Ralph Compton Straight Shooter Page 13
Despite the simple name, the Main Rose had clean rooms that included a bath if more than one night was purchased. Aldus took his bath as soon as he’d brought his things into his room. The tub was in a room at the back of the place with a window that offered a prime view of the outhouse. The warm water felt so good that Aldus didn’t even mind it when the occasional guest would walk through to go outside and relieve himself.
His wound stung as soon as it hit the soapy water. Aldus gritted his teeth and wrangled the pain down like an unruly animal that had to be shown its place. Back in his fighting days, he’d learned to embrace pain to a certain degree. He didn’t relish it like some of the other men. Those fighters were the crazy ones, wild-eyed and full of rage. Men like that were dangerous in the first few rounds because they fully expected to get hurt and didn’t flinch no matter how many good punches smashed into them. The way to beat them was to weather the storm at the beginning of the fight, keep chopping away at them, and wait for the damage to pile up. At a certain point, it didn’t matter how tough a man was. If he couldn’t take a breath or lift his hands, he couldn’t defend himself. And if those men couldn’t defend themselves, it wouldn’t be long before they were out cold. Of course, those were the same fighters who saw their career as a string of personal vendettas. They didn’t take to losing very well and might very well seek out the one who’d dropped them the night before.
Aldus thought about mad dogs like that every time he felt a sharp pain jab all the way through his body. He winced and let his mind wander as the pain soaked through him now. Unlike those fighters with the wild eyes, Aldus had learned to live with his discomforts. If it wasn’t feared or avoided, pain could serve a lot of purposes. It could keep him going, clear the weariness from his body, and sharpen his focus. Pain could push a man where simple desire could not. And if a man lived with his pain for long enough, it would fade for a while. The sharp pain Aldus felt from his stitches faded now, allowing him to loosen his grip on the edge of the tub and settle back down into the water.
Aldus’s mind drifted in another direction as his muscles soaked up all the heat from the water. The soap he’d been given had a sour, bitter smell that stuck in his nose but was a lot better than the dirty sweat that had caked onto him beneath his wet shirt. He closed his eyes, imagining what he might say to Bethany when he finally saw her face, as someone stepped onto the boards just outside the door that led outside.
Hinges squeaked as the door was pushed open and the pungent smell from the outhouse drifted through the room. Focusing on the smell of the soapy water, Aldus waited for whoever it was to make their way through the room. After taking a few steps, the person stopped. Since the tub was barely large enough for Aldus to sit in with his legs tucked close to his body, the whole thing shook when it was kicked.
Aldus opened his eyes to find a man looming over him. He was dressed in a long coat that was dripping from the rain. The hat he wore was the same that could have been found on any number of cowboys, but even more distinctive was the burlap sack covering his face. There were two crude squares cut out and a pair of dark green eyes glared defiantly through them at the world as if they despised it and everything in it.
“You’d be Aldus Bricker?” the man asked.
“I am.”
The other man lunged with one hand extended, which Aldus reflexively batted aside. If he hadn’t already been contained within the tub, Aldus could have done more. As it was, he managed to climb partway up while taking a swipe at the masked man with a right cross. The punch connected, snapping the man’s head to one side. When he turned back to Aldus, the dark green eyes behind the mask burned with a familiar fire. He was one of the crazy ones.
Aldus tried to get up, but his bare feet skidded against the slick bottom of the tub and he dropped down to splash into the water. The other man leaned over to try and get a grip on him, growling like a dog as he stepped around to the end of the tub where Aldus’s head had been resting. Rather than take another swing at him, Aldus grabbed the sloppy remains of his soap and reached up to slap it against the masked man’s face. Although most of the water was absorbed by the burlap, some of it made it into the eyeholes because the man let out a grunt and straightened up.
Taking that moment to get his feet beneath him, Aldus stood up and stepped halfway out of the tub. With one foot still in the water, he grabbed the masked man’s coat and twisted around to try and leverage him over the side and into the tub. But the masked man wasn’t about to go down so easily. Just like those mad-dog fighters, he ignored the sting of his knee pounding against the tub as he stretched out his left hand to keep himself from falling in. From there, he pushed off and landed awkwardly with both feet on the floor at the foot of the tub.
Rather than be dragged along with him, Aldus let go of the masked man. He’d spotted the gun belt under the man’s coat, so he circled around to get a hold of him before he could draw.
The masked man was having none of it. He swiped a left jab across Aldus’s face to keep him away. Aldus shook it off as he snapped a sharp punch into the man’s stomach. If not for the tub getting in his way, Aldus would have laid the masked man out with another punch. Instead, the man was able to back away and draw the gun from his holster.
“Get out and leave us be!” the masked man said.
Aldus quickly realized the man wasn’t talking to him. There were two others looking in from the next room. Both of them nodded and raised their hands while backing away.
Shifting his focus at Aldus, the masked man pointed the pistol at him and thumbed back the hammer. His eyes, reddened by the soap, now reflected what was surely a wicked-looking smile hidden beneath the burlap.
“Who are you?” Aldus asked.
“That don’t matter. I know who you are, though.”
“What do you want?”
The masked man stalked forward, keeping the gun at chest level. When he was close enough, he balled up his left fist and drove it straight into Aldus’s nose. It would have been a lie if Aldus had told anyone that a punch in the nose didn’t hurt. Then again, after having his nose broken a few times, it hurt a bit less than it did for most folks. That, coupled with the fact that he’d spent a good portion of his years in New York City being tenderized like a cut of beef, meant he was able to glare right back at the masked man after the punch had landed.
Perhaps rattled by the way that Aldus’s knees hadn’t buckled, the masked man pulled his fist back and punched him again. This was a wild blow that landed more on Aldus’s cheek than his jaw. When he felt blood trickle against his tongue, Aldus spat it into the other man’s face.
The pistol was brought up and its barrel pressed against Aldus’s forehead. “What did you tell to the marshal?” the masked man asked.
“He asked me about what took place outside his office, so I told him.”
“What happened to the man you chased?”
“He’s locked up in a cage.”
“He been charged?”
“How should I know?” Aldus asked. “If you’re so curious, why don’t you go have a talk with the marshal yourself?”
Aldus expected to be hit after that and he wasn’t disappointed. The punch was delivered to his body and thumped against muscles that were tensed to form a solid wall.
“You’re gonna go back to the marshal,” the masked man said, “and you’re gonna tell him the man you chased was innocent.”
“He shot at me and my partner. Plenty of folks saw it.”
“He was startled by the shooting in the street and was defending himself.”
“My word doesn’t hold any water with the marshal,” Aldus explained. “I was barely able to get out of there without being tossed into a cell myself.”
“Then you shouldn’t have any problem convincing him you made a mistake the first time you talked to him. Just tell him the man you chased didn’t do no harm to nobody.”
The masked man started to step away, but quickly jammed the pistol barrel even harder against Aldus’s head. “You’ll do exactly what I tell you! Otherwise, I’ll come back and blow your brains onto the closest wall I can find. And the same goes for that dandy friend of yours. You step out of line and you both die. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
The masked man stared at him for a few more seconds, probably waiting to see a hint of fear in the man before him. The gun, the way he stood, the crude mask, they were all meant to inspire fear. But Aldus had stood in front of scarier men than this one, even considering the gun.
Although the first two people to look into the bathroom had been frightened away, there were plenty more stirring within the hotel. The masked man lowered his gun, placed a hand flat on Aldus’s chest, and shoved him backward. Aldus swore as his wet, soapy feet skidded against the floor and slipped out from under him. The masked man found that to be mighty amusing and made sure Aldus could hear him laughing as he pulled open the back door and walked outside.
“Are . . . you all right?” asked the little old man who’d been bringing hot water every so often to keep the bath warm.
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Aldus touched a few spots on his face and then raised his arm to test his stitches. They seemed to be holding, but he was definitely bleeding from his side as well as his nose. He climbed to his feet, feeling more wounded in his pride after being knocked down than anything else. There were questions he wanted to ask and precautions he needed to take. But first, he had to put on some pants.
Chapter 13
It had been a long time since Aldus had made a habit of wearing a holster when he wasn’t on the trail. Carrying a gun while driving a wagon was expected and oftentimes necessary. There were snakes, robbers, coyotes, or any number of other threats that could sneak up on a man when he was miles away from the civilized world. Aldus had no qualms with wearing his gun then, but he never saw much use in wearing it in town. He worked for a gunsmith, after all. If there was trouble, he could just grab a pistol from the inventory and some shells from one of the cabinets on the side of Hayes’s wagon. There was no need to wear a holster.
That had changed.
As soon as he put some clothes on, Aldus had gone to his room to fetch his holster. The Schofield hung at his side as he walked back to the lobby to find the old man he’d approached earlier about fixing a bath. Upon seeing him, the spindly old fellow with hair that looked more like cobwebs that had been stuck to his wrinkled scalp laughed nervously and said, “Good to see you’re decent again.”
“Who was that?”
“You mean the man with the sack on his head?”
Aldus walked forward with his fists clenched. Even though he didn’t lift a hand to threaten the smaller man, the old fellow cringed as if he’d already been hit. “Of course I mean the one with the sack on his head,” Aldus snarled. “Who was he?”
“I don’t know! I couldn’t see. You know . . . on account of . . . the sack.”
“Did you fetch the law?”
The old-timer shook his head. “N-no.”
“Why not? When some masked intruder storms in waving a gun at one of your guests, shouldn’t you find the marshal?”
“I . . . I . . .”
“Don’t you have a weapon around here?” Aldus asked as he kicked the front desk, which was less than two feet away from the stool where the old man was sitting. “What about a shotgun? Hell, even a club would have done some good since you or anyone else had all the time in the world to get behind the man who was knocking me around while his back was to a door!”
“Sir!” someone shouted from nearby.
Aldus turned around to find the tall man who’d taken his money for the rooms standing near the front desk. He had a scattergun in his hands and was currently staring at Aldus over its barrel.
“There, now,” Aldus said. “I see someone’s got a weapon. Too bad he don’t know who to point it at!”
“My name’s Danny Mclean and I own this establishment,” the man with the shotgun said. “I understand you’re upset, but threatening people won’t make things any better.”
“I haven’t even begun to threaten yet.” Once he took a breath, Aldus looked around to see if anyone else had a gun pointed at him. Instead, he saw two other folks huddled nearby. They, along with the old man directly in front of him, had stark terror in their eyes. Aldus stepped back and held his hands out to show they were empty.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Mclean continued. “Let’s avoid any further trouble.”
“Sounds fine by me,” Aldus said.
“Step away from him.”
Aldus nodded and moved all the way back to the opposite wall. When the old man pulled himself up off his stool, Aldus looked at him and said, “Sorry about that. I was just worked up after . . . well . . . you know.”
“Yes, I do know,” the old man replied. “I’m sorry I didn’t step in on your behalf. I should have—”
“He shouldn’t have done anything of the sort,” Mclean interrupted. “He’s not the law.”
“All right, then,” Aldus said as he looked at the tall, spindly fellow with the shotgun. “You’re the one who’s armed. Where were you when I was being attacked in your establishment?”
“Can we talk in a civilized manner?”
“Yeah.”
Mclean lowered the shotgun slowly. Every muscle in his arms was tensed, however, in case the weapon needed to be lifted again. Aldus stayed still, making certain not to give the other man a reason to defend himself. Once the shotgun was down, Mclean walked over to a tall, narrow door that looked as if it had been shaped especially to fit him. There was a sign on the door that Aldus couldn’t read.
“Would you like to come into my office for a moment?” Mclean asked.
Suddenly feeling embarrassed by his outburst, Aldus stepped into a small room with bookshelves on two walls. There was a little rolltop desk in the far corner and a small circular table beside it with a silver teapot and three cups on saucers.
“Please, have a seat,” Mclean said. Once Aldus had lowered himself onto one of the chairs, Mclean shut the door and walked over to the little round table. “Would you like some tea? I find it does wonders to calm the nerves.”
“Sure. I’ll take some sugar in it, too.”
“Excellent. You didn’t sign the register, so I don’t believe I caught your name.”
“Aldus Bricker. We met when I paid for the rooms.”
“Ah yes.” Having poured two cups of tea and stirred sugar into them both, Mclean handed one cup over to Aldus before sitting down.
The tea was lukewarm and could have used another scoop of sugar, but it did help quiet the excited jangling in Aldus’s ears. After taking another sip, he said, “We’re being real civilized, so do you think you can tell me who that gunman was who stormed into your place? And don’t tell me you don’t know on account of the mask.”
“There have been some . . . unsettling events transpire in this town, but I assure you they usually don’t spill over to include innocent gentlemen such as yourself.”
“Usually only the guilty men are dragged from their baths and beaten?”
“Not in so many words,” Mclean replied with a nervous chuckle. “But usually the incidents only involve known troublemakers.”
“What incidents?”
Mclean sipped his tea. “There have been altercations at the marshal’s office. Men were taken out of his custody after being caught . . . forcing themselves upon women. It was two local young men and they were put on trial only to be released with a fine. Another young girl went missing. This one was in another town, but those same two young men were found to be the cause of it. There was another trial s
cheduled . . .”
“Let me guess,” Aldus said. “Them boys never made it to trial.”
“That’s right. They were taken from the marshal’s own cell.”
“And lynched.”
Mclean nodded slowly, averting his eyes as if he was ashamed those words even had to be spoken in his establishment. “So you know about them?”
“I’ve heard enough about vigilantes to know how they work,” Aldus said. “Truth be told, there’s been plenty of times when I could understand what they were doing. Sometimes the law just don’t seem to get it right.”
“No, it doesn’t. There have been other incidents over the years. Most of the time, Marshal Borden does his job well enough. Other times, he’s not able to prevent bloodshed. As I mentioned, most of the incidents happen outside town. More often than not, they happen to men who . . . quite honestly . . . have it coming. The marshal enforces the letter of the law, but those vigilantes have kept Seedley safe.”
“Why tell me all of this?” Aldus asked. “Not that I don’t appreciate hearing it, by the way.”
“I thought I should tell you before you go around town trying to find the same answers elsewhere. As you’ve seen, these men do not want to be known and they do not take kindly to it when folks poke into their affairs.”
“What happened here was as much my affair as it was his.”
“I agree,” Mclean was quick to say. “But I wanted to warn you that there is more to be concerned about than this one fellow. Most of the others aren’t so brash. It very well could be that they will see this instance as one man stepping out of line and are dealing with him as we speak.”