Sidewinders (19 page)

Whatever secrets Barney Dunn knew, he would never tell them now.

Following the medicine show wagon back to Bear Creek wasn't difficult. Scratch could have gotten ahead of Sarlat and his two companions if he'd wanted to, but Bo had said to follow them and try to find out exactly what they were up to, so that's what Scratch was going to do.

Since they were east of the creek, the red-light district of the settlement was the first thing they came to. Most of the buildings were dark, Scratch saw as he approached. The saloons and gambling dens were closed down for the night. The two bawdy houses were still open, with lights burning in their parlors and in some of the rooms.

The wagon came to a stop in front of the Southern Belle. About a hundred yards behind, Scratch reined in and swung down from his saddle. He led his horse into a thick patch of shadow next to one of the buildings and watched intently as Professor Sarlat climbed off the seat and went to the back of the vehicle to open the door.

Veronique and Jake got out. Scratch was too far away to hear if anything was said among the three of them, but Sarlat and Veronique seemed to know what they were doing. Veronique stepped up onto the driver's box, sat down, and took up the reins. She got the team moving again.

That left Sarlat and Jake standing on the boardwalk in front of the Southern Belle.

A chill went through Scratch. The professor couldn't be up to anything good, and as far as Scratch knew, Lauralee Parker lived alone on the second floor of the saloon. If Sarlat had brought the simpleminded Jake back into town to commit another murder . . .

Well, it wasn't hard to figure out who the professor's intended victim was.

Scratch left his horse with the reins dangling, knowing the animal wouldn't go far, and hurried toward the saloon as Sarlat and Jake disappeared into the darkness of the passage beside the building. Their goal had to be the back door, where it would be easier to break in without anyone noticing them. Once they were inside, they could go up the stairs to the second floor, along the balcony to Lauralee's quarters, and inside, where she would be sleeping peacefully as Sarlat pressed a knife into Jake's hand and told him what to do.

Scratch gave a little shake of his head to get that grisly image out of his brain. That wasn't going to happen, he told himself, because he was going to get there in time to stop it.

He cut across to the alley before he got to the Southern Belle, hoping to get the drop on Sarlat and Jake before they could get inside. But as far as he could see in the gloom behind the buildings, he was too late. No one was moving around the saloon's back door, and when he got there he saw that it was already open.

Scratch bit back a curse and jerked both Remingtons from their holsters as he darted inside. He still didn't know what Sarlat's master plan was, and he didn't really consider Jake to blame for what he was about to do, but none of that mattered anymore.

To save Lauralee's life, Scratch would ventilate both of the varmints if he had to and then try to sort everything out later.

The door from the hallway into the saloon's main room was open, too. Scratch hurried through it and turned toward the stairs. His eyes scanned the balcony. He wished it wasn't so dark in here.

His breath hissed between his teeth as he spotted a couple of dark figures skulking toward Lauralee's room. With Bo no longer in jail, if she was found murdered and hacked to pieces with a knife, he would be blamed for her death. Scratch had no doubt of that. And then everybody who was left in town would join in the effort to hunt Bo down and kill him like he was a mad dog.

And Bear Creek would be empty.

“Son of a bitch,” Scratch said under his breath as he started up the stairs. He realized he had stumbled over something important in his thinking. He didn't have a handle on all the details, but a clearer picture was starting to form.

He reached the landing in time to see the two figures disappear. They were in Lauralee's room! Scratch ran along the balcony, no longer trying to be stealthy in his pursuit. There was no time for that.

Suddenly, a dark shape loomed up and crashed into him. The impact sent Scratch careening toward the railing along the edge of the balcony. Fists hammered into him. He knew he was fighting Jake. Sarlat had heard him coming.

They hit the balcony railing. It sagged and nails squealed in the wood, although it didn't give way. Scratch slashed at Jake's head with one of the Remingtons, but Jake ducked under the blow. Scratch didn't want to kill the hombre, but Jake might not give him a choice in the matter.

Jake's left hand closed around Scratch's throat. His right sledged into Scratch's body again and again.

Scratch reversed the right-hand Remington and smashed the butt against Jake's head. Jake couldn't avoid the blow this time. His fingers slipped away from Scratch's throat and he started to slide down. His weight still pinned Scratch against the railing, though. Scratch shoved him away.

A whisper of sound warned Scratch. He crouched as the blade of a large knife zipped through the air just above his head, knocking his hat off. If he hadn't moved when he did, the knife would cut his throat all the way to the bone. It might have even taken his head off.

Since the half-stunned Jake was still tangled around Scratch's feet, that had to be Sarlat attacking him with the knife. Anticipating a backhanded stroke, Scratch thrust up his revolver to protect his face. Sparks flew as knife and gun barrel came together with the ring of metal against metal.

Jake recovered enough to wrap his arms around Scratch's legs and heave. Scratch had no chance to save his balance. He went over, landing on the carpet runner laid along the balcony.

A flicker of shadows above him prompted him to roll to the side. The knife came down only inches from his ear and thudded into the floor. Scratch lifted his leg and kicked up with it, feeling his boot heel strike something solid. Sarlat flew backward and crashed into the wall.

Light flared up, blinding Scratch for a second. The only thing that saved him was that Sarlat and Jake were taken by surprise just as much as he was. They squinted and held up their hands to block some of the glare.

As Scratch's eyes began to adjust he saw Lauralee standing in the door of her room, wearing a long white nightdress, holding a lamp in one hand and an old pistol in the other. She saw Scratch and what must have appeared to her eyes to be Bo sprawled on the balcony, and she exclaimed, “What in the world!”

Scratch didn't have time to warn her or to stop Sarlat. The professor was too close to Lauralee to risk a shot. He grabbed her, looping an arm tightly around her while with his other hand he held the knife to her throat.

“Drop the gun, my dear,” he ordered. “Otherwise I'll have no choice but to cut that pretty throat of yours.”

Lauralee couldn't even gasp in surprise with the razor-sharp blade so close to her throat.

“Let her go, Professor,” Scratch said. “If you don't, I'll kill you.”

Sarlat's thin lips curved in a cold smile.

“I don't think so, Mr. Morton,” he said. “You won't risk a shot. Even if you inflicted a mortal wound on me, you couldn't stop me from cutting her throat. And once I did that, there would be no saving her. She would bleed to death in a matter of seconds.”

“Take it easy,” Scratch said. “Ain't no need for anybody to die here.”

“On the contrary, I'm afraid it's imperative.” Sarlat paused. “But perhaps it's not necessary that that unfortunate outcome take place right away. Give Jake your guns.”

Jake had pushed himself to a sitting position. He shook his head vehemently and said, “I don't like guns, Pa. They're too . . . loud.”

“He's not your pa,” Scratch snapped. “You don't have to do what he says, Jake.”

“Yeah, he . . . is. He's always been . . . my pa.”

“The guns,” Sarlat urged.

With obvious reluctance, Jake held out his hands.

“You gotta . . . give 'em to me, mister. Pa says so.”

Scratch knew he wasn't going to win this argument. Not with Lauralee's life hanging by a thread. But if he gave up his guns, what chance would either of them have?

Sarlat pressed harder with the knife. Lauralee whimpered in pain as the blade cut into the soft flesh of her neck and a thin trickle of crimson welled from the wound.

“All right, damn it!” Scratch burst out. “Don't hurt her anymore.” He held the Remingtons out to Jake, who took them and scooted several feet away before he stood up.

Footsteps sounded downstairs. Veronique called up, “Professor! Are you all right? Someone was following you! I saw him when I looked back from the wagon.”

“Come up, my dear,” Sarlat told her. “Everything is under control.”

Veronique came up the stairs quickly, pausing at the landing to exclaim in surprise in her native tongue.

“M'sieu Morton!” she said. “That was you I saw following the professor?”

“You shouldn't be mixed up in all this, Mademoiselle Ballantine,” Scratch told her heavily. “Turn around and go get help now, and maybe things will work out better for you.”

Veronique let out a skeptical breath and shook her head. She said, “After all the things I have been a part of, m'sieu, there is nothing left for me but to continue as the professor's assistant.”

“You never seemed to mind spending your share of the money we made,” Sarlat said dryly.

Scratch said, “This ain't dancin' around and hawkin' some cure-all tonic. This is murder, Veronique, plain and simple.”

If he couldn't get through to her, his and Lauralee's last chance for survival might slip away.

The redhead smiled sadly and shook her head again.

“I like you, M'sieu Morton, but there is nothing I can do for you,” she said. “Professor, what do you want me to do?”

“First of all, take those guns from Jake. I wouldn't want the young fellow to hurt himself with them.”

Veronique did so, and the way she handled the heavy Remingtons told Scratch she had used guns before.

“Is the wagon parked by the well?” Sarlat asked.

“Oui, just as before.”

“Go back and get it. Bring it around behind the building.”

A puzzled frown creased Veronique's forehead.

“I do not understand.”

“I'm taking Morton and Miss Parker with me,” the professor explained. “You know how nimbly I think on my feet, my dear. This will be even better than our original plan. Instead of having Miss Parker's body be discovered to finish clearing out the town, she'll be kidnapped. Kidnapped by the Butcher of Bear Creek!” Sarlat laughed. “I'll be counting on you to create such a sense of hysteria that everyone who's not already with the posse will rush out to look for this blond angel of the barroom.”

“I can do that,” Veronique said, nodding. “But where will you be?”

“I'll take the two of them back to the cabin and hold them there until Ramsey and his men have had a chance to finish their work. We'll all rendezvous there tomorrow and split up the loot, then go our separate ways until next time, as usual.”

“What about me? I'm usually with you.”

“I'm sure you'll have no trouble stealing a horse and getting back to the cabin. Just make sure that you don't lead anyone there.”

As Sarlat talked, the whole thing continued making more sense to Scratch, but the bad part about that was that there was nothing he could do at the moment to stop it. He had to play along for the time being and hope he got a chance to turn the tables on the professor.

He could hope, as well, that Bo might show up. That would change things around in a hurry.

Veronique sighed and nodded. She said, “I hope you know what you are doing, Professor.”

“I always do, don't I?” he asked with a smirk.

With that, he drew the knife sharply across Lauralee's throat.

Scratch yelled furiously and started to surge to his feet, but Veronique pointed both pistols at him and eared back the hammers. He might have gotten up anyway, despite the threat of the Remingtons, but then he saw that the cut on Lauralee's neck wasn't deep enough to be fatal, although it was bleeding quite a bit.

“Be careful, Mr. Morton,” Sarlat warned. “I can still kill her in the blink of an eye.”

“What'd you hurt her for?” Scratch demanded.

“To create the proper atmosphere. Look how the blood is dripping on her nightdress. Keep him covered, Veronique.”

Lauralee appeared to be stunned by what had happened. She whimpered in pain and shock as Sarlat took the knife away from her throat long enough to grasp the neckline of her nightdress. With an ugly ripping sound, he split the dress down the front and yanked the ruined garment off of her. He held it to her neck, being sure to get plenty of the crimson blood smeared on it. Once he had done that, he tossed the bloody dress back into Lauralee's room.

“Setting the stage, so to speak,” Sarlat said. “When the townspeople see that, they'll know that something terrible has befallen this poor young woman, and they'll rush right out to find her and help her if they can. Of course, they won't find her.”

“And by the time they get back to Bear Creek,” Scratch said, “the whole town will have been looted by your outlaw pards, that fella Ramsey and his gang you talked about.”

Sarlat looked surprised.

“You're more intelligent than I gave you credit for, my friend,” he said. “Veronique, give me one of the guns.”

The redhead handed over one of Scratch's Remingtons.

“Now go fetch the wagon, as we discussed. Be as discreet about it as you can.”

“Oui, Professor,” she said. She hurried along the balcony.

Sarlat gave Lauralee a push and told her, “Sit down by your friend.”

Scratch kept his eyes averted from her nude body as she stumbled across the balcony and sat down beside him. He took off his bandanna and held it out to her, saying, “Tie that around your neck until the bleedin' stops.” Without asking Sarlat's permission, he took off his buckskin jacket as well and draped it around Lauralee's bare shoulders. She was slender enough that it would provide her at least a semblance of decency.

“You can get up now, Jake,” Sarlat told the look-alike.

Jake climbed to his feet and shook his head.

“I don't like this, Pa,” he said. “I don't like all this we're doin'.”

“You know I'm always looking out for your best interests, son,” Sarlat told him in a soothing voice. “I would never do anything if it wasn't best for you.”

“I know, but . . . you hurt that pretty lady.”

“Sometimes pretty ladies have to be hurt. We've talked about that.”

“I know, I just . . .” Jake ran the fingers of both hands through his hair and looked like a frightened rabbit, like he wanted to just bolt and find himself a nice deep hole to crawl into. “I wish things weren't like this.”

“Everything will be fine,” Sarlat assured him.

Lauralee seemed to be getting over the shock of being captured and then having her throat nicked like that. She looked up at Sarlat, and with some of the customary fire back in her voice she said, “How can you tell him those things? How can you take advantage of him that way?”

Sarlat sneered at her.

“You don't know anything about it,” he said. “Jake here wouldn't even be alive today if it weren't for me. I saved him, by God! He owes his life to me.”

Scratch said, “What kind of a life is it, bein' turned into a killer and a monster when anybody can see that ain't what he naturally is?”

Sarlat's face darkened with anger as he thrust the Remington toward the prisoners.

“I remind you, I don't necessarily have to keep either of you alive, so you had better just be quiet.”

“Who is he?” Lauralee asked. “I know good and well he's not Bo Creel. I can see that now, even though he looks just like Bo.”

“That's none of your business, either,” Sarlat snapped.

He didn't say anything else. Lauralee hunkered closer to Scratch, wrapped in his buckskin jacket. Even though she continued glaring at the professor, Scratch could feel her trembling slightly from fear. He didn't blame her. He wasn't exactly fearless himself. Thaddeus Sarlat's friendly exterior had fooled him for a while, but Scratch could see now that the professor was pure evil.

A few minutes later they heard rapid footsteps on the stairs. Veronique appeared at the landing. She said a little breathlessly, “The wagon is behind the building, Professor, as you asked.”

“Excellent work, my dear. I know I can always count on you.” Sarlat gestured at Scratch and Lauralee with the Remington he held. “On your feet, both of you.”

“Do we cooperate with him?” Lauralee asked Scratch.

“We ain't got no choice right now,” the silver-haired Texan told her.

Sarlat chuckled and said, “I know what you're trying to do. You think you'll play along with me for the time being and wait for a chance to take me by surprise. I can assure you, Mr. Morton, that's not going to happen.”

“You'll get what you got comin' to you,” Scratch said, his eyes narrowing with anger as he climbed to his feet. He extended a hand to Lauralee to help her up. “Whether it's me or Bo or somebody else, sooner or later somebody'll be handin' you your needin's.”

“Well, until that time I intend to enjoy the fruits of my labors. Let's go.”

With Sarlat and Veronique both covering them, Scratch and Lauralee went along the balcony and down the stairs. Jake brought up the rear of the grim little procession.

Scratch's jacket wrapped all the way around Lauralee's slender frame with plenty to spare and came down to the middle of her thighs, so she was somewhat decently covered, anyway. The bandanna tied around her neck seemed to have stopped the bleeding from the cut.

“Out the back,” Sarlat ordered. “Veronique, go first and keep them covered from that direction.”

Veronique backed out the door and used both hands to steady the Remington she held as she leveled the revolver at the prisoners. They stepped out into the alley. The medicine show wagon was parked nearby. Its door hung open.

Scratch looked inside the darkened wagon, and his skin crawled. The sensation that if they got in there, they would never get out alive caused his stomach to clench.

“You can't afford to shoot us,” he said. “The town may be half empty, but there are still plenty of folks who would come to see what all the ruckus was about.”

“There may be some truth to that,” Sarlat admitted. “Jake, come here.”

Jake shuffled his feet reluctantly, but he came up beside Sarlat.

The professor held out the bloody knife toward him.

“Take that and go cut the woman,” Sarlat ordered. “Keep cutting her until I tell you to stop.” He smirked at Scratch. “A knife is silent, you see.”

“It won't be if I scream,” Lauralee said shakily.

“Which you won't be able to do if Jake finishes the job of cutting your throat.”

Jake hadn't taken the knife from the professor. As he hesitated, Sarlat shook the weapon at him. “Do as I say, Jake! I'm your father.”

Jake still hung back. The confrontation between “father” and “son” was distracting Sarlat, Scratch could tell, and he realized this might be his only chance to make a move.

Before he could do anything, though, Veronique acted with the same speed and athletic grace that made her such a good dancer. She stepped up behind Scratch and smashed the Remington she held against the back of his head. The blow took him by surprise and drove him to one knee.

Snarling, Sarlat stepped toward him and swung the other revolver. It crashed into Scratch's head and stretched him out in the dirt of the alley. He tasted that dirt in his mouth for a second before he passed out . . .

If despair had a taste, that would be it, he thought as everything faded away.

 

 

Getting knocked out twice in less than twenty-four hours must have addled his brain. When he woke up, Scratch would have sworn that he heard angels singing.

No, it wasn't a song, he realized after a moment. But it
was
a woman's voice, and her words had an almost lullaby-like sound as she repeated, “Please don't be dead, please don't be dead.”

“I ain't,” Scratch said in a raspy whisper as he forced his eyes open. “Nobody who's dead would hurt this much.”

Lauralee Parker leaned over him, and the firelight playing over her features made her beautiful despite the lines of strain visible on her face. Maybe he'd been right the first time, thought Scratch. Maybe he
had
heard an angel.

“You're alive,” she said in obvious relief.

“Yeah,” Scratch said. He tried to move his arms and found that he couldn't. He was tied up again, this time with the bonds around his wrists, holding his arms behind his back. “Help me sit up.”

Lauralee looked at someone else.

“Go ahead,” Professor Sarlat said. “I hardly think Mr. Morton represents much of a threat anymore.”

You go ahead and believe that, old son,
Scratch thought.
When I get loose, you'll find out different in a hell of a hurry.

Lauralee put an arm around Scratch's shoulders and lifted him to a sitting position. He saw that they were on the floor inside the cabin, leaning against the wall not far from the fireplace. He felt the warmth from the crackling flames on his face. A bubble of sap popped every now and then as the chunks of firewood burned.

Sarlat sat at the table, but his chair was turned so that he could stretch his legs out in front of him in an indolent pose, crossed at the ankles. Jake was in the chair on the other side of the table, still looking upset.

Sarlat went on, “By now the lovely Veronique will have used her considerable talents as a thespian to discover that poor Miss Parker has been dragged out of her bed, brutally assaulted, and kidnapped by none other than the Butcher of Bear Creek, plunging the town into a frenzy. She will have sent the remaining men on the proverbial wild goose chase by loudly proclaiming that she saw the miscreant fleeing with his captive to the west. They'll beat the hills in that direction all night in a vain quest to rescue the fair damsel.”

Scratch said coldly, “I ain't sure I've ever run into an hombre as much in love with the sound of his own voice as you, Sarlat.”

“You're merely jealous of my erudition, old boy.”

“You can take your erudition, whatever that is, and stick it up your—”

Sarlat reached over and put his hand on the ivory butt of the Remington that lay on the table beside him.

“Need I remind you that I don't actually need you alive any longer, either of you?” he said.

“Then why are we still alive?” Scratch asked.

Sarlat glanced at Jake, making Scratch wonder if Jake had pleaded for their lives. Clearly, Sarlat had manipulated Jake into committing terrible acts of violence in the past, but Jake seemed to be getting a little balky about that, from what Scratch had seen and heard tonight.

“Jake, why don't you go out and see about the horses?” the professor suggested.

“They're fine,” Jake said sullenly.

“I'm sure they are, but you know you like them, and they like you. There's no reason you shouldn't enjoy each other's company. Just don't wander off, all right? Stay near the cabin.”

For a moment Jake looked like he might argue some more, but then he put his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet.

“I like the horses,” he said. “They're nice. And they like me.”

“Of course they do.” Sarlat smiled indulgently. “Go on now.”

Jake left the cabin. Sarlat turned his attention back to Scratch and Lauralee.

“I thought you might like to hear the truth about who Jake really is and what we're doing here,” he said.

“In other words, you want to gloat,” Scratch snapped.

“Why complain, if it keeps you alive a while longer?”

He had a point there, Scratch supposed. And there was no denying that he was curious as all get-out about Jake's true identity and what had brought them all here together around Bear Creek.

Besides, Bo was out there on the loose somewhere. One of the first things Scratch had noticed when he regained consciousness was that Barney Dunn was gone. He had no doubt that Bo had followed the bartender, but depending on what had happened, Bo might show up here again at any time. That would make a big difference.

“All right,” Scratch said. “If you've got a yarn to spin, go ahead and spin it.”

“Where should I begin?” Sarlat asked, still smirking. “With the most obvious question, I suppose. Just who is Jake?” The professor sat up straighter in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. “The answer is simple. Jake is your friend Bo Creel's twin brother.”