Ralph Compton - Bluff City

“How so? As Baine you are not wanted anywhere.”

“Except here. You arrested me, remember?”

“To cool you off. To prevent you spilling blood. But no charges were lodged. I explained the incident at the jail as a misunderstanding and called off the search for you.” Marshal Vale grinned. “That’s how Melanie will write it for tomorrow’s newspaper, anyway.”

“I still say it’s loco.”

“Hear me out. I’m no gunny. I don’t claim to be half as fast or as accurate as you. Hell, few are. But I can use a man who is. What with Stark on the loose, and other problems the law here faces, a quick-draw artist would be a mighty handy gent to have backing my play.”

“I don’t know the first thing about the law.”

“You don’t need to be a lawyer to wear a badge. You need to be willing to do what is right. I can teach you all you need to know about ordinances and statutes. But the rest, that has to come from inside you, and I believe you have what it takes.”

“Damn,” Clay said. He fingered the badge.

“Think about it. You have until we get to the Emporium.”

Clay snapped straighter. “The Emporium?”

“A little bird whispered in my ear that Jesse Stark is there, hiding out in one of the upper rooms. You and I will give the place a going-over from top to bottom, and if he is there, take him into custody.”

“The same little bird as the last time?”

“Yes. Wesley Oaks. He spotted Stark there shortly after we left, and got word to me.” The lawman went around the corner of the house and returned leading his horse. “Finish up and we will go.”

Clay tugged on the cinch and adjusted the saddle and was ready. He forked leather, saying uncertainly, “I don’t know about this, Vale. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

“I don’t blush easy.”

“Not that kind of embarrassment,” Clay said. “I’m talking the kind where folks want to crucify you for hiring a gunny who shoots one of the town’s leading citizens dead as dead can be.”

“Personal grudges and tin stars don’t mix,” Marshal Vale replied. “Hate him all you want, but don’t let your hate spur you into squeezing the trigger when you shouldn’t. Give me your word.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Clay admitted.

“Like I said, you have until we get to the Emporium.”

Marshal Vale clucked to his horse and Clay followed suit with the claybank. They rode slowly, Clay adrift in thought.

The lawman drew his Remington. Only five of the six chambers in the cylinder were loaded. Sliding a cartridge from one of the loops on his gun belt, he inserted it into the empty chamber. “I never keep a pill under the hammer for safety’s sake,” he commented.

Clay grunted.

“I was about your age when I first pinned a star on, and I had the same doubts you are having. I wasn’t a tie-down artist, but I had done a few things I was not proud of, and I didn’t think I was worthy.” Marshal Vale paused. “One more thing worth keeping in mind. Barker won’t dare send anyone after you while you are wearing that badge. He would have me down on him, along with every lawman I call on to help out.”

“Come to think of it, I would like to see the look on that bastard’s face when he sees me wearing this. Maybe it will rattle him so bad he will draw on me.”

“In which case,” Marshal Vale said, “you have my permission to blow him to hell and back.”

“Call me Deputy Adams from now on,” Clay said.

Chapter 29

The Emporium was bedlam after midnight. Liquor flowed as freely as runoff from the mountains and most of the revelers had quaffed more than their share. The more they drank, the less inhibited they became. Those inclined to be quiet and shy became rowdy and noisy. Those inclined to be rowdy and noisy became more so. The bar was lined end to end, and the floor was packed. Every table was filled, and every poker and faro game and every roulette wheel had its onlookers.

Into this chaotic mix of greed and lust came Clay Adams and Marshal Vale. Clay let the marshal take the lead. He did not quite feel comfortable with the tin pinned to his shirt. He kept thinking everyone would stare, but hardly anyone gave him a second glance. Or so he thought until Marshal Vale looked back at him and said so only he could hear, “There are a couple more over by the wall.”

Clay gazed in the direction Vale indicated and saw two men clad in purple. He took them for Emporium staff until he noticed something unusual; both had revolvers strapped around their waists. Normally, the staff did not carry firearms openly. This made six they had seen since they entered.

“All the hardware makes me think Barker has something he wants to hide,” Clay remarked.

“It is well known that he has a small hired army of gunnies,” Marshal Vale enlightened him. “Usually they keep out of sight.”

“Do you reckon he is expecting us?”

“He had no way of knowing I would bring you here. So it’s not us exactly, so much as trouble in general.” Marshal Vale scanned the galleries that overlooked the main floor. “Maybe he heard Stark is here and he has taken a few precautions.”

“Could be,” Clay said. His tone implied differently.

Vale angled toward a table with a large crowd. He waded through like a bull through reeds. Only one of the six men involved in the game looked up, and he smiled.

“As I live and breathe,” Wesley Oaks declared. “Are you interested in being parted from your money, gentlemen? Wait half an hour or so and a few chairs should open up.”

“That is not why we are here,” Marshal Vale said. “Where did he get to?”

“I assume you mean the scourge of the territory,” the gambler said. “Last I saw, he went upstairs. But that was almost two hours ago.”

“Was he alone?”

“As a matter of fact, no. He had a dove on each arm and the look of a gent who is bird-hungry.” Wesley Oaks grinned.

“Much obliged,” Marshal Vale said, and motioned for Clay. They moved toward the nearest stairs and acquired a black-clad shadow. “This isn’t your fight,” the marshal said.

“What sort of friend would I be if I let you walk into the lion’s den alone?” Wesley Oaks asked.

“I am not alone. I have Clay with me.”

“Three is better than two when a person is up against the odds you are bucking,” Wesley countered. “Besides, I had nothing better to do.”

“Liar. You left your livelihood to come with us. That shows poor business sense for a gambler.”

“The few friends I have mean more to me than a few hands of cards,” Wesley responded. He nudged Clay and jabbed a thumb at Vale. “I bet he hasn’t told you that he and I go back a ways. We met in Pueblo about fifteen years ago. Then it was Colorado Springs, and after that, Durango. Finally we wound up here, and after things quiet down, we’ll probably move on again.”

“I’m getting too old for this kind of life,” Marshal Vale said. “I need to start thinking about settling down.”

Clay looked at Oaks. “What makes you think Bluff City won’t be wild and woolly forever?”

“They never are. It is always the same. Someone strikes it rich. Word gets out and thousands of fools stream in, thinking they can strike it rich too. Before you can say boomtown, one springs up. More saloons, gambling dens and dance halls than you can shake a stick at. Then along come the respectable sorts, the churchgoers and others who don’t like to be reminded that some people prefer vice to virtue. Before you know it, laws are passed to get rid of the riffraff. The saloons and dance halls and gambling dens close, and those who don’t like the tame life move on to wilder pastures.”

“If it wasn’t for those vice-lovers, I would be out of a job,” Marshal Vale commented.