Read Online The Vanquished by Brian Garfield - Free Book Online Page A

himself in a reasoning way, “On down just a piece more, Ben …”
    The air had the chill of a sharp knife. The miner came past the edge of the tent, approaching the cabin. The moon was clouded over and it was hard to see anything. Charley was all set to jump out and warn the miner when a huge dark shape loomed in the night and fell upon the old miner, throwing itself upon the man’s back, flinging an arm about the miner’s neck and a knee into his back; the miner cried out softly, his body arguing ineffectually, and Charley held his breath.
    There was a chance. In the shadow of the cabin, Charley stamped his feet, crunching gravel heavily. At that sound of steps, Parker jerked his head up. Charley stamped harder. Parker gave the miner a long shove and whipped about, racing around beyond the tent, soon going beyond earshot.
    â€œThink of that,” Charley whispered, a little awed by the effect of his own trick.
    The miner was down flat. Charley went to him and knelt. The stillness of the man’s body was indication enough that he was dead. There was no pulse, no breath. Charley frowned into the night and cursed Chuck Parker and then, after a moment’s thought, slipped the gold poke from the dead miner’s pocket.
    Afterward, suddenly afraid, he ran through the tent city, legs pumping, halting at last behind the livery barn. In that shadow he waited, trying to calm his breathing. Sometime in the ensuing run of time he heard a man’s heavy boots tramp by beyond the stable and he recognized Chuck Parker’s steady cursing. A little while thereafter the Negro hostler came out of the side door and shuffled away down the street, and Charley went inside and lay in the straw. The gold poke was heavy in his fist. He put his fingers inside it and sifted the gold dust between, his fingers. It was gritty, like sand. He could not be still, and finally he got up and went into the blackness, down to Woods’s saloon. He pulled his shoulders together and shoved into the hot stale air of the place. His mind asked tricky questions; he went immediately to the bar. The bartender gave him a curious look and he said, “Norval Douglas been in yet?”
    â€œNo,” the bartender said. “Hear about the murder?”
    â€œWhat murder?”
    â€œBen Crane.”
    â€œWho’s that?”
    â€œSome old miner. They found his body a while ago.”
    â€œShot?”
    â€œNo. Neck broke. Funny thing.”
    â€œYeah,” Charley breathed. He looked around. There were very few people in the place. “This Crane—he have a family?” Charley asked.
    â€œWife and daughter.”
    â€œThey been told?”
    â€œI guess so,” the barkeep said. “Why?”
    â€œNo reason, I guess. Where’d he live, this miner?”
    â€œLittle shack right behind Cora’s place.”
    â€œYeah,” Charley said. “Well, I’ll see you later.” He went out again and stood in the street looking upward. In his pocket his hand toyed with the gold sack. It made his pants sag. The moon was a vague luminescence through the thickness of a cloud whorl. The gambler who earlier had bought a drink for Charley now came down the walk and recognized Charley and touched his hatbrim. Charley said, “You put that fellow to bed?”
    â€œYes,” the gambler said. “I guess this is one more night he’ll have to live through,” and disappeared into the saloon. Charley pressed his elbows against his sides and looked at the sky again. His feet turned and took him down past the mercantile emporium. The night was very dark and still. A light was on inside the shack behind Cora’s crib, and there was the faint sound of weeping through an open window. He felt the taste of despair. Lamplight fell out through that opening and splashed along the earth. A pair of men stood by the door with hats in their hands, and while Charley watched from the shadows those