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door and looked into the hallway. Mildred was leaning against the wall beside the telephone table. Her face was wan, her eyes shock-bright. Her gaze shifted to me, but it was so inward I don’t think it took me in.
    “Trouble?”
    She nodded mutely and drew in a shuddering breath. It came out as a sigh:
    “Carl’s at the ranch now. One of the hands saw him. Jerry isn’t there, and Zinnie’s terrified.”
    “Where’s Jerry?”
    “I don’t know. In town, probably. He follows the stock market every day until two, at least he used to.”
    “What’s she so scared about?”
    “Carl has a gun with him.” Her voice was low and wretched.
    “You’re sure?”
    “The man who saw him said so.”
    “Is he likely to use it?”
    “No. I don’t think so. It’s the others I’m worried about—what they might do to Carl if there’s any shooting.”
    “What others?”
    “Jerry, and the sheriff and his deputies. They’ve always taken orders from the Hallmans. I’ve got to go and find Carl—talk to him, before Jerry gets back to the ranch.”
    But she was having a hard time getting under way. She stood stiff against the wall, hands knotted at the ends of their straight arms, immobilized by tension. When I touched her elbow, she shied:
    “Yes?”
    “I have a taxi waiting. I’ll take you out there.”
    “No. Taxis cost money. We’ll go in my car.” She scooped up her bag and pressed it under her arm.
    “Go where?” her mother cried from the top of the stairs. “Where are you going? You’re not going to leave me alone.”
    Mrs. Gley came down in a rush. She had on a kind of tea gown whose draperies flew out behind her, like the tail of a blowzy comet. Her body swayed softly and heavilyagainst the newel post at the foot of the stairs. “You can’t leave me alone,” she repeated.
    “I’m sorry, Mother. I have to go to the ranch. Carl’s out there now, so there’s nothing for you to worry about.”
    “Nothing to worry about, that’s a good one. I’ve got my life to worry about, that’s all. And your place is with your mother at this time.”
    “You’re talking nonsense.”
    “Am I? When all I ask is a little love and sympathy from my own daughter?”
    “You’ve had all I’ve got.”
    The younger woman turned and started for the door. Her mother followed her, a clumsy ghost trailing yellowing draperies and the powerful odor of Sen-Sen. Either her earlier drinks were catching up with her, or she had another bottle upstairs. She made her final plea, or threat:
    “I’m drinking, Mildred.”
    “I know, Mother.”
    Mildred opened the door and went out.
    “Don’t you care?” her mother screamed after her.
    Mrs. Gley turned to me as I passed her in the doorway. The light from the window over the door lent her face a rosy youthfulness. She looked like a naughty girl who was trying to decide whether or not to have a tantrum. I didn’t wait to find out if she did.

chapter
8
          M ILDRED H ALLMAN’S car was an old black Buick convertible. It was parked behind my cab, wide of the curb. I paid off the cab-driver and got in.Mildred was sitting on the righthand side of the front seat.
    “You drive, will you?” She said as we started: “Between Carl and Mother, I’m completely squeezed out. They both need a keeper, and in the end it always turns out to be me. No, don’t think I’m feeling sorry for myself, because I’m not. It’s nice to be needed.”
    She spoke with a kind of wilted gallantry. I looked at her. She’d leaned her head against the cracked leather seat, and closed her eyes. Without their light and depth in her face, she looked about thirteen. I caught myself up short, recognizing a feeling I’d had before. It started out as paternal sympathy but rapidly degenerated, if I let it. And Mildred had a husband.
    “You’re fond of your husband,” I said.
    She answered dreamily: “I’m crazy about him. I had a crush on him in high school, the first and only crush I ever had.