Authors: Jonas Ward
Buch
anan swung to the curving staircase and mounted it
with
Sandoe close behind.
“Som
e layout
,”
Sandoe said when they reached the first
“Got
a bigger one in San Antone. Heard about an even
bigger
one than that in F
risco, Nine floors, straight up.”
"Ma
n
!"
They climbed to the fourth floor and went on down the
corri
dor to Room 46.
Buchanan rapped his knuckles on
the
doo
r
,
waited, and knocked again.
"Who is it?" asked a woman's voice then
7
and Buchanan
ma
rked the hesitancy, the worry.
I want to see Boy
d
Weston," he said.
"He's not here. Go away."
"It's important I see him, ma'am."
"There was no immediate reply, and they could hear a
mu
r
mured conference beyond the thin panel. Instinctively,
Lik
e some animal oversensitive to danger, Mike Sandoe got
awa
y from the door and flattened himself against the wall. Buchanan eyed him curiously.
"W
h
at do you want to see him about?" the woman
“
Its a little money matter, ma'am," Buchanan said,
embarrassed. "I'm owed some wages, is all." That brought
o
n another powwow inside the room, and then the door
was opened to reveal the face of Ruby Weston. Buchanan
smiled.
"Wages for what?" she asked, her manner hard and brusque to cover the start this unkempt, unshaven char
acter had just handed her, At the sound of her voice
Sandoe moved back into view, startling her anew. She
took a backward step and would have closed the door
against them except that a man of Buchanan's own dimen
sions eased her aside and filled the doorway.
"You Boyd Weston?" Buchanan asked.
"No," Frank Power said without hesitation "I'm not
,”
"Then we're sorry to have troubled you,"
"Yo
u
probably will be," Power told him. "How did you
get this far?"
"Oh," Buchanan said. "You're Frank Power."
"I'm Power. Were you two responsible for the gunplay
I heard in the street?"
"I guess. The kid here did a little damage to one of your
alley-jumpers."
Power looked at Sandoe then, appraisingly.
"That good, are you?"
"Passing fair," Sandoe said. "Town life just took your
man's edge off, that's all"
Power seemed to like that, for he was smiling when he
spoke to Buchanan again.
"Why all the interest in Boyd Weston?"
"Money, like I told the lady. Where would I find the
man?"
"Boyd's across the street," Power said, "but he's very
busy. What do you figure he owes you?"
"Four hundred dollars apiece," Buchanan answered.
"For what?"
"For services rendered."
"On the trail?"
Buchanan's eyes narrowed at the knowingness of the
question.
"For services rendered," he repeated.
"Boyd's good for it," Power said, "but the bank is
closed. How much do you need to tide you over for the night?"
"You're taking quite an interest in our business, aren't
you?"
For a moment Power's square jaw jutted forward and he
seemed about to pick up the gauntlet. Then, from behind,
Ruby's hand gripped his arm and his body relaxed.
"Boyd's a friend of mine," he said. "I wouldn't want to see him dunned in a public place." He produced a handsome leather billfold and took four gold certificates from
it. "Here's forty dollars, friend," he said. "I'm running
close to the line myself tonight."
“
And who do we see for the rest?" Buchanan asked.
“You
or Boyd Weston?"
“I
d
o
n
’
t owe you anything
,”
Power said. "Now or at
a
ny
time
."
Buchan
an turned to Sandoe, found him staring past
Power a
t Ruby Weston.
"Wh
a
t do you say, Mike?"
"What?" the gunfighter asked, pulling his eyes away
with
an effort.
“
We got an offer of twenty now and the rest tomorrow.
O
r
we can go across the street and see Boyd Weston for
al
l
of it."
"Whatever you say, Buchanan."
"We
’
ll take this
,”
Buchanan told Power. "And thanks,
seei
ng as how you're doing it for a friend."
"In Bella
,”
Power said, "I'm a good friend to have."
The remark brought a thoughtful expression to Bu
chanan’
s mobile face, the threat of it dimming the good-
natured
ness that was nearly always lurking there. When
that
was gone he looked like a half-fed panther. He turned
away
from the door and began retracing his steps to the
Fairway. Mike Sandoe followed after a moment.
Bac
k on Signal Street again, all was reasonably quiet.
there
was no sign of the bodyguards or even a suggestion
at the recent incident.
"Here's yours
,”
Buchanan said, handing Sandoe two of
th
e ten-dollar notes.
"Yeah," Sandoe said, jamming them in his pocket, his
tho
ughts on something else. "Say, what do you think was
the
setup upstairs?"
"You heard the man," Buchanan said, moving south
a
long the street. "Her husband's a friend of his."
"Damn! I wish he was a friend of mine."
'On that ticket," Buchanan said dryly, "Boyd Weston
could get elected mayor. Well, I'm ducking in here,
Mike."
“
What's in there?" Sandoe asked in surprise, looking
f
rom the sign of the barber's shop to Buchanan's face.
"The drinks are down at the Happy Times."
"Be sure you leave some
,”
Buchanan said, entering the
shop.
Sandoe continued on south, eagerly.
"You're next, mister
,”
the barber said
?
eying the big ma
n
doubtfully.
Buchanan laughed and sat down on the stool
"You're about to earn your two bits now, brother
,”
he
told him. "I want the full treatment."'
That consisted of a haircut, a shave, and hot bricks
wrapped in tent cloth and held to the face with tongs.
Then he followed the barber out through the back of the
shop, where a converted horse trough was filled with boil
ing water and a generous helping of borax. Buchanan
bent over, hands on knees, and the barber submerged his
head in the mixture and held it there. That untangled the
knots in his hair sufficiently to allow a wide-toothed iron
comb to be pulled through it. Bay rum and a slapdash
brushing completed the operation and Buchanan tipped
him a dime.
At the haberdasher's next door he chose a pair of denim
work pants, a shirt of softer cotton, a new hat, and other
essentials. He wore the hat away from the place and
carried the rest under his arm in a paper wrapper as he
went in search of a bed for the night. This he found on
a side street, in a place that called itself the Green Lantern
and advertised room and board.
His landlady rented him a room in the rear, which included a towel, showed him where the bath
t
ub was, and
collected in advance for one night's lodging and three
meals tomorrow. When she was gone, Buchanan stretched
himself full length along the bed, and though a good four inches of him lapped over, a great smile of contentment spread slowly across his face.
Man, there would be some great exhibition of sleeping
in here tonight. . . .
He go
t
up again, reluctantly, and took the towel down
th
e corridor to the bathroom. But now the door was
clos
ed and he waited. Five minutes passed and he was
s
ti
ll w
a
i
ting. He tested the
door handle
on the chance that
t
he
door had been blown sh
ut. It was locked. He squatted a
n
d
put his eye to the keyhole, and was frozen in that
imperious position when the door was thrown open. He
l
oo
ked downward and saw slippered feet, slim ankles, and
th
e hem of a flowered wrapper. He raised his eyes the
leng
th of the loose-fitting gown to a neck that extended
abov
e it and the chin, mouth, nose, and flowing red hair
at a
y
oung girl. She had eyes, of course, but there was an
exp
r
e
ssion in them now that made Buchanan wish the
earth
would open up and swallow him whole.
"I thought this was a house for men only," he said
lamely
, rising slowly to a standing position. She looked
very
small and fragile to him now, and deadly as a coral
s
na
ke.
"Up until now it was for gentlemen only," she said, and
step
ped around him, holding her arms close and her
should
ers bunched, as though even to brush against the
man
meant contamination,
Buchanan watched her go down the hall, watched the
danc
ing lights in her unpinned hair, the completely femi
nize rhythm of her stride. She suddenly stopped and
whirled on him, hands angrily on hips.
"Well?" she demanded,
"Well . . ." Buchanan answered feebly, then tried to
gri
n his way out of it. "Well, fine," he said heartily. "Just
f
i
ne."
It hadn't worked. He knew from the way she turned and
resumed walking again that it had been a complete rout.
The hot tub, however, cramped as it was, closed his
- wo
unds and restored his deflated confidence. The recon
st
ruction was completed back in his room, where he sur
veyed the new haircut, the new face, the new duds, and
pronounced himself a crop-eared dude if ever there was
o
ne
.
He buckled the gunbelt at his waist, gave the holster a fashionable hike, and sallied forth to sample the perils
and pleasures of the great city.
The best place was the nearest place in Buchanan's book
of life, and the nearest saloon to the Green Lantern was
Little Joe's. Little Joe himself served from behind the bar,
and Buchanan was hardly below the neck of the bottle
when he and the boss were fast friends. But though Little
Joe smiled and was happy in big Buchanan's company,
there was no hiding his concern about the rotten business
his saloon was doing.
"Not just
my
place," he said. "It's everybody on South
Signal Street. When I first opened up it was just plain
Signal Street, fair chance for all of us. Then all of a sud
den Frank Power hits it rich." Joe paused to refill both glasses. "Overnight he's a big man in the meat business.
Up to then all he does is deal faro in the slot at Troy's
little joint,"
"Little?"
"Oh, that big one is only a couple of years old. Power
and Bernie Troy built that one together. Then they put in
the deadline."
"I heard. South of Happy Times
,”
"But what's north of the Happy Times?" Joe de
manded. "Troy's, that's what."
"Sounds like a good deal
,”
Buchanan said. "If they can
make it stick
.
"
"They make it stick, all right. Marshal Grieve was a
good fellow when I first came to Bella. But now what is
he? Just another hired man for Power and Troy. And if
Grieve needs help, they send him Kersey and Bowen, or
Moose Miller. Say
?
you hear about the shooting in front
of Bella House?"
"Yeah
.”
"Wild story I got was that somebody started all even
with Sam Kersey and beat him. Then a bunch of them
jumped Marv Bowen. Suppose to have busted the bones
in his gun
wrist and broke his
j
aw. I don't hardly believe
th
at could happen in Bella, Especially outfogging Sam
“Doesn’t
seem possible
,”
Buchanan said, and drained his
glass.
"Well, Little Joe, old horse, I got to look up a
busin
ess acquaintance of mine."
“Wh
at line you in?"
"
Yo
u
name it
,”
Buchanan said truthfully, "and I'm in
it"
"
A
promoter, eh? Well, stay this side of the deadline
unl
ess you got a pass from Power or Troy
,”
"Thanks for the warning. So long."
Little Joe watched the t
all form pass through the swinging
doors, then turned to an old man hunched over a mug
if beer at the end of the bar.
“
Now there," he said warmly, "goes a solid citizen."
The old man snorted. "There goes a dude, you mean.
C
oul
d smell him comin' a mile off."
"
All
real gents smell of bay rum. They just don't drop in
h
ere.
is
all. They spend their money at Troy's."
"
An
d welcome. Let me do my drinkin' with men."
"Men, he says! Homeless drifters, that's all
I
ever get
. Killers,
rustlers, dodgers, the lot of 'em."
"What makes you think that slicked-up dude ain't
an
other?"
"Because I'm a judge of character," Little Joe said,
"
th
at's what! One look and I told myself
.
Now here's a
reliable gent that's straight as a string and mild as milk.
Wouldn't have surprised me none if he'd introduced him
sel
f as a circuit preacher."
The old man nodded thoughtfully. "Knew me a preach
er
back in Fort Sam Houston," he said quie
tly. "Specializ
ed in the Ten Commandments, that one. Left town one
mid
night with another man's wife and the mortgage
f
u
nd."
"A
ah, you're just sour on human beings," Little Joe told
him. "You can't see chaff from wheat no more."