War on the Cimarron (17 page)

A little color crept into the wounded man's pallid face. “Just put it down to hatin' Corb,” he said and looked away.

They had a cold supper of pan bread and jerky, and afterward Otey announced that he would ride into town with Frank. He looked at Red as he said it, but Red didn't protest.

At dark Otey and Frank left the seep and caught up their horses and headed for Darlington. Frank wasn't quite sure why he was going, once he was on his way. Luvie Barnes had first angered him, then called him a fool, then stolen back his bail money, then objected to her father having anything to do with him. There was no reason why he should help her. He wasn't, he reflected, for hadn't she written that her father was in trouble? If she was ever in trouble she'd better not come to him, he thought grimly.

They arrived in Darlington in the middle of the evening, rode through it and tied their horses in the deep shadow of the cottonwood in Barnes's yard. Frank exercised the same caution Red had in approaching the house, but once he was sure there were no visitors he and Otey mounted the porch. He knocked on the door, and it was answered by Luvie.

At sight of him she gave a distinct start and involuntarily put her hand to her mouth in a gesture of dismay.

Noting it, Frank said, “Not much sense in screamin'. You asked me to come, didn't you?”

“Yes, yes,” Luvie said in a faint voice. “Step inside.” Her dismay seemed to increase at sight of Otey. She was wearing a print dress of maroon silk, and Frank wondered if the contrast made her face so pale.

She said, “Come into the parlor.”

Silently Frank and Otey tramped after her. She gestured to the sofa and walked across the room to stand beside the lamp on the table.

Frank said, “Where's Barnes?”

“He'll be back in a little while,” Luvie said in an uncertain voice. Then she asked suddenly, “Is it true, Frank, that you killed four of Scott Corb's riders last night?”

Frank smiled crookedly. “So that's got around by now?”

“Is it true?”

Otey said, “Not exactly. Four and a half.”

At Luvie's frown Frank explained, “One man's hurt. We're takin' care of him.”

Luvie's face suddenly took on a determined cast, and she said coldly, “I suppose you're going to nurse him back to health so you can kill him too?”

Nothing was changed, Frank reflected. Each time they met it was like this. He said, “No, not right away. We figured to fatten him up and eat him for Thanksgiving.”

Luvie stamped her foot. “How can you joke about things like that!”

“Joke?” Frank asked in mock surprise. “We're not jokin'. You ought to see his drumsticks.”

There was something close to hatred in Luvie's eyes as she looked at him. She reached for the lamp, lifted it off the big table and set it on the low table in front of the window.

“Sit down, please,” she said. “Dad's meeting a herd. He'll be back shortly.”

Frank sat down on the sofa, Otey in a chair. Frank asked, “What kind of trouble is this?”

“I don't know,” Luvie said, sitting down in the rocking chair with her back to the door. “Something you've caused, I suppose.”

Frank glared at her and she glared back. She kept plucking a pleat in her skirt, and there was a faint smile on her lips. “Tell me, Frank,” she asked, “have you ever been in jail?”

“You ought to know,” Frank answered.

Luvie smiled. “Oh, I don't mean a jail you can break out of. I mean one where they have a guard outside your cell door for months and months.”

“No.”

“Would you like it?”

Frank uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his gaze wary. “This sounds like you're trying to sell me somethin',” he drawled. “Don't tell me you want me to go back to jail.”

“Oh, but I do,” Luvie said, her voice sweet with sarcasm.

Otey grunted. Frank leaned back on the sofa, crossing his legs, his mouth a grim line. He gave up. There was no use trying to be decent to her, and once he had the debt paid back to her father—a debt he was certain she had saddled him with—then he wouldn't see any more of them. He cursed the day he ever tried to buy corn and met her.

Luvie had her head cocked as if she was listening. Frank couldn't hear anything, but Luvie rose, saying, “Maybe that's Dad. He's so—”

Crash!

The glass of the front window jangled down on the lamp and at the same time a slug slapped into the wall by Frank's ear. His move was swift, automatic. He rolled over on his side, palming up his gun, and as it exploded the lamp winked out. He yelled at Otey, “Lock the back door!” and rose and swept Luvie to the floor just as the whole night outside opened up in a bedlam of gunfire.

Otey's footsteps hammered down the hallway, and crouching low, Frank ran to the front door, slipped the bolt and crawled back into the parlor. He put a hand out and touched Luvie's shoulder and it was shaking. He said, “Are you hurt?”

Then he heard her sobs, and she spoke to him. “Oh, Frank, what have I done, what have I done!”

“Done?” Frank echoed blankly. “Nothin'. It's what they're doin'.”

“But I did it, Frank!” Luvie moaned. “It's Corb! He was going to have the army arrest you tonight! That note was to bring you here! That lamp in the window was to tell them you were here!”

Frank lay there, not believing his ears. The rifle fire poured in both the parlor windows, chipping the wall in a line a foot above their heads.

“I can see it now!” Luvie sobbed. “It was a trap to kill you! And I led you into it!”

Frank said at last, “Yeah,” in a low, bitter voice. “That's about it.”

“You can't let them, Frank! You can't! I don't care if Corb ruins Dad! I'll do anything to get you out of this, anything!”

Frank said as gently as he could, “Then quit cryin'. I know you hate me, Luvie, but I—”

“But I don't!” Luvie cried. “I—I've found that out in this last minute.” She put a hand out to Frank. “Corb said you were murdering his riders, Frank. You even admitted it tonight, and I had to go through with it then. He said he only wanted to arrest you and get you out of the way! He said the army would do it! This isn't the army! It's murder!”

“Quiet,” Frank said. He was trying desperately to think.

From over in the corridor Otey called grimly, “They've surrounded the place, Frank. When they rush us we're done for.”

Frank didn't answer. He was still thinking. He had to get Luvie Barnes out of here, and Otey had to go with her. Otey, like the loyal hand he was, would be shot down in a quarrel that wasn't his own. And one more, man wouldn't make any difference now in defending this place.

Frank touched Luvie's hand. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“You've got to get out of here. I'll call to—”

“But I won't,” Luvie said passionately. “I wish they'd shoot me! I wish I could die!”

Frank said savagely, “Dammit, girl! You're worth more out there than in here! Now listen. Otey's goin' with you. They haven't got anything against him. When he gets out have him ride to your dad's herd and warn him to be on the lookout, because Corb will raid it if I break loose.”

“But how can you, Frank? How can you?”

“I'll get away,” Frank said above the rifle fire. “All you got to do is get out there and keep Corb from burning this place down on top of me. You understand that?”

“Yes,” Luvie said weakly.

Frank felt Otey crawl up beside him. Otey asked, “You aim to fight it out, Frank?”

“That's right,” Frank said. “I'll have Corb let her out, and then let 'em take us if they can.”

“Suits me,” Otey said briefly.

The rifle fire slacked off a little, and Frank raised up and bawled, “Corb! Corb!”

The rifle fire dribbled off, and from out in the yard Corb's voice answered, “Christian?”

“There's a woman in here!” Frank called. “Hold your fire till she gets out!”

“Send her out!” Corb called. He yelled orders to his men to hold their fire.

Frank rose and helped Luvie up. “Unlock the front door, Otey,” Frank said, and as Otey vanished into the hall Frank pulled Luvie toward the door.

Otey had the door open a foot, peering out into the dark night. Off near the corrals someone had built a fire that was dying. There were noises from the town beyond, noises of shouting, of people running to see what was happening.

Otey said bitterly, “They're goin' to nail us in front of the crowd, Frank. Damn 'em!”

He pulled his head back in, and then Frank lashed down with his gun barrel. It caught Otey behind the ear, and he melted to the floor without a word. Luvie gasped, and Frank said quickly, “I've got to get him out of here, Luvie, and he wouldn't leave me unless I made him. Can you carry him? He's light.”

“I'll try,” Luvie said.

Frank took Otey's gun and shell belt and strapped them on himself, then he caught Otey under the arms, hoisted him, and Luvie put one of Otey's arms around her shoulder. Otey wasn't much of a load, and Luvie said, “I can do it, Frank.”

Frank raised his voice. “Here she comes, Corb!”

“All right.”

Luvie said to Frank, “You've got to get out, Frank! You've got to! I'll—kill myself if you don't!”

And without waiting for him to answer she stepped out onto the porch, half dragging, half carrying Otey.

Frank locked the door and went back into the parlor, and through the shattered window he followed her progress across the yard toward the cottonwoods. Nobody shot. She was received by two men who lighted matches to examine the burden she was carrying. She refused to give Otey up, and they let her pass, and then the firing started again.

Frank crawled back in the hall and considered what to do next. Certain there was only one man in the house, they would be sure to rush the place. Behind that knowledge, Frank wondered how Corb would dare to do it. This house was almost in town. A hundred people would watch it, and somebody was bound to stop him. You didn't hunt a man down and kill him for jail break. But they were, he thought bitterly, thanks to Luvie.

He crawled back into the corridor and heard a savage hammering on the back door. He couldn't defend the whole house. Then he'd better defend part of it. If Luvie could stop Corb from burning the house, then he could hold the second floor until the army got here and stopped the massacre. He lunged for the stairway in the hall just as the back door crashed open. He achieved the second-story landing as a pair of Corb's riders broke through the front door and ran for the stairs.

Lying on his belly, Frank fanned one gun empty down the stair well, and the two men rolled back down on the floor. Then, from the front doorway, two riflemen started pouring shots at the landing, and Frank had to crawl back. But not before he saw three riders, bellies flattened to the steps, coming up under the withering barrage from the doorway.

He backed off down the second-story hall. There was a window at each end, the front one looking out onto the sloping porch roof, the rear framing a segment of night sky.

He took up his position under the front window. If nobody got up the stairs, then nobody could get him. When the first dark figure appeared above the stair well Frank shot, and he heard the sound of a body tumbling down the stairs and a chorus of soft curses. Corb's men were waiting there almost at the top of the steps, unable to go further and unwilling to risk his withering fire from the hall.

There was a bedlam of activity belowstairs. He could hear Corb cursing out his men, ordering them up the stairs, and the flat refusal of the men to commit suicide. Corb gave orders for ladders to be got and the second-story windows stormed, and there were objections to that. And then, cutting in on the talk, was Luvie's cool voice. She was here, she said, to see that they didn't burn the place down, seeing that all decency had been forgotten and that Corb had gone back on his word. The voices of a couple of townsmen bore her out.

While this interminable argument was in progress, and Corb getting more and more bitter, Frank was crouched down below the hall window, his eyes glued to the dark stair well.

And then, from out in the yard, came the sound of a horse galloping toward the house. The arguing below was stilled, and then the horse stopped and a loud voice demanded, “Where's Corb?”

“Here,” Corb called. Frank could hear him walking toward the porch.

“Captain Haggard, Corb,” the man said angrily. “What in the hell is going on here?”

“What do you think?” Corb asked.

“That you've got Frank Christian cornered here and are trying to down him!”

“That's right,” Corb said.

“On whose authority? Christian is wanted by the agency for whisky peddling and jail break, and the agency doesn't want a corpse. Call your men off and keep Christian cornered until I can get some men here! Damn you, Corb, you're not the army or the police!”

Corb's steps went out onto the edge of the porch. “Did the major send you?”

“No. I was in the officers' bar when word came. But I've a right to demand the agency's prisoner.”

“He's not your prisoner,” Corb said grimly. “He's fair game. Go down to the Murphy Hotel and read the notice that was printed this afternoon and put up an hour ago. It's a ‘dead or alive' reward, Captain. With the agent's permission.”

There was a long pause. “If you're lying to me, Corb, I'll see you in jail!”

“Go back and read it, Captain,” Corb taunted. “When you get back with your soldiers Christian will be dead!”

Frank, knowing now why Corb dared to corner him in town, rose to look out over the slanting porch roof. The captain's voice seemed to be coming from almost under it. The window was open, and Frank stepped out onto the porch roof, and then he was sure of it. The captain was pulled up by the porch steps. Quietly Frank holstered his guns and inched his way down the slippery shingles.