Sunset Trail (14 page)

XVIII

Bud Dugan slept fitfully and woke several times during the night. Dolly was always awake, sometimes walking around the room,
and sometimes sitting in the rawhide-bottom chair at the table, playing solitaire. When it was daylight, he woke again in
time to see Dolly coming toward him, two rawhide thongs in her hand.

When she saw that he was awake, she said: “I’m gonna tie you up. I’m so damned sleepy I’m about to fall on my face. I’ve got
to go to bed for a while, and I can’t trust you to stay put.”

She tied his feet first, then tied his hands behind his back. She took the shell out of the shotgun and left the gun lying
across the table. Now she walked past the table to one of the shelves in the corner and returned with a revolver.

“You go on back to sleep,” she said. “I’m gonna lie right there beside you. I sleep light, so if you get loose, which I don’t
figure you will, and if you try to go outside, I’ll plug you right in the brisket.”

She sprawled out on the bed beside him, the revolver clutched in her right hand, and was asleep in a matter of seconds. He
turned his head to look at her. She snored with gusto; her lips fluttered with each outgoing breath. Sometimes she would choke
and snort and wake herself up, and then she would go back to sleep at once.

If circumstances had been different, he would have laughed. Dolly looked and sounded comical enough, but he couldn’t laugh.
He thought there was a good chance he would never laugh again as long as he lived.

The woman was an animal. She’d kill him if he tried to get away just as she had said she would. He lay on his side, thinking
of his mother and then Jean and finally of his father. Up until now Matt Dugan had been the kind of man who could do anything.

Bud found it hard to believe that for the first time in his life Matt was caught in a trap that made it impossible for him
to do anything. But he hadn’t panicked. Bud was thankful for that. Alesser man than his father would have cracked under the
pressure and either made a run for it himself or helped Bud get out through a window and go after Jerry Corrigan.

At that first moment when his father had awakened him, Bud had thought he should go for help, but now, with time to think
about it, he knew his father had been right. They were dealing with people who had no conscience, who were here to murder
someone for a large amount of money.

He watched the light deepen in the soddy as the sun rose. Dolly had not been an expert at tying his wrists. The thong was
not tight, and now he began to twist his hands back and forth and to tighten and relax his muscles. He found after a few minutes
of this that he had increased the slack.

Still, it was a long time before he was able to slip his hands through the loop. When he did succeed in freeing himself, he
brought his hands around in front of him and gently massaged his wrists. They were raw, a good deal of the skin having been
rubbed off, but he was free. He sat up, moving slowly and carefully so he wouldn’t wake Dolly, and untied the thong around
his ankles.

All this time he had been carefully weighing his chances of getting out of the soddy alive. He still didn’t know what Jerry
Corrigan could do if he were told what was going on, but the situation was different than it had been last night. If he had
left the house then, Smith and the other two would soon have known and there would have been hell to pay. Now, if he escaped
from the soddy, Dolly wouldn’t ride into town to tell Smith and Sammy what had happened. If she rode anywhere, she’d ride
the other way.

He looked at the woman. She had moved so she lay partly on her side. He had hoped he could get the revolver away from her,
but she had rolled over enough so that the gun was partly under her. He couldn’t possibly pull it free without waking her,
and the shotgun wouldn’t do him any good if he was able to get to it. He didn’t know what she had done with the shell.

All he could do was to slip off the bed and cat-foot to the door, lift the bar and open the door, and then light out for the
shed as fast as he could run. If he made it that far, the chances were good he could saddle his horse and ride to town.

Bud was perfectly aware that he might never reach the door. Or reaching it, he might wake her when he lifted the bar. The
door might squeak when he opened it. She’d shoot him like a dog if she woke up before he got away.

He was scared. He had never been as scared in his whole life as he was right now. When he looked at her face, he felt prickles
run up and down his spine; he felt his belly muscles contract until they were hugging his backbone. Scared or not, he knew
he had to try to get out.

The thought came to him that this was his initiation into manhood. If he made it, he’d be a man. If he didn’t, he’d be dead,
but he was certain that, if his father were in his position and felt there was a chance to get Jean and her mother out of
danger, he’d do anything he could to save them. Or Jerry Corrigan. They were the best men he knew, and he could do no less
than they would under the same circumstances.

Carefully he eased off the bed and stood up, his eyes on Dolly. She didn’t move or miss a snore. His heart began to pound
as he moved silently across the room, the longest fifteen feet he had ever covered in his life. He got to the door and looked
back. She still hadn’t moved.

He turned his head and lifted the bar, thinking he had made it, but just as he eased the bar to the floor and reached for
the knob to open the door, Dolly’s revolver roared, a bullet slapped into the door within an inch of the side of his head,
and she bellowed: “Put the bar back, damn it! What’d I tell you I’d do if you tried to leave?”

For a few seconds he couldn’t move. He expected her to shoot again and the next time she wouldn’t miss. When the bullet didn’t
come, he reached for the bar, replaced it, and slowly turned.

“I wasn’t trying to get away,” he said. “It’s getting stuffy in here. Besides, I needed some exercise. You had me tied so
tight the circulation was stopped and I figured I was getting gangrene.”

“You’re a damned liar.” She got up, the revolver in her hand. “I’ll say one thing for you, boy. You’re the coolest customer
I ever ran into.” She motioned to the bed. “Get back over here.”

He obeyed. She crossed the room, lifted the bar, and opened the door. She stood in the sunlight and took a deep breath, then
turned to face him. “You’re right about one thing. It was getting purty stuffy. Staying in one of these damn’ soddies is like
living in a cave.”

“I’m hungry,” he said. “Is part of your job to starve me to death?”

She scratched her head, then shrugged. “No it ain’t. A cup of coffee would go purty good.”

She laid the revolver on the table and built a fire. He had a wild hope that she might move far enough from the table so he’d
have a chance at the gun. He had no illusions about what she’d do if he tried for it and failed, but he’d try if he thought
the odds of his getting his hands on it ahead of hers were about equal.

The chance never came. She put the coffee pot on the stove, fished some bacon sandwiches out of a greasy sack, and gave him
one. When the coffee was done, she filled two tin cups and handed one to him, then stepped back to the table. At no time was
she more than ten feet from the revolver.

There was another way of getting at her. He remembered that she had told Sammy last night that she wasn’t staying here for
a posse to find. She looked as mean as ever, but she hadn’t killed him as she said she would if he tried to get away. She
was softer than she let on.

He said in an offhand tone: “If they’ve got the murdering done, I’ll bet those three men are out of the country by now and
a posse will be showing up here any time.”

She was drinking coffee when he said that. She gulped and choked and fought for breath for a good part of a minute. When she
was able to talk, she said: “You shut up. You’re a purty foxy kid, but it ain’t gonna work.”

“I was thinking that they don’t just arrest the ones who do the killing,” he said. “I mean the ones who do the shooting. They
arrest everybody who had anything to do with the murder. They hang all of ’em. Did you ever see anybody hang?”

She glared at him, her big fists doubled, then she whirled to the table and picked up the revolver. “I didn’t kill you a while
ago when I had plenty of reason to,” she said, “but I ain’t gonna go easy again. You’d better shut your big, flappin’ mouth.”

For the time being that was all he could do. He had goaded her as much as he could for now, but he’d given her something to
think about. She laid the gun down and reached for her coffee cup, her hand trembling so much that she spilled several drops.

He thought:
Sooner or later she’s going to break and
I’ll get out of here.
But he knew it might not be in time.

XIX

The Methodist church was buzzing with activity when Jerry Corrigan arrived. A dozen or more women were making sandwiches,
working at tables that had been set up in the slim shadow of the building. In another hour or so the sun would be blasting
at them, the shade completely gone.

Hannah Talbot was having the time of her life. She had her hand on the throttle, running in and out of the church or moving
from one woman to another to find fault with the work that woman was doing. When a tray of sandwiches was finished, she would
send Parson Hess trotting toward the courthouse with it, admonishing him to be sure the sandwiches were covered with a tablecloth
because the flies were just terrible.

If the preacher wasn’t on hand, Mrs. Talbot sent one of the women with the sandwiches, but Corrigan noticed that she didn’t
send Nora Dugan to the courthouse and she was never critical of the way Nora cut the bread or spread the butter or of the
amount of ham or chicken she placed between the slices.

Nora was not aware of his presence until he moved up to stand beside her and asked: “How’s it going?”

Startled, she glanced up. Tiny beads of perspiration made her face glisten. She wiped her face with a wadded-up handkerchief,
then said: “All right, Jerry. Hannah’s worried about not having enough sandwiches, and I guess there are an awful lot of people
in town.”

“Yeah, there sure are,” he agreed.

He didn’t see Hannah Talbot come up until she said: “I didn’t expect to see you around here today, Sheriff. I thought you’d
be out lollygagging’ with Jean.”

He scowled, thinking there wasn’t anyone else in the whole world he disliked as heartily as he did Hannah Talbot. He said:
“I wish I was.”

She smirked as if to tell him she knew he couldn’t hit her as he would have a man, then she said with a nasty curl of her
lips: “I think you two had better get married before it’s too late.”

She walked off, switching her behind at him. He clenched his fists and stared after her, then he said: “So help me, someday
I’ll forget she’s a woman.” He glanced at Nora. She was still pale, but she seemed to feel all right. “How do you keep that
old heifer off your back?”

“I don’t know,” Nora said, “but I am the only woman here she hasn’t clawed a few times this morning.” She moistened her lips,
glancing at Corrigan, and then turned her gaze back to the loaf of bread she was slicing. “How was Jean when you left the
house?”

“I think she was fine,” Corrigan answered, “but she claims Bud’s sick in bed and she’s got a headache and she’s going back
to bed and she didn’t feel like coming with me. I don’t believe any of it, Nora.” For a time Nora said nothing. All Corrigan
could hear was the chatter of the women and Parson Hess’s heavy voice and the scream of children playing behind the church.
Finally Nora said: “You aren’t accusing Jean of lying to you, are you, Jerry?”

“I don’t like to put it that way,” he admitted, “but I’ve got a hunch that something’s wrong. By this time, it’s more’n a
hunch. I don’t like the idea of Jean being in the house with those three men even if two of ’em are supposed to be her cousins.”

She continued slicing bread; and Corrigan, his gaze dropping to her hands, noticed that they were trembling. She was slicing
the bread too thick and he wondered if Hannah Talbot would tell her so.

“Jean will be all right,” Nora said finally. “If you’re worried, why don’t you talk to Matt about it?”

He wondered if she were trying to tell him something without coming out and saying it directly. He had always found her a
direct and forthright woman, but now he was convinced she was holding back facts she should tell him.

“You’re saying that something’s wrong but you’d rather have Matt tell me,” he said. “Is that it?” She didn’t answer, but he
saw that the corners of her mouth were quivering. “Who are those men?” he demanded. “Are they really cousins?”

“Talk to Matt,” she said in a tone so low he hardly heard her above the racket around them. “If he wants to tell you, all
right. I can’t, Jerry. I just can’t.”

He saw Hannah Talbot coming toward them under full sail. He didn’t want to be there if Mrs. Talbot was going to chew Nora
out for making the slices of bread too thick, so he said: “All right, I will.” He wheeled and strode away.

The crowd was beginning to assemble in front of the courthouse. The job of putting up the bunting on the platform was finished,
and, although it was too early for the band to gather, several members were sitting on the chairs that had been placed at
the end of the platform for them. They were resplendent in their bright red uniforms with the gold buttons, and some were
making strange, discordant noises on their trombones and coronets.

Corrigan hurried past them, toward the business block, refusing to be delayed by a fight that was brewing between two cowboys.
As far as he was concerned, they could go ahead and kill each other if that was what they wanted to do. He wasn’t sure that
Matt would tell him any more than Nora had, but he was going to put it up to him anyhow.

The main part of the crowd was here on Main Street, the women seeking any shade they could find and most of the men moving
in and out of the saloons. Corrigan strode toward the bank as fast as he could, shouldering through the crowd, sometimes not
very politely because he was goaded by a sense of urgency. He wanted Jean out of the Dugan house, and, if Matt didn’t get
her out, he’d do it himself.

When he stepped into the bank, he saw that a dozen men were lined up in front of the teller’s cage. Fred Follett was waiting
on them, but Matt was not in sight. There was a second teller’s cage where Matt usually-worked when there was a crowd, but
he wasn’t in it today. The door to his private office in the back was closed. Corrigan hesitated only a moment, glancing at
Follett, then he shoved the gate back at the end of the counter and went on toward Matt’s office.

Follett saw him and called: “Wait, Sheriff! I’ll tell Mister Dugan you want to see him. Unless it’s a matter of grave importance,
I don’t think. . . .”

“You’re busy,” Corrigan said curtly. “Stay where you are. This is official business.”

He opened the door without knocking, stepped into the room, and closed the door. Matt sat at his desk, his head in his hands.
He said without looking up: “What is it, Fred?”

“I’m not Fred.” Corrigan pulled up a chair and sat down. “What’s going on, Matt?”

“Nothing.” Matt rubbed his face with both hands and looked at Corrigan. “The big question is what’s going on out there in
the street? Probably about ten fights. Why aren’t you keeping the peace instead of coming in here?”

“What’s going on?” Corrigan asked again, irritated by Matt’s effort to divert him.

“Why, it’s Dam Day,” Matt said heavily. “I don’t know why I have to tell you what’s going on.”

Anger replaced irritation in Corrigan. He leaned forward. “Matt, I want to know what’s going on in your house. Now you’d better
quit acting so damned innocent.”

“Did you see Jean?”

“Yes, I saw Jean. I’ve just come from the church where I talked to Nora. She wouldn’t tell me anything, but she said for me
to talk to you. Now you’d better tell me what’s happening.”

“Jean didn’t do very well, I guess. I told her she’d have to do a good job of acting.” Matt looked past Corrigan at the opposite
wall, refusing to meet his eyes. “Is Smith still there? I thought he might come downtown.”

“All right, Matt.” Corrigan leaned forward. “I had a kind of a hunch last night when I looked Ross Hart up and got you out
of bed. I should have hauled Smith off to jail, but I didn’t have enough to go on. Now I do, and I’m as sure as I’m sitting
here that something’s wrong. Real wrong. I don’t believe those two so-called cattle buyers are Nora’s cousins at all. I don’t
think they’re even cattle buyers.”

“I never heard Nora speak of them before,” Matt admitted uneasily, “but. . . .”

Corrigan rose. “I’m done talking, Matt. I’m going to your house and I’m going to haul Jean out of there. It may be too late
now, but I can’t stand it any longer.”

“Sit down.” Matt motioned to the chair. “I’ll tell you, but you’ve got to go along with me. Until I’m ready to make a move,
you’ve got to stay out of it. Agreed?”

Corrigan hesitated. Matt Dugan was a man whose judgment he had always valued, but he was under some kind of pressure now and
his judgment might be wrong. Still, it seemed to Corrigan, he had to trust Matt; he had to believe that no amount of pressure
would change his basically sound judgment.

Corrigan sat down. “All right, Matt.”

Leaning back in his chair, Matt took a long breath, his gaze on Corrigan. “Jerry, I’m warning you not to go off half cocked.
I’ve had to live with this ever since I went home from the meeting last night and I don’t know yet how to handle it. You’re
right. Those men are not Nora’s cousins and they are not cattle buyers.”

Matt took another breath and, leaning forward now, put his hands palm down on his desk. “Jerry, they’re bank robbers. They
have Jean as a hostage in the house and Bud somewhere out in the country. They have promised that if we co-operate, neither
Jean nor Bud will be hurt. At noon when the governor arrives and there’s a lot of excitement, I’m to take ten thousand dollars
home and these men will get out of town and release Jean and Bud.”

Corrigan sat motionlessly, barely breathing. He could think only of Jean, held there in the house with three outlaws. He had
no trust in them, no belief whatever that they would keep their word. By this time she might have been attacked by any or
all of them, or killed, or both.

“I’ve been over this in my mind a hundred times,” Matt went on. “If we were lucky and went into the house and shot it out with
them, we might clean them out and save Jean, but it wouldn’t save Bud. I don’t know where they’re keeping him, but they’ve
got him and I can’t take a chance on them killing him if I don’t do what they say.”

“What are you going to do?” Corrigan asked hoarsely.

“The only thing I can do,” Matt said. “I’ll deliver the money and trust them to keep their word. Later, we’ll get a posse
together and go after them, but not until Jean and Bud are safe.”

Corrigan took a long breath. Matt was right. They couldn’t sacrifice Bud’s life. Maybe they couldn’t trust these men to keep
their word, but the hard fact was they had Jean and they had Bud. A crazy wildness began working through Corrigan. He wanted
to go to the house and kill all three of them. When he thought about his future without Jean, he could see no reason to live.

Matt was watching him anxiously. “You won’t do anything to pressure them, will you, Jerry? Ten thousand dollars is cheap enough
for their lives.”

Corrigan rose and stood looking down at Matt. “Suppose they take Jean with them for a hostage when they leave? We can’t go
after them if they do.”

“No,” Matt said, “we can’t.”

Jerry Corrigan turned to the door and opened it and stumbled out of the office. He crossed to the street door and went out
into the crowd. He blindly pushed people aside as he walked toward the courthouse, all the time asking himself why this had
happened.

You fall in love and you make plans for the future and you can see nothing but happiness ahead of you, then everything is
snatched away and destroyed. Why? Why? Why? There was no answer. Only the question, and an impossible situation about which
he could do nothing.