Death Rides the Night (14 page)

“Where is he at? Did you-all run into Tripo an' swap lead with him? Fer gosh sakes, Pat, tell me what's up.”

Pat said helplessly, “I don't rightly know.” He looked down at his bloodied shoulder with a bemused expression. “I got this here out to Ezra's place.”

Sam frowned. “That ain't a very good hideout. Fust place Tripo'd look fer him, I reckon. How-come you went there?”

Pat hesitated. He asked abruptly, “Anybody see Ezra breakin' jail?”

“Nobody but the depyties.”

“Did they say 'twas me that helped him?”

“They didn't rekernize yuh with that mask over yore face,” chuckled Sam. “But I reckon ever-body in Powder Valley knows it wasn't nobody else 'ceptin' you that coulda done it.”

Pat puffed on his cigarette thoughtfully. He was plumb flabbergasted by Sam's disclosures.
Someone
had rescued Ezra from jail last night. Some unidentified man wearing a mask whom everyone thought was Pat Stevens.

That meant Ezra was loose somewhere at the time Pat was attacked at his ranch. Could it be possible he hadn't dreamt that stuff about Ezra returning and attacking him? It was fantastic. It couldn't be true. He felt a cold sweat break out all over his body.

He started to speak, but stopped when he heard the sound of a galloping horse pulling up outside. Sam went to the door and Pat heard him say, “Hi-yuh Oscar. Mighty hot day tuh be pushin' a hawse that-away.”

And he heard Oscar Penrose's voice reply, “I'm carrying the news to all the ranchers to spread out an' start huntin' Ezra an' Pat Stevens.”

“Ezra an' Pat Stevens?” Sam Sloan echoed with angry incredulity. “You mean our friends are turnin' ag'in 'em?”

“They got plenty of reason,” Oscar Penrose said harshly. “Ezra's done gone crazy and started murdering folks right an' left. Ethan and Nancy Page. Old Jake Munort, an' Miz Kincaid.”

“What kinda talk is that?” Sam ejaculated.

“It's true talk, Sam. The little Page boy saw Ezra shoot his paw an' maw. He described Ezra to a T. Red whiskers, one eye, scar an' all. Kid like that wouldn't have no reason for lying. And Jake told Mexican Jose it was Ezra just before he keeled over an' died. Then George Kincaid near got run over by Ezra runnin' off after killin' his mother while she was asleep in her bed. I tell you, Sam, I ain't never seen the folks in Powder Valley so killin' mad. They're huntin' Ezra to shoot him down like a locoed coyote on sight.”

“Where was Pat when all this here was takin' place?” demanded Sam with dangerous calm.

“Nobody don't know. Folks is mostly feared Ezra went crazy an' killed him fust at the beginnin' of the rampage. Lot of 'em thought maybe 'twasn't Pat that turned him outta jail, but Miz Stevens, she says 'twas, all right. Shore is a bad mess. You better have a gun handy case he turns up here.”

“Yeh,” said Sam. “I shore am obliged, Oscar. Mebby you better be ridin' on now.”

“You betcha. So long and watch out.”

Pat sat very still and listened to the thunder of departing hoofs down the road southward.

Sam Sloan came back through the door. Pat couldn't see his face in the shadowed interior of the way station. But he stopped stiffly just inside the door and stood there looking at Pat.

“I reckon you heard what Oscar said?”

“I heard every word of it,” Pat admitted.

“We've done lotsa things together, us three,” Sam said slowly. He sounded bewildered. As though he was groping for words. “We bin in plenty of trouble an' allus got out of it by stickin' together?” He sounded as though he asked a question.

Pat said, “That's right, Sam.”

“We've done some killin',” Sam went on in the same tone. “All of us has. But it ain't never bin shootin' old ladies in their sleep.” His voice became labored and pleading, “Tell me it ain't true, Pat. Tell me there ain't no word of it true. Not Ezra! He couldn't do them things.”

Pat sighed deeply. He said, “I wish I could tell you, Sam.”

“You mean … you cain't? He did it? After you turned him outta jail?”

“I don't know.” Pat paused, then added simply, “I didn't turn him out of jail.”

Sam murmured, “Sweet God in heaven,” and sat down suddenly.

13

There was a long heavy silence in the room between the two old friends. Sam's breathing became labored. When he finally spoke his voice was harsh and rasping, “Say that over ag'in, Pat. Seems like I didn't hear you very good.”

“I didn't have anything to do with getting Ezra out of jail last night,” Pat repeated quietly. “I didn't know anything about it till just now. I thought he was still locked up. I hoped to God he was,” he added bitterly.

“Who did it then? Who tied up the depyties an' busted Ezra out?”

“I don't know,” groaned Pat. “I don't know nothin' about it. I rode straight home from the Gold Eagle.”

“Then how-come Sally is tellin' folks you done it?”

“I don't know that either,” Pat admitted. “I slipped in to get my guns an' she woke up and I had to tell her the whole story. An' I said I was ridin' out to do what I could to get Ezra out of his trouble, so maybe she thought I meant I was goin' to hold up the jailhouse.”

“Yeh. An' then when she heard he was turned loose by a masked man 'bout yore size, she decided it musta been you that did it.” Sam assented lugubriously.

“Who could of done it, Sam?”

“I shore dunno. I dunno nothin' no more. 'Cept that Ezra couldn't of done them things they say. Not ol' Ezra!”

Pat Stevens didn't reply. His shoulder pained him and his head was throbbing anew.

“I don't care who claims they seen him,” Sam went on resolutely. “That Page boy ain't more'n six years old. An' Jake Munort's Mex hand don't understand English so good. He probably got mixed up in what Jake said while he was dyin'.”

“How about George Kincaid?” Pat demanded. “He's old enough to know what he sees, an' he ain't just repeatin' what somebody else told him. Not according to Oscar Penrose.”

“George was drunker'n a hoot owl last night,” Sam said disgustedly. “I don't reckon he knows what-all he saw. Look here, Pat,” he went on fiercely. “You ain't believing it? You ain't takin' sides ag'in Ezra?”

Pat hesitated. He lowered his voice and asked, “Where's Kitty?”

“In thuh bedroom yonder.” Sam nodded toward a closed door. “She wasn't feelin' so good when I rode in from Dutch Springs this mornin', an' she's bin layin' down. Asleep, I reckon.”

“Not feelin' so good?” Pat's voice was instantly worried. “You don't reckon … it ain't her time yet, is it?”

“Fer thuh baby? Naw.” Sam sounded very sure about it, as though he had been a father many times and knew all the ropes perfectly. “Doc Trimble was out tuh see her las' week an' he said 'twould be a couple more weeks yet most likely. He said not tuh worry none till she started, you know, to hurtin' bad.”

Pat said, “Yeh. I know. I hope doc's right. Was he sober when he looked at her?”

“Purty nigh,” Sam said cautiously.

“I just didn't want her to hear any of this,” Pat explained, “because what I'm going to tell you is somethin' you an' me can't tell nobody. Not till we know the straight of ever'thing anyhow.” He paused and drew in a long breath. “I've seen him, Sam.”

“Who?”

“Ezra.”

“The hell yuh say! When? Where is he at?”

“Wait a minute,” protested Pat. “I didn't say nothin' before because I wasn't rightly shore. I hoped 'twas a sort of dream. I thought Ezra was locked up safe in jail an' it
couldn't
of been him. Hold tight to yore chair, Sam. You're not goin' to like this a-tall. It was Ezra that done this to me … or else he's got a twin brother runnin' around shooting people,” he added darkly.

“You mean ol' Ezra shot
you
up?”

“That's what I mean.” Pat sighed deeply and went on to explain, “When I turned Ezra over to Tripo last night I figured on quietin' things down to give me a chance to fix things up a little. I knew if there was VX cows in Ezra's pasture they'd been put there by Harlow to cause trouble, so I headed that way an' messed things up a little more by drivin' some of my stuff into Harlow's place. And I left a gap cut in the fence between the VX an' Ezra's ranch so if we had to we could claim the VX cows had drifted through the gap without Ezra knowin' they were there.”

“That was good figgerin',” Sam approved.

“But I thought it'd be better yet if I could fix it to get the VX stuff back where they belonged,” Pat explained, “an' I was going to wait till daylight an' try to cut 'em out. So I rode to Ezra's new ranch house and boiled me up a pot of coffee while I waited for it to get light. Now, here's what happened near as I can make it out straight in my head.”

He went on to graphically tell about hearing the rider come up, how he recognized Ezra in the doorway and called to him just before the shot was fired.

“I went down to the floor,” he related, “an' got knocked in the head and I passed out. I stayed out cold till past noon, an' when I come to I wasn't sure how much was real an' how much I'd sort of dreamed up. I headed over here to see you an' get you to tell me Ezra was in jail an' I
must
of dreamed it 'bout him. Instead of that, you tell me he broke out of jail last night. Then Oscar comes along an' tells us all this other stuff.” Pat waved his uninjured hand helplessly in the air.

“I don't believe it,” said Sam flatly. “Not none of it. An' you don't believe it neither, Pat. You an' me know Ezra wouldn't do them things. It's a damn lie.”

“Not if he was in his right mind, he wouldn't,” Pat agreed.

“We've
got to believe in him,” said Sam fiercely. “The hull rest of thuh Valley has turned ag'in him an' you an' me are the only ones left.”

“I'm all mixed up in my head,” Pat confessed miserably. “I have been ever since I come to. Seems like I can't think straight. Of course, I
know
it wasn't Ezra,” he went on more strongly. “Even if I did see him with my own eyes. Must of been the devil himself fixed up to look like Ezra just to make more trouble here in the Valley.”

The voice of a woman came weakly from the closed door of the bedroom. It was Kitty Sloan calling, “Sam! Come here, Sam.” Her voice held a high-pitched note of fright that startled the two men.

Sam jumped to his feet and muttered, “I better see,” to Pat, and hurried to the door. He went in and closed it behind him.

Pat settled back on the pile of buffalo hides and made himself another cigarette. Resting easily in the rude sling, his left arm was feeling better and he found he could use the fingers of his injured hand as long as he held the shoulder still.

He forgot about Sam and Kitty in the other room as he concentrated on Ezra and the terrible accusation against him made by Oscar Penrose. Sam was right. He and Sam
had
to believe in Ezra. They were his friends. They knew he couldn't be guilty of the atrocities charged against him. They were his only close friends. That was the trouble. Other people didn't know him as they did. Terribly conscious of the disfiguring ugliness of his scarred face and one eye, Ezra had always shunned intimate contact with people. He was always afraid they pitied him, and he didn't want to be pitied. This gave him the reputation of being queer; and only Pat Stevens and Sam Sloan knew the true greatness of the big man's heart.

It was a shock to Pat to realize these things suddenly. He had never thought much about how other people regarded Ezra, but now he saw it was terribly important. Not knowing the big man as he and Sam did, they were quick to think the worst of him, and now mob violence was about to result.

He looked up quickly as the door from the bedroom opened. Sam came out and closed it behind him. He stood with his back against the door and looked at Pat. In the shadowed room his dark face looked tired and drawn, as though he was tormented by indecision and fear.

He said, “Kitty,” and then paused and wet his lips. “She's … Pat, she thinks I oughtta get Doc Trimble in a hurry.”

Pat sat erect. “You mean … she thinks the baby's comin'?”

Sam nodded miserably. “I'm scairt,” he admitted hoarsely. “She … she's hurtin' somethin' awful, Pat. I don't see how I kin leave her. D'yuh think you could mebby make it tuh ride an' get the doc?”

A shrill scream of agony came from behind the closed door. It keened sharply through the evening stillness, rising to a high note of hysteria and then ended abruptly as though Kitty Sloan had thrust something in her mouth to shut off the sound.

Sam started as though a knife had been thrust into him. “I'm scairt stiff,” he muttered again. “God'l'mighty, Pat, if anything was to happen to Kitty …”

Pat got to his feet, his face set in lines of stern decision. “Get a roarin' fire going in the stove,” he flung at Sam. “Bring in some buckets of water an' then you ride like hell for town. Roust out Doc Trimble an' bring him back here drunk or sober.”

“C-couldn't you go?” stammered Sam. “Seems like I had ought to stay.”

“What do you know about havin' babies?” Pat demanded scornfully. “I can help a little. I was there when Dock was born. Besides which, the way people feel about Ezra an' thinkin' it was me that turned him loose, they'd like as not shoot me or lock me up if I showed my face in town. Get that fire goin'.” He moved forward and impatiently jerked Sam away from the door as another muffled sound of agony came from the bedroom. “Don't stand around like a galoot or maybe somethin'
will
happen to Kitty.”