Clifton Adams - Gambling Man

Beulah stiffened. A gun meant robbery. She thought of Wirt's hard-earned money, and her small eyes glinted. No hoodlum was going to take this money, she vowed to herself; she didn't care how many guns he had.

Beulah started to wheel about. She would fight for what was hers with her own two hands, if necessary! The man behind her made a small, angry sound of surprise when he saw what she was going to do. He moved quickly, before Beulah's thought had grown to action, Beulah felt blinding pain as something hard struck the back of her head through her sunbonnet....

Beulah awoke in a sea of pain. Her head ached as if it would burst, and she had never known that a person could be as sick as she was that moment. The smell of oiled oak told her that she was lying on the floor of the bank. She tried to move and could not. She tried to call out, but the effort of drawing up a bare whisper brought the blaze of pain to her head.

Her money! Had the thief taken her money? She saw the blurred shape of her shopping basket turned upside down on the floor, but she couldn't reach it. She had the shameful, disgusting feeling that she was going to be sick there on the bank floor.

For a moment she slipped into a dense mist of pain. What was the matter with that Jed Harper? Why didn't he help her? Why did he leave her lying on the floor like this, helpless?

She didn't dare move her head. Every move she made caused the floor to lurch sickeningly and increased the agony in her head.

Through the mist she heard a voice snarling angrily, “I said open that vault! And be quick about it!”

Beulah heard Jed Harper's voice, sputtering and scared. A fine man he is, Beulah thought, for people to leave money with! She'd tell Wirt about this! They'd take their money out of this bank and put it somewhere else!

Still, she was afraid to move. When she opened her eyes the lurching of the room made her violently sick, and she decided to lie quietly. Sooner or later someone would come to help her. But she wouldn't depend on Jed Harper!

Then she heard boot heels running away from the vault. Beulah made herself open her eyes again, and saw a hazy, distorted form that hardly looked like a man at all. A voice shouted, “Don't try it, mister!”

A revolver exploded. The crashing sound made Beulah cringe, her eyes tightly closed. The side door of the bank opened and closed j then there was complete silence in the building.

Several seconds must have passed before realization drifted through the pain. The thief was gone. But it was so quiet....

Finally she realized that Jed Harper must be dead. Beulah lay like stone, her mind racing. She discovered that she could move now and the pain was not so bad. But she lay there thinking....

Her small, pale eyes took on the cast of steel. Every nerve in her tight-wound body twanged like a fiddle string. She made herself sit up. Her heart hammered, her head throbbed, but she forced herself not to think so much of the pain. Slowly, inch by inch, she gained her feet and stumbled to the bank's front door. She fell almost into the arms of Phil Costain.

“Miz Beulah!” the big drayman said, startled. “You better stay inside; there's shootin' goin' on somewhere!”

Beulah's throat felt raw. “Get Elec Blasingame,” she said. “Get him here quick!”

Other men were gathering around. Some were running up the street trying to find out where the shot had come from. “Miz Beulah,” Phil said, “you better sit down; you don't look so good to me.”

“You fool!” she told him angrily, “get me the marshal! I think Jed Harper's just been killed!”

It didn't take Blasingame long to get there. His face was redder than usual, and the smell of whisky on his breath was enough to make Beulah reel. She said, “Did you get him?”

“Not yet, but we will. Did you see him, ma'am?”

Beulah locked her jaws for a moment. Then she snapped, “Aren't you going to take a look at Mr. Harper?”

The marshal turned on Bert Surratt, who had just come up. “Bert, see if you can locate Doc Shipley. Mrs. Sewell, you'd better come back into the bank and sit down.”

Beulah followed Elec Blasingame into the building and sank weakly into a chair by the rail partition. Elec went to the other side of the partition, stayed a moment and came back. “Jed caught it just over the heart: never knew what hit him.”

The throbbing in Beulah's head got worse. She tried to think. The most important thoughts she'd ever had were now swimming in her brain, but it was hard to keep them straight in all that pain.

“Mrs. Sewell,” the marshal said, “did you get a look at this killer, the one that shot Harper?”

Beulah's thin lips compressed, her small mouth almost disappeared. She looked hard at Elec Blasingame. “Marshal,” she snapped, “don't you think you ought to be out looking for the killer instead of pestering a poor hurt woman like me?”

“I just want to know if you saw the killer, ma'am.” He waited a moment, then added, “There are plenty of men scouring the town, but it would help if we knew who to look for.” Beulah Sewell's jaws locked again. It gave Elec Blasingame a chill to see her sitting there as cold as a block of stone. “Please, Mrs. Sewell,” he said with great patience, “this is important. You are the only one alive who could have seen him.”

Still, Beulah said nothing. A glassiness appeared in her pale eyes. She sat staring... staring... Elec had the chilly feeling that she was looking right through him at something on the other side of the world. Anger and impatience swelled within him.

“Look,” he said shortly. “Every minute counts, ma'am. Surely you can understand that. Now please, as quick as you can, tell me exactly what happened.”

Wirt Sewell burst through the front door at that moment, pale and frightened. “Beulah, you're all right!”

“My head hurts,” his wife said peevishly.

Elec Blasingame, outwardly, remained calm. “Wirt, Doc Shipley'll be here directly to look her over. Now it's important that she tell us what she saw.”

“Even if she's hurt?” Wirt demanded.

“Even if she's hurt!” Elec said.

After a tense moment, Beulah said, “All right, I guess I'd have to tell sooner or later, anyway.”

“You don't have to talk if you don't feel like it,” her husband told her.

“Damn it, Wirt!” the marshal exploded. “You stay out of this!”

By this time a good-sized crowd had gathered in the bank building, tensely waiting for what Beulah Sewell had to say. “My head hurts,” she said weakly. “It must have been a gun he hit me with.”

“Who hit you?” Elec put in quickly.

“I'll have to tell it my own way, Marshal. You see, Jed was locking up when I got to the bank. He let me in and was about to make me a receipt when the door opened again and in came this—”

“What did he look like?”

“He told me not to turn around,” Beulah went on, as though she hadn't heard the question. “But I did. He didn't want me to look at his face; that's why he hit me. It didn't do him any good,” she added grimly. “I got a good look at him. I stared right to the bottom of his mean eyes before he hit me. I guess he thought he'd killed me. He wouldn't have run off the way he did if he'd known I was alive to tell about him.”

The marshal sensed that she had reached the end. “Mrs. Sewell,” he said gently, “who was it?”

“May the good Lord help him,” Beulah said grimly. “It was my own brother-in-law, Nathan Blaine.”

Chapter Eight

A SOUND OF AMAZEMENT rose inside the building. Elec Blasingame had been prepared for almost anything—but not this. When he spoke, his voice held the rasp of urgency. “Mrs. Sewell, are you absolutely certain?”