, wanting nothing so much as just to lie down. We moved on, a step at a time.

When we managed to get about fifty yards away, keeping quiet, we just began to walk. If we could reach the road just before it got to the ranch house, we might catch some late traveler.

After a bit I said, "I've got to sit down. I'm all in."