CHAPTER 4IT WAS the third day after the holdup before Bruce Powell left the hotel room. The rain had stopped, but the empty plain was still a sodden mire, and the town huddled damp and desolate, waiting in dreary patience until the wan, chill sun should suck the wetness out, or the unobstructed wind would blast it away.
The lobby was deserted and Powell crossed it to step out onto the gallery, turning up the collar of his brush jacket against the rasping air. He stood for a moment looking about, then followed the new boardwalk past Len Milliard’s store to the raw frame building which housed the Enterprise. Turning in, he found Cap Ayers before the type case, breaking down the forms.
Cap Ayers was short and his girth was so great that he resembled a small balloon. His shoulders were wide
