Flame Across the Land Page 8

  ‘I don’t know. It’s one reason for comin’ here, but I guess probably not. It might help if I had an idea what I’m lookin’ for.’

  The oldster stumbled away and, with a last glance outside, Seaton turned to the drawers. They were unlocked but his examination was fruitless. Moving the dirty coffee cups, he sat on the edge of the desk to think. He had not really been expecting to find anything, but had vaguely hoped there might be some trace as to the identity or whereabouts of the man Brown. He had been thinking of what Utah and the owner of the carpentry shop across the street had told him, and he was becoming more conscious of the role that Brown might have to play. It was a pretty safe bet that whoever had driven him away was also responsible for the attack on the oldster. He was sure now that it was Nash Brandon and his Mill Iron outfit, but proving it would be difficult. Brown could prove a crucial witness, but who was he and, more to the point, where was he? He racked his brains for an answer and then suddenly light dawned. All the time it was staring him in the face. He recalled what the carpentry shop owner had said about having seen the man leave in the company of Braithwaite. He had assumed it was because of some sort of legal nicety that needed sorting out, but Seaton realized that wasn’t the case at all. In reality, the marshal had placed the man under arrest and was taking him away. In all probability he was now languishing in the jailhouse – unless something worse had happened to him. Just then he heard the shuffle of feet and looked up to see the oldster returning from his ablutions.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Did you find anything?’

  ‘Nope, but I think I know where we might find Brown.’ Utah’s eyes opened wide. ‘I figure he’s locked up in Braithwaite’s jailhouse,’ Seaton concluded, ‘and if he is, we’ve got to come up with a way of gettin’ him out of there.’

  Marshal Braithwaite could have done without the services of Brandon’s two ranch-hands, and he thought he knew a way of getting them out of his hair. When they arrived in Lindenberg and stabled their horses at the back of the marshal’s office, he walked with them to the Exchange Hotel. Telling them to wait outside, he entered the lobby and approached the clerk at the reception desk. The clerk gave him a worried look.

  ‘I’m making further enquiries about the man Seaton,’ Braithwaite said. ‘Has he returned to his room yet?’

  ‘No. I haven’t seen him.’

  ‘Let me have his key.’

  The receptionist hesitated a moment before complying. He didn’t like doing it, but reflected that, after all, it was the marshal, the representative of law and order, who was asking him. The marshal took the key and made for the stairs. Seaton’s room was the first door on the landing and he stood outside for a moment, listening, before turning the key and looking inside. The clerk was right. The room was empty. He didn’t even stop to look around but, locking the door, made his way back to the lobby.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘If Mr Seaton shows up, be sure to let me know.’ He went outside where Held and his companion were waiting.

  ‘Seaton isn’t here,’ he said, ‘but he could return at any time. I want you two boys to keep a close watch on the place. Take a room if you want – I’m sure Mr Brandon wouldn’t mind since he owns it. If you see Seaton, you know what you have to do.’

  ‘What about you, Marshal?’ Held asked.

  ‘Don’t concern yourselves about me. Just make sure to keep me informed.’

  Without waiting for a reply, Braithwaite turned and walked away. Held and his companion watched his departing figure.

  ‘Well,’ Held said, ‘I guess we should do as he says. We might as well get somethin’ out of this.’

  The marshal glanced back once to see them disappearing into the hotel before continuing on his way to the Blue Front saloon. Having got rid of them for the time being, he needed some refreshment.

  It was later in the afternoon and he was back in his office carrying on where he had left off at the saloon when there was a knock on the door and it opened to reveal an elderly man carrying a tray draped with a cloth. He looked at the man with a puzzled expression on his face.

  ‘Who the hell are you and what have you got there?’ he said.

  ‘Food for the prisoner,’ the man replied.

  A frown creased Braithwaite’s brow. ‘This ain’t the time. I didn’t order anythin’.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. I’m just carryin’ out instructions.’

  Braithwaite looked at the man closely. ‘Come here,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what’s on that tray.’

  The man walked over to the marshal and lifted the drape. There was a plate with bacon and beans and a mug of coffee.

  ‘I reckon I could use that myself,’ the marshal said. ‘Where did it come from?’

  ‘The café across the way.’

  ‘The Broadway café?’

  ‘Yup. Is it OK to take it through?’

  The marshal’s brain was more than a little bemused by drink. ‘Who told ’em I’m holdin’ a prisoner?’ he asked.

  ‘Like I say, I don’t know nothin’. I’m just a delivery boy.’

  Braithwaite considered the matter for a few moments longer before shaking his head. ‘Take it back, he said. ‘The prisoner don’t get anythin’ to eat till I say so.’

  The man shrugged. ‘Whatever you say,’ he replied. ‘It don’t make any difference to me.’

  He shuffled his way out, closing the door behind him. The marshal continued to sit with a frown on his face before eventually finishing off his drink and pouring himself another.

  Seaton, watching anxiously out of the window of the Broadway café, felt himself relax a little when Utah came out of the marshal’s office, carrying the tray. The oldster crossed the road and entered the café. The café proprietor, a buxom woman of a certain age, looked up as the door closed behind him.

  ‘Marshal Braithwaite changed his mind?’ she said.

  ‘He doesn’t seem to be in a good mood,’ the oldster replied. ‘Seems a pity to waste good food. I guess I’ll just have to eat it myself.’ The woman chuckled and Utah seated himself next to Seaton.

  ‘Well?’ Seaton asked.

  ‘You’re right. Braithwaite’s definitely holdin’ a prisoner back there. But it’s still not certain it’s Brown.’

  ‘Maybe not, but I’m willin’ to take the chance. What else did you find out?’

  ‘The keys are hangin’ from some pegs right behind his desk. And you’re in luck. The door to the cells is in the right-hand corner and it’s standin’ slightly ajar.’

  ‘There’s no one else? No deputy marshal?’

  ‘Nope, leastways not at the moment. He’s on his own.’

  Seaton’s jaw tightened. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘That’s good enough for me. Don’t waste any time finishin’ those beans. When I come out of there, be waitin’ by the horses ready to ride.’

  With a nod in the direction of the lady proprietor, he left the café and strode purposefully across the street.

  Reaching the marshal’s office, he threw the door open and stepped inside with his six-gun in his hand, kicking the door shut behind him.

  ‘What the hell!’ the marshal exclaimed. He rose partly to his feet when he recognized the intruder.

  ‘Seaton!’ he gasped, and after a second’s pause, added, ‘I’m lookin’ for you.’

  ‘Then it seems like you found me.’

  ‘What do you want? You know you’re committing a serious offence threatenin’ a man of the law?’

  ‘Less of that stuff about bein’ a man of the law. I know you, Braithwaite, and you’ve got it comin’ to you.’

  Braithwaite’s demeanour suddenly changed and he took a step backwards.

  ‘Unbuckle your gun belt and throw it on the floor,’ Seaton snapped.

  Braithwaite didn’t respond at first and Seaton had to repeat the command before he tremblingly complied.

  ‘Get the key to the cells,’ Braithwaite ordered. Again Braithwaite hesitated.

  ‘I said get the key to th
e cells and make it quick!’ Seaton rapped.

  Braithwaite turned, took a step and reached for the key, after which he looked pleadingly at Seaton.

  ‘OK, let’s go!’ Seaton said.

  The marshal didn’t move and Seaton prodded him with the gun. They made their way to the door at the back of the office, which stood slightly open as Utah had said. On the other side of it a short corridor led through to the back where there were two cells standing side by side. In one of them a man stood with his hands clutching the bars.

  ‘Is your name Brown?’ Seaton rapped.

  The man nodded his head. It was only when he got close to him that Seaton noticed his face was bruised and there was a cut above his right eyebrow. He looked bemused and Seaton tried to reassure him before turning back to the marshal.

  ‘Open the door and go inside,’ Seaton said.

  The marshal’s initial bravado had evaporated but he summoned up one last ounce of resistance.

  ‘You won’t get away with this,’ he said, and then, rather feebly, ‘this is against the law.’

  ‘Just do it,’ Seaton replied. The marshal’s hands were shaking and it took him a few moments to open the cell door.

  ‘OK, give me the key and swap places.’

  Brown came out of the cell, looking as bemused as the marshal. Braithwaite held back for a moment and Seaton pushed him in, locking the door.

  ‘Don’t make any noise,’ Seaton told Brown. ‘Not if you want to stay alive.’ Without more ado he took Brown’s arms and steered him along the corridor and into the marshal’s office.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he managed to say.

  ‘Don’t worry. We’re on your side, but the explanations will have to wait.’

  He stepped to the door and, opening it, glanced up and down the street. Things were quiet; a little way down he could see Utah holding the horses by a hitching rail.

  ‘OK,’ he said to Brown. ‘Just act normal. There are three horses a little way along the main street. We’ll make our way to them.’

  Still holding Brown’s arm, he ushered him out of the office and into the sunshine. Brown blinked and screwed up his eyes but offered no resistance. In a matter of moments they had reached the horses and, climbing into leather, they began to ride away. Seaton was just congratulating himself on a job well done when he saw a flash of light and a bullet went singing through the air, rapidly followed by another. He couldn’t make out who was doing the shooting, but the response was quick as, following his lead, they all broke into a gallop. They thundered down the street, the noise of their horses’ hoofs drowning out the sound of gunshots, and soon they had left the town behind. They slowed down but carried on riding till they were well clear when, at a signal from Seaton, they drew to a halt.

  ‘Who was that throwin’ the lead?’ Utah asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Somebody must have recognized us.’ Seaton turned to Brown, who was looking quite shaken.

  ‘You must be wonderin’ what all this is about,’ he said. Quickly, he introduced himself and Utah and outlined the situation. When he had finished Brown seemed to have gathered his wits.

  ‘Well,’ he said, turning to Utah, ‘I never expected to meet you under these circumstances, but it’s nice to see you again. From what you and Mr Seaton have just told me, it seems like I’m lucky to still be here at all.’

  Seaton nodded. ‘I reckon you’re not far wrong, especially if you can confirm that it was Brandon and his boys who were responsible for closin’ you down.’ He looked again at Brown’s face. ‘Looks like you took a beating,’ he added.

  The man raised his hand and touched his bruised cheek. ‘I’m fortunate they didn’t do worse,’ he said. ‘You’re right about Brandon. And it looks like the marshal is on his payroll too.’

  ‘You’d better tell us just what happened.’

  ‘There ain’t a lot to tell. I knew I was takin’ a chance settin’ up the Sheepmen’s Association and introducin’ sheep to cattle country, but I wasn’t expectin’ this. I’d had a few warnings; I even had a visit from Brandon himself offerin’ me money to move out. Maybe I should have taken him up on it. A few days ago Brandon’s hardcases arrived and roughed me up. Then the marshal came. He accused me of causing a disturbance and put me in jail.’

  Seaton took a long hard look at their back trail. ‘We’d better carry on ridin’,’ he said. ‘We can fill in the details later. I won’t feel happy till we’ve put some distance between the marshal and us.’

  ‘Where are we goin’?’ Utah asked.

  ‘The only place I can think of for the moment is your old line cabin,’ Seaton replied.

  He quickly explained the plan of action to Brown. ‘By the way,’ he added, ‘is Brown your real name? We kinda figured you might have made it up.’

  ‘I guess you’re both right and wrong,’ Brown replied. ‘The name’s Brownlow, Thadeus Brownlow. I guess changin’ it was a bit of a pointless exercise on my part, but it seemed a reasonable idea at the time.’

  ‘One other thing,’ Seaton answered. ‘Now things are kind of out in the open, would you be willin’ to testify against Brandon?’

  Brownlow thought for a moment. ‘You think it might come to that?’

  ‘We sure don’t aim to let Brandon get away with all this,’ Seaton replied. ‘I don’t know how it’ll work out, but I figure to bring him to justice in a court of law.’

  ‘You realize that Brandon is a big noise in the county? It’d be a tough job you’re proposin’ to take on.’

  ‘Yeah, but that’s all the more reason not to let him get away with ridin’ roughshod over everyone.’

  Brownlow looked from Seaton to Utah and back again. A smile spread slowly across his battered features. ‘Well,’ he said ruefully, ‘I reckon you could definitely say that Brandon’s rode roughshod over me. I’m just glad you boys have given me an opportunity to pay him back. I’m with you.’

  Seaton and Utah exchanged glances and the oldster let out a muted yell. ‘Jumpin’ Jehosaphat! Brandon won’t have a chance against the three of us.’

  Seaton extended his hand and Brownlow took it. ‘Good to have you on board,’ Seaton said.

  Without more ado, they set off in the direction of the Lazy Ladder. They rode at a steady pace, looking back from time to time to check that they were not being pursued. It was only a question of time till somebody discovered the marshal and released him, and Seaton reckoned it wouldn’t take too long. He thought about the shots that had been fired at them. Who was it? If it was someone whose suspicions had been aroused by seeing him enter the marshal’s office, it might take less time than he hoped for the pursuit to begin. As he reflected on the incident, it seemed to him that more than one man had been involved. Who stood to gain by killing them? Could it be anyone else but Brandon and the Mill Iron? And after all, there had already been an attempt on his life at the livery stables. Maybe it was the same people who were involved. If he had got wise to Brandon and his boys, Brandon in turn had got wise to him. The issue had become personal for him as well as them. In the wake of this conclusion, he somehow found himself thinking of Maisie Montgomery.

  That same afternoon, Maisie Montgomery was sitting on the veranda of the ranch-house reading a book when she heard hoof beats and looked up to see her father approaching. She got up from her chair as he drew his horse to a halt and lowered himself from the saddle.

  ‘Father!’ she said. ‘I didn’t expect you back so soon.’ She observed the worried look on his face. ‘Is anything wrong?’ she asked anxiously.

  Mitch Montgomery took her arm as he came up the steps and drew her gently back into her seat while he lowered his tall, slightly stooping frame into another opposite.

  ‘What are you reading?’ he asked.

  She held the book up for him to see the title. ‘The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table,’ he read. ‘Somehow I don’t reckon that’s gonna be one for the bunkhouse library when you’ve finished.’

  ‘I’m sure some of the men
would find it of interest.’

  ‘Maybe, although I think they’re more used to mail-order catalogues and stock journals.’

  She put the book down on a stool and then looked up at him. ‘You don’t usually come back in the middle of the day,’ she said, ‘and I don’t imagine you did so in order to talk about books.’

  He shuffled uncomfortably in his chair before replying. ‘I’m not sure how to put this,’ he said, ‘so I guess the best thing is to come straight out and say it. Just lately things haven’t been goin’ so well and I ain’t sure I’ll be able to meet all my commitments. If it wasn’t for the way you handle the housekeepin’ I figure I’d have gone under by now. Just lately I’ve been losin’ stock too. The fact of the matter is, I’ve decided I’m gonna have to sell the Lazy Ladder.’

  He stopped to see her reaction. It wasn’t what he had expected.

  ‘Sell the Lazy Ladder,’ she said, repeating his words. ‘You can’t do that! It’s our home. I don’t want to live anywhere else. There must be something we can do? I’ll take a job – maybe teach school or work in one of the stores.’ She paused. ‘Have you had an offer for the Lazy Ladder?’ she asked.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I have.’

  ‘Is it from Nash Brandon and the Mill Iron?’

  He glanced at her in surprise. ‘How did you know that?’ he asked. ‘I don’t recall ever mentioning it.’

  She smiled and gently shook her head. ‘You’re not very good at hiding things,’ she said. ‘But then why are you telling me this now?’

  ‘Because I’m going into town this afternoon to have a word with Brandon’s lawyer about setting up a meeting.’

  For a few moments her brow was puckered in thought. ‘Don’t do that,’ she said. ‘If you’ve put off selling the Lazy Ladder all this time, it can wait a few more days.’

  ‘What good would that do? I’m about at breakin’ point. One more thing and I’ll be over the edge and then I might have to sell at a lower price than I’m likely to get now.’

  ‘Just wait. I’ll think of something.’

  He smiled forlornly. ‘I’m sorry to have to do this. I know how much you love the Lazy Ladder. But what else can I do? We’ll find somewhere else.’