Adam Steele 35, page 8
Peabody massaged his bruised wrist with his free hand, flexing his fingers as he jutted out his lower lip to blow a cooling stream of air up over his fearfully sweat-beaded face. His wife called anxiously as she emerged from their small house across the street:
‘Ralph! Are you all right, Ralph?’
She was the first of many Braddock citizens – perhaps the entire population – to start toward the area of street immediately out front of the Judge’s house.
‘I’m okay, Mary,’ the liveryman replied as he backed down the steps and along the walk. Then, to Steele: ‘If it hadn’t been for me, they’d have killed you while you was asleep, maybe.’
‘Not me, mister!’ Cooper defended himself fearfully, and shot a hate-filled glance over his shoulder at Peabody who had been halted by backing into the gate. ‘I guess Luke was maybe mean enough to want to, but I wouldn’t’ve allowed him to if I could’ve—’
‘You bastards!’ the wounded judge roared at the top of his voice, having crawled on to the threshold of his house where he now sat in a half-slump between Steele’s legs and the door jamb. ‘First you shoot up my horse-breeding trophies! Now he’s knocked down three of my best floribundas!’
‘Their pot-shots sure made a mess in here,’ the Virginian answered, looking down at the old man in the bloodstained Long Johns after a glance over his shoulder at the bullet-ravaged hallway and an opening door at the rear. ‘But I heard roses grow better the more manure you put on them.’
Chapter Eight
‘WE HAVE NEVER had need of a sheriff as such in Braddock,’ the red-and round-faced Byron Nolan told Adam Steele in the Alamo Saloon something over two hours after the shootings down at the other end of the town’s main street. ‘This is the first time that serious trouble of a violent nature has ever occurred here and all we can hope is that it will be the last.’
The short, thick-waisted and fleshy-shouldered banker in the shined and worn city suit removed his gold-framed eyeglasses and polished them with a handkerchief. And shook his head, frowning, like he had serious doubts about the hope he spoke of being realized.
The Alamo Saloon, so named for no other reason than that it was in the state of Texas – as far as Steele could see – was an eating house as well as a drinking establishment. And he had come to these spartanly-furnished, undecorated, dusty and stale-smelling premises to eat a surprisingly good breakfast. This after getting no argument from anybody when he announced his intention as he left the Judge’s house, and the gathering throng of shocked and curious people parted to allow him through. Perhaps the black-bearded, bloodshot-eyed, game-legged, middle-aged man who ran the saloon was at first vexed that he had to leave the scene of the violence to meet the needs of a lone customer. But then he seemed content enough while he cooked the order of breakfast and elicited laconic but not brusque answers to the questions he called from the kitchen – the Virginian’s responses building up a bald but authentic picture of the morning’s events that the bearded saloon-keeper would be able to relate to his regular and sure to be ill-informed customers.
When the breakfast of eggs and grits and ham and bread along with a pot of coffee was delivered to the table, though, the man felt compelled to contain his curiosity – by the stone-faced demeanor of Adam Steele that he mistakenly assumed to be an outward sign of brooding ill-humor created out of the questions-and-answers interlude. Whereas the Virginian was merely reflecting with resignation on how his latest shot at settling down and running a regular and respectable business was being hampered from the outset. Would have been surprised if he knew he had frightened the saloon-keeper into silence; but in fact was simply quietly pleased in back of his normal impassiveness that the man who went to stand behind the short bar had run out of questions, leaving his sole patron to eat the breakfast in peace.
While he ate the large breakfast in the depressing, dingy surroundings he found he was easily able to avoid being infected by the place; and he felt no bitterness toward those who had caused him trouble, nor any self-pity that life seemed to be showering him yet again with an unfair share of trials and tribulations. And, as he finished eating and set about emptying the large pot of coffee, he found that his equanimity was disturbed on just two scores. This when he felt an unshakable determination to succeed whenever his open mind was host to the possibility of future obstacles. Or, at other times, when he was visited by a demanding curiosity about the young man he had spoken to in the judge’s house.
The same freckle-faced, skinny and long-legged youngster who had peered out of the crowd with such disappointment after the killing of Pardo and the stealing of the horses last night. This morning he had appeared – dressed in the same patched pants and oversized check shirt as before – in a doorway at the rear of the wreckage-strewn hall just as the wounded old man collapsed into unconsciousness from loss of blood compounded by overwhelming rage. And, in response to the Virginian’s query about a place in town where he could get breakfast, the boy had replied:
‘Mr. Oates’s place – the Alamo up the street. Real good food by all accounts. Wish I could do you a bigger favor than tell you that, Mr. Steele.’
Then, after Steele had thanked him for the information, the youngster had looked at him with the same depth of desolate emotion he showed the previous night.
Now, as the gray morning wore on and Braddock reverted to being a quiet and blessedly dull small town for all those citizens not directly involved in the violence and its aftermath, Adam Steele found himself no longer intrigued by the cryptic comment and expression of the kid, and easily able to ignore negative concerns about future hazards by pondering the kind of stud farm he intended to set up.
Modest in size and stock at first. Maybe he would find a place that was already established. A house on some good pastureland was all he needed at first. He could build on the stables and erect the corrals. In the kind of country they had up in Six Rivers Valley across in California which was where, he now realized, the germ of this new notion to stop drifting had started to incubate. Of the money the Mexican had paid him, he still had six five-hundred-dollar bills and some treasury notes of smaller denomination. More than enough to cover his expenses in looking for the right place – provided this did not take too long – and to pay a fair price for the kind of set-up he had in mind, purchase some thoroughbred mares and keep himself and his animals from starving until the foals began to come.
All the while he was considering the perfection of such a life, Steele remained alert to what was happening on this far from perfect day. Saw Peabody come and take away the horses of Wellman and Cooper from out front of the saloon. Then guessed why a covered wagon left town heading north – and that the corpses of the Boones were aboard when it returned. Was not surprised when the batwing doors of the Alamo were pushed open and the rotund banker came through them.
Nolan was in the same officiously official attitude that he had adopted at the auction sale, and there was even a stiffly formal quality about him when he invited Steele to take a drink. Steele told the banker he had taken only one shot of hard liquor since he had tried to drink his memory clean of murdering his best friend. Which was a bald statement of fact not meant to ruffle the other man’s composure, and the Virginian felt slightly sorry when the remark did act to deflate Nolan more than just a little. But he recovered, after taking one drink from the bottle Oates gave him, and was severely self-important again as he crossed from the bar and asked with a gesture if he might sit at Steele’s table. When, the permission granted, he took the chair directly opposite where the Virginian sat and carefully and fastidiously cleared the table of the dirty plate, the empty coffee pot and the cup before he poured himself another shot of rye and made the comment about Braddock never having had need of a lawman.
And now, after re-setting his spectacles on his nose and ears, he toyed with the brimful glass on the table with both hands as he went on: ‘Civil law wranglings are usually all that concern local folks. And in such matters as property-line disagreements, water-rights disputes, trespass by livestock, loan defaults.’ He paused and just the trace of a smile flitted across his highly-colored face. ‘Once there was a breach of promise – well, in such matters Braddock people have always consulted Judge Harrison T. Coles who by common consent is deemed to be the final arbiter. I should perhaps add that when I speak of Braddock people, I mean both those who live within the town limits proper and those who farm in the surrounding country?’
Steele nodded in response to the query implied by an arching of the banker’s eyebrows above the upper curve of his spectacle frames.
‘Oh,’ Nolan went on hurriedly, ‘also itinerant workers who have hired on to work hereabouts have always been made aware of the judge’s unique position in our community and have always respected the situation.’
‘I’m grateful for you telling me all this, feller,’ the Virginian said to fill the pause while Nolan took his second early-morning drink at a gulp and poured another.
‘But what is the point of it all?’ the banker suggested as the finish to the other man’s opening. And vented a soft grunt of satisfaction when he saw Steele nod again. Then, with a smile that stayed slightly longer on his round face: ‘The ultimate point is that you are free to leave the area whenever you choose, sir. And without fear or favor, as it were.’
‘Then that’s fine, feller,’ the Virginian said, took out a bill from a back pocket of his suit pants and placed it on the table before he asked of the man behind the bar: ‘A dollar cover it?’
‘About,’ Oates growled. ‘Without a tip.’
Steele grasped the barrel of the Colt Hartford that leaned against his chair and made to rise as he told Nolan: ‘Just need to get my horses and gear from the livery and pay Peabody for the use of his place, then I’ll—’
‘You are indifferent to the evidence that was taken into account in reaching the conclusion, Mr. Steele?’
‘It’ll take a little time for me to do what I have to do, feller,’ the Virginian answered as he finished getting to his feet and gestured with the rifle that the banker was welcome to come with him out of the saloon.
Byron Nolan accepted the invitation, after reluctantly returning the bottle and glass to the saloon-keeper and drawing a scowl from the bearded man when he announced: ‘Against your next mortgage interest payment, eh, Mr. Oates?’ Outside of the stove-heated saloon, Steele was very much aware of not having his hat and sheepskin coat as he started down the sparsely-populated street, rifle canted casually to his shoulder. The shorter, weightier man who hurried to catch up with him had the warmth of the liquor inside him to help combat the fall chill.
‘After you left the scene, Mr. Steele,’ Nolan said, speaking fast as if he was afraid he would not get everything said before the Virginian’s attention was diverted elsewhere, ‘Cooper attempted to sustain the lie. But without the more dominant Wellman, he is a rather pathetic creature. I suspect he may even be somewhat retarded, but that is neither here nor there as far as culpability in these matters is concerned.’
‘That the opinion of Judge Coles?’ Steele asked.
‘What? Oh, no. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I am merely spokesman for the town. I simply thought you would wish to know certain details. Of course, my personal opinions are of little or no interest to you. Now, where was I?’
‘Don’t recall you ever got started, feller.’
The agitated, over-anxious banker took a few quiet moments to compose himself. Then gave an emphatic nod as if to convince himself of his determination to stick to the point this time and explained: ‘The Judge recovered consciousness very quickly after the wound was cleaned and dressed. And insisted upon holding court immediately. Even before the man dispatched to the Boone farm had returned to report on what really took place there.
‘Usually, court’s held in the meeting hall of the Braddock Farmers Association and steps are taken to create some semblance of a regular courtroom for the occasion. The Judge did practice law in New England for several years as a young man and is entirely familiar with all the intricacies of … Well, on this occasion, the matter was considered in the Judge’s bedroom since it was Doctor Pride’s opinion the Judge must rest for at least a week. Oh dear, I’m wandering away from … I explain the system of justice to which we adhere in Braddock in order that you should not think too badly of us, Mr. Steele.’
‘Any kind of court of law that finds for me is good, feller,’ the Virginian replied. ‘That is my biased opinion. But since I plan to leave Braddock in a very few minutes, I don’t see that how I think about any part of it counts for much. Reason I came back here …’ They were passing in front of a bakery that smelled appetizingly of fresh bread. Two women emerged and Steele almost collided with one of them. Although there was no contact, the Virginian touched the brim of his hat and offered: ‘Excuse me, ma’am.’
‘Not in a million years, mister!’ the bulkily-built woman who he only now recognized as Lizzie Tucker retorted. And both she and her companion scowled at Steele.
‘That is something that counted for you in the judge’s opinion,’ Byron Nolan said hurriedly, ignoring the two women. ‘Nobody was able to put forward any validated motive for your presence at Peabody’s livery stable, of course? But your return to Braddock did not strike the Judge as the act of the murderer of Ezra and Annie Boone.’
‘They weren’t dead when I left them,’ Steele told the eager-to-listen banker who nodded his approval at every other word. ‘Just felt it necessary not to leave this part of the country until my ownership of the horses was in no doubt. Way the Boones talked, Braddock people can forget differences and close ranks when it’s necessary to play a stranger for a sucker?’
Now it was the Virginian’s turn to add a query to a statement by an intonation of his voice and an almost imperceptible movement of his eyebrows. And this caused Byron Nolan to swallow hard and pointedly avoid meeting the steady gaze of the coal-black eyes under the slightly curved brows.
‘Well, that’s fine, Mr. Steele. Now everything is satisfactorily explained. You see, Wellman and Cooper were in the Alamo Saloon last evening when the unfortunate Pardo and we came to town with your horses. Somewhat the worse for drink, as they often were. The kind of men who work to earn money solely to indulge in the less savory of pleasures.’ He shook his head and made a throaty sound of irritation with himself as he again stopped himself from wandering away from the point. ‘In any event, your successful purchase of Haskins’s horses was the subject of some rather resentful talk at the saloon, and the two miscreants thought you would receive scant sympathy if they stole the stallions from you. But they did not count upon poor Pardo seeing them in the act.’
They had now reached the intersection close to the southern end of Braddock’s main street where a side street cut off to the west between the church and Ralph Peabody’s Corner Livery, across from Nolan’s bank and the Braddock Meat Market. Where a crowd of people had been gathering since before Steele and the banker came out from the saloon to begin their slow walk down the street. Townspeople and those from the farms round and about, whose saddle horses and wagons with teams still in the traces were hitched and parked at the southern extreme of the main street, between the school and the blacksmith forge. All the members of this dour-faced gathering of adult age – the children could be heard sweetly singing a dirge-like hymn in the schoolhouse. The sounds of their voices acting to invest the silence of the throng of people with a sharply melancholy quality.
And, as he looked along the side street at what held the undivided attention of the people on the intersection, he saw just how wrong he had been when, back in the Alamo Saloon, he had thought that Braddock was reverting to a quiet country town going about its mundane daily business. While all the time a bizarre trial was held in the bedroom of the presiding judge after which the local populace gathered to witness the summary carrying out of sentence.
Martin Cooper was going to be hanged from an oak tree just outside the low stone wall of the graveyard in back of the church. On a grassy area between the cemetery and corral with attendant stables. There was a small pond on the same area, and some new and established plantings. And a number of three-seater benches in the shade and out in the open where people could sit and take their ease if they had the time to spare on days when the weather was fine.
The noosed rope was already knotted to a stout branch of the almost leafless oak, looking solid as it was suspended, unmoving in the still air of the cold morning. While on the cemetery side of the wall, two men were digging a grave with the speed and skill of experts at the chore, the bite of shovels into dirt and the thud of the displaced dirt being thrown out of the hole the only sounds to counterpoint the singing of the children.
‘Cooper insists it was Wellman who killed poor Pardo,’ Nolan went on, lowering his voice and speaking in a solemn tone as he and Steele came to a halt several feet back from the rear of the crowd. ‘But, of course, he would. Just as he maintained Wellman murdered the Boones. But since both men owned shotguns and both had obviously been fired recently, the question of who actually killed which of the three victims was not considered. And in the case of joint responsibility, this was immaterial.’
There was a stir of movement in the audience for the hanging. Perhaps some words were spoken or maybe all the sound came from the shuffling of feet and gestures with heads, hands and arms – each member of the crowd making sure his close neighbors were aware that the condemned man was being brought from the large stable at the rear of the corral.
Nolan began to speak a little louder and a lot faster. ‘What we know for sure is that Mr. Tucker saw Wellman and Cooper taking your horses out of town along the east trail. We also have no reason to disbelieve what Cooper told the court when he realized there was no point in pretending innocence. That they told the Boones they had bought the horses at the sale and sold them to Ezra for two fifty each. Then left the Boone place, intending to go to Abilene. But – and in view of the personalities of the two of them, we must surely give credence to Cooper’s assertion – Wellman decided there was more than five hundred dollars to be made out of the Boones. This contention reached, I should add, after he and Cooper heard gunfire behind them when they were some way advanced from the farm toward Abilene.’
