Ralph Compton Train to Durango, page 10
“That means a lot to me,” Renita said. “It was worth the risk.”
Dawn came, and when Silver and his party reached Delmonico’s for breakfast, Harley Stafford and Foster Hagerman were already there.
“I heard the shooting,” said Harley, “but it was over by the time I got to the door.”
“I didn’t get off a shot,” Wes said. “Renita returned fire and got at least one hit.”
“Ma’am,” said Harley, “in the dark, that’s good shootin’ for anybody. I have just two ambitions in life. One is to have me a woman that can shoot like hell wouldn’t have it, and the other is to always stay on the good side of her.”
“I’ll accept that as a compliment,” Renita said. “Wes has told me a lot about you.”
“Any idea who might have fired those shots?” Hagerman asked.
“I figure it was the kid who forced me to draw against him,” said Wes. “He had no real grudge against me before. Now he may be after revenge, because I didn’t kill him.”
“Dear God,” Renita said, “how can a man be so foolish? He should be grateful to you for sparing him.”
“They never are,” said Wes. “Foolish pride has killed more men than bad whiskey. But those aiming to prove themselves by ventilating me will have to get in line. By now, the varmints behind the Golden Dragon will be gathering a legion of killers.”
“But not from Indian Territory, if your plan works,” Harley said. “How will you know if the president favors it?”
“There’ll be no messages, because he can’t risk word of it leaking out,” said Silver. “I think we’ll know by tomorrow, and the newspapers will tell us.”
• • •
Indian Territory, April 1, 1885
The outlaw stronghold with which Morton Tindall was familiar was closer to Wichita than Dodge. Tindall was welcome there, for he had successfully hired killers from among their ranks before. He paid well, paid in gold, and paid in advance, and for those reasons, the outlaws went to great lengths to please him. Illivane, the renegade leader, spoke.
“Hell, for thirty thousand dollars, we’ll gun down everybody in Dodge, women and kids included, but we don’t like sneakin’ in, one or two of us at a time. We’re used to all of us ridin’ in a bunch, doin’ what’s to be done, and then ridin’ on. Why is these three peckerwoods so different from anybody else?”
“For one thing, they’re hard as hell to kill,” said Tindall. “You ain’t doin’ this for me. I represent an outfit that don’t pay for failure. Foul this up, and it’ll be the finish of me, but they won’t stop there. They’ll come after you. All of you.”
Some of the outlaws laughed nervously, looking around as though they feared Tindall might have led demons into their midst.
“We ain’t superstitious,” Illivane said. “Anybody comin’ after us will have to unravel all of Indian Territory.”
“That’s why I’m here,” said Tindall. “You can get within fifty miles of Dodge, but when you ride across the Cimarron, no sheriff’s posse will follow you. I’m not the kind to pay a man to do a job and then tell him how to do it, but you’d better not ride into town, all of you in a bunch. One of the three hombres I’m payin’ you to salt down is a federal man, Bryan Silver.”
“A well-placed slug, and he’ll bleed like anybody else,” Illivane said.
“Maybe,” said Tindall, “but he knows there’s a price on his head. He may have alerted the local law, and there may be a reception committee waiting. That’s why I’m sayin’ it’s a risk, all of you ridin’ in at once. They’ll expect that. The other two hombres—Palo Elfego and Wes Stone—have their women with them.”
Illivane laughed. “All the better. We’ll take the women alive and bring them back with us to the territory.”
“Don’t count on it,” Tindall said. “These women have been taken before. Now they’re armed, just like the men. Stone has a hound that follows him, and Elfego is a highfalutin Indian. Silver’s a federal man, but he’s also a Texan. He’s hell on wheels with a Colt or a Winchester.”
“Hell, these varmints that’s nine feet tall don’t scare us,” said Illivane. “They’re all just bigger targets. Show us your money, and we’ll ride today.”
“It’s in my saddlebags,” Tindall said. “Have somebody fetch them.”
“Hampton,” said Illivane, “bring them saddlebags and a blanket.”
Tindall sat with his back to a tree, all the outlaws where he could see them. A tied-down Colt rode his right hip. Knowing the gold was a temptation, that any one of the men before him would kill for a handful of double eagles, he had made it his policy to always pay them in advance. While they might kill him and take the gold, that would be the end of their bonanza, as far as he was concerned. He was gambling they wouldn’t be that foolish, and so far, he had won. Hampton returned with the saddlebags, and Illivane dumped their golden contents on the blanket.
“Count it,” Tindall invited.
Illivane laughed. “You never shorted us before. We just like to see the color of the money before we ride. I reckon you could say it inspires us.”
“Fail this time, and there won’t be any more,” said Tindall. “At least, not from me.”
“We don’t aim to fail,” Illivane said. “Do we, boys?”
“Hell no,” they shouted.
For some unaccountable reason, Tindall was ill at ease as he rode back to Wichita. He had the feeling that something was about to go wrong. He wouldn’t fully understand the meaning of his premonitions until he read the next day’s edition of the Kansas City newspaper.
• • •
Dodge City, Kansas, April 1, 1885
“Molly and me are going to buy her some new clothes,” Silver said, when they had finished breakfast at Delmonico’s. “All of you are welcome to go with us.”
“I don’t think so,” said Wes. “I reckon Palo and me have had enough of that. At least, I have.”
“Sí,” El Lobo said.
“But there may be trouble,” said Renita.
“None that I can’t handle,” Silver said. “I think we’ll be safe enough, until tomorrow.”
Wes, Renita, El Lob, and Tamara returned to the Dodge House.
“I do hope they’ll be all right,” said Renita. “After last night, I’m jumpy.”
“We could have insisted on going with them,” Wes said, “but I had the feeling Silver didn’t want us along.”
“I think he’s been a very lonely man,” said Renita. “He’s never had a woman to think of, to buy for, and he wants the experience all to himself.”
El Lobo laughed.
“You are insensitive brute, like the mulos,” Tamara said. “Silencio.”
“Sangre de Christo,” said El Lobo mournfully. “For this I bring her from Mexico?”
• • •
Bryan Silver was enjoying what for him was a first-time experience. The more he saw of Molly Horrel—this woman who had once belonged to at least two other men—the more certain he was that he had made the right decision. Silver was by no means a poor man, and he was amused by Molly’s reluctance to spend money.
“Sooner or later,” Silver said, “you’ll have to return to Washington with me, and I’ll not have it appear that I’m too cheap to dress you properly.”
“You’re spoiling me,” said Molly. “Before King Fisher took me in, I was still walking around barefooted. A grown woman, with just one old dress and not a stitch of underwear to call my own. We Horrels were what better folks called trash.”
“Don’t ever let me hear you refer to yourself like that again,” Silver said.
Silver waited while Molly took some dresses into a fitting room.
“They’re all so nice,” she said, when she emerged. “I can’t decide which one I like the most.”
“Take them all,” said Silver.
Silver paid for all the clothing that Molly had selected, and they left the store.
“You’ll never have to buy me anything else,” Molly said.
“That’s what you think,” said Silver. “Someday you’re going to be the belle of south Texas. Now let’s go to the mercantile. I need some more shells.”
There were several men in the mercantile, and they watched with interest when Silver and Molly entered. Silver wasted no time, but went immediately to the counter to make his purchase. One of the men boldly eyed Molly from head to toe, and when she blushed, he grinned and spoke.
“Ma’am, lemme introduce myself. I’m Jake Turko, and I reckon I’m more an hombre than the varmint you come in with.”
Molly was speechless, and before she could move, Turko had a hand on her arm. But Silver had heard. He turned, bringing a right all the way from his knees, and when his fist exploded against the big man’s chin, Turko went down with a crash that shook the building. He didn’t get up.
“Here, now,” the storekeeper shouted, “I’ll have none of that in here.”
“Then you’d better be more watchful as to what comes in that door,” said Silver, “and you’d better drag this coyote out before he comes to. If he so much as looks at her again, I’ll kill him.”
Two men, apparently Turko’s companions, helped him to his feet and hustled him out the door.
“I’m sure he was drunk, or nearly so,” the storekeeper mumbled.
Silver said nothing. When he had paid for his purchase, he led Molly out of the store. “I’m sorry,” said Molly. “I didn’t even look at him.”
“No fault of yours,” Silver said. “Some varmints take a drink or two, and they forget the few manners they had.”
• • •
A second night at the Dodge House was spent quietly. Silver, Wes, and El Lobo again stood watch by turns, but there was no disturbance. When they went to Delmonico’s for breakfast, Harley Stafford and Foster Hagerman were already there. Within a few minutes, Sheriff Jack Dumery joined them.
“A quiet night,” said Dumery.
“Yes,” Silver agreed.
“Maybe something you should know, Silver,” said Dumery. “That little disagreement in the store yesterday may turn ugly. Turko fancies himself a gun-slick, and he’s spreadin’ the word in the saloons he aims to kill you.”
“I reckon he’ll have to get in line,” Silver said.
“He was bothering me,” said Molly.
“So I heard,” Sheriff Dumery said. “Men have been killed for that. I’ll try to talk some sense into him, if I can find him sober enough.”
Nothing more was said. The little Wes and El Lobo had heard had been enough. Renita and Tamara eyed Silver with respect. Dumery had only coffee and soon left. Molly looked at Silver’s grim face, worry in her eyes. As had become their custom, when breakfast was over, Silver, Wes, and El Lobo were first out the door. Harley Stafford and Foster Hagerman followed, with Molly, Renita, and Tamara. Seeing a rider coming, they all waited.
“Silver,” said Sheriff Dumery, “Turko’s waiting for you in front of the Dodge House. I tried to talk some sense into him.”
“Can’t you arrest him?” Molly cried.
“I could,” said Dumery, “but I can’t hold him.”
“Don’t bother, Sheriff,” Silver said. “If he won’t have it any other way, then we might as well be done with it. The rest of you wait here.”
“No,” said Molly. “He had other men with him. You can’t face them all.”
“She’s right,” Wes said. “We’ll stay out of the line of fire, but we’ll buy in if it looks like this varmint’s settin’ you up for somebody else to back-shoot you.”
“I’ll be there too,” said Sheriff Dumery, “and I’ll take care of any coyote that even looks like he’s got back-shootin’ on his mind.”
Turko stood well away from the Dodge House, watching them approach. Nobody else was near. Silver nodded to his companions. From here he would go on alone. From his saddle boot, Sheriff Dumery took his Winchester.
“I’m so afraid for him,” Molly said, her voice trembling.
“Don’t be,” said Wes. “He’s a man with the bark on.”
Silver walked on, his hands at his sides. Turko waited, his thumbs hooked under his gunbelt. His Colt, like Silver’s, was tied down on his right hip. Forty feet from Turko, Silver halted.
“I have nothing against you, Turko,” Silver said. “It’s not too late to resolve this without shooting.”
Turko laughed. “There’ll be shootin’, bucko. You’ll shoot or be shot.”
“When you’re ready, then,” said Silver.
Molly tried not to watch, but she was unable to take her frightened eyes off the scene about to be played out to its deadly conclusion. Turko’s hand fell first, and Molly cried out, for Silver seemed not to have moved. But suddenly Silver’s Colt was in his hand, and it spoke once. An instant later, the sound of Turko’s shot might have been an echo. But his weapon had not been leveled, and the lead kicked up dust at his feet. His knees buckled, and he collapsed on his back, his hat tumbling away in the early morning breeze. Silver thumbed out the empty shell casing and reloaded his weapon. Holstering it, he waited, for Molly was running to him, weeping.
“Great God,” Sheriff Dumery said, “for a federal man, he’s chain lightning with a gun.”
“He’s a Texan,” said Wes.
“Small wonder he and Nathan Stone were friends,” Harley said. “Silver’s as sudden with a Colt as Nathan was.”
Wes, El Lobo, Renita, and Tamara joined Silver and Molly. Harley Stafford and Foster Hagerman went with Sheriff Dumery to meet the curious who had come to investigate the shooting.
“Let’s get back to our rooms,” said Silver. “This will only attract more unwelcome attention.”
They remained at the Dodge House until they heard the whistle of the westbound train as it approached Dodge.
“There’ll be today’s newspapers from Kansas City,” Silver said. “I’m going after them.”
“Harley will bring us one at suppertime,” said Molly.
“Harley will be leaving on the westbound for the run to Colorado,” Wes said. “I’ll go for the papers. We can’t hide out here forever.”
“You shouldn’t go alone,” said Renita. “You’ve already been ambushed once.”
“Maybe she’s right, Wes,” Silver said. “One of us should go with you.”
“I go,” said El Lobo.
Silver said nothing, only too much aware of the relief in Molly’s eyes. The westbound had gone on its way when Wes and El Lobo reached the depot. They entered Hagerman’s office and found him reading one of the Kansas City newspapers.
“Silver’s struck pay dirt,” Hagerman said. “Front page.”
By presidential order, soldiers bound for Indian Territory, the big black headline read. Hagerman read the story aloud.
“That’ll play hell with the outlaws and renegades in Indian Territory,” said Wes, “but it may have come too late to stop them from comin’ after us. This bunch of killers lookin’ to salt us down don’t waste any time. I won’t be surprised if there’s a pack of coyotes across the Cimarron, just waiting for dark.”
• • •
Kansas City, Missouri, April 2, 1885
Not believing his eyes, Morton Tindall read the story a second time, cursing under his breath. While the outlaws in Indian Territory generally kept up with the Kansas City newspapers, there was little chance that Illivane and his bunch would learn of this development before they rode into Dodge. Any hell-raising they did in Dodge would further underscore the need to eliminate the thieves and killers that infested the frontier. Not just in Indian Territory, but throughout the Southwest. Now Tindall faced the unwelcome task of breaking the news to the Golden Dragon’s upper echelons in Denver. The only small factor in his favor was that Gandy Franks had suggested he hire a band of killers from the wilds of Indian Territory.
• • •
Denver, Colorado, April 2, 1885
Gandy Franks stared grimly at the telegram he had just received from Morton Tindall. He had only the bare facts, with an assurance a letter would follow. The loss of the wild bunch that inhabited Indian Territory would be a serious blow, for its thieves and killers had been employed profitably in Kansas, Missouri, Texas, Arkansas, and Louisiana. Now the Golden Dragon would be forced to import hired killers from elsewhere, at greater expense, and the increased possibility of unwelcome public attention.
• • •
Indian Territory, on the Cimarron, April 3, 1885
“I reckon we better pay some attention to what Tindall told us,” said Illivane. “There’s three hombres we got to gun down, and we can’t be sure of gettin’ ‘em all in one visit. I’d say three of us should ride in at a time. If anything goes wrong, it’ll be a hell of a lot easier for three to lose themselves, than if there’s a dozen of us.”
“Yeah,” Hampton said, “but who goes first? If the first three gets their string cut, it’ll be hell on the rest of us.”
“We’ll cut the cards,” said Illivane. “The three drawin’ the lowest cards will be ridin’ to Dodge.”
Each man drew a card, dropping it faceup.
“You can all see how it is,” Illivane said. “Hampton’s low, with a deuce, Lawton with a four, and Damark with a six.”
“So we ride in at night,” said Damark. “We don’t know where to start lookin’ for the three hombres we’re supposed to ventilate. How long you aim for us to nose around?”
“Hell, you’ll have to be the judge of that,” Illivane said. “Don’t foller one another like sheep. Split up, damn it. Visit the saloons and cafes, and keep an eye on the depot. Stone, the hombre with the dog, used to work for the railroad. Pay for a round of drinks, if you have to, go watch the train come in, and don’t drink nothin’ stronger than beer. There’s a chance you might force one of these varmints into what looks like a fair fight, and if you do, just be sure you ain’t blinded with booze.”
