Free Showdown by Edward Gorman / Ed Gorman Page A

other. He was out of breath.
    "Where's the sheriff?"
    "Courthouse," Prine said. "He's testifying." He sensed what had happened. He had to be careful to act surprised.
    "Miss Neville's been kidnapped," Perry said.
    Carlyle was up and out of his chair. "What the hell you talking about?"
    "On the way into town this morning. Her usual trip. She asked me to ride into town with her. She thought a wheel might be loose. I told her it looked fine, but she was nervous about it. So I was right there when he rode up. A man in a mask. Kerchief all the way up to his eyes. Had a sawed-off shotgun. Knocked me out—and I've got one hell of a headache to prove it. Anyway, we need a posse and fast. We can't wait for the sheriff."
    "But where the hell would we even start?" Carlyle said. "We need to get organized before we do anything."
    "You want me to tell Richard Neville you wouldn't get a posse up till you got 'organized'?"
    "We'll be ready in fifteen minutes," Prine said. "But we need you to tell us where it happened and give us the best description you can of the man who took her. What he looked like, sounded like, what kind of horse he was riding." He glanced at Carlyle. "You want to get all this from Mike here, or do you want to round up the posse?"
    "You're better with people than I am," Carlyle said. "Why don't you round up the posse?"
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    A nd so he did.
    He got seven men—the blacksmith, the freight manager of an overland shipping company, an unemployed sixteen-year-old who had been winning marksmanship contests since he was twelve, a retired deputy eager for action, a railroad man on a weeklong vacation, an auxiliary deputy, and a saloon bouncer.
    They joined Carlyle and Mike Perry and swung east to the stage road on which Cassie Neville had been kidnapped.
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    O ne of the kidnapper's horses had a shoe that hadn't been fitted quite right. The blacksmith explained what was wrong with it, but nobody paid much attention. The posse wanted to get going. You don't join a posse to get a ten-minute lecture on how to fit a horseshoe properly. You join a posse because you've got a personal stake in it or because it gives you blessed relief from the workaday world or because you think there's at least the possibility that you'll be able to wound or possibly kill somebody legally.
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    C arlyle was better at geography than Prine, so he assigned the ground he wanted his two-man teams to cover. Prine drew the timberland to the west, where the pine-covered foothills slanted toward the largest river in this part of the state. There was always the possibility, Carlyle said, that they'd taken her to the river where a boat waited. If that was the case, they could be a long ways from here.
    They were just about ready to ride off to their appointed search areas when a rider, coming fast, started shouting for them to wait. He was coming from the direction of the Neville ranch. As he drew closer, Prine saw that it was Richard Neville.
    The first surprise was that Neville didn't look like Neville. Prine had always seen him in business suits and fancy dress suits, like what he had worn last night. In a faded blue workshirt, Levi's, and a black western hat, he looked like just another cowpuncher. He had a Winchester in his rifle scabbard and a lasso around his saddle horn.
    "I missed the first group that went out," Neville said. "I'll go with this bunch if that's all right." He hadn't seemed to notice Prine till now. "Tom Prine. Why don't I go with him?"
    "You do whatever you want, Mr. Neville," Carlyle said. "She's your sister."
    "All right with you, Prine?" Neville said.
    "Fine."
    Prine noted that among workingmen Neville was less showy, even humble. He didn't tell Carlyle what he was going to do. He first asked if it would be all right. Apparently, he was one of those men who knew how to play to each crowd he was with. He needed these men. And they'd quickly resent him if he played the peacock land baron as he had last night.
    They set off