23
The old building was drafty, and the blankets smelled like horses. Martha thought there must be a way out other than the back door they’d entered, but she couldn’t make out the front entrance in the dim light cast by the lamp.
While Hob and Sam talked, she tried not to think of what might happen to her. Instead she thought of Fargo. If he was all right, wouldn’t he come and rescue her? When she’d been a little girl, her mother had told her stories about handsome princes who came to the rescue of beautiful princesses held captive by evil wizards or menacing witches. Fargo was no prince, but he was handsome enough. But did he even know where she was? It didn’t seem likely.
Martha looked around the warehouse. Her eyes had gotten used to the dim lighting, and she could make out a few things she hadn’t noticed before.
One thing was a balcony that ran along two walls of the building. It must have been used for storing things that the warehouse owners didn’t want to have sitting on the ground. There was a hoist at the far end of the balcony that had been used to pull things up to it, and she could see a stairway leading up. But that wouldn’t help her, she thought. Even if she got to the stairs before somebody caught her, she wouldn’t have anywhere to go once she climbed to the balcony.
There was no hope there.
She could also hear things she hadn’t heard earlier. Noise was coming through the walls on one side of the warehouse. She couldn’t distinguish particular sounds, but she assumed that the place next door must be some kind of saloon.
That was no help to her, either. She couldn’t get from where she was into the other building. There was no door, or if there was, she couldn’t see it. Even if there had been, she didn’t know how she could get through it before she was stopped. She supposed she’d just have to count on Fargo, and he didn’t even know where she was.
Sam and Hob finished their talk, and Sam walked back over to where Martha was. He wasn’t holding his pistol, and Hob had put the shotgun down. That didn’t mean much to Martha. She couldn’t do a thing against them.
“I’m sorry about Corby,” she told Sam. “I liked him. He was a good man.”
“He was,” Sam said. His face was in shadow, but Martha could hear the sadness in his voice. “He wasn’t a robber like me and Hob. But he’s the one that Custis Kane killed.”
“What happened to Kane?”
“He’s back here in Portland. Maybe in a saloon somewhere.” Sam paused as if thinking about it. “Maybe not.”
“What do you think my father will do?”
Sam looked over his shoulder at Hob. The eldest Bryan brother was seeing to the horses in the back of the warehouse and paying them no attention.
“I hate to say this to you,” Sam told her, “but your father’s not much of a man. He was part of the bank robbery, and he’s not likely to do the right thing by you.”
“You don’t think he’ll set things right with the law?”
Martha hadn’t had any real hope that he would. If he’d intended to admit his part in things, he’d have done it long before now.
“Nope,” Sam said. “The judge is used to being a big man, respected and all that, having people look up to him. He won’t be able to give it up. You oughta know that.”
Martha did know. She was disappointed in her father and sorry that he was so weak. “What will happen to me, then?” she said.
“Depends.”
“Sam, you can tell me what you think. I’m not afraid.”
“By God, I don’t believe you are. It’s no wonder that Corby liked you. You got sand.”
“Just tell me, Sam.”
After a little hemming and hawing, Sam got to the point. “Well, Hob thinks the judge will go to the law, all right, but not to admit anything. He’ll send ’em after us. This warehouse is where they caught us after the bank robbery, and the judge will figure out where we are quick enough.”
“What happens when the law shows up?”
“I reckon there’s gonna be some gunplay. Me and Hob don’t plan to go back to that prison.”
“You think you’ll be killed, don’t you? And what good will that do?”
“Not a damn bit that I can see. But it’s better than the jail.”
“And I’ll be killed, too, won’t I?”
Sam didn’t want to talk about that, but Martha pressed him.
“All right. It could turn out that way. Doesn’t have to, but it could.”
“What’s to prevent it?”
“The judge or one of the others could call it off. They could see what’s about to happen and admit to the truth. That would stop it.”
“But you don’t think it will work out that way.”
Sam ducked his head. “No, ma’am, I don’t. I wish it would, but it don’t seem likely.”
It didn’t seem likely to Martha, either.
The Trailsman squatted down behind a little bush at the side of the house. He could see a small, dark figure moving along the alley, and he recognized Stink. He was afraid that Stink would come into the yard and make enough noise to be heard from the house, so he holstered his .45 and moved away from the building, toward the alley.
“It’s Fargo,” he said in a low voice when he got away from the house.
“I figured it was you,” Stink said. “I checked at Tomlin’s and you weren’t there, so I guessed this would be the next stop.”
“I told you to go home and stay there.”
“Yeah, I know you did. And I said I couldn’t do that. I left the horses at the livery, and Collier said he’d take care of ’em. Then I came looking for you.”
Fargo didn’t mind. In fact, he was glad to see Stink because he thought the little man might know the location of the warehouse that Orcutt was talking about.
“Let’s move away from here,” Fargo said, “so we can talk.”
He’d hoped to have a conversation with the judge and his pals, but now that wouldn’t be necessary. He knew, or thought he knew, where Martha had been taken, so he didn’t need them any longer. Not if Stink could tell him where the warehouse was, that is.
They walked down the alley. Fargo could smell the outhouses, and he wished again that he was out of the city and in the open air. His boots were caked with mud and seemed to weigh about five pounds each.
When they reached the street, Fargo asked Stink about the warehouse.
“I shouldn’t have taken them horses to the livery,” Stink said. “I know kind of where it is, more or less, but it’s a muddy walk to that part of town.”
“We’ll just have to make the best of it,” Fargo said.
The clouds had broken up, and the stars were out. There was a horned moon, but it wasn’t giving much light.
“Which way?” Fargo said.
“Down by the docks. Lots of Chinamen live close. They keep to themselves, mostly, and they might not like us messing around down there.”
“If Hob and Sam can do it, so can we.”
“I guess so.” Stink didn’t really sound as if he believed it. “Thing is, they might know Hob and Sam if they’ve been there before. They might even look out for ’em. But they won’t know who we are.”
“They didn’t look out for them when they robbed the bank.”
“The law was after ’em then. The Chinamen don’t mess with the law, if the law stays out of their business, which it mainly does. But we ain’t the law.”
Fargo didn’t want to have to deal with the law. He had a feeling that Hob and Sam would use Martha as a hostage and that they might even kill her if things started looking bad for them. Of course, they might kill her if Fargo came barging in, too, but he hoped he could prevent that.
“Those Chinamen smoke opium,” Stink said. “Some of them do, anyway, and I think there’s one of those dens close to the warehouse. Could be trouble.”
“We’ll be careful,” Fargo said. “After you show me the warehouse, you can skedaddle.”
Stink looked hurt. “You don’t think I’d run out on you now, do you? You’re gonna need some help, and I’m all you got.”
“You don’t even have a gun.”
“You can give me one of them knives of yours. I know how to use a knife, or I used to. Maybe I ain’t forgot.”
Fargo bent over and took the knife from his boot. He hefted it in his hand as he straightened. “You sure you know how to use this?” he said. “It’s mighty sharp, and I wouldn’t want you to cut your pecker off.”
“Damn, Fargo, don’t even josh with me about something like that. I’m planning to visit Kate again, soon as I scrape up the money, and I’ll be needing my pecker for that.”
“Then be careful,” Fargo said.
“I will.” Stink stuck the knife in his belt. “You think the Bryans will be expecting us?”
“They’ll be expecting somebody,” Fargo said. “We’ll have to think of a way to surprise them.”
“Won’t be easy.”
“I know. I’m counting on you to come up with a plan.”
“You’re joshing me again, Fargo, but that’s OK. I know I ain’t been a big help to you so far.”
“I’m not joshing you. You know the warehouse. I don’t. You might be able to come up with something.”
“It’s just a warehouse.”
“You think about it anyway,” Fargo told him.
“I will. But I ain’t much of a thinker.”
“Could be you’ll surprise yourself.”
“I guess we’ll see about that,” Stink said, sounding doubtful. “I don’t think we got much of a chance.”
“Two of them,” Fargo said. “Two of us.”
“Yeah,” Stink said. “But one of us is me.”