Ed Gorman - Showdown

Then he was up on his feet, scowling.

"Thought I saw that damned crooked horseshoe print."

"You need to relax. That's the best thing you can do for yourself right now."

Neville scowled. You could see the calculation in his eyes. He wasn't sure he could whip Prine, but he was about ready to try. Then he took a deep breath and visibly relaxed. "I don't always treat her the way I should, Prine. And she resents it. And I promise not to do it anymore. And then I go right on treating her like this little child. But for all of that, I love her. I love her more than anything on this earth." Anger seized him again. "So it's not real easy to relax. Not when you love somebody the way I love her."

He stalked back to his horse and rode off.

Prine gave him some time alone and then caught up with him.

Neville surprised him by saying, "Sorry I ran my mouth back there. I guess I forgot you want to find her as much as I do."

"I sure do," Prine said. "I sure do."

By the time he got done testifying in court, Sheriff Daly had missed not only both posses but also the chance to talk to Richard Neville.

One of Neville's men came to the sheriff's office a few minutes after he returned from the courthouse.

Hank Cummings was the man's name. He probably changed clothes sometimes, but Daly could never remember seeing him in anything other than the faded blue work shirt, the faded blue Levi's, and the faded white hat that was now the color of sweat and dirt.

"They swung out by the ranch to see where she was kidnapped. Guy hit Mike Perry pretty hard."

"Mike Perry? He doesn't usually ride with her into town, does he?"

"Not usually. But she was worried about a loose wheel."

"Bob Carlyle left me a note. I've lost three hours. No use trying to catch them now." With the sole of his Texas boot, he shoved a chair in Cummings's direction. "Sit down a spell."

"Sure."

"I want to know a few things about the ranch. That's why I wish I could talk to Neville."

"Well, I'll help you any way I can."

Daly resorted to his briar; Cummings started rolling a cigarette.

"Neville fire anybody lately?" Daly said.

"Not that I've heard of."

"Anybody been giving him trouble? Some old enemy?"

"Nope. Mike Perry bunks with all the boys, and he always tells us what's going on with 'the mister,' as the boys call him. He hasn't said anything about any enemies."

"Any cowhand seem to have it in for him?" Cummings grinned, his ancient, weathered face showing the boy that lingered somewhere inside him. "You asking me to speak out of school, Sheriff?"

"Out of school?"

"You asking me what the boys—and I'm including Mike Perry here—really think of Neville?"

Daly drew on his lighted pipe, savored the taste of tobacco. "They don't like him, huh?"

"You ever met many people who do?"

Daly smiled. "I see what you mean."

"If you're askin' if he's well-liked, hell no, he isn't. But if you're askin' if one of the boys would kidnap Miss Cassie, hell no, they wouldn't. You got to remember, most of the boys on the Bar Double N have been there ten, twenty years. A couple of them's been there almost thirty. They helped raise Miss Cassie. She's the opposite of her brother. She calls most of 'em 'uncle.' Uncle Bob and Uncle Bill and so on. Most of the hands never had time to get married or raise a family, so they sort of adopted her. They might do a number of things if they got pissed off enough at Neville—but they'd never touch Miss Cassie. Never."

Daly had his feet up on the desk. "Well, it doesn't have to be anybody from the ranch. I always try to look at the people around them first. But there've been so damned many kidnappings lately. A couple of convicts get out of prison with no money and no prospects, they start reading the papers to see who's got some money. And then right away they go after their child."

"That's probably what happened here."

Daly nodded. "Probably." Then: "How about Cassie? She have any enemies?"

Cummings snorted. "Cassie? Who'd have anything against Cassie? For one thing, even though she's lived here all her life, she's never really met a lot of people. The mister kept her pretty much sheltered since their father died. I expect this is just the kind of thing he was afraid of."

"Kidnapping?"

"Or rape. That's where an old enemy might fit in. Kidnap the mister's sister and rape her. The mister would go crazy. You don't see many suitors around Cassie, and that's why. He wants her to stay pure as long as he can. Right up to her wedding day. He knows he'll have to marry her off eventually. But until then, she's pretty much under his thumb."

"Then if it isn't a ranch hand and it isn't an angry suitor—we're probably back to some drifters who thought they saw an easy way to make some money."

"I don't like that choice at all."

"Neither do I," Daly said. "Those're the kind of men who end up killing the girls they steal."

Chapter Nine

The ride back at day's end was long and mostly silent, both men, Prine and Neville, given to their own thoughts and feelings. They'd gone all the way to the major river in the area and found nothing.

Now, hungry shadows gathering for the feast of night, they came to the outskirts of Claybank.

Neville said, "Maybe they found her. Maybe she's all right." The hope in his voice sounded young, naive. Prine was surprised he was capable of that kind of desperate hope. Neville seemed too hard and manipulative for that sort of self-delusion. But then, it was his sister and it was clear that he loved her despite the way he treated her. Or maybe he thought that the way he treated her proved that he loved her. Proved it at least to himself.

Both men were tired, dusty, in need of hot food, a place to park their asses that wasn't as unforgiving as a saddle, and time to share thoughts and theories with other members of the posses dispatched today.

At suppertime, Claybank moved slow. The stores were closed. Only the occasional wagon clattered its way through town. Even the saloons seemed tame by normal standards.

They headed straight for the sheriff's office. Sheriff Daly's big dun was at the hitching post. He was still saddled, meaning Daly had just gotten back or was ready to go home.

Daly and Bob Carlyle were pouring bourbon into their cups of coffee when Prine and Neville came in. The calm way they greeted the men meant that nobody had found Cassie—dead or alive.

"You two have any luck?" Daly said.

Prine shook his head. "They didn't head for the river. Not that we could see, anyway."

"I'm posting a ten-thousand-dollar reward right now," Neville said. "I should've done it before we left town."

Daly looked him over. "I didn't recognize you when you came in here, you know. Never saw you turned out like this."

Neville's voice was bitter. "You think because I have a lot of money, I just sit home counting it? I work hard, Sheriff."

"I didn't mean anything by that, Richard." Neville shrugged. "I suppose you didn't. But I get tired of people implying that I'm some kind of pantywaist. I'm good with a rope and a gun. And I can hog-tie a steer fast enough to get me into a rodeo."

Daly handed him the pint bottle of bourbon. "Why don't you suck on the witch's tit and see if you can calm yourself down, Richard?"

Prine was surprised to see Neville guzzle the liquor. No mincing little sip. Probably swallowed one-eighth of the bottle in a single gulp. Neville handed the bottle back to the sheriff, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Daly held the bottle up in Prine's direction. Prine shook his head.

"You'll probably have a letter waiting for you at your house," Daly said to Neville. "They'll tell you how much and they'll say where they want it delivered. If you want my advice, you'll pay them."