Trackdown (9781101619384) (29 page)

When the meal was over, Tatum leaned back in his chair and took out the makings to roll a quirley. He smoked while Hannah cleaned up. The lamp was starting to burn low.

And the apprehension inside Eden was growing.

Finally Tatum said, “You’re going to be taking the blanket roll tonight, Hannah.”

She stared at him bitterly.

“I knew it!” she said. “You think I’m gonna just lay there and watch while you take this whore to your bunk and have your sport with her?”

“You don’t have to watch,” Tatum said as his lips curved into a cruel smile. “You can blow out the lamp and just listen if you want to.”

Hannah took a step toward him and said, “You son of a bitch.”

“You can call me anything you want,” Tatum said coolly. “You know that doesn’t bother me. But don’t try anything against me, either. You know better than that.”

Hannah was quivering with rage, but she was able to say, “You know I’d never hurt you, Caleb.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“This bitch, on the other hand—”

With no more warning than that, Hannah moved fast. She covered the distance between her and Eden in one swift step and whipped the knife that had suddenly appeared in her hand against Eden’s throat. In that second, Eden was convinced she was about to die with her blood spilling out from a severed throat.

The knife stopped so that its keen edge barely pressed against her skin. Tatum had bolted up from his chair, and his hand rested on the butt of his gun, although he didn’t draw it from his holster just yet.

“By God, Hannah, you go too far!” he burst out. “If you kill her, I’ll make you regret it.”

“I already regret that I didn’t kill her before now,” Hannah shot back. “You’re fast on the draw, but not fast enough to stop me from cuttin’ her throat if I want to.”

“What do you want?” Tatum asked, his lips curling in a snarl.

“You grabbed her to use as a hostage, or so you said. If you’ll stick to that, I’ll let her live. But if you’ve got any notions of her takin’ my place, she’s got to die.”

Eden sat there with her heart hammering in her chest, too terrified to move. It wouldn’t take much pressure for the keen edge of that blade to bite deep into her throat.

After a few seconds that seemed much longer, Tatum laughed and took his hand off his gun.

“Fine, if you feel that strongly about it,” he said. “I’ll make a trade with you. The girl goes on the pallet and you go in my bunk, as usual, and you don’t say anything about this to the rest of the bunch.”

“Don’t want them to start thinkin’ that your word ain’t
law, do you?” Hannah laughed. “I got news for you. Chico’s already startin’ to feel that way.”

Tatum nodded grimly.

“I know. That’s why I’m going to have to kill him one of these days soon. What about it? Do we have a deal?”

Hannah took the knife away from Eden’s throat and shrugged.

“Fine. Don’t know why I care so much anyway. It ain’t like you’re the first handsome man who wanted me warmin’ his blankets.”

“All right, that’s settled. Put her on the pallet, tie her hands and feet, and rope her to the table leg, too. That way she can’t try to crawl off.”

“Wouldn’t do her any good if she did. Where would she go?”

Eden had asked herself that same question and come up with the same answer.

There was nowhere for her to go. She was trapped here.

The blankets spread on the crude puncheon floor didn’t make a very good bed. Eden couldn’t get comfortable. Comfort didn’t really matter much right now, though. Only survival did. She turned her face toward the wall and tried to go to sleep. She heard Tatum and Hannah moving around in the cabin, then the lamp went out. Utter darkness closed down around her.

She didn’t really sleep, but she drifted in and out of a half stupor. She heard low voices and knew Tatum and Hannah were passing a jug of whiskey back and forth in the dark. Then she heard other sounds she didn’t want to think about or even acknowledge.

Finally it was quiet in the room.

Eden dozed off then. She didn’t know how long she slept, but when she came awake, it was suddenly, instinct making her strain against her bonds as Tatum’s hand clamped roughly over her mouth.

“Don’t raise a ruckus,” he warned her in a whisper. “Hannah guzzled enough rotgut that she passed out when I was through with her, but I don’t want her to wake up.” He leaned
close enough that Eden could smell his warm, whiskey-laden breath. “I reckon you can still make me feel mighty good without causing too much racket.”

Eden felt panic inside her raging to get out. She tried to pull away from Tatum, but his grip was too tight. She felt the rope holding her to the table suddenly go slack. He must have cut it, she thought. A moment later she felt cold steel against her flesh for the second time tonight, but in this case it was against her calves. He moved the knife down and severed the bonds around her ankles.

“You just lay back and don’t make a sound,” he said.

Then Hannah yelled, “You sorry son of a bitch!”

It looked like he was wrong in thinking that she was passed out drunk.

A gun roared and muzzle flashes split the darkness. Hannah had a revolver in her hands and was firing blindly toward the other side of the room, not caring in her rage whether she hit Tatum or Eden. If she drilled both of them, that would probably be fine with her.

Eden heard a bullet smack into the wall somewhere above her. Tatum let go of her and twisted toward the new threat. Eden’s wrists were still tied, but she was able to club her hands together and strike out with them as she lunged up from the floor. Her fists thudded into what felt like Tatum’s back and knocked him away from her.

Then she used her panic to give her speed and relied on her instincts to guide her as she surged to her feet. She knew she might run right into one of those bullets, but she had to get out of here. She couldn’t stand it anymore.

She ran into the wall, bounced off, and managed not to fall even though she was half stunned. Fumbling in front of her with her bound hands, she found the door latch and yanked on it. Night air spilled into the stuffy cabin as the door swung open.

Hannah screamed. The shots had stopped.

Eden flung herself through the open door and ran away from the cabin, the lengths of rope still fastened to her ankles trailing behind her.

Bill had just reached the end of the bottleneck and crouched behind a boulder there when he heard the blast of gunshots. He could tell the muffled reports came from inside one of the thick-walled cabins. Fear for Eden’s safety gripped him tightly, squeezing his heart like a big hand, as he jerked his Colt from its holster.

Enough starlight filtered down into the bowl for him to be able to make out the squat shapes of the cabins. Suddenly the door of the center one was flung open, and a figure raced out into the night. Bill’s eyes widened as he recognized the shock of fair hair. That was Eden running toward him!

Bill raced out from behind the boulder, determined to reach her and guide her to safety. She was almost back in his grasp, almost safe. He cried, “Eden!”

A figure appeared in the door of the cabin behind her. Flame stabbed from a gun muzzle, and Eden let out a cry and pitched forward.

As sometimes happened, a lull settled over the town. A couple of days passed without anything out of the ordinary happening. Mordecai wasn’t convinced that that good fortune would last, but he was grateful for the respite.

For one thing, it gave his wounded arm a chance to heal more. The pain in it receded so that it wasn’t too uncomfortable as long as he didn’t use it much. All he had to do was make his rounds every morning and evening and sit in the marshal’s office the rest of the time. The Nilssons even sent most of his meals over from the café, so he didn’t have to go out for them.

And thankfully, no fights broke out in the saloons. He would have had a hard time breaking them up.

Mordecai hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Walter Shelton since the man had stomped off angrily a couple of days earlier, but he was able to keep up with how Shelton’s daughter was doing by talking to Glenn Morley, who was still taking care of Virginia as the closest thing the settlement had to a doctor.

“She’s doing as well as can be expected,” the bartender reported. “No signs of brain damage or internal injuries so
far, which is good. The bruises will heal. They’re starting to look better already.”

“What about her pa?” Mordecai asked as he stood in front of the bar in the Prairie Queen.

“What about him? I haven’t seen him, only the girl and her mother.”

“Just wondered what he was up to, that’s all,” Mordecai replied. He had an uneasy feeling about the whole situation.

At least the Gentrys were having the good sense to steer clear of town. Mordecai hadn’t seen any of them in Redemption since he’d let Tom out of jail. He dared to let himself hope that the trouble would blow over, although he was still doubtful that it would.

Late in the afternoon of the second day after all the trouble, Mayor Roy Fleming appeared in the marshal’s office with a worried look on his face.

“Have you heard anything from Marshal Harvey?” the mayor asked.

“Now how in blazes would I have heard anything from him?” Mordecai asked before he could remind himself that he was speaking to the mayor and suppress the impulse. “You ain’t seen him and the posse ridin’ into town, have you?”

“No, no, of course not.” Fleming shook his head. “I’m sorry, Deputy Flint. I’m just concerned. About Mrs. Harvey, of course, and all the members of the posse.”

“And the money those varmints took from your bank,” Mordecai guessed.

“I’ll admit it. If that money isn’t recovered, it’s going to be a major blow to the bank. The establishment may not be able to survive.”

“I reckon Bill will do everything he can to get that money back.”

“I know. But his wife’s safety has to be his main concern, and I understand that.” Fleming paused. “There’s something else I wanted to ask you about, Deputy. That gypsy still has his wagon parked down at the end of Main Street.”

Mordecai frowned and said, “That don’t sound like a question.”

“Well, when are you going to make him move on? The
town’s been quite tolerant of him so far, but it seems like it’s time he was leaving.”

“I don’t have any reason to run him out of town. Far as I can tell, Gregor ain’t done anything wrong.”

As a matter of fact, Mordecai had stopped by the wagon a few times to check up on Gregor Smolenski, and he found himself liking the man and his dog. Gregor had been a lot of different places, and Mordecai enjoyed swapping stories with him about the things they had seen and done.

“Are you saying that you haven’t had any complaints about him?” Fleming demanded.

Mordecai frowned. He scratched at his beard and said, “Miz Maude Cartmill stopped by yesterday and reported that somebody swiped a buttermilk pie she had coolin’ on a windowsill. She didn’t see who it was.”

“Mrs. Cartmill lives less than a block from the spot where that gypsy wagon is parked,” Fleming said as if that proved his point. “Has there been anything else?”

“Clothes swiped off a clotheline at the Seabolt house,” Mordecai admitted.

“Which is just two houses down from the Cartmill place,” Fleming said with excitement in his voice now. “You see, Deputy? You have to do something about this!”

“A missin’ pie and some underwear don’t hardly rank up there with bank robbery,” Mordecai said. “And I got no proof that Gregor Smo-len-ski”—he pronounced the name carefully—“had anything to do with either of those things.”

“Make him leave town, and those thefts will stop. Mark my word on that, Deputy.”

Mordecai could see that the mayor wasn’t going to let loose of this. He said, “I’ll take a
pasear
down there later and see if he’s given any thought to movin’ on. Maybe he’s already plannin’ to leave.”

“Whether he is or not, I want him gone.”

That was about as direct an order as a fella could get, Mordecai thought. And as the mayor, Roy Fleming was his boss, especially with Bill out of town. Mordecai sighed and nodded.

The door of the marshal’s office was still open. Benjy
Cobb appeared there, clutching his battered, shapeless old hat to his chest.