“Just wonder. You said report to you, and I am.”
“Where is Fay now?”
“In front of Ludlow's store, just across the street from the bank.”
Elec's eyes narrowed. He said, “It's probably nothing, but you'd better get back, anyway. I'll be along pretty soon.”
The deputy headed back down the path. As Elec turned, he saw Nathan reaching for his revolver on the hatrack. “Hold it, Nate!” Elec said sharply, his own revolver already in his hand.
“I heard what your deputy said,” Nathan said tightly. “This is it, Marshal. It's that bank they're after. Somerson talked the boy into it; probably told him I had to have the money.”
Elec's gun did not waver. “I doubt it. And even if it's true, you're playing no part in it, Nate. You're under arrest, and you're going to jail.”
“You're right about just one thing,” Nathan said with dangerous calm. “I'm under arrest. I knew that the minute I sent the Wintworth girl after you. But I'm not going to jail until this thing's over—not unless you want to kill me right here.”
Elec squeezed the Colt's butt so hard that his arm ached. Nathan ignored it, and he ignored the grim flash of warning in the marshal's eyes.
“If you're going to shoot, you'd better do it now, Elec, before I strap on my gun.”
Probably the marshal would never know why he didn't pull the trigger and kill Nate Blaine where he stood. He had not managed to live to an old age by taking chances. Yet, when the time came, he found that he could not make himself add that extra ounce of pressure with his trigger finger. He could not believe that Nate would ignore the certainty of death. He was sure that at the last moment he would back down.
But he did not. Nathan walked steadily, arrogantly even, to the hall hatrack, took down the holster and slung the cartridge belt around his waist. And from the depths of his bitter eyes he poured his quiet disdain upon the marshal.
It was then that Elec realized that he had grown too old for his job. The steel of his resolution had lost its temper, the fine cutting edge of his purpose had dulled. When he discovered that he could not coldly, calmly pull the trigger on this man who defied him, Elec Blasingame knew he was through as a lawman.
In many ways he was not sorry.
FROM HIS PLACE AT SURRATT'S bar, Jeff saw Amy hurrying across the street toward the Masonic Temple. Impulsively, he went outside, hoping she would notice him, but she didn't look in his direction.
It was just as well he thought. It was nearly four o'clock, and soon his life in Plainsville would be over. Now he was a man called upon to do a man's work. But he felt less a man at that moment than at any time since he had stormed angrily from under the Sewell roof. For the first time in his life he was beginning to know the meaning of fear. It wasn't because of the bank, and what he would have to do there, or the dangerous prospect of violence. This was a different thing.
As he saw Amy disappear down the steps to the marshal's office, he felt his bravery flying with her. His valor, tied to a piece of bright ribbon, went with her down the stone steps and disappeared, and he felt suddenly hollow and afraid.
Angrily, he told himself that he was acting like a boy, and it was time to put boyish things behind him. He knew that Milan Fay had already set the wheels to rolling. By now Fay would have left his place in front of Ludlow's store to meet Somerson's wagon at the edge of town.
Still, Jeff waited. He saw Elec Blasingame come out of the Masonic Temple basement and head across town to the east. He seemed in a hurry, but he wasn't going toward the bank, and Jeff was glad of that.
He stood for a moment wondering what could bring Elec out in such a hurry, in this heat. Why would Amy be visiting the marshal, and why hadn't she come out when Elec had?
He waited as long as he dared, hoping for another glimpse of Amy, hoping that his bravery would fly back to him.
None of those things happened. He was still a hollow man. But the bank would be robbed, and he would help do it because Nathan's life depended on it. He turned and walked up the plank walk toward the bank.
The timing was perfect.
Fay had already brought the wagon up and was tying the team beside Ludlow's when Jeff reached the corner. It was a heavy farm wagon with a tarp stretched over the sideboards. Under the tarp there might be a load of wheat or corn, but Jeff knew there was nothing at all under it but Bill Somerson, covering the street in both directions with his carbine.
A kind of numbness that passed for calm passed over Jeff, and he was suddenly eager to get it over with. Walking slowly, he noted the horses waiting in the alley behind Ludlow's. He could feel Milan Fay watching from beneath the brim of his shabby hat. Jeff turned the corner and Fay lifted his hand slightly.
Everything was ready.
Jeff forced himself to think of the bank, and put everything else out of his mind. Main Street was normally busy, but the side street was practically deserted. A single buck-board was coming in from the west, and when it turned the corner Fay nodded and Jeff started for the side door of the bank.
Fay sauntered across the street at the same time, walking aimlessly, his quick eyes alert in all directions. Everything was clear. Jeff pounded on the door.
He pounded twice before he got an answer.
“It's Jeff Blaine,” he called quietly. “My uncle's Wirt Sewell.” Then came a moment of panic and he couldn't think of the new banker's name. Then, as he hesitated, he caught a glimpse of Milan Fay's suspicious scowl, and the name came to him. “Mr. Forney, I'd like to talk to you about some land deeds.”
A sharp answer came through the heavy door. “Sorry, the bank's closed for the day. See me at ten tomorrow morn-mg.
