<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/lrr-179.png" width-obs="250" height-obs="227" alt="" /></div>
<h2><SPAN name="Chapter_XX" id="Chapter_XX"></SPAN>Chapter XX</h2>
<p class="center extraspacebot2">RED OAK</p>
<p>Red Oak as a town was badly misnamed. It was utterly
devoid of the implied qualities of sturdiness, solidity, or
well-proportioned size. A far more appropriate name
might have been chosen. Something, perhaps, like the
night-blooming cereus, or the cloyingly sweet nicotine,
that sleeps all day and spreads its glory of white petals
and sweet odors through the night. But that would be
slanderous to the blossoms.</p>
<p>Red Oak slept all day behind the drab, sun-bleached,
false-front buildings on both sides of the only road. In
rainy weather, fattening sows and lame old mongrel curs
would wallow side by side in mudholes made reeking by<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></SPAN></span>
manure and garbage. When it was hot, the dust was
equally intolerable.</p>
<p>The men of town, men who ran or worked in the
resorts all night and slept all day, were tallow-faced, and
gave the impression of having lived beneath a log or rock
or in a woodwork crack. The women by day were sallow,
wan, unhappy, and consumptive. Their nocturnal luster
was washed out by sunlight, so they remained out of
sight until after oil lamps were burning to flatter them
and help them sell their wares.</p>
<p>Red Oak's only reason for existence was to serve as an
oasis for the men from countless miles of surrounding
ranch and range land, and after dark she served and
served and served. Proprietors understood their patrons
and catered cunningly to their demands for reckless, dangerous
sport. They offered varying risks, from loss of
cash, through loss of health and reputation, to loss of life
itself.</p>
<p>Young cowhands in their 'teens fraternized with gamblers,
and killers, each calling for the drink he could
afford. Easy women, whose garish, imitation jewelry reflected
the glitter of lights through the nebulous tobacco
smoke, flaunted their soft hips freely before eyes that
were accustomed to longhorned cattle and hard fists of
men. For those whose recklessness in younger years had
dulled their desire for women, there was gambling and
drinking to suit any taste or pocketbook. Bets could
be made in thousands, and covered; on the other hand,
loose change would buy an evening.</p>
<p>There was a jail, a one-room flimsy structure, designed
to hold obnoxious drunks whose cash was spent. Slim<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></SPAN></span>
Peasley was the turnkey. The office was one that would
have been beyond his scope if he had tried to fulfill the
duties of a deputy sheriff, but Slim didn't. He shuffled
about town, his heavy badge weighting down his dirty,
limp shirt, cadging a drink where he could and prying
his long nose like a chisel into things that were none of
his concern, while he closed his eyes to flagrant violations
of civil, moral, and spiritual law.</p>
<p>Slim seemed to have no chin at all. His chest was in
a hollow made by rounded shoulders. In profile the most
striking things about him were his nose and Adam's
apple; he had a close resemblance to a question mark.</p>
<p>His stretched suspenders let his pants drop low, and his
shirt and underwear were generally apart at his stomach,
so that he could scratch. There seemed always to be
some part of Slim's anatomy that needed scratching, and
the degree of his absorption in whatever he might be
looking at could be measured by the part he scratched.</p>
<p>It was Slim Peasley who had locked Mort Cavendish
up. Bryant had turned his nephew over to the deputy at
nine o'clock, before the evening in Red Oak got really
started. Slim had actually looked frightened when he
found he'd have to guard a sober man until the sheriff
came from the county seat to take over. When Bryant
placed the charge of murder against his nephew, Slim
grew pale. Only stern Bryant's blustered threats made
Slim accept the responsibility as the lesser danger. Then
Bryant had limped his way along the street, cursing the
trollops who accosted him. He had entered the hotel
and rented a room in the rear of the first floor so that he<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></SPAN></span>
wouldn't have to torture himself needlessly with stairs.
He was asleep when the evening reached a peak at midnight.</p>
<p>At midnight, or shortly after, the Lone Ranger reached
the outskirts of Red Oak, not far from the center of the
town. He turned off the trail and guided Silver to the
rear of the row of buildings on one side. He felt considerably
rested after dozing in the saddle during the ride
from the Gap, and ready for whatever might be ahead.
His original intention to talk with Bryant Cavendish
had not been changed by the confession of his prisoner,
who had escaped.</p>
<p>In the shadow of the buildings he dismounted and left
Silver, to proceed on foot. Coming to the back of the
hotel, he turned and passed through the space between
the buildings. At one end of the porch he halted. A man
was coming along the road. The Lone Ranger held cupped
hands close to his face, as if in the act of lighting a
pipe. The gesture, together with his forward-tilted hat,
served to conceal the fact that he was masked. He had
to be extremely careful in Red Oak. There were people
there in the town who had known him as a Texas Ranger.
He had hoped that the clerk in the Red Oak Hotel would
be a stranger, and that with his mask removed and his
face somewhat concealed by dust, he could inquire as to
the location of Bryant's room.</p>
<p>He was, however, spared this trouble. Between his fingers
he saw the overdressed man who passed him mount
the steps and enter the hotel lobby. There was something
about the man that was vaguely familiar, yet the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></SPAN></span>
Lone Ranger was sure he never had seen him before. He
heard the high-heeled, beautifully shined boots clatter on
the floor to the accompaniment of jingling spurs.</p>
<p>He could see through the door at an oblique angle.
He heard the stranger ask about Bryant Cavendish.</p>
<p>"Room ten," the clerk said curtly, "an' he left strict
orders that he wasn't tuh be pestered."</p>
<p>"That's too bad," replied the other, "because I'm going
tuh disturb him plenty right now."</p>
<p>The clerk tried to argue but got nowhere. "Room
ten," marked the Lone Ranger. He left his post beside
the porch and hastened to the rear of the building. A
dark window from room ten was opened wide. The
masked man crouched beneath it as he heard an insistent
pounding on the door.</p>
<p>Bryant Cavendish groaned first in sleep and then in
waking. "What the hell?" he grumbled.</p>
<p>The bed creaked. Then the rapping on the door again.</p>
<p>"G'way," snapped Bryant, "I'm sleepin'."</p>
<p>"Open the door," replied a muffled voice.</p>
<p>"Who is it an' what d'ya want?"</p>
<p>"Wallie."</p>
<p>That accounted for the familiarity in the man's face.
Wallie Cavendish, who had a resemblance in the eyes
and forehead to both Vince and Jeb.</p>
<p>A matchlight flickered in the room, and then the
steadier light of a candle. The Lone Ranger risked discovery
to peer over the edge of the window. He saw
Bryant, shirtless, sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing
his eyes sleepily. The man muttered something beneath<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></SPAN></span>
his breath, then rose and steadied himself by gripping
the edge of a table.</p>
<p>"I'm comin'," he called, "wait a minute." The old
man had to resume his seat on the bed and rub his knees.
Again he stood, and this time managed to get to the door
and slip the bolt.</p>
<p>The Lone Ranger felt guilty at his eavesdropping, yet
he felt that he was justified in gathering what facts he
could in any way that he could get them. The game he
played had life itself as the stake, and the odds were
against him to begin with.</p>
<p>Wallie entered the bedroom with a swaggering manner
and closed the door behind him. "Yer stayin' in Red
Oak all night, eh?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Did you wake me up tuh ask <i>that</i>?" snarled Bryant.
"What the hell does it look like I'm doin'? It's too hard
a trip fer me tuh go back home. I'll go back in the
mornin'."</p>
<p>"That's not what I came for, Uncle Bryant," said Wallie
hastily. "Don't jump me so till I finish."</p>
<p>"Wal?"</p>
<p>"I found a woman that'll look after the kids."</p>
<p>"Humph! I didn't think you could tend to a job as
complete as that. When'll she come to the Basin?"</p>
<p>"That's just it," replied the fop hesitantly. "I—I tried
tuh talk her intuh goin' there, but she wouldn't. She said
that she'd look after 'em, if we paid her of course, an'
if we brought the kids here tuh live with her."</p>
<p>"I knowed it. Well, find someone else! Find someone
that'll come tuh the Basin."</p>
<p>Wallie shook his head slowly.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"I dunno as I can. It ain't easy tuh find a woman
around here that'd take good care of the youngsters."</p>
<p>While Bryant appeared to ponder this, Wallie went
on quickly. "I thought maybe Penelope could come along
with 'em fer a few days, till Mrs. Hastings gets sort of
acquainted with 'em. Wouldn't that be a good way?"</p>
<p>"Maybe so."</p>
<p>"Good enough then, Uncle Bryant. I didn't want tuh
do nothin' till I'd talked tuh you about it. I won't bother
you no more now. I'm sorry tuh disturb you, but I figgered
on ridin' back home with the rest of the boys, an'
I wanted tuh get yer okey on this Mrs. Hastings so's I
could tell Penelope."</p>
<p>"You through talkin' now?"</p>
<p>Wallie rose. "Reckon so. You'll be comin' back on the
buckboard, won't yuh?"</p>
<p>"How else could I git home? Didn't I fetch the buckboard?"</p>
<p>"That's right, Uncle Bryant, I'm sorry not tuh have
thought it out."</p>
<p>"Now get the hell outta here an' lemme git some
sleep."</p>
<p>Still Wallie didn't go. He shifted his weight uneasily
from one foot to the other. "There-there's somethin' I
wanted tuh say," he fumbled. "I—I don't want yuh tuh
git sore about it...."</p>
<p>"<i>Wal?</i>"</p>
<p>"I thought it was a right smart scheme of yores, the
way yuh handled Mort."</p>
<p>"Mort kilt his wife, didn't he?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"That's right, Uncle Bryant."</p>
<p>"I wouldn't let that squirt called Yuma know I turned
Mort over tuh the law; he'd figger I done it on account
of bein' scairt o' him. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction
of knowin' Mort was jailed fer murder."</p>
<p>Wallie grinned synthetically. His whole manner before
Bryant Cavendish was one of cowering subjugation,
of fawning in a way that must have been revolting to the
hard old man.</p>
<p>"Yuh done jest right," he said. "I'd never o' thought
of it, Uncle Bryant. Yuh jailed Mort, an' that took care
of the legal angles; of course yuh couldn't be expected
tuh let him be swung from a rope."</p>
<p>Bryant looked up sharply.</p>
<p>"No one'll ever know how he busted out. Fact is, he
might o' broke outen that jail without no outside help."</p>
<p>"He's out?" exclaimed Bryant.</p>
<p>Wallie nodded, a look of surprise on his face. "Didn't
you know it?"</p>
<p>"No. I didn't know it. I been sleepin' here. How in the
devil would I know?"</p>
<p>"Gosh! Then he must've got out without no help, unless
be bribed Slim Peasley."</p>
<p>"Where is he now?"</p>
<p>"I dunno. I jest heard a while ago in one of the saloons
that he was loose. Peasley acted real upset about it."</p>
<p>Surprisingly, Bryant made no further comment.</p>
<p>Wallie waited a moment longer, then turned and opened
the door. "Good night, Uncle Bryant," he said.</p>
<p>Bryant said nothing. The door closed, and the old
man sat there for fully five minutes, muttering unintelligibly.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></SPAN></span>
Then he rose and would have blown out the
candle, but he was halted by a voice from the window.</p>
<p>"Stay right where you are and don't yell."</p>
<p>The Lone Ranger stepped easily over the low windowsill
and into the room, as Bryant Cavendish turned.</p>
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