Джон Макдональд - More Good Old Stuff

He heard Drake call, “Strane! Get him. Bring him in here.”

He turned as he heard heavy feet pounding across the clearing toward him. He didn’t turn quickly enough to meet the rush. Strane’s shoulder caught him in the chest and slammed him onto the ground. He jumped up and Strane grabbed his wrist. There was a sharp pain in his arm as he was spun around. Then his hand was held up against the small of his back and he was marched back to the bunkhouse.

Drake stood in the door. His dark eyes were narrowed. There was a dull red discoloration across his swarthy right cheek. His nostrils were dilated.

His voice was hoarse as he said, “How about the suckers, Strane? They likely to come around this way?”

“Not this time of day, boss.”

“Then give this chump a going-over. Make it last.”

Post braced himself. The fight in the bar had given him a certain amount of confidence. He wanted to hit something with his fists. He wanted to wipe out the fear that was in his heart.

Strane came in slowly, his face solemn, his big hands swinging low at his sides. When he was close he stuck his left arm out. Post knocked it aside. Drake slid in and sat on the edge of a bunk. He kept licking his lips. He leaned forward and his eyes were bright.

Post tried a quick chop at Strane’s jaw. He never knew if the punch landed or not. He went spinning back into blackness with fire against the side of his face.

He came to on his back on the floor. His shirt was soaked with water. His hair was wet. His face felt swollen. He heard Drake say, with annoyance, “He’s coming out of it. Now get him up on his feet and make it last a while.” Strane mumbled something.

“That’ll do, Strane. Put him in his bunk.” He was dimly conscious of being carried. He lay in the bunk after they had gone and became conscious of the stinging pain in his face. After a time he climbed out of the bunk. He held on to the side post for a time. When he had the strength, he walked over to the steel mirror. A stranger’s face stared back at him. His lips were puffed. One eye was already dark. The entire left side of his face was so swollen that the lines of the cheekbone and jaw were gone.

He poured water into the chipped basin and washed his face. It didn’t feel any better. He sat for a long time on the bunk. He looked down at the floor. A small green caterpillar humped its way across the stained boards with anxious urgency. He heard the far-off murmur of voices. A breeze rushed through the pines.

He had no clear idea of his own thoughts and feelings. He was confused. He wanted to retreat into the lethargy to which he had become accustomed. It escaped him. He felt no anger. He felt no humiliation. In his mind was a feeling of disgust. And there was something else growing inside him. It was something new for him. He hadn’t felt it for a year. It was a growing sense of excitement and anticipation. But as yet it wasn’t strong enough to guide him. It flickered in the back of his mind like a candle behind blinds.

After a half hour Drake came in. He stood for a moment, looking at Post. Post didn’t look up.

“Are you okay now?”

“Fine.”

“That was necessary. I can’t take chances on discipline. I’m carefully guarded. Frick and Strane are careful of me. Each month I have to mail a letter to the West Coast. If I should die suddenly, and not mail the usual letter, Frick and Strane would be hunted by the police with the same energy that they’re hunting for you. A friend holds the information, which he’ll turn over to the police the first month he doesn’t hear from me.”

“Sure. You’re a brilliant man. You’re a genius. But you enjoyed watching Strane slug me, didn’t you? You got a real bang out of it.” He stared up at the slim man and his face felt hot.

Surprisingly, Drake looked uncertain. He turned slowly and walked out. Nan Benderson met him at the door. She was wearing slacks and a halter. She looked calm and poised.

“I wanted to ask you something, Mr. Drake. I couldn’t ask you while you were talking to Dad. Have you got a moment?”

He took her arm and led her away from the door. She glanced back over her shoulder. Post thought he saw her eyes widen as she saw his battered face. He couldn’t be certain.

In the afternoon he sat on the lakeshore in the sun. Later he walked around the lake. As he came down the south shore he felt a sense of anticipation. He thought that he might see her on the rocks. He slowed his pace as he saw that she wasn’t there. He was well beyond the Benderson cabin when he heard a scuffling on the rocks behind him. Miss Benderson and Drake were there. He turned and stopped.

They walked up to him, and Miss Benderson put out her hand to him. He took it awkwardly. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Post,” she said. “Stop up at the cabin and visit with us sometime, won’t you?”

He felt something pressing into the palm of his hand. He started to stammer and Drake interrupted smoothly. “I’m afraid that Post won’t have any time for social gatherings, Miss Benderson. Besides, I don’t believe your father should have visitors.”

She released his hand and he closed it around the small object in his palm. The girl and Drake stared at each other, and Post felt the cool animosity in their eyes. She nodded and said, “Well, I must get back up to the cabin and start dinner.” She walked quickly back across the sloping rocks. Post shoved the thing she had given him deeper into his pocket and followed Drake back to the compound.

When they were near the bunkhouse, Drake turned to him. “Tomorrow you take a one-third guard trick. Four on and four off. Fix the hours with Rob and Sam. Just keep your eye on the trail and keep our four guests from trying to use it. Be polite, particularly with the Bendersons. Use any excuse you can think of. But don’t let them get past you. Understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Drake,” he answered, his voice flat. Drake left him and he walked into the kitchen. It was empty. He fished the item out of his pocket. It was a small wad of paper. He unfolded it partway, not so far that he could see the writing. He held it in his hand. He realized he didn’t want any complications. He didn’t want to owe anyone anything, or have anything owed to him. With cool precision he tore it into scraps and dropped it into the wood stove. He looked at his watch. He’d have a chance for a nap before supper.

He realized that it was his last undisturbed night, and yet he slept poorly. When the gray dawn outlined the window near his head and the birds began to clamor, he finally drifted into a restless sleep. Once the low moans of the unconscious stranger awakened him and he listened. All he could hear were the snores of Frick. He went back to sleep.

When he awoke the second time, the sun seemed high. He dressed slowly and walked across to the kitchen. Breakfast was over. There was a cold fried egg in the greasy pan. He opened a tin of orange juice and drank it. He heard voices outside the kitchen window and he walked over.

Drake was giving Strane orders. “I’ve talked to Burke. I scared him. He and that woman won’t move out of the cabin all morning. That’ll give me the time I need. You go up to Benderson’s cabin and send the old man down here to me. You stay there and make sure the girl doesn’t come down here. He may call out to her and she may hear him. Keep her there. But if you lay a hand on her, except to keep her from getting out the door, I’ll make you wish you never met me. Understand?”

“Sure boss. Sure.”

Drake looked up and saw Post’s face in the kitchen window. “There you are. Come out here and watch. I want to educate you a little more. This lesson is called how to make a half million dollars. Let’s go look at my new guest while Strane sends Benderson down here. Frick’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”