Free The Violent Peace by George G. Gilman Page B

church. He saw the soldier knock on the window and watched as the timid-looking undertaker in a nightshirt emerged from a side door. The two men exchanged a few words, then transferred the blanket-wrapped bodies from the wagon to the parlor. It didn't take long. The men talked again, then the soldier left the wagon and horse in the care of the undertaker and approached the hotel, his gait revealing over-active nerves.
    Steele fingered the ornate head of the tiepin decorating his neckerchief, sighed and moved away from the window to stretch out, fully clothed, on the narrow bed. The pin was the only bright and new looking thing about him now. His clothing was creased and grimed with trail dust and his face was heavily stubbled and streaked with sweat-crusted dirt. He could smell himself, and under any other circumstance, this would have disgusted him. But nothing was as important as killing the men who had lynched his father. Everything else paled into insignificance beside this.
    “Clancy, I know you're in there!” Steele was staring up at the ceiling with blank eyes as Blake's voice sounded out in the hallway. The words were accompanied by the heavy rap of knuckles on the door panel of the next room. A girl gave a low scream and a man groaned out of sleep.
    “Who the hell's that?”
    “Blake. The lieutenant sent me to arrest you for desertion. You coming quiet?”
    “Aw, come back in the morning, feller,” the man in the next room moaned. “We'll talk about it then.”
    Blake banged his first on the door again. “Open up before I break down the door.”
    A door was flung open. “You damage my property and I'll cut off your pecker and hang it outside for a sign.”
    It was the madam, her voice quivering with anger. “I got my duty to perform, ma'am,” Blake shot back at her, and banged on the door again. “Clancy, come on out!”
    Steele sighed and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He went to the door and jerked it open. Outside, the hallway was dimly lit by a single lamp with the wick turned down low. Blake and the madam looked towards Steele and were both startled by his sudden appearance. Steele eyed the young trooper levelly, recalling how, not long ago, he would have found it necessary to kill him because of the color of his uniform.
    “I paid for a room in which I could sleep, trooper,” he said softly. “I'd like to get my moneysworth.”
    “I got my orders,” Blake shot back.
     Steele nodded. “Do you have to carry them out tonight?”
    “The lieutenant said—”
    “The lieutenant here?” Steele cut in.
    “No.”
    “So you're not impressing him,” Steele pointed out. “Just annoying me.”
    “And others,” the madam supplemented. Her body was hidden in the doorway of her room. Her face, spread with white cream, looked disembodied and ghost-like in the low lighting.
    “I can't allow him to escape,” Blake said emphatically, hand resting on his holstered revolver.
    “Clancy?” Steele called.
    “Who the hell are you?” the man in the next room demanded.
    “Nobody you'd know. Do you intend to go anywhere tonight?” 
    Clancy gave an obscene laugh. “Everything I need is right here.”
    The whore with him laughed. Steele looked questioningly at Blake.
    “Why should I believe him?” the young trooper asked.
    “You don't have to,” Steele replied. “Just stay where you are and you've got him trapped.”
    The trooper was not convinced. Then the door of the next room opened and Clancy, completely naked, looked out at Blake. “Come on in, for Christsake,” the older trooper invited. “Let's talk about it.”
    “Quietly,” Steele suggested.
    Clancy poked his head out through the doorway. He met Steele's blank-eyed stare, held it a moment, then shrugged. “Like mice we'll be,” he said.
    “He touches the girl, he'll have to pay,” the madam warned from the far end of the hallway.
    “Sure,” Clancy said. “You coming, Johnnie?”
    Blake's eyes widened and Clancy glanced