Flint (1960) (18 page)

Lottie was irritated. For the first time in her life she was sitting with a man and his attention was wandering. With a kind of desperation she realized that Jim Kettleman, or Flint, or whatever his name was, had slipped away from her and she simply was not going to get him back.

"I wasn't much of a wife to you, was I, Jim?"

"No, you weren't." He looked across the table at her gravely. Beautiful? Yes, she was beautiful, but with no sense of good or evil except as it was good or evil for her.

"I am riding out of town in a little while, and I am not coming back."

She fought down her anger and frustration, knowing it would defeat her purpose now. "Where will you go?"

"I think you know where I am going, and I have to go alone."

"But until then? Jim, you can't leave me like this! Why -- why, I have scarcely money enough to get home!"

He looked at her and felt no compassion. They were less than strangers. She had tried to have him killed and, he was sure, would try again. And blame him for the necessity.

"I went away because I wanted to die alone, as I have lived, and that is what I shall do."

He pushed back from the table and her anger destroyed her judgment. "It's that Kerrigan girl! That was why you interfered with Port! That cheap little ranch girl!"

He smiled at her. "Lottie, she is neither cheap, nor exactly little, and she is something you will never be-- a lady. You have the appearance, she has the quality and the heart. Yes, if things were different, if I had a few years to live and she would have me -- but why talk foolishness?"

He got to his feet and took up his hat. Lottie started to speak, but suddenly she was empty of words. With what could you threaten a man who was dying and prepared to die?

They were alone in the room now.

'"I'm glad you're dying." She looked up at him and he thought he had never seen such concentrated hatred in the eyes of anyone. "I'm really glad. And when you die, I hope you think of me, because I'll be alive ! "

Her lovely mouth was twisted with fury, but all he felt was relief. "Lottie, you're your own worst enemy. The quiet, simple little girls will end up with all the things you want, and you'll be conniving, cheating, and baiting hooks until you're old and broke and empty. Believe me, you have my sympathy."

He walked out into the night.

On the walk he paused. A rider was coming along the quiet street, a tall man on a horse that walked steadily forward. The legs of the horse showed, then the splash of white on his chest, and then both animal and rider came into the light at once.

Buckdun.

If the gunman saw Flint standing on the boardwalk, he gave no indication, but walked his horse on past, holding the reins in his left hand, eyes straight before him.

There was no nonsense about Buckdun. He used a gun because he was good with a gun, and he avoided trouble because trouble led to more trouble and there was no money in it.

Once in Silver City, Flint had heard, a man called Buckdun a liar. Buckdun looked at him coolly and said, "You may think what you like," and turned his back.

Frustrated, the would-be gunman stood looking around angrily, helplessly.

Furious, he shouted, "I can beat you to the draw! I am faster than you!"

Bored, Buckdun looked at him in the mirror and said, "All right, you're faster than I am."

Somebody laughed and the gunman turned sharply, but saw only sober faces. Buckdun lifted his beer and took a swallow and, after a few minutes, the would-be gunman walked out.

Port Baldwin was sitting on his bed in the dark bedroom when Buckdun came in. Baldwin took the cigar from his mouth and poked several bills toward Buck-dun. Buckdun picked them up and, after a glance, pocketed them.

"Flint," Baldwin said, "and I will double the ante."

"No."

"May I ask why?"

"He's too smart, and he has no pattern."

"Pattern?"

"Of living," Buckdun replied impatiently. "He isn't fixed anywhere, he doesn't belong anywhere, you can't count on his being any particular place. A man who works somewhere, lives somewhere, has friends he visits or who owns something -- they are the easy ones. But Flint is without a pattern. Such men are difficult and they are dangerous."

"Three thousand."

"No. Not for any price. Why should I? I play it safe, I do very well. In a few years I shall retire and I'll have enough for my own outfit, far from here."

Baldwin rubbed out his cigar. He was angry, and he was worried. Saxon and Strett had done nothing, and he was afraid they would do nothing. And Flint had to die.

It was a matter of first importance now, for with Flint dead, it would be a simple matter to get his deal with the railroad working again. Old Chivington could influence Lottie into helping and they could, between them, come off with something.

But Flint must die ... even if Baldwin killed him himself.

Chapter
14

No one in Alamitos doubted that trouble was impending. Red Dolan polished glasses with a wary eye on the five Baldwin riders. At the front of the bar Milt Ryan and Rockley stood talking in low tones, occasionally drinking. Milt had hunted wolves and mountain lions so long he had taken on some of their characteristics. Rockley was not one to side-step a difficulty. All the ingredients were present but one, and that was supplied by the arrival of Pete Gaddis. Until then the Baldwin men had not identified Ryan and Rockley.

Down the street in front of Doc McGinnis' office, Julius Bent considered the situation. A big, serious man, known for his unfailing good nature as well as his great strength, Bent had come to town with Nancy and the others.

Nancy had gone to the hotel for supper. Should he go there and stand by in case she needed him, or should he get the boys together and be ready to leave?

Scott and Otero were at the store loading a buck-board with supplies, and few of the townspeople were visible. Julius Bent realized the situation was explosive.

When Nancy Kerrigan entered the dining room of the Grand the only person present was a beautiful girl with red-gold hair, dressed in the height of fashion. Faintly curious, Nancy glanced at her and was startled to find the girl staring at her with undisguised hostility.

The waitress came to Nancy for her order and called her by name, for Nancy had been coming to the Grand from the day it opened. When the waitress started for the kitchen, Lottie got to her feet and approached the table.

"Miss Kerrigan, is it? I am Lottie Kettleman."

"How do you do? Would you like to sit down? It is rather lonely eating by oneself."

Lottie seated herself and studied Nancy with shrewd, appraising eyes.

Puzzled, Nancy tried to make conversation. "Have you been in Alamitos long?"

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"No." Nancy replied coolly. "What is it you want?"

"I said I was Lottie Kettleman." She paused. "I am the wife of James T. Kettleman."

"No doubt that is very important, but I am afraid I do not understand what it is you want?"

Lottie was growing angry, but at the same time she began to doubt if what she had suspected were true. Nancy Kerrigan was obviously puzzled.

"You know my husband, I believe. In fact, you have been spending a good deal of time together."

"You are mistaken. I devote my time to my ranch, and I have almost no social life. I do not know any James T. Kettleman."

"But you know a Jim Flint."

Nancy stiffened ever so slightly. "Of course. I believe everyone in Alamitos at least knows who he is. He has -- shall I say, he has attracted attention? Several times he has been concerned with ranch business. That is all I know of him."

"You mean you didn't know that Jim Flint was James T. Kettleman?"

"I am sure I did not. I am also sure that it would make no difference to me. One name is as unfamiliar as the other."

Suddenly she remembered the stories about the presence of Kettleman in the area, the telegrams Flint had sent, the sudden ending of Baldwin's franchise to handle railroad land. "Do you mean to say," she asked, deeply astonished, "that Jim Flint is that Kettleman? The financier?"

"And my husband."

Nancy turned her eyes on Lottie Kettleman. Jim ... married. And to this woman.

She was beautiful, but hard. Shallow, too, if Nancy was any judge. Apparently Lottie believed there was something between herself and Jim Flint.

And was there?

For a moment she looked back ... there had been something. Was it unspoken understanding? No word of love had passed between them. And then finally he had left, suspected by some of her hands of being the man who shot Ed Flynn.

"I am sure," she said quietly, "that is very interesting. I had no idea that Jim Flint was anything but what he appeared to be, and I cannot see how it can be any concern of mine. Either that he is James Kettleman or that he is your husband."

Somehow she had never thought of Jim as a married man. It was true that he had made no advances, but she had been sure of his interest and . . . yes, she had been interested. For the first time in her life she had found a man who really excited and interested her.

But why was he here? What would such a man be doing in New Mexico, riding the range, engaging in gun battles, and leading a seemingly pointless existence?

"I cannot imagine what James Kettleman would be doing in Alamitos. Or why he would come here alone, if you were his wife."

Lottie Kettleman did not like being on the defensive. She did not like being called upon to explain her position, and it angered her that this ranch girl should be so poised and sure of herself.

She could not believe that Nancy Kerrigan had not known who Jim Flint was, yet Nancy's tone was sincere, and she was obviously surprised. Also, the suggestion from Lottie that there might have been something between them had aroused no reaction.

"I can tell you what he is doing here," Lottie said suddenly. "He came here to die."

Nancy looked at her but for several seconds the meaning did not register. "To die? You mean, to get himself killed?"

"To die." Lottie felt malicious pleasure in repeating it. If this girl had been getting cozy with Jim, she might as well know it would do her no good. "He's going to die. He has cancer."

Nancy looked across the table at Lottie, and for a moment her mind was blank with incomprehension. "Cancer? Jim?"

"Jim, is it? And you scarcely knew the man?" Lottie smiled across the table at her. "I think you're in love with him, and a lot of good it will do you. If he lives he is mine, and if he dies, you can have him."

Jim ... he was dying then. He had reason not to care about being killed. She remembered the staggering, beaten man who had gone up the street, gun in hand, smashing into saloons, shooting, shouting, fighting. A man half blind with pain, but driven by a kind of wild desperation such as she had never seen.

Nancy no longer thought of the girl across the table. She no longer cared that only a few hours ago she had dismissed him from her camp at the Hole-in-the-Wall. Hours? Or was it days?

He was ill ... he was dying ... and he was alone.

She looked across the table at Lottie. "If that is true, your place is with him. He will need help, comfort, nursing, and attention."

"Let him die." Lottie got to her feet. This whole meeting had been ill-advised and had come to nothing. She was angry with herself, but more angry with Jim, blaming him for her wasted time and effort. "He is a cold, hard man. He came out here just to keep anyone from knowing when he died or where his body was. Just so he could keep me from getting what is mine."

"Go to him," Nancy said. "You are his wife. Go to him and help him. It is not an easy thing to die alone."

"You are the one interested. You go." Lottie walked to the street, filled with futile anger.

There was nothing she could get hold of, and she felt she was losing out Jim would die and she would have nothing and would once more go back to dodging the landlord, cadging meals from men who drank too much and just wanted to put their hands on her. Jim had given her a taste of good living, of living without worry, and now he was slipping away.

She had no thought of failure herself, at least no thought of failing as a wife. She did not want to be a wife, now or ever. She did not want to be dependent. She wanted to have the money without the strings attached. And she had her chance in Jim ... if he should die or be killed now, here, where he could be seen.

From down the street sounded a tin-panny piano, and suddenly she saw Jim, angling across the street in the dark. She would know his walk anywhere. She felt the weight of her purse where her gun lay. She was a fair shot and he was not far off and if she shot him now there was small chance she would ever be suspected ... not with the enemies he had.

She put her hand in her purse and felt the cold steel of the pistol. She looked down the street and saw Jim walking up the opposite side, but toward her.

He seemed unconscious of her presence, and she drew the pistol from her bag, mentally judging the distance. Suddenly the hotel door opened and Nancy Kerrigan came out.