Ralph Compton - Bluff City

Melanie leaned toward him to hear better. “Perhaps you do, or perhaps you only think you do.”

“You make everything so complicated,” Clay complained.

“The truth is not always as simple as many would like to believe,” Melanie said. “For what it is worth I do not think ill of you. It pains me to see you so conflicted. You must settle who you are and stop being who you are not.”

Mr. Train had been staring toward the back of the great room. Suddenly he grabbed Clay’s arm and said, “Look there.”

Through a pair of short swinging doors filed men and women garbed in purple, bearing silver trays laden with food and drink. In the lead was Charles, Barker’s manservant. Staying close to the wall, they came to a stairway and wound upward.

“Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Mr. Train asked.

Clay nodded. “Where you find Charles you find Harve Barker.”

By the time they had waded through the press of people to the stairs, the purple procession was no-where in sight. They climbed to the first landing but did not see Charles or the food bearers, so on they went to the second floor and then the third.

“Still no sign of them,” Clay said, and was about to climb to the fourth floor when a door midway down the hallway opened.

Out filed the same staff who had brought the trays. Charles was not with them. They passed Mr. Train and Clay with hardly a glance and disappeared down the stairs.

“Don’t do this. Please.”

Clay turned. Melanie had followed them and was looking at him with the saddest of expressions. “If it bothers you, leave.”

Melanie appealed to Mr. Train. “Hasn’t there been enough blood spilled? What will it accomplish?”

“You ask that? As devoted to the truth as you are?” the manhunter said.

“There is nothing I can say or do?”

“We are wasting time,” Clay said irritably, and strode along the corridor. He was almost to the room the servants had emerged from when the door opened and out stepped Charles.

The manservant did not notice them until he had closed the door and turned. Drawing up short, he bleated in surprise. “Mr. Adams? Mr. Train? How wonderful to find you both alive and well. We have heard all sorts of stories.”

“Out of our way,” Clay commanded.

“Is Mr. Barker expecting you? If not, I will announce you.” Charles reached quickly for the door.

Clay’s arm was a blur. The Colt leaped out and up, and the barrel struck the servant’s temple hard. Without a sound Charles crumpled and did not move once he lay on the floor.

“That was cruel,” Melanie said.

“He was going to warn Barker.” Clay slid the Colt into his holster. Hooking his hands under Charles’s shoulders, Clay dragged him to one side and propped him up with his back to the wall.

Mr. Train had put an ear to the door. “I hear voices. Men and women. Barker is not alone.”

“We should come back some other time,” Melanie advised. “It wouldn’t do to barge in on them.”

“Hell,” Clay said, and did just that. He flung the door wide so that it slammed against the wall and barged into a chamber fitted with every luxury known to man. A small crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The windows were covered by costly Turkish tapestries. To the right was a bar tended by an immaculate man in purple. In the center, at a large circular table draped in velvet cloth, sat six poker players. Harve Barker was one. Wesley Oaks, the gambler, was another. The president of the First Bank of Bluff City was taking part, as were other prominent businessmen. All had drinks at their elbows and several were puffing on thick cigars. And all except Wesley Oaks had young women in various stages of undress on their laps.

The president of the First Bank was fondling the breasts of a pert blonde, and at sight of Clay he bleated like a frightened sheep and pushed her off him with such violence that she nearly fell. “What is the meaning of this? Who are you men? I thought you assured us we would have the utmost privacy!”

That last was directed at Harve Barker, who had been nuzzling the neck of a buxom brunette. If he was at all surprised he did not show it. Rather, he calmly sat up and leaned on the chair arm, and placed his chin in his hand. “My apologies, Clarence. This is unexpected.”

“I bet it is,” Clay said.

The other businessmen had stopped caressing the maidens and sat stiff with embarrassment.

Barker had been drinking heavily. His eyes bore the glaze of excess, and his movements and speech were unnaturally slow. “Permit me to make the introductions. Gentlemen, I give you Mr. Train, the manhunter I hired to track down Jesse Stark. Next to him is the gun-shark we have been hearing so much about. The man they call Baine.”

“I call myself Clay Adams now,” Clay said.

“Call yourself what you want, it won’t change what you are.” Barker stared past Clay and his mocking smile faded. “And the lovely Miss Stanley, as well. I must say, my dear, I don’t entirely approve of the company you keep.”

“I am not that fond of it myself at the moment,” Melanie said.

Barker poked the buxom brunette and flicked his finger, and she vacated his lap. Straightening, he adopted a somber air. “To what do I owe this intrusion?”

“I am here for the rest of the money you owe me,” Mr. Train said. “Half in advance and half when the job was done. That was our agreement.”

“Yes, it was,” Barker agreed. “But you did not hold up your end of it. Once you located the Stark gang you were to notify me. You never sent word, yet now you have the audacity to demand payment?”

“They were waiting for me,” Mr. Train said. “They jumped me and would have killed me if not for Clay. As it was, they beat me near half to death.”

“You were careless.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time. They were waiting for me. They knew I was after them. They even called me by name.” Train leaned on the edge of the table. “How is it they knew who I was?”

“Why ask me?” Barker rejoined.

“Only four people were aware you had hired me,” Mr. Train said. “You, Clay, Miss Stanley, and myself. Since Clay and Miss Stanley were with me, only one person could have told Stark.”

The accusation brought a laugh from Barker. “Are you seriously suggesting I went to all the time and expense to hire you, and then warned the very man I sent you after?”

“Unless you have a better explanation.”

“What was my motive? What did I hope to gain?” Barker snorted. “And yes, I do have a better one. Every member of my staff here at the Emporium and every servant at my house knew I had hired you. Thirty to forty people, any one of whom could have mentioned it when they were out and about. Rumor has it some of Stark’s men were seen in town about the same time you rode out. Maybe one of them heard one of my people mention you and lit a shuck to warn Stark.”

“You have an answer for everything,” Clay said.

Mr. Train straightened. “No. It could have happened as he says. I might have been hasty in my judgment.”

Barker sneered at Clay. “It is nice to see that one of you has some common sense.” To Train he said, “I want to be fair about this. If one of my people was to blame, then I am at fault for not making it clear to them that they must not tell anyone. I will pay you the other half of the money, plus extra for your trouble. Meet me at the First Bank tomorrow morning at nine, if that is acceptable.”

“I am satisfied,” Mr. Train said.

“Well, I’m not!” Clay exploded. “How can you give in so easily?”

Wesley Oaks had been fingering his cards the whole time. Now he fixed Clay with a stare and said, “Listen to your friend. You don’t want to cause trouble. Not now you don’t.”