The Hangings by Bill Pronzini Read Free Book Online Page B

breed.
    "No," I said. My voice did not sound right. It had a raspy edge, like a file scraping cross-grain on wood. "Just help me up."
    The two of them hauled me to my feet and on over to the back wall of the livery. I was as wobbly as a newborn colt, so that I had to lean against Pike and then the wall to keep from falling down again. There was anger in me now, a slow seethe of it.
    "What happened, Mr. Evans?" Pike asked again. "Somebody hit you?"
    "Somebody," I said. "You see who?"
    "No, we didn't see nobody."
    "Where'd you come from?"
    "Up town. Heard noises and a yell and come runnin'."
    "How long ago?"
    "Few minutes."
    "What did you see when you got here?"
    "Just you lyin' there in the grass."
    "You lock everything up before you left here tonight?"
    "Sure. I always do. Mr. Evans, what—?"
    "Prowler," I said.
    "For a fact? Horse thief?"
    "What else. Go and see if the front doors are still locked, if anything has been disturbed inside."
    He went, taking Badger with him. I leaned against the wall with the anger rising hot in me, like a dose of laudanum easing the pain. Son of a bitch must have seen or heard me coming, I thought. Knew I was stalking him, anyhow, and hid behind that horse chestnut and waited until I turned my back at the doors.
    Who?
    There was a rattling as the bar came off the rear doors, and Pike poked his head out. "Well, he never got inside."
    "All right."
    "Too bad I wasn't here. I'd of fixed him."
    "Sure you would."
    "I ain't afraid of a horse thief. He wouldn't of—"
    "Well? Wouldn't have busted your head for you, eh?"
    Pike gave me one of his insolent grins. "Not unless he caught me unawares, like I guess he did you."
    "Pike," I said, "don't rile me any more than I already am. You'll sure as hell be sorry if you do."
    It was the tone of my voice, more than the words, that wiped the grin off his mouth. He said, half-sullen now, "You want us to help you over to the doc's?"
    "No. Go on to your tick. And make sure you lock up again first."
    He shut the doors without saying anything else; a few seconds later I heard him slam the bar into place. I pushed away from the wall, still a little shaky on my pins, and found my derby and set it gingerly on my head. Then I walked over to the chestnut tree and used up half a dozen matches checking the ground there and along the north wall—wasted them, for there was nothing to find that might help me identify the prowler.
    Finally I pointed myself toward home. I was in no condition or frame of mind to see anybody else tonight, including Doc Petersen. If my head needed Doc's attention, it could wait until tomorrow.
    On the way I kept thinking about that prowler. He could have run away once he realized he had been spotted, but instead he had chosen to attack. Dangerous, whoever he was. The kind who was capable of killing a man.
    Was he also capable of hanging a man after knocking him on the head? I wondered. Would he maybe have tried to hang me if Pike and Badger had not showed up when they did?

Chapter 6
    MY HEAD STILL PAINED ME IN THE MORNING. THERE WAS a lump the size of a pigeon's egg over the left ear and a welt on my neck, and no way to hide either one. So I had to endure Ivy's questions along with a lecture about the dangers of my job and a breakfast I wanted no part of—all because I was unable to get out of the house before she saw me. She wanted to know if I was going to church and I said yes, but I had no intention of doing so, not the way I felt today.
    I had to endure questions from Doc Petersen, too, when I went to his office to have him look at my injuries. My vision was a smidge cockeyed and I was worried about that. I had a mild concussion, he said. He applied a bandage, gave me some powders for the pain, and charged me five dollars—about three too much, since he knew the town council would grudgingly reimburse me.
    I was in a prickly mood when I walked into the constable's office and found Boze making a pot of coffee. He had a case of the