Assignment, page 8
Chapter 16
As Wes and Ringley approached the livery stable, they casually glanced around. Sure enough, a train was stopped on the tracks. Behind the tender were two passenger cars, a Pullman car, five stock cars and a red caboose. Wes glanced at Ringley and arched his eyebrows.
Nobody seemed to be around.
As Wes ran his left hand over Charley’s left side ahead of the curry comb, he glanced over the horse’s back at Ringley. “Hey, I’ve got an idea.”
Ringley looked up, his eyebrows arched.
“It’d be better to check those cars after dark, right? So how about when we finish here, we head back to the hotel and invite Ranger Simkins to join us?”
Ringley frowned. “Why?”
Wes shrugged. “I’d just like to see his reaction. Only thing is, you’re the corporal so you ought’a be the one who asks him. That’ll make it more or less official. You can blame it on him havin’ a day off the rest of us didn’t get. We ought’a be able to tell pretty quick whether he’s in on the whole thing.”
Ringley nodded. “Sounds good.”
“I was just thinkin’, if he’s in on it, that’ll clean up part of it really quick. And if he ain’t, maybe we can all sleep a little better.”
Ringley only nodded again.
When they finished tending to their horses, the sun was nearing the western horizon. They headed back to the hotel.
As they walked in, sounds of laughter came from the dining room. Most of the room was empty, with only two couples at different tables sharing a meal, and one cowboy bending over a steak at a table near the front wall. But all the Rangers were inside too, and they’d shoved a couple of tables together near the back of the room. That’s where the laughter had come from.
Corporal Ringley led the way. He grinned as he approached. “Looks like gettin’ together to eat is becomin’ a regular thing.”
The captain gestured. “Join us, Corporal, Wes.”
Ringley and Wes found chairs, and over the next two hours or so they all enjoyed a good meal and conversation. Afterward, when the captain and a few others had left, only Ringley, Wes, Pinchot, Simkins and Garcón were left at the table.
Garcón pushed his chair back. “I think I’m gonna head over to the saloon if anyone wants to join me.”
Simkins said, “I’ll go.”
Ringley said, “Actually, Pete, Wes and I were hoping you might join us.”
Garcón said, “Well, see you later,” and he turned and headed for the door.
Simkins frowned. “Doin’ what?”
Wes said, “We have something we want to check out.”
Pinchot said, “I’ll go.”
Wes looked at him. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Not this time, Jeremy.” He gestured with his chin toward Pinchot’s right shoulder. “Give that arm one more day, all right?”
Pinchot nodded.
Ringley looked at Simkins. “So, are you in?”
“Sure, I guess.” He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin one more time, then stood and grinned. “Whatever it is, let’s get it done. I’m lookin’ forward to a few drinks.”
As Ringley and Wes stood, Ringley said, “It shouldn’t take more’n a half-hour or so.”
Simkins grinned. “Well, we ain’t waitin’ on me.
Pinchot looked at Wes. “I’ll be in the saloon.”
Wes only nodded.
*
Outside, Simkins hesitated as Ringley and Wes turned west. In a few strides, he caught up with them.
Wes moved a little to his right to make room, putting Simkins between them.
Simkins glanced at Ringley. “Where we headed? Livery stable? We gonna make a nighttime raid?”
Without looking at him, Ringley said, “Nah, we’re gonna go check the train.”
Simkins frowned. “Check the train? For what?”
As they turned off Washington toward the livery stable, Wes said, “Women.”
Simkins laughed. “Women? I appreciate you invitin’ me along, but are you guys drunk? All the women are back in town, and most of ‘em are probably taken. ‘Cept maybe a few down at Iron Mike’s.” He laughed again.
As they passed by the front of the livery stable, Ringley said, “Not those kind’a women, Pete.”
Simkins said nothing for a moment. Finally, quietly, he said, “I guess I don’t understand.”
Wes said, “Sure you do, Pete. Maybe better’n we do. But let me spell it out for you. You’ve heard of the comancheros, right?”
Crickets chirruped quietly as they passed the locomotive and the passenger cars on the left. As they passed by the Pullman car, Simkins looked at Wes. “Yeah. I mean of course I’ve heard of ‘em. Why?”
As Ringley stopped at the door to the first stock car, Wes nodded at Simkins and gestured toward the car. “Well, the corporal and me got to thinkin’. We figure maybe the comancheros—for me, that’d be a guy named Paco Messina—are movin’ women south into the slave trade in Mexico by train. They load ‘em up north somewhere. Then they get down here and this Sandoval guy takes over.”
Simkins looked at Wes, then Ringley, then back to Wes. “But that’s crazy! I mean, unless you’ve got a really slack outfit up there. They couldn’t load women into a stock car right under your noses, could they?”
As Ringley reached up and grabbed the handle on the door, Wes said, “We figure maybe they have help from the train people. The conductor, maybe even the engineer. Once the door’s open, it would only take a few seconds to load a car full.”
Ringley tensed his shoulders. “Ready?”
Wes pulled his Colt and leveled it at the door. “Go ahead.”
The door rumbled as Ringley jerked it to the side. The sound was soft in the night air, like distant thunder. When it stopped, the crickets had fallen silent. He gestured. “You wanna check this one, Pete?”
“Sure. I guess.” Simkins didn’t pull his revolver. He went to the floor of the car, leaned forward and looked both ways, then backed out. “Nothin’ there. I’m tellin’ you, guys, this is a waste of time.”
But Ringley had already started toward the next car.
As Ringley grabbed the door handle, Wes said, “For a while, we thought they might even have help from a marshal or a sheriff or something on the front end, but that wouldn’t be necessary, and it doesn’t really make sense.” He shrugged. “You know, why would Messina risk involving someone with a badge when all he really needs is to pay off the conductor or the engineer?”
Simkins said, “Right, right. So no lawmen are involved.”
Wes said, “Well, not on that end.”
Simkins only looked at him.
Ringley said, “Ready, Wes?”
Wes trained his Colt at the door and nodded.
Ringley pulled it aside, then looked at Simkins and jerked his head toward the car.
Again, Simkins put his palms on the edge of the floor, leaned in and looked. When he backed out, again he said, “Nothin’.” He looked at Ringley. “Look, Corporal, I’m sure we aren’t gonna find anything. None of these trains even go into Mexico, do they?”
Ringley said, “No, but they don’t have to, do they? All they gotta do is stop movin’. Then after dark, someone opens the door and in a few minutes, they’re gone.” Instead of moving to the third stock car, Ringley stayed put.
Wes crossed his arms over his chest. “And that’s what got us thinkin’ maybe there are officials involved at this end—even Rangers maybe—‘cause that would make perfect sense. A guy could make some nice money just lettin’ the bad guys know when it’s safe to unload the cargo.”
Simkins said, “Well, I guess that makes sense. But why are you tellin’ me all this?”
Ringley said, “We figure maybe they’re offloading both here and up at Laredo. Maybe even over at Del Rio and Eagle Pass. You know, border towns.” He paused. “You’re up from Laredo, right? You guys ever check the trains that come into Laredo from the north?”
“No, I can’t say that we do. The captain’s never—” He stopped and his eyes grew wide. “Oh now, hold on a minute, Ringley! You sayin’ you think maybe I’m one’a the guys who opens the door for ‘em?” He laughed quietly. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever—” He stopped again and gaped at Wes. “I know what this is about now. Last night I got drunk with your partner, Pinchot. And maybe I said some things that made him believe I’m involved. He told you all that, didn’t he? He told you what I said.”
Wes nodded. “‘Fraid so.”
Simkins put one palm on his chest. “And that’s why you suspect me? Man, that was just talk.”
“No, that ain’t it. You also told him to stay quiet about it. You told him not to mention it to anyone else.”
“Well, yeah, I did, but—”
“And I noticed when you checked inside the first two cars, you didn’t pull your revolver. Was that because you knew nobody was inside?”
Simkins scowled. “What? No! You had the door covered, didn’t you? And Ringley was standin’ right there too. And me tellin’ the kid not to mention it to anyone, that was just me bein’ big, tryin’ to impress him. You know! C’mon, man! You can’t think I’d actually be messed up in somethin’ like that.” He laughed again, a little nervously.
Wes only nodded. “Pete, I believe I’ll have your revolver.”
Chapter 17
For a long moment, Pete Simkins only looked at Wes. “You’re joking, right?”
Wes shook his head. “‘Fraid not.”
Simkins looked at Ringley, his mouth hanging open. “You gonna let him get away with this?”
“Sorry, Pete. I trust him.”
Wes said, “Hand it over, Pete. Then we’ll check the rest of these cars. We don’t find anything, I’ll give your gun back in town and maybe you’ll have my apology.”
“Maybe? You’ll damn sure apologize, Crowley, and in front of everybody!”
“Works for me. ‘Course then I’ll have to tell ‘em all why I took your gun in the first place.” He curled the fingers of his left hand. “Give it up. Then we’ll check the rest of the cars.”
Simkins only looked at him for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Ringley. Finally he shook his head, used a thumb and forefinger to ease his revolver from his holster. He handed it to Wes, who stuck it behind his gun belt.
Wes looked at Ringley. “I’m sure we won’t find anything, but as long as we’re here we might as well check the last three.”
Ringley said nothing, but nodded. He turned away, walked to the third stock car and tugged the door open. Then he glanced at Simkins and gestured with his chin. “Go ahead.”
Simkins muttered, “This ain’t right.” But as he had before, he leaned forward, then backed out and shook his head. None of the men spoke as they moved to the fourth car and repeated the procedure, then to the fifth. The only sound was their quiet footfalls and the crickets, who had started to serenade them again.
But as the door of the fifth car rumbled open on its track, from the dark corner of the train station came a hiss. “Psst! Seemkins! Iss that you? Rincón says—”
Simkins turned and yelled, “Run!” toward the corner of the building just before Wes laid the barrel of his Colt alongside the man’s head.
As Simkins crumpled, an explosion sounded and a bullet splatted into the side of the stock car just behind Ringley.
Ringley ducked, turned and drew his revolver just as two explosions sounded from his right.
Wes had turned, crouched and fired two shots.
The first round ricocheted off the corner of the adobe building and whined off into the night. But the second splatted home in the man who’d fired at them. There was a muffled “ugh,” and then the elongated sound of something heavy sliding down an adobe wall.
Wes yelled, “Watch him!” and raced toward the railway station. He stopped at the front corner of the station and crouched. The end of the covered boardwalk porch was behind him on the right, his right shoulder pressed against the whitewashed adobe wall. It was still warm from the day’s heat.
Wes took off his hat and laid it on the ground to his left, then holstered his right Colt and drew the one from the left holster. He leveled it at the corner, then crept forward a bit and stopped. “You hit?”
A quiet moan came from around the corner, some twenty feet ahead.
“Okay. Toss your gun out past the corner.”
No response. Then the man emitted another moan and a long, quiet sigh. No gun was forthcoming.
“I can’t help you if you don’t toss your gun out.”
No answer.
“Mister, toss your gun out.”
No response.
Finally Wes stood and eased forward, drawing the fingers of his right hand along the wall for reference in the dark. When he reached the corner, he took a deep breath, then crouched again and peeked around the corner.
The man was facing west and seated in boots, dark trousers and a dark, long-sleeved shirt. His lower back was to the wall, and his torso was slumped forward. His hat lay on the ground a few feet ahead of him. The holster on his left hip was empty. His revolver was a slightly darker form on the ground about halfway between his left thigh and the corner.
Wes straightened, stepped around the corner and kicked the gun away. Then he holstered his Colt, knelt to grab the man’s shoulders, and leaned him back up against the wall. The bottom of his shirt was oddly darker, soaked in blood.
The man’s eyes were open. His hands lay palm-up on his thighs. His gaze shifted from Wes’ face to his badge. Barely above a whisper, he said, “Ranger.” His head moved slightly side to side.
Wes said, “You called out to Simkins. You said ‘Rincón says,’ but you didn’t finish. Were you talkin’ about the women? Where are they?”
One corner of the man’s mouth curled slightly upward. “Gone. A short while ago. But I heard the doors opening again and—” He uttered a quiet moan, then coughed, and his hands went to his abdomen. “I came back. To tell Simkins.”
Wes said, “Did they go to Sandoval?” He searched the man’s eyes. “Listen, did they go to Rincón Sandoval? Is he the one who’s—”
The man sighed, a long, drawn-out, emptying sound, and his hands relaxed back to his thighs, again palms-up. His fingers were covered with blood. His eyes were still open, but he wasn’t seeing anything anymore.
Wes said, “Well.” He laid the man over to the left along the wall, his right hand alongside him on the ground and his left lying on his abdomen.
Wes looked around, trying to spot any tracks leading away from the corner, but if there had been any, they were brushed away.
He shook his head, stepped back around the corner, and walked toward Ringley. “The guy’s dead. He said the women were unloaded a little while ago. Said he heard us checking the cars and came back to tell Simkins. I guess he thought it was Simkins lookin’ for the women.”
“Did he say which way they went?”
Wes shook his head. “I looked for tracks, but they were brushed away. They’re just gone. But the livery stable’s right over there. We might cut a trail if we—”
“No. The night’s too dark. Plus we have to deliver this—” and he touched Simkins sleeping form with the toe of his boot, “back to town. We’ll ride out in the morning and see what we can find.”
“They’ll be deep in Mexico by mornin’.”
“Yeah, but maybe we’ll have some idea of how they get there.”
Wes only nodded. “I should’a thought this thing through.”
Ringley frowned. “Like what?”
“At least we knew how they were movin’ ‘em down here. That’ll all probably change now. And all because I wanted to draw Simkins out.”
“Well, I didn’t think about that either. But it’ll all work out.” He crouched next to Simkins.
Wes frowned. “What’re you doing?”
When Ringley straightened, he opened his palm to reveal Simkins’ star. “Far as I’m concerned, ex-Ranger Simkins just resigned.” He gestured with his chin. “C’mon, let’s get him up and get him back to town.”
Together, they lifted Simkins, one under each shoulder, and started in that direction.
Chapter 18
The marshal’s office was dark, but the door was unlocked. As Wes and Ringley kept Simkins upright, Wes reached out and opened the door. Inside, they crossed the main room with the man and Ringley hooked a rink of keys off the wall near the entrance to a short hall.
There were four cells on each side of a wide aisle. As with many jails in the southwest, they were formed of two-inch steel straps crisscrossing each other. The ambient starlight coming through the small, barred cell windows revealed that all eight cells were empty, the doors standing ajar.
Ringley said, “We’ll put him in the last cell on the right.”
Wes nodded and grunted a little as they all but dragged Simkins into the cell. They eased him onto the cot and turned him slightly so he could lie back, then let go and turned to leave the cell.
But when Simkins fell back and his head contacted the cloth-covered board, he jerked awake and scrambled to sit up. His boots on the floor, he leaned forward, put his head in his hands and rubbed his face. “What’s goin’ on? Where am I?” His fingers brushed over the elongated horizontal lump above his left ear, and he frowned.
The cell clanged shut.
Simkins looked up just as Ringley turned the key in the lock. He squinted. “Corporal Ringley? That you?”
“It’s me. You’re in a cell. You’ll be all right here ‘til mornin’. Tomorrow the captain will decide what to do with you.”
“Do with me? About what?” He stood, but wavered and sat back down, hard.
Ringley said, “Get some sleep. I’ll see you again sometime in the mornin’.” And he and Wes turned and walked between the cells and out into the main office.
As Ringley felt for the nail on the wall and hung up the keys, Wes approached the marshal’s desk. He took Simkins’ revolver from behind his gun belt and put it in the top drawer on the pedestal. Then he looked at Ringley. “I’m gonna go see if Pinchot’s still in the saloon. Wanna join us?”
