Shawn O'Brien Manslaughter (16 page)

Dr. Thomas Clouston was going a-courtin'.

The thunderstorm that caught up with him shortly after he left camp had cramped his style somewhat, but under his cloak he wore a suit of gray broadcloth, a celluloid collar, and a red-and-white-striped tie. Deeming it unsuitable for a gentleman caller, he'd left his battle-ax at home, but a pearl-handled Colt rode in a shoulder holster under his coat. He held a bouquet of wildflowers tied with a black ribbon.

That Judy Campbell might reject his advances didn't enter Clouston's thinking. He was sophisticated and charming, a man of the world, and what young woman in her right mind could resist him? The icing on the cake was that soon he'd be obscenely rich.

Clouston smiled to himself. Why, pretty Judy would leap headfirst into his bed.

The hilly scrub country gave way to grassy flats, and here and there stood stands of timber and hardwoods. Fat cattle sheltered from the storm under the trees, and once Clouston watched a grizzly drag something dead and bloody into the brush.

He followed the course of Dry Creek south, then swung west in the direction of the Four Ace ranch. There was no letup from the rain, and lightning scrawled across the ashen sky like the signature of a demented god. But Clouston rode on, confident that a man of his stature would come to no harm.

In that he was correct.

A racketing rain falling around him, he drew rein outside the Campbell house. The day was dark; lamps glowed inside with orange light, and a ribbon of smoke rose from the chimney.

A tall puncher wearing a slicker stepped from the barn and saw Clouston. He stepped to the man and said, “They're probably in the kitchen. Better knock on the door.”

Clouston nodded and swung out of the saddle. He turned and peered closely at the puncher, a middle-aged man with a lot of gray in his hair.

“Take my horse to the barn,” he said.

“Take it your ownself,” the puncher said.

“Listen, when I tell a man to do a thing he does it,” Clouston said.

“And when you see me do this”—the puncher shook his head—“it means I ain't doing it.”

“Then you're insane,” Clouston said.

“And you're the one standing out in the rain,” the puncher said.

He turned on his heel and walked toward the bunkhouse.

Clouston watched the man go and was wishful for his Spanish ax. But now was not the time and place. Perhaps he'd get a chance to kill the lout later.

His train of thought was interrupted when the house door opened and a tall, lean man said, “Can I help you?”

“Yes, my good man,” Clouston said. “And who might you be?”

“I might be anybody. But my name is Duncan Campbell and this is my house.”

“Ah, then you must be Miss Judy's father.”

“I am. And who are you?”

“My name is Dr. Thomas Clouston.”

“Then you're the man who saved my daughter from an attack. She told me about you.”

“I am honored,” Clouston said. “That she would remember me so.”

“Come in, man,” Campbell said. “I'll have one of the hands tend to your horse.”

With a last glance at the lowering, thunder-torn sky, Campbell closed the door behind Clouston and himself and said, “Come into the parlor. I have a good fire going to keep away the dampness. Let me take your cloak and hat.” Then, “You brought flowers I see.”

“Yes. They're wilted, I'm afraid. Is Miss Judy to home?”

“She's in her room. Once I see you settled with a whiskey in your hand I'll fetch her.”

Bound by his Scottish heritage and the code of the West, Duncan Campbell was duty bound to offer hospitality to a stranger. But there was an arrogance and coldness about Dr. Clouston that put him on edge. He just didn't like the man and he resented his calling on his daughter, about thirty years his junior.

Now that Clouston was freed of his cloak and hat, Campbell saw him as a tall, stately man with gray hair falling to his slight, narrow shoulders. But the doctor did not have a good face. The man's mouth was small and mean and hinted at cruelty, and his blue eyes were without warmth, as icy as his demeanor. Standing aloof and distant in the parlor, he looked more undertaker than suitor.

Campbell ushered Clouston into a chair by the fire, then said, “A dram of scotch?”

“Please,” the doctor said. He sat stiffly, not a muscle in his body relaxed.

Campbell handed Clouston a filled glass, waited, and when he saw his guest had not tasted his drink, he said, “The whiskey is not to your liking?”

Clouston raised the glass to his lips. “It's adequate,” he said. “My intention was to visit with Miss Judy.”

“I'll get her,” Campbell said. He was irritated that the man had damned his scotch with such faint praise. A fine single malt adequate indeed!

 

 

Thomas Clouston was stunned. Judy Campbell was even more beautiful than he remembered.

Her unbound hair fell in amber waves over her shoulders, and her peach morning dress revealed every voluptuous curve of her firm young body.

Clouston wanted her. He had to have her. Like an art connoisseur hoards a stolen great master, he'd lock her away for only him to enjoy. Such loveliness was for his eyes and his eyes only.

Clouston rose to his feet and bowed. “I hope I haven't come at an inopportune time, Miss Campbell.”

“Not at all,” Judy said. “The storm is doing an excellent job of keeping us all indoors.” Her smile, though dazzling, was tentative, unsure. She hardly knew this man, yet she owed him her life.

Clouston picked up the bouquet that he'd dropped on the parlor table. “I brought you flowers,” he said. “But I fear they are sadly wilted.”

Judy took the bouquet and smiled again. “It's the thought that counts, and I love wildflowers. Please be seated.”

Clouston waited until the girl sat and then he took his chair again.

Judy resettled the burning logs with an iron poker, then said, “A fire in the middle of summer. You must think us strange, Mr. Clouston, but this old house does get damp.”

“My dear girl it's
Doctor
Clouston, and I don't think anything you do is strange. Au contraire, you are very sane. I observed signs of madness in one of your father's hired hands, but none in you.”

Judy smiled. “Well, thank you, I think. What kind of doctor are you?”

“I am a psychiatrist. I make a study of the human mind.”

“I rather fancy that there are few chances to practice your profession in the Rattlesnake Hills, Doctor.”

Clouston's smile had all the warmth of a grinning alligator. “You are correct about that, dear lady. But as of now I am resting from practice. All at once the manifold tensions of treating the mentally ill became too much of a burden, and I fled west to get away from it all for a while.”

“But you will return soon, I trust,” Judy said, trying to keep the hope from her voice. Clouston's eyes had already stripped her to her underwear, and he was working on the rest.

“One day, perhaps, with a beautiful bride at my side,” the man said. “And, of course, that is the reason I'm paying court to you, my child.”

The girl was thoroughly alarmed. “I don't think I'm ready for marriage,” she said. “Not for a few years at least.”

Clouston took a large S-shaped pipe from an inside pocket, stuck it in his teeth, and stepped to the window. Judy could only see the back of his head, which was a mercy because his face bore a furious expression that bordered on the demonic.

But his voice was level when he said, “The storm shows no sign of abating. I fear I will have a most unpleasant return journey, especially since my quest has apparently failed.”

Trapped by the manners of her time and place, Judy said, “Then you must stay the night, Dr. Clouston. We have plenty of room.”

Clouston let a triumphant smile flicker and die on his lips before he turned and said, “My dear young lady, that would be a most singular kindness. I'm a rather timid creature by nature, and the thought of a trail beset by thunder and lightning makes me most anxious. But pray you, will not your father mind a stranger under his roof ?”

“No, he will make you most welcome,” Judy said. “That is his way.”

The girl's dress rustled as she rose to her feet. “I'm afraid I must leave you for a while, Doctor. I have some duties in the kitchen. But I'm sure you'd like to smoke your pipe, and my father will be in directly.”

“I put you at a great inconvenience,” Clouston said, bowing.

“Not at all,” Judy said. She stepped out of the parlor feeling stark naked.

Dinner at the Four Ace ranch passed quite well, despite the baleful presence of Dr. Thomas Clouston and Duncan Campbell's growing dislike for the man. He saw how the white-haired man's eyes lingered on his daughter's breasts every time he spoke to her and his less-than-subtle innuendoes about returning east with a young bride.

The meal was saved by the presence of the new ranch foreman, a large, jolly man named Johnny “Big Boy” Harrison who was a former seaman, peace officer, army scout, and sometime stage actor. He had a fund of stories about his adventures and people he'd met, including the diva Lillie Langtry who'd once given him a kiss backstage in a New Jersey theater.

“On the lips?” Judy asked, drawing a rebuke from her puritanical father.

Big Boy grinned. “Nah.” He pointed to his left cheek. “She laid one on me right here. I didn't shave for a month, well, at least until her lip rouge wore off.”

Clouston didn't join in the laughter that followed, but when it ended he said, “Was she insane, this Lillie Langtry? All actors are, you know.”

Big Boy was baffled. “No . . . I don't reckon so.”

“What did she say? After she kissed you, what were her exact words?” Clouston said.

“She gave me some advice,” Big Boy said.

“Ah ha! Now we reach the crux of the matter.” Clouston, who had eaten very little, laid his fork on the plate. “Were they the words of a madwoman?”

The big foreman looked uncomfortable. “Good roast beef, boss,” he said to Campbell.

“Come now, my man, Lillie Langtry's exact words,” Clouston said. “I must hear them.” His eyes were on fire.

“Well, near as I can recollect, she said, ‘John, anyone's life truly lived consists of work, sunshine, exercise, soap, plenty of fresh air, and a happy, contented spirit.' Yup, I guess that's about it.”

“Sounds like sane advice to me,” Duncan Campbell said, chewing.

“Perhaps,” Clouston said. “But the sanity of the female of the species is very suspect, especially when it comes to deciding what is good for them.”

He stared hard at Judy when he said it, and her father said, “Big Boy, tell us about the starving feller down to the Texas Glass Mountains country who ate his mother-in-law that time.”

“Do we have to?” Judy said, making a face.

“Sure you do,” Big Boy said. “The cannibal's name was Hope Hooper and he was a rascal. His mother-in-law was the only Democrat in Brewster County and that's how come he ate her.”

“Did you know him, Mr. Harrison,” Judy said.

“Well, we weren't kissin' kin or anything like that, but since I was the feller who shot him, I guess we had a bond.”

The talk continued and Judy laughed a great deal, but Clouston had dropped out of the conversation, sitting upright and morose in his chair. He didn't like Big Boy. The man was obviously mentally ill, and the doctor badly wanted to split the man's skull open with his battle-ax.

 

 

Shortly before eleven as Duncan Campbell and his daughter readied themselves for bed, Thomas Clouston excused himself with the pretense that he wanted to check on his horse.

“Please don't stay awake for me,” he said. “I can find my own way to my room.”

When he stepped outside, the rain had ended but lightning still flashed within the clouds and the night air smelled of a further downpour to come.

By the light of a single lantern, Clouston led his horse from its stall and saddled the sleepy animal with little haste. There was no rush. The plan he had in mind would take time to mature.

He turned down the lantern, led the horse to the barn door, and looked around outside. Good. There was no one in sight. The hands had already sought their bunks, and the only sound was the steady tick of rain from the barn roof and a distant rumble of thunder. The night was black as ink as Clouston tied his horse to the cast iron post outside the house. When he stepped inside a single candle burned in the hallway to light his way upstairs. He smiled. How just too, too touchingly thoughtful.

After he entered his room, Clouston blew out the candle and pulled a straight-backed chair to the window, sat, and stared out into the dreary night.

He was still there an hour later.

When the old grandfather clock in the hallway downstairs first chimed midnight, Clouston rose to his feet like an automaton. He checked the loads in his Colt, then shoved the pistol back into the holster.

From his pants pocket he took a large, blue and white polka dot bandanna and spun it into a sausage shape. Now was the time to proceed with stealthy tread, like a man tiptoeing through a graveyard on All Hallows' Eve.

Testing the tautness of the bandanna, Clouston slowly stepped to the door and let himself out into the hallway. After its chiming exertions, the grandfather clock now tick-tocked contentedly downstairs and patiently waited for the opportunity to strike one. Lightning shimmered inside the darkened house as he stood and listened, the bandanna stretched tight between his hands.

There were three bedrooms upstairs. Stentorian snores from behind the door at the end of the hallway marked Duncan Campbell's, so the one opposite Clouston's own must be Judy's.

On cat feet the man stepped to the door. The house was well built and the floorboard did not creak.

Clouston tried the door handle. It turned easily and he pushed. Excellent! It wasn't locked. Such sane, trusting souls. He smiled. Little did they know that they had a bogeyman in their midst.

Judy Campbell lay on her back, her hair spread across the white pillow like spilled red wine. Under the sheet her breasts rose and fell with every breath, and her long, shapely legs were outlined, slightly open in unconscious invitation.

Clouston licked his lips and advanced on the bed. Duncan Campbell still snored and that was good, very good. Clouston knew his merry men would have laughed to see how slyly he crept up on the sleeping girl, the bandanna a tight garrote in his fisted hands. This had to be done swiftly and without sound.

Like a crouching shadow in the darkness, Clouston bent over the bed for a moment. Then, like a predatory animal, he hurled himself on top of the sleeping girl.

 

 

Judy Campbell's eyes few open and she tried to scream, but Clouston gagged her with the bandanna, then knotted it tightly at the back of her neck. He dragged her from the bed and threw her over his left shoulder, aware of the firm shape of her body under the sheer silk of her nightdress.

The girl struggled, fighting the gag, but Clouston rammed the muzzle of his colt into her temple and said, “Quit that or I'll kill you and then your father.”

Suddenly the girl went limp. Because of his threat or the fact that she'd fainted Clouston did not know, nor did he care. She was quiet and had ceased to struggle, and that was all that mattered.

The girl was slender and Clouston did not feel particularly burdened as he carried her out of the bedroom and into the hallway. There was now no sound from Duncan Campbell's room, and he made haste to take to the stairs. But he grabbed his cloak and hat from the rack without undue hurry and stepped out the front door.

Despite the lightning and pattering rain, Clouston's horse stood placidly at the hitching post. Clouston threw Judy over his saddle and then mounted. He grabbed the girl and held her close to him and walked his horse away from the ranch house.

After a while, riding through murk, Thomas Clouston tilted back his head and laughed. It had all been so damned easy. He'd been a wolf among sheep and stolen a woman from them without their notice, just as nice as you please.

He figured his future plans would go even better. When he conquered Broken Bridle, the sheep would run, he'd drive the Chinese north, get rich, and take time to enjoy his new woman.

For Thomas Clouston life was good, and he reveled in it.

Judy Campbell had feared for her father's life and had feigned unconsciousness. Now she struggled again and said, “Where are you taking me?”

Clouston grinned. “To my home, of course. But first to my camp near the Rattlesnake Hills.”

“My father will come after you,” Judy said. “He'll find you and kill you.”

“Is that right, my child?” Clouston said.

“You betrayed his hospitality.”

“What a shame. But in doing so I've gained a bride.”

“I'll never marry you,” Judy said. She struggled and strands of wet hair fell over her forehead.

“Depend on it, my dear, you will. All women are whores at heart, and when you discover that you will live like a queen you'll gladly accept my ring and my bed.”

“I'd rather die first,” the girl said.

“That can also be arranged, and I assure you, you will find it a most unpleasant experience.” Clouston scowled. “Now shut your trap and leave me to my thoughts.”

The certainty came to Judy Campbell that this was the man who'd kidnapped Jane Collins. And if that was the case the poor girl was already dead . . . or wishing she was.