CHAPTER 36CARRYING the blanketed boy, Bruce Powell moved quickly along the railroad track to where the alley dead-ended against the grade. He dropped down into its shadows and moved along the ruts, past the rear door of Quince’s livery, past his print shop and Len Milliard’s store, and so reached the entrance of the hotel kitchen.
The room was in darkness as was the dining room beyond. He crossed them, pushed the lobby door open a crack and peered through. No one was in the lobby. He stepped in and moved quickly toward the stairs.
He had gained them and was starting upward when the door from the bar opened and a man came halfway through. He stopped, seeing Powell, and surprise held him motionless for the instant. Then he stepped back into the bar, shouting as he did so.
“It’s Powell! It
