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CHAPTER 30

      WEITNAUR'S HOUSE was built in the shade of a huge old cottonwood by a stream about three miles east of Denver.

      It was a big two-story place, built of brick, and it had three big chimneys. The land around the house was covered by buffalo grass and a few low-growing shrubs, and a stand of willows down by the water. Behind the house, Purdy could see a barn, a small corral with three horses in it, a chicken coop, and a sod-covered smokehouse close to the brown remains of a kitchen garden. Beyond that, lay rolling brown prairie land stretching to a horizon that was limited from sight only by the curve of the earth.

      The boy who had taken Purdy to the house left him and rode into the afternoon sun toward town. Purdy went on about a quarter of a mile, then cut behind a grove of trees and went down to the stream, which had carved a small canyon in the fertile plains soil.

      Hunched over on the sorrel to be less visible, he rode in the stream bed as close to the house as he could get. Then he tied the horse and made his way through the willows, moving quickly past the cottonwood and the corral.

      Hidden from the road, he saw a blue carriage, with the horse still hitched to it. It was the same one he had seen come tearing out of the alley behind the bank. He ran past it to the slanted wooden door that led to the cellar, opened it, and went down the steps, closing the door behind him.

      The cellar was dark and smelled of cold earth. He struck a match and saw shelves holding glass jars of preserved vegetables and fruit. Barrels and sacks rested on the ground, and in one corner was a bin of potatoes. A lamp hung from the low ceiling, but he didn't light it.

      He saw stairs that he guessed led up to the kitchen. After the match sputtered out, he could see a faint line outlining the door. He knew he could have been seen during the few seconds he ran from the trees past the carriage, so he waited a little, gun drawn, but nobody came.

      Somewhere in the house above him, he could hear a man and woman arguing, but he couldn't make out the words. He climbed the stairs and pressed his ear to the door leading into the house. Then he could hear Luna sobbing.

      Nugent said harshly, "It's all over now, so shut up. All your crying won't bring her back."

      "You told me you'd stop killing," she said between sobs. Then there came the sound of a fist hitting flesh, and she cried out.

      Purdy opened the door a crack and saw the kitchen was empty. He heard Luna's sobs more clearly now, hurled out of her chest with every breath, almost beyond endurance to hear.

      Nugent said, low and vicious, "I told you to shut up." And the sobs stopped.

      Purdy entered the kitchen and stood out of sight of the sitting room. Purdy knew about houses like this. He had grown up in one. But nobody in his father's house had ever cried like that.

      Footsteps came toward him, and Luna entered the kitchen holding a bloody handkerchief to her mouth. She stopped short, staring at him with round surprised eyes, but made no sound. Purdy laid his finger across his lips and shook his head. She went to the sink and worked the pump handle until a stream started, then filled a glass with the cold water and rinsed the blood out of her mouth and spit it out. She washed the bloody handkerchief and put it up against her cheek which showed a bright red mark where she'd been hit.

      Without looking at Purdy, she whispered, "Be careful, he'll kill you." And she went back into the sitting room.

      "Now don't you feel better?" Nugent said. His voice softened. "Don't like to hit you, Luna, but you know the kind of man I am. Now tell me the truth, it hasn't been so bad, has it?"

      "No."

      "What does that mean?"

      "It means it hasn't been so bad. Isn't that what you want me to say?"

      From where he stood, Purdy could see Nugent's shadow falling across a trunk by the door. Beside the trunk, sprawled across a handsome Turkish rug was a fattish woman of around 50. She was dead, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, her stylish dress soaked in blood that must have been spilt only a short time ago, because it was still bright red, still seeping into her dress.

      Purdy guessed she was Weitnaur's wife.

      "When we get back to the city tonight, we'll move into the best hotel in town," Nugent said. "Tomorrow morning you can go shopping if you want, or you can wait until we get to New York." He laughed. "You know how much money I've got in here?" He nudged the trunk with his toe; the shining boot-tip moved in and then out of Purdy's line of vision. "There's more than $300,000! Now isn't that something!"

      Luna nodded.

      "Worth coming down here for?"

      "I guess so, Frank. Only — you keep killing . . . "

      "Shut up about that," he said. "I'm, tired of hearing about it. That's just part of it — it's business!"

      Purdy could guess how it had been. Nugent and Luna had ridden directly to Weitnaur's place last night. Then this morning Nugent and Weitnaur would have taken the carriage to the bank, and Weitnaur would have gathered together the money from where he had it — most likely in other banks, or perhaps a special safe.

      Meanwhile, Nugent would moved the carriage behind the bank and left it in the alley, so they could leave together with the trunk full of money, because he would have planned to kill Weitnaur at home.

      Maybe when he went back to Weitnaur's office, he'd found Amhearst with him. Perhaps Weitnaur was counting out a three-way split instead of the one-way split Nugent wanted.

      What a grand stroke of luck it must have been for Nugent to find Amhearst there. Perhaps Nugent shot Amhearst first, with his pistol, then Weitnaur with the shotgun, and the clerk with the shotgun so he couldn't tell what happened. Purdy had heard four shots, and he realized that Nugent would have fired off one round from Weitnaur's gun, to make it appear that the banker had killed Amhearst. Then he put the shotgun in Amhearst's hands.

      And then he had scooped the money — all of it — into the trunk, and taken it out to the carriage, and he rode the hell away.

      Purdy stood in the kitchen,pondering. Luna's face was red and swollen from Nugent's blows but she was in control of herself again. It was possible that at any moment she would turn to Nugent and say, "Did you know that Bill Purdy is in the kitchen with a gun in his hand," and then the shooting would begin. Instead, she steered Nugent's gaze away from the kitchen.

      Nugent said, "Get your things together. Pretty soon somebody will remember to come to tell Edna that Alex was killed, and before that happens, I want to be gone from here."

      "What about the horses? Who will feed them."

      Nugent sounded exasperated. "Who cares?"

      "You don't have a heart," she said.

      "I'm getting tired of that. One more word about it, and you'll regret it."

      "Oh, that's —"

      Nugent stuck the gun into his belt and grabbed her hair with one hand and slapped her face back and forth with the other until she went down on her knees. He pulled the gun out of his belt and held it against her head. "I'll use this on you, too — I mean it!"

      "No," she whimpered.

      "I can always get another woman — it doesn't matter to me." The hammer clicked on the revolver. "I don't know why I've put up with you this long."

      Purdy raised the gun. It was now or never, he thought. His finger tightened on the trigger as he stepped into the room . . . .

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