could have meant his death! Why? To put Cameron in his debt? More likely on impulse, Cameron thought, recalling Sax Larabee’s unpredictable ways. Another time in the same circumstances he might stand by and watch a man hammered on until he died.
Cameron heard Larabee’s bootsoles whisper over the drying grass in the lane. Then that sound was gone. Time disappeared. He was conscious only of pain and of the necessity to make an effort to keep breathing. Then he became aware of light and noise. Hands touched him and lantern light bit harshly at his eyes.
Tod Purcell swore. “Roy, who did it? Roy …?”
“Get me a bucket of water,” Cameron said through battered lips. When the water came, he plunged his head into it. He reared back, snorting, and pulled off his hat. “Dump it over me.”
The cold deluge gave him strength enough to get to his feet. With Tod’s help, he walked into the livery. He located the horse trough and went head first into it. When he came out, he was able to stand on his feet without help.
“That’s a crazy thing to do,” Tod said.
“A man knocked me into a cold river once,” Cameron said thickly. “He had me beat about as bad as I am now. That water gave me juice enough to climb up the bank and whip him.” Surprise crossed his bruised and still bleeding features as his knees gave way and he sat heavily on the edge of the horse trough.
“Or maybe I wasn’t beat quite so bad that other time,” he muttered.
“You set still,” Tod ordered. “I’ll get some help and carry you home.”
Cameron had a room at the Widow Crotty’s. He thought of the way she would fuss around him, forcibly mother him if he should be bedridden. “No,” he said quickly, “help me to the doctor’s place. That extra room he calls a hospital is empty right now. I’ll stay there tonight and be fine by morning.” He forced himself to his feet and started to walk, giving Tod no choice but to come up fast and help him.
“And listen,” Cameron said, his voice faint, “when you get back here, take a lantern and go to McTigue’s gate. Look around real close. See if you can find anything — the way you found those pricklebush leaves on Larabee’s horse. Anything at all that looks out of place by the gate. And then go where you found me in the alley. See if you can locate a little piece of cloth. Flannel I think. I tore it off one of the pair that worked me over.”
“All right,” Tod said. “Now you shut up. Save your strength for walking.”
It was a block and a half to the doctor’s house. Cameron remembered only part of the walk. Later Tod told him he mover slower and slower until he was barely going at all when he reached the doctor’s porch. Cameron remembered none of that; he recalled only the feel of the splintery wood when he fell on his face at the doctor’s front door. After that there was only the darkness, warm and empty of pain.
VI
T OD P URCELL had a run of late business at the livery and it was well toward daylight before he had a chance to search the alley.
Footprints and scuffmarks in the alley dirt told plainly where Cameron’s two attackers had stood waiting and where the fight had taken place. It was there, between McTigue’s fence on the east and the rear of the Hay and Feed on the west, that Tod found the scrap of flannel Cameron had spoken about.
He expected to find little else and he was about to turn away when light from his lantern picked up a bright reflection. Squatting, Tod pushed his finger lightly in the fine dirt. A fleck of gold-colored metal appeared. Another. Then a third.
“Fool’s gold!” he breathed in surprise.
He probed further, both in the center of the alley where the fight had taken place and at the sides, where Cameron’s attackers had waited. When he left, he had a small mound of the glittering pyrites in his palm. In the livery office, he shook them into one of McTigue’s business envelopes. He laid the scrap of flannel on the desk
Cameron heard Larabee’s bootsoles whisper over the drying grass in the lane. Then that sound was gone. Time disappeared. He was conscious only of pain and of the necessity to make an effort to keep breathing. Then he became aware of light and noise. Hands touched him and lantern light bit harshly at his eyes.
Tod Purcell swore. “Roy, who did it? Roy …?”
“Get me a bucket of water,” Cameron said through battered lips. When the water came, he plunged his head into it. He reared back, snorting, and pulled off his hat. “Dump it over me.”
The cold deluge gave him strength enough to get to his feet. With Tod’s help, he walked into the livery. He located the horse trough and went head first into it. When he came out, he was able to stand on his feet without help.
“That’s a crazy thing to do,” Tod said.
“A man knocked me into a cold river once,” Cameron said thickly. “He had me beat about as bad as I am now. That water gave me juice enough to climb up the bank and whip him.” Surprise crossed his bruised and still bleeding features as his knees gave way and he sat heavily on the edge of the horse trough.
“Or maybe I wasn’t beat quite so bad that other time,” he muttered.
“You set still,” Tod ordered. “I’ll get some help and carry you home.”
Cameron had a room at the Widow Crotty’s. He thought of the way she would fuss around him, forcibly mother him if he should be bedridden. “No,” he said quickly, “help me to the doctor’s place. That extra room he calls a hospital is empty right now. I’ll stay there tonight and be fine by morning.” He forced himself to his feet and started to walk, giving Tod no choice but to come up fast and help him.
“And listen,” Cameron said, his voice faint, “when you get back here, take a lantern and go to McTigue’s gate. Look around real close. See if you can find anything — the way you found those pricklebush leaves on Larabee’s horse. Anything at all that looks out of place by the gate. And then go where you found me in the alley. See if you can locate a little piece of cloth. Flannel I think. I tore it off one of the pair that worked me over.”
“All right,” Tod said. “Now you shut up. Save your strength for walking.”
It was a block and a half to the doctor’s house. Cameron remembered only part of the walk. Later Tod told him he mover slower and slower until he was barely going at all when he reached the doctor’s porch. Cameron remembered none of that; he recalled only the feel of the splintery wood when he fell on his face at the doctor’s front door. After that there was only the darkness, warm and empty of pain.
VI
T OD P URCELL had a run of late business at the livery and it was well toward daylight before he had a chance to search the alley.
Footprints and scuffmarks in the alley dirt told plainly where Cameron’s two attackers had stood waiting and where the fight had taken place. It was there, between McTigue’s fence on the east and the rear of the Hay and Feed on the west, that Tod found the scrap of flannel Cameron had spoken about.
He expected to find little else and he was about to turn away when light from his lantern picked up a bright reflection. Squatting, Tod pushed his finger lightly in the fine dirt. A fleck of gold-colored metal appeared. Another. Then a third.
“Fool’s gold!” he breathed in surprise.
He probed further, both in the center of the alley where the fight had taken place and at the sides, where Cameron’s attackers had waited. When he left, he had a small mound of the glittering pyrites in his palm. In the livery office, he shook them into one of McTigue’s business envelopes. He laid the scrap of flannel on the desk
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