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  They were talking about John Stone.

  “He’s just what this town needs,” Mayor Randlett said, pushing away his empty bowl of soup. ‘The days of men like Buck Rawlins are over. Rawlins was all right at the beginning when there was a killing nearly every day, but now he’s become an embarrassment. Investors come here from the East and think we’re uncivilized barbarians when they meet Rawlins. It’s a shame, what’s happened to that man.”

  Mrs. Akerson clucked her tongue. “Drink will do it every time. Is Captain Stone a drinking man?”

  “He’s not a teetotaler,” Randlett replied. “I’ve seen him take a drink, but he doesn’t stink of whiskey like Rawlins.”

  Clyde Akerson shook his head. “Rawlins is a disgrace, and it’s not just his drinking either. It’s his manners too. Most of the people in this town are afraid of him. He’s a bully, pushing people around, insulting citizens who pay taxes.”

  Mrs. Akerson turned to Mayor Randlett. “Why don’t you fire him?”

  “Because we don’t have anybody to replace him with.”

  Jennifer smiled at her father. “What about Captain Stone?”

  “Captain Stone said he only intends to stay for a month.”

  “Maybe you can convince him to stay longer,” Jennifer said. “Why don’t you give him a raise? You always say that every man has his price.”

  “This man’s price isn’t dollars and cents. He seems to be motivated by something else.”

  “The girl,” said Clyde Akerson, readjusting the napkin jammed into his collar.

  “What girl?” asked Jennifer.

  Her father responded, “He carries a picture of a girl with him. He’s looking for her. They were supposed to get married, and she disappeared.”

  “How did she disappear?”

  “Captain Stone came home after the war and she was gone. Neighbors told him she went west, so he’s roaming the frontier looking for her.”

  “He’s got an awful lot of ground to cover. What did she look like?”

  “Pretty girl.” Mayor Randlett looked at Clyde Akerson. “You saw the picture, didn’t you?”

  “I thought she was pretty,” Randlett said. “Of course, it’s hard to tell from a photograph.”

  The black maid, wearing a gray dress and white apron, cleared away the soup dishes. Jennifer leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, and thought about John Stone. She didn’t want anybody to know she was unduly interested in him, but she was. He’d made a favorable impression on her when she’d met him earlier in the day in her father’s office. She liked his soldierly bearing and good manners, and he was handsome in a rough sort of way, but most of all she liked his smile. It was charming and warm, and he had nice teeth. She’d also liked his South Carolina drawl, his self-assurance, the ease with which he moved his tall body around.

  In her opinion, she didn’t have much to choose from among the men in Petie. Cowboys were crude and dirty, and their main interest seemed to be getting drunk as quickly as possible. None of the clerks and office workers interested her; they were all afraid of her father. The sons of local ranchers were a decent bunch, but there was nothing really special about them. She always figured she’d probably wind up marrying one of them someday, because a girl had to get married; she didn’t want to become a spinster.

  Jennifer knew she was pretty. People had been telling her that all her life. She was aware of the way men looked at her, although she didn’t let on that she knew. Some men became inordinately shy in her presence, others became befuddled, and a few looked her right in the eye and left no doubts about what they wanted.

  John Stone hadn’t been shy or befuddled in her presence, and he hadn’t given her one of those suggestive looks. He’d been calm and polite, rather self-effacing in fact, but something about him suggested tremendous power. Jennifer couldn’t help feeling drawn to him, and wanted to get to know him better. There was something very interesting about him.

  The maid, whose name was Esmeralda, brought a platter of roast beef to the table. Mayor Randlett stood, picked up the carving knife, and cut into the fragrant haunch of meat.

  “I imagine there’ll be some friction between Captain Stone and Sheriff Rawlins before long,” he said. “Be interesting to see what happens.”

  Jennifer looked at her father. “You don’t think they might actually shoot at each other, do you, Daddy? Don’t you think somebody should warn Captain Stone?”

  “I’m sure he knows which way the wind is blowing from. Captain Stone’s no fool.”

  Clyde Akerson smiled, candlelight gleaming on his gold tooth. “It’d be nice if Sheriff Rawlins took the hint and moved on to another town that could make better use of his peculiar talents.”

  “Like staying drunk all day long,” observed Mrs. Akerson, her eyebrows arched.

  “Sheriff Rawlins is a proud man,” Mayor Randlett said, laying a thick slab of roast beef on the side of the platter. “He won’t give up easily.”

  The sign in the window said: BEST FRIED STEAKS IN TOWN.

  Stone stopped and looked through the window. He was standing in front of the Acme Saloon, and it was jam-packed. He thought he’d go in and try one of those fried steaks. It’d probably be faster than waiting to be served at the Diamond Restaurant, and he should patronize as many business establishments in Petie as possible, so it wouldn’t appear that he was showing favoritism.

  He pushed open the swinging doors and stepped to the side, looking the place over. The bar was to the left, the chop counter to the right, and in between were tables where men drank and gambled. Tobacco smoke was thick in the air, and waitresses carried trays of drink and food around.

  A few people near the door noticed Stone, then went back to what they were doing. He made his way across the crowded floor and came to a stop at the chop counter.

  A man in a dirty white jacket was behind the counter, cooking steaks in frying pans on top of a stove. Other frying pans contained sliced potatoes and onions sizzling in lard.

  “What’s yours?” the cook asked Stone.

  “Steak and potatoes,” Stone replied.

  The cook speared a thick steak with a long fork and dropped it onto a plate. Then he scooped up some potatoes and onions with a spoon and flung them next to the steak. He placed the meal in front of Stone, reached under the counter for a knife and fork, slammed them down beside the plate.

  Stone paid him and sliced into the steak, standing in the row with other men chewing and swallowing noisily. They had glasses of whiskey or mugs of beer beside them; the usual method was to go to the bar first, get a drink, and then carry it to the chop counter.

  Stone stopped a waitress rushing by. “Get me a glass of whiskey, will you?”

  Stone placed a chunk of steak into his mouth. While he was chewing, Chopak and Ramsay entered the Acme Saloon. They spotted his broad back almost instantly. Chopak chewed the end of the matchstick in his mouth and wondered if he could walk over there casually and drill Stone in the back. It appeared that he could pull it off without any trouble. It’d be all over before anybody knew what happened.

  “I’ll take care of the son of a bitch myself,” he said to Ramsay. “You stay here and cover me.”

  Ramsay opened his mouth to protest, but Chopak was already in motion, twisting sideways and passing between two tables. He turned to his left and slipped between two more tables, his huge girth brushing against the backs of card players, one of whom turned around and gave him a dirty look.

  Chopak moved closer to Stone, and Ramsay watched his progress from beside the door. Ramsay licked his lips nervously, because he knew all hell would break loose in a few minutes. He didn’t like what Chopak was doing, but it was too late to stop him now.

  Only one row of tables was between Chopak and Stone. Chopak sucked in his gut and moved between two of them, scraping against the backs of men playing cards.

  “Why don’t you watch where you’re goin’?” one of them said.

  Chopak ignored him. He wa
s within range of John Stone now, and there was nothing to do except yank out his Colt and put a bullet in his back. He didn’t see how he could miss; it was almost too easy. He lowered his hand toward his gun.

  Somebody hollered out on the street: “Where’s the sheriff!”

  Stone spun around, and the first thing he saw was a big husky man in back of him, his legs spread apart, tensed up.

  “The sheriff’s in here!” shouted somebody nearby.

  The big man turned away and headed toward the bar, and Stone recognized him as one of the two who’d been sitting on the bench across the street from the sheriff’s office. It was a curious coincidence, or was it something else?

  “Help—sheriff!” bellowed the voice outside.

  Stone wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and headed toward the swinging doors. Before he reached them, a short slim man wearing a tight suit and a ruffled shirt pushed them open and burst into the Acme Saloon, looking around frantically. Stone walked toward him, and the man saw the badge on Stone’s shirt.

  The man’s eyes were wide with excitement. “There’s trouble at Miss Elsie’s place! A feller with a gun is shootin’ the place up!”

  “Where’s Miss Elsie’s place?” Stone asked calmly.

  “Foller me!”

  The short, slim man turned around and headed back toward the door, and Stone went after him. They stepped outside and turned to the right. The man walked swiftly on his short legs, and Stone loped along easily at his side. Stone could smell the man’s strong cologne.

  “Anybody hurt that you know of?” Stone asked.

  “I think he beat up one of the girls.”

  “Who’re you?”

  “Lester Duboff’s my name. I work at Miss Elsie’s place.”

  A gunshot rang out in the distance, then another.

  “That’s him,” said Duboff. “Jesus, I hope he ain’t killed nobody.”

  They moved side by side down the street, passing darkened storefronts, and turned the corner near the Olympia Hotel. A crowd was gathered in front of a three-story building farther down the block. As Stone drew closer, he saw women with painted faces, some wearing fancy dresses and others in their robes, and the men were in varying stages of undress.

  They watched Stone approach. A middle-aged woman with a large bust and curly blond hair, working a fan nervously, detached herself from the crowd and advanced toward Stone. She wore a low-cut purple gown and had a large beauty mark on the top of her left breast, quivering with every step she took.

  Duboff rushed forward and got between Stone and the woman. “This is Miss Elsie Moran,” he said to Stone, bowing slightly, making the introduction.

  “What’s the problem?” Stone asked.

  “A customer is shooting up my establishment,” she said. “Where’s Rawlins?”

  “I’m on duty tonight. My name’s John Stone. Anybody hurt up there?”

  “I think he beat up one of my girls. She sure was screaming loud enough to be getting beat up, but I didn’t see it with my own eyes.”

  “Where’s she now?”

  “Up there with him.”

  “Anybody else in the building?”

  “He’s got one of the other girls with him too.”

  “Where is he exactly?”

  “Somewhere on the top floor.”

  “Get all your people away from here.”

  Miss Elsie had a robust voice, and she ordered everybody to move toward the hotel down the street. Stone looked up at the building and saw a red lamp on either side of the door. Bright light glowed through many of the windows on all three floors. Two shots were fired in rapid succession somewhere in the building, followed by screams of women muffled by the walls of the building.

  Stone clicked his teeth. The only thing to do was go in and locate the drunk with the gun, and the drunk would probably see Stone before Stone saw him. It was a bad situation, and it was only his first night on the job.

  Miss Elsie walked up to him. “Maybe you should get Sheriff Rawlins to help you.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d accompany your people down the street, ma’am.”

  Miss Elsie fanned herself briskly as she followed the crowd shuffling down the street toward the hotel. She and they looked back over their shoulders at Stone, who pulled the Colt out of his right holster.

  There was only one thing to do. He had to go into the building and somehow disarm the drunk with the gun. He squared his shoulders and walked toward the front steps, climbing them and crossing the wide veranda. Opening the front door of the building, he looked inside, his pistol cocked, pointing straight ahead. He saw a large crystal chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, hovering over plush furniture covered with a shiny maroon fabric and trimmed with gold ruffles. The wallpaper was pale blue, and the fragrance of perfume was heavy in the air.

  Another shot was fired on one of the upper floors. Stone moved quickly over the thick rug to the staircase and went up it two stairs at a time, looking to the next floor, ready to shoot at anything that moved. He heard a slapping sound and the shriek of a woman coming from one of the upper floors.

  He reached the second floor and moved to the flight of stairs that led to the top floor.

  “You goddamn bitch!” shouted a masculine voice above him. “I’ll goddamn kill you, you talk back to me!”

  “I ain’t talkin’ back to you!” a woman whimpered.

  Stone heard the slapping sound again, followed by the scream of the woman. Then the gun fired. Stone climbed the stairs silently, keeping his back close to the wall, pointing the gun up toward the third floor.

  “I think I’m gonna kill you anyways!” the man said. “I’m gonna gutshot you and watch you die real slow!”

  The woman screamed hysterically, and Stone came to the third floor. It was like the landing below, a hallway lined with doors. Some of the doors were open and some closed. Articles of men’s and women’s clothing lay on the floor, left by those who’d departed hastily.

  Stone pressed his back against the wall and took a deep breath. The woman screamed again, and it sounded as if she was toward the end of the hallway, but Stone couldn’t be sure of which room she was in.

  “I’ll teach you to go through my pockets, you rotten little whore!”

  Stone advanced noiselessly down the hallway. The woman screeched again, and he thought the sound came from the next to last room on the hallway.

  He stopped beside the door to the room, his finger tightening around the trigger of his pistol. He pressed his ear to the door, and heard the squeaking of a bedspring on the other side.

  “How does that feel, you bitch!” the man said.

  The woman didn’t reply, and Stone thought he’d better act quickly. He moved in front of the door and took two steps backward. Then he rushed the door, angling his left shoulder toward it. He reached for the doorknob, twisted, and the door was locked. Then his shoulder, with the full weight of his body behind it, struck the door, which burst open, and Stone exploded into the room.

  A naked brunette woman was on her knees, tied to a bedpost, and a man wearing only jeans stood over her, strangling her with one of her undergarments. The man had black hair that hung over his eyes, and a thick mat of black hair on his chest. He looked up at Stone and froze in amazement.

  Stone pointed his pistol at him. “Hold it right there!” he said.

  The man snarled like a wild animal and jumped at Stone, who dodged to the side and smashed the man over the head with his pistol as the man went flying by. The man gurgled and fell to the floor, where he lay still, blood welling out of the gash on his head.

  The woman tied to the bedpost was unconscious, her face pale blue, blood on her nose and mouth. Stone unwrapped the petticoat from around her neck and loosened the torn bedclothes that bound her hands. He lifted her gently and lay her on the mussed bed; her body was covered with bruises. Then he moved toward the closet. He turned the doorknob and it was locked, but a key stuck out of the hole. He twisted the
key and tried the door again.

  It opened, and he saw a semi clad blond woman kneeling on the floor, looking at him with terror in her eyes. He grasped her hand and pulled her up. She had a black eye and a bruise on her shoulder, but otherwise seemed okay. She raised her fists to her face and screamed, “Watch out!”

  Stone spun around and saw the man on his knees, blood dripping down the side of his face, and reaching for the gun in a holster hanging from the back of a chair.

  “Hold it right there!” Stone said, his hand streaking down to his Colt.

  “You son of a bitch!” the man hollered, and he yanked the gun out of his holster.

  Stone fired, and the room thundered with the sound of the shot. Blood gushed out of the man’s stomach, and almost simultaneously his gun went off, but it was pointed down and to the side, and his bullet blew a hole in the wall beside the dresser.

  The blonde shrieked, diving to the floor, and the man was on his knees, looking at Stone with glassy eyes. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth as he tried to bring his gun around for another shot at Stone, and Stone fired again, hitting the man in the heart. He cried out, dropped the gun, and pitched forward onto his face.

  The room was full of gunsmoke. Stone stepped forward and picked up the man’s gun, jamming it into his belt. He dropped to one knee and turned the man over onto his back. The man was limp and covered with blood. Stone felt his pulse. There was nothing.

  “What happened?” Stone asked.

  The blonde raised herself from the floor and pulled her hair back from her eyes. “I was in the next room with a customer, and I heard a commotion in this room. I came over here and knocked on the door to see what was goin’ on, which was a mistake, I guess, because he grabbed me and started beatin’ on me, and then he throwed me in the closet and locked the door. I heard him beatin’ on Dottie but I couldn’t do nothin’ about it. It was awful.”

  She tied the belt of her robe and walked barefoot to the bed, gazing at Dottie, whose chest rose and fell with her breathing, her eyes closed. Stone dropped his Colt in its holster and looked at the man lying on the floor in an ever-widening pool of blood.