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Authors: Orlando Rigoni

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BOOK: Twisted Trails
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Armed once more, he turned and headed toward the Lone Chance. If his pursuer had taken refuge there, he would already have arrived. There was little need to wind himself. He changed course and made an attempt to capture the roaming horse. To his surprise, the animal stood stone still, listening to Paul's low, soothing words.

Paul mounted. He knew this cayuse; it was one he had seen Finch ride. However, that proved little. It was one of Addie's horses which she rented out. In fact he had seen Addie herself riding the animal. Because conjecture was fruitless, he cleared his mind and rode toward the Lone Chance at a brisk trot.

Still cautious, he dismounted some distance from the Lone Chance and approached the back of the building on foot. His attacker, his panic having subsided now that he had cover, might still try to complete his job. Paul stopped by the stable in back of the saloon and studied the big building. He circled until he was near the wall and crept toward the front porch. He vaulted up and headed for the door.

Cautiously, he approached the bright rectangle of light that fell from the open doorway. Feeling of his gun, he stepped inside, where his eyes picked out three or four miners bellying up to the bar and discarded them. The miners had no quarrel with him, and men who labored hard for a living did not accept Judas money. He did not see Addie, and he was glad, because this was his job and he wanted no interference. Across the room, Alonzo Finch had his attention fixed upon a card game, and Paul decided it was a good place to start.

Finch didn't see him until Paul reached the table. Finch looked up with unconcealed surprise that congealed into naked malice. If eyes could kill, Paul would have been a dead man. He realized then how difficult would be the job of ever taking Finch back to Oklahoma. Even as he thought that, Paul was studying the men about the table, none of whom showed any signs of having been on a recent chase.

Paul asked bluntly, "Did anyone see a man dodge in here just now?"

Finch resumed the cynical, mocking manner he wore so well.

"You are about the busiest man I ever did see, Paul," Alonzo said evenly. "Where's your hat? How come you're puffing like a leaky tea kettle?"

Conscious of the amused glances of the other card players, Paul said grimly, "Somebody tried to kill me tonight. I trailed him this way."

"Now who would want to do a thing like that?" Finch jeered.

"Maybe you can say?" Paul countered.

"Paul, you're developing a persecution complex. I suppose somebody witnessed the try?"

"That's right. Norah. She was lucky she didn't stop the slug."

Paul saw the tightening in Finch's face, and knew he had struck close to home.

"I warned her against you," Finch said honestly. "If she gets hurt because of you—"

"That's something I'd like to settle with you later," Paul said. "She'll not get hurt unless somebody else hurts her. And I'll kill the man who does. Now I want to know, did a man come in here just before me?"

"Ask the others," Finch suggested, turning his attention to his cards.

Paul looked inquiringly around the table, but the only answer was shaking heads. Then he remembered the balcony above the front porch. An active man could easily shinny up to the balcony and enter the second floor through one of the windows. Aware of Finch's furtive look, Paul turned toward the stairs and started up into the dimness above.

 

Chapter 5

Paul reached the upstairs hall and stood quietly in the shadows until his eyes adjusted themselves to the faint light filtered up from below. Slowly he pushed himself away from the wall, his eyes busy in the gloom. He made out the rectangular outlines of three doors on either side of the corridor. Soundlessly he approached the first door and paused. He heard a man's low voice, and a girl's answering laugh. He turned away.

The next room across the hall was dark, with the door slightly ajar. Quietly he entered, cursing the squeak of a hinge. His hand explored the bed and found it empty. There was a hazy thread of light under the next door, and he raised his knuckles hesitantly and knocked. There was the swish of clothing inside, and when the door opened, a girl, dressed in a bright silk kimono, was silhouetted against the light.

"I'm looking for a man," Paul said.

"So am I," she countered challengingly.

"Did you hear anybody come up here in the past fifteen minutes?" Paul questioned insistently.

"I don't pay no attention to who comes or goes."

"Maybe on the balcony, you could have heard him. Your room faces on the balcony, doesn't it?"

"So what?"

"I'm just asking a question. A man tried to kill me. I want to know why."

"I don't know anything about anybody, and if I did, why should I tell you?"

Paul backed away, angered and puzzled by the girl's animosity. He moved on to the last door down the hall, put his ear to the panel and made out heavy breathing.

Unfolding his stock knife, Paul forced the long blade under the door stop and pried it away from the jamb. Then he pushed the blade in through the crack of the door and slid the bolt of the lock back. Standing to one side, he swung the door open. The window leading out on the balcony was still raised, and enough light entered the room to reveal the outlines of a big man under the cover.

Paul, easing his gun around, approached the bed. He stood over the prone figure. Slipping his hand under the cover, he felt the man's clothing, still damp with sweat. He felt a bulge in the pocket of the shirt. It was a purse, which he took out and slipped into his own pocket. This was his man. Still the prostrate form made no protest. Paul moved to the commode and, striking a match, lit the candle that stood there. Then he turned to the bed and looked down on Big-head Larson's shaggy head.

Twining his hand in Larson's hair, Paul lifted the big head and slammed it back on the pillow. Even as he did so, his mind swiftly went back to that night a week ago when Big-head had shot the spots off the six of hearts.

"What yuh want?" Big-head growled in his barrel chest. "Can't a man get no sleep around here?"

"Get up, Larson!" Paul said harshly.

"Go 'way. I ain't got nuthin' for you."

Paul struck the man's bristly face. "Who sent you out to kill me?" Paul demanded.

Larson was making sounds like an angry bear. He half rose from the pillow in defense.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about."

Paul struck him again, harder. He had to get the answer now, before Larson could report to the man who had hired him.

"Come on; talk. I'll knock your teeth down your throat."

"Let me go!" Larson snarled.

Paul, not wanting to attract the men from downstairs, drew his knife and held the point at Larson's short, thick throat.

"Come on; tell me who sent you. Was it Finch? Was it Stebbins or Miles? Talk!"

"Let me go!"

"I'll fix it so you'll never talk again," Paul threatened, putting pressure on the knife.

Big-head moved with the agility of a cat. He drew up his leg and stiff-legged his boot into Paul's stomach. The attack was so unexpected it sent Paul gasping and groaning across the floor. He fell, striking his head against the sharp, hard corner of the commode. The candle was snuffed out, but it was a deeper darkness that swallowed Paul…

When he came to, he lay a moment stunned. Vaguely, he remembered what had happened. He had come in so big, so brave, and he had made a fool of himself. His head buzzing with pain, he rose and approached the bed. It was empty. As his head cleared, he listened to the sounds downstairs and out in the corridor. It was apparent that his scuffle with Big-head had not attracted attention. Or had it been purposely ignored? He rubbed his head gingerly and, climbing through the window, leaned against the wall of the house on the balcony.

His eyes fingered the darkness below and found no one. He saw the dim shapes of brush and juniper etched against the blackness of the distance, but nothing moved. As he stood there, his head cleared and his body relaxed. He went quietly to the railing of the balcony and crawled over. Wrapping a leg about a post, he slid noiselessly down to the ground. He did not want to face the men in the saloon just then. It would only mean more futile argument. Big-head had shot at him, of that he was sure, but he had yet to prove who was the man behind Big-head.

Warily he walked to the barn in back of the Lone Chance. The saddled horse was gone. Big-head had ridden off.

Paul shook his head and rubbed a hand across his eyes. The pain was subsiding. He had to get home. Norah would be worried. He decided against taking one of Addie's horses without inquiring, and he did not want to meet Addie just then. He wanted to get home, to tell Norah that everything was all right. He started out down the night-dark trail on foot.

He heard horses some distance away. Having escaped once with his life, he did not intend to take another chance. Turning into the brush, he concealed himself and waited. He had not long to wait, his eyes sharp and searching, until he saw a lone rider leading another horse.

"Hello, the trail!" he called.

The rider pulled up so sharply the following horse had to dodge the leader's tail.

"Paul—Paul, are you all right?" Norah asked.

Paul laughed softly. "What happened to you?"

"You're dressed up fit to scare a Ute brave." Paul chuckled.

"Oh, I guess I do look funny. Uriah made me take his coat, so I wouldn't be cold. I brought you a horse."

"Thanks, Norah," he said, mounting the spare horse and accepting his hat.

For a moment they rode in silence back toward the ranch, and the stars were a million eyes watching them softly. Paul sucked in the sweet, clean air and felt the weariness of his bones.

"What happened, Paul?" Norah inquired when he remained silent.

"Oh, I chased him through the brush and lost him. He was heading for Addie's. I found him there in an upstairs room. It was Big-head Larson; I'm sure it was him. I tried to scare him into admitting it and telling me who paid him to do it, but he was too fast for me. Slammed a foot into my stomach and knocked me down. I went out like a light. When I came to, he was gone."

A note of fear came into Norah's voice. "Then— you're still in danger?"

"Reckon I am."

"Do you think Alonzo paid that man?"

"I wouldn't know."

"How bad was the crime you say he committed?"

"It wasn't the crime; it was trying to put the blame on me that sent me after him. Money can be repaid, it can be earned, but a man's reputation is something else. Remember the things Finch told you about me?"

"I think they were lies, Paul. Forget them."

Paul felt hard and cold inside. He had been a fool to think he could have this girl, could win her love and respect. There could be no evasions now. He had to stand up and once again face shame and misery for crimes of which he was innocent. Desperately he searched for some means of defense, some way to soften the blow.

"Norah," he asked slowly, knowing she had expected a swift, heated denial, "do you believe that a man's blood is the whole man?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled.

Paul was sensitive to the surprise in her tone. He could not give her the heated denial she had expected, but he had to make her understand.

"Well," he temporized, "do you believe that the sins of the brothers are visited—"

"If you're quoting scripture, Paul, that reads, 'The sins of the father.' "

"It's the same thing," he said. "In other words, do you believe a curse is inherited by all members of a family?"

She was trying to comprehend; even in the darkness he could tell that. Only the soft pad of the horses' hooves on the dusty trail broke the stillness.

"You mean do I think that one rotten apple spoils the barrel?" she asked finally.

"Yes, something like that."

"Well, not if the rotten apple is thrown out. But you're building up defenses against things I haven't accused you of," she added quickly.

Paul wet his lips, which were very dry. His throat was dry, too. Even his mind was dry, brittle dry. How could he explain things so this innocent, protected girl would understand?

"I'm going to tell you some things you won't like to hear, Norah. I want you to reserve judgment. In a way, Alonzo Finch was right, except that he failed to name himself as the villain of the piece. Finch, from the best family in town, bullied my brothers into stealing, even though he was younger than they were. None of them had to steal. Some perverse devil in their brain wouldn't let them be. They started stealing candy, and ended up stealing money from the bank. Once they rustled cattle from a big trail herd going up to Kansas, and they would have been lynched if my mother had not interceded and offered twice as many cattle as had been stolen. When Seigleman in the bank was killed, Finch helped stir up the mob that lynched by brother, Pete. Larry got out of town. But Finch wasn't through with us. He framed me for the robbery of a shipment of money by luring me to the place where the crime had been committed and planting some of the money at my home. They couldn't get enough evidence to convict me, but I was convicted in the eyes of our friends and neighbors. That's why I've hunted Alonzo Finch to this place; that's why I've got to take him back and make him confess."

"Alonzo said you would tell me all this, just as you have," she said in a small voice.

"He was banking on my honesty. He knew I wouldn't lie to you. I tell you, Norah, I myself am innocent of crime."

If only he had not fallen in love with her, he could have avoided the necessity of telling her anything.

"Do you believe me, Norah?" he pleaded, thankful for the darkness that hid the anguish in his eyes.

"I want to believe you're good, Paul," she said in the same small voice.

The doubt was there. Why shouldn't it be? Truth was something that had to be proven by facts, or accepted by a great love.

"Look, Norah," he said, "nobody's perfect, but I am not a criminal."

They were riding into the ranch yard, and still Norah did not speak. Hoping not to arouse Helen and Uriah, they went around to the kitchen door. There was a lamp burning in the kitchen, and it cast a faint yellow glow through the door glass. Paul looked down into her face, and saw the struggle there. Suddenly she threw her arms about him and sobbed against his chest.

BOOK: Twisted Trails
10.1Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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