but he came up empty. The local minister was a fire-and-brimstone gospel-shouter who saw evil in all things, and who would never allow the boy to forget who his mother had been.
Ed Kelley, a good man with three children, had a wife who was ailing.
After three days had passed, Will Reilly was no closer to a solution. The boy had the run of the hotel, and was liked by everyone. And a curious fact brought itself to Reilly's attention. The arrival of the boy coincided with a consistent run of luck that left him a substantial winner. The pots he had been winning had not been large, but they had been several percentage points higher than was reasonable.
He was a gambler who knew to perfection the odds on filling any hand he might pick up, and he played according to those odds, so when anything unusual happened he was aware of it at once. Will Reilly was not a superstitious man, but neither was he one to fly in the face of providence.
On the morning of the fourth day, Loomis, who operated the hotel, stopped him on his way to breakfast. "Will, the Reverend was inquiring after the youngster. He declared you were no fit man to have a child, and I think they're fixing to take him from you."
Will Reilly was nothing if not a man of quick decision.
"Thanks, Art. Now about that buckboard of Branson's? Did you ever find anyone to drive it back?"
Art Loomis was not slow. "I can have it hitched up and out back waiting, Will. I'll even pack for you."
"I'll pack. You get the buckboard hitched, and while you're at it, stop by Ferguson's and buy a couple of bedrolls for me and about a hundred rounds of .44's. I'll also need a camp outfit."
Dunker would know all about the boy. The Reverend had preached the funeral sermon for Mrs. Schmitt. The Reverend Dunker's allies would be Mrs. Purdy, and probably the wife of Elkins, who operated the Ferguson Store. Elkins himself was a good man, but Reilly had no use for the Purdys, for Mrs. Elkins, or for Dunker. There was little of the milk of human kindness in any of them.
He stepped out into the brisk morning air and paused briefly in front of the hotel. Because of the early hour, there were few people about. He turned abruptly toward the store.
Jess Elkins got up when Reilly walked in, and from the expression on his face Reilly knew that he himself had lately been under discussion.
"I'll need some warm clothes for the boy," he told Elkins. "You have a nice town here, but it is cold this time of year."
"Yes, sir. He's about four, isn't he?"
"He's about five. Give me four sets, complete. And he'll need a warm coat and a cap."
Elkins glanced up at him. "You sure you want to spend that much? After all, he isn't your boy."
"In a sense he is." Will Reilly was not one to hesitate over lying in a good cause, and it would give them something to worry about, something that might keep them in doubt until he could get away. "The boy is my nephew."
"Nephew?"Elkins was surprised. "But I thought--"
"You thought he was Myra Cord's boy? He is, of course, but his father was Andy Darrant, my half-brother. Andy asked me to care for the boy. That was why Van Clevern brought him to me."
He paid out the money, and gathered up the parcel and started for the door.
"You're Darrant's half-brother? Why, I never--"
"Be in tomorrow," Reilly said. "There's some other things I need for him. Tablets, pencils, and such."
He walked quickly back to the hotel, his boots crunching in the snow.
It was very cold, too cold to be starting out in the snow on a long drive. And if it snowed any more the buckboard would be a handicap. But he had his own ideas about that, and when he reached the lobby he glanced around. It was empty, and there was no one at the desk. He walked right through to the back door.
Art Loomis was coming in from the back. "Everything is ready, Will, but if I was you I'd hole up right here. It looks like more snow."
"Can't be helped. The wolves are breathing down the back of my neck, Art."
"Ain't you
Ed Kelley, a good man with three children, had a wife who was ailing.
After three days had passed, Will Reilly was no closer to a solution. The boy had the run of the hotel, and was liked by everyone. And a curious fact brought itself to Reilly's attention. The arrival of the boy coincided with a consistent run of luck that left him a substantial winner. The pots he had been winning had not been large, but they had been several percentage points higher than was reasonable.
He was a gambler who knew to perfection the odds on filling any hand he might pick up, and he played according to those odds, so when anything unusual happened he was aware of it at once. Will Reilly was not a superstitious man, but neither was he one to fly in the face of providence.
On the morning of the fourth day, Loomis, who operated the hotel, stopped him on his way to breakfast. "Will, the Reverend was inquiring after the youngster. He declared you were no fit man to have a child, and I think they're fixing to take him from you."
Will Reilly was nothing if not a man of quick decision.
"Thanks, Art. Now about that buckboard of Branson's? Did you ever find anyone to drive it back?"
Art Loomis was not slow. "I can have it hitched up and out back waiting, Will. I'll even pack for you."
"I'll pack. You get the buckboard hitched, and while you're at it, stop by Ferguson's and buy a couple of bedrolls for me and about a hundred rounds of .44's. I'll also need a camp outfit."
Dunker would know all about the boy. The Reverend had preached the funeral sermon for Mrs. Schmitt. The Reverend Dunker's allies would be Mrs. Purdy, and probably the wife of Elkins, who operated the Ferguson Store. Elkins himself was a good man, but Reilly had no use for the Purdys, for Mrs. Elkins, or for Dunker. There was little of the milk of human kindness in any of them.
He stepped out into the brisk morning air and paused briefly in front of the hotel. Because of the early hour, there were few people about. He turned abruptly toward the store.
Jess Elkins got up when Reilly walked in, and from the expression on his face Reilly knew that he himself had lately been under discussion.
"I'll need some warm clothes for the boy," he told Elkins. "You have a nice town here, but it is cold this time of year."
"Yes, sir. He's about four, isn't he?"
"He's about five. Give me four sets, complete. And he'll need a warm coat and a cap."
Elkins glanced up at him. "You sure you want to spend that much? After all, he isn't your boy."
"In a sense he is." Will Reilly was not one to hesitate over lying in a good cause, and it would give them something to worry about, something that might keep them in doubt until he could get away. "The boy is my nephew."
"Nephew?"Elkins was surprised. "But I thought--"
"You thought he was Myra Cord's boy? He is, of course, but his father was Andy Darrant, my half-brother. Andy asked me to care for the boy. That was why Van Clevern brought him to me."
He paid out the money, and gathered up the parcel and started for the door.
"You're Darrant's half-brother? Why, I never--"
"Be in tomorrow," Reilly said. "There's some other things I need for him. Tablets, pencils, and such."
He walked quickly back to the hotel, his boots crunching in the snow.
It was very cold, too cold to be starting out in the snow on a long drive. And if it snowed any more the buckboard would be a handicap. But he had his own ideas about that, and when he reached the lobby he glanced around. It was empty, and there was no one at the desk. He walked right through to the back door.
Art Loomis was coming in from the back. "Everything is ready, Will, but if I was you I'd hole up right here. It looks like more snow."
"Can't be helped. The wolves are breathing down the back of my neck, Art."
"Ain't you
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