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The Big-Town Round-Up, a fiction by William MacLeod Raine |
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Chapter 31. Into The Hands Of His Enemy |
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_ CHAPTER XXXI. INTO THE HANDS OF HIS ENEMY Durand waited alone for word to be flashed him that the debt he owed Clay Lindsay had been settled in full. A telephone lay on the desk close at hand and beside it was a watch. The second-hand ticked its way jerkily round and round the circle. Except for that the stillness weighed on him unbearably. He paced up and down the room chewing nervously the end of an unlit cigar. For the good tidings which he was anxious to hear was news of the death of the strong young enemy who had beaten him at every turn. Why didn't Collins get to the telephone? Was it possible that there had been a slip-up, that Lindsay had again broken through the trap set for him? Had "Slim's" nerve failed him? Or had Bromfield been unable to bring the victim to the slaughter? His mind went over the details again. The thing had been well planned even to the unguarded door through which Collins was to escape. In the darkness "Slim" could do the job, make his getaway along with Dave, and be safe from any chance of identification. Bromfield, to save his own hide, would keep still. If he didn't, Durand was prepared to shift the murder upon his shoulders. The minute-hand of the watch passed down from the quarter to the half and from the half to the three quarters. Still the telephone bell did not ring. The gang leader began to sweat blood. Had some one bungled after all the care with which he had laid his plans? A door slammed below. Hurried footsteps sounded on the stair treads. Into the room burst a man. "'Slim' 's been croaked," he blurted. "What!" Durand's eyes dilated. "At Maddock's." "Who did it?" "De guy he was to gun." "Lindsay." "Dat's de fellow." "Did the bulls get Lindsay?" "Pinched him right on de spot." "Gun 'Slim,' did he?" "Nope. Knocked him cold wit' a chair. Cracked his skull." "Is he dead?" "He'll never be deader. Dave grabbed this sucker Lindsay and yelled that he done it. The bulls pinched him like I said right there." "Did it happen in the dark?" "Sure as you're a foot high. My job was dousin' the glims, and I done it right." "What about 'Slim'? Was he shooting when he got it?" The other man shook his head. "This Lindsay man claims he was. I talked wit' a bull afterward. Dey didn't find no gun on 'Slim.' The bull says there was no gun-play." "What became of 'Slim's' gun?" "Search me." Durand slammed a big fist exultantly down on the desk. "Better than the way I planned it. If the gun's gone, I'll frame Lindsay for the chair. It's Salt Creek for his." He lost no time in getting into touch with Gorilla Dave, who was under arrest at the station house. From him he learned the story of the killing of Collins. One whispered detail of it filled him with malicious glee. "The boob! He'll go to the death chair sure if I can frame him. We're lucky Bromfield ran back into the little room. Up in front a dozen guys might have seen the whole play even in the dark." Durand spent the night strengthening the web he had spun to destroy his enemy. He passed to and fro among those who had been arrested in the raid and he arranged the testimony of some of them to suit his case. More than one of the men caught in the dragnet of the police was willing to see the affray from the proper angle in exchange for protection from prosecution. After breakfast Durand went to the Tombs, where Clay had been transferred at daybreak. "You needn't bring the fellow here," he told the warden. "I'll go right to his cage and see him. I wantta have a talk with him." _ |
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