Ralph Compton - Bluff City

Time crept by. By three in the morning Clay was struggling to stay awake. Every now and again someone came out the rear door, but it was always a purple-garbed employee, probably on their way home.

Then a carriage clattered around the far corner and rolled to a stop only a stone’s throw from the door. The driver consulted a pocket watch. Not two minutes went by before the door rasped open. Out came four men wearing purple coats and revolvers. They ringed the carriage. One surveyed the street, then hollered, “No sign of anyone, sir.”

Harve Barker emerged, twirling a cane. He waited as the driver jumped down and opened the carriage door for him. About to climb in, he glanced over his shoulder and growled, “Well? What are you waiting for? Are you coming or not?”

Out of the Emporium, his trademark smirk in place and his thumbs hooked in his gun belt, came Jesse Stark.

Chapter 30

Clay instantly grabbed for his pearl-handled Colt, but he did not draw it. Curiosity smothered his impulse to exact revenge. He stayed where he was until the carriage reached the end of the street, then he gigged the claybank into a trot. At the junction he reined up. The carriage was a block away, traveling west. He let them gain another block before he used his heels.

Once the carriage left the center of town the streets were nearly deserted. That late at night, most of those abroad were heading home after a night of debauch.

Clay had a hunch where Barker was headed. When the carriage came to the wrought-iron gate and stopped, his hunch was confirmed. Two armed men in purple came out of the dark to open the gate, and the carriage wheeled onto the gravel drive and off through the trees.

Clay reined to the left and followed the stone wall. When he was at the midway point, he reined up. “Stand still, boy,” he whispered. Sliding his moccasins from the stirrups, he eased onto his knees in the saddle. He could just reach the top of the wall. It was the effort of an instant to pull himself up onto his belly and flatten.

Flower gardens bordered by hedges unfolded under him, the flowers long withered. He was about to swing over the side when a pair of guards with rifles came down one of the paths. They had not seen him. They were making their rounds. He lay perfectly still, and presently they disappeared among the trees that flanked the gravel drive.

Quietly, Clay lowered his legs over and dropped. Tucked at the waist, he ran along a hedge. He passed a rose garden, the plants wilted, and skirted a pond stocked with goldfish. Several of the fish were near the surface, visible despite the darkness.

No one challenged him. No shots cracked. Clay gained the mansion and glided along the wall until he came to a window lit by a yellow glow. He peeked in. Luck had favored him. It was the dining room. Three people, not two, were seated at the long mahogany table. One was Harve Barker. The second was Jesse Stark. When Clay saw the third person, his breath caught in his throat and an icy chill blew down his spine.

Barker was talking, but the window was shut and Clay could not make out what he was saying. Clay continued on to a side door. Just as he went to reach for it, the door opened, framing a surprised guard in a purple coat. The man opened his mouth to shout an alarm but Clay was quicker. Out flashed his Colt. The thud of metal on flesh was followed by the thud of an unconscious form striking the floor.

Clay strained his ears, but there was no outcry from within. Shutting the door after him, he dragged the guard to the first room he came to. It was a library. Clay rolled the man over against a bookcase and hurried to the dining room. He heard voices. Barker’s was harsh, insistent; Melanie’s defiant.

Clay sidled to the jamb. The door was partway open, but not enough for him to see them.

Jesse Stark chuckled and said, “If this don’t beat all. Here you were worried about me, and you come home to find your men caught this pretty filly trying to sneak into your house.”

“I don’t find it the least bit humorous,” Harve Barker flatly declared. “And I have every right to worry about our arrangement. If it became common knowledge, I would be through in Bluff City.”

“If the filly has her way, it will be tomorrow’s headline,” Stark said. “I can see it now. Emporium owner in cahoots with outlaw! Or some such nonsense.”

“There is nothing nonsensical about the truth, Mr. Stark,” Melanie said quietly. “It can be shocking, even sensational, but it endures.”

“Speaking of enduring,” Stark said, “you know what has to be done with her, Barker. Want me to do the chore or do you have enough sand to do it yourself?”

“Must you be so crass?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Stark retorted. “I’m only saying the truth of it. The lady, here, can appreciate that, her being so fond of the truth, and all.”

Barker swore, then said, “You are more bother than you are worth. Had I to do it over again, I would do it differently.”

“No one else could have done what I did,” Stark said. “Thanks to me, you now own the Cavendish mine.”

“What’s that?” Melanie asked.

“Tell her everything, why don’t you?” Barker said.

Clay placed an eye to the edge of the jamb. He could see Jesse Stark, as smug as ever, sneering at Melanie.

“Don’t mind if I do. You see, lady, that upstanding gentleman there hired me to snatch Cavendish and hold him for more money than Cavendish could afford, just so Cavendish would have to sell out to him.”

“But that makes no sense,” Melanie said. “Why would he hire someone who had robbed one of his saloons?”

“Oh, that,” Stark said, and laughed. “It was another of his brainstorms. So no one would suspect he was to blame for Cavendish losing his mine.”

Melanie turned toward the head of the table. “I still don’t understand. You are one of the richest men in the territory. Why break the law just to add more zeroes to your bank account?”

Harve Barker sighed. “Money, my dear, is a lot like women. A man can never have enough.”

“That’s your reason? Simple greed?”

“There is nothing simple about becoming rich. It takes a certain ruthlessness. To stay rich takes even more.”

“How did Mr. Train fit into your plans?”

“Another red herring. I got word to Stark that Train was coming. Stark was supposed to kill Train and Clay Adams, but he botched it.”

“You can’t blame me,” Stark rasped. “How in hell was I to know Adams was really Neville Baine? I killed him once, but he came back from the dead.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Obviously, you only thought you had killed him. That he single-handedly wiped out your gang does not speak well of the caliber of men you had riding with you.”

“Shows how much you know. Gorman and Bantarro had a string of killings to their credit. The rest of my bunch was almost as salty.”

“We can sit here and argue all night,” Barker said. “But it all boils down to the fact that your blundering has left me with two problems I would rather not deal with but must if I want to stay out of jail.”

“What would they be?” Jesse Stark asked.

“Miss Stanley and you.”

There was a thump, as if Barker had pounded on the table. The door at the far end opened and in walked Charles and a dozen other men in purple coats, each with a revolver strapped to his waist.

Jesse Stark pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “What the hell is this?” he demanded. “What are they doing here?”

A click turned the outlaw to stone.

Harve Barker uttered a mirthless chuckle. “The light begins to dawn. The only reason I invited you out here tonight was the convenience of disposing of you. Little did I realize that Miss Stanley would complicate things, but the complication is easily solved.”