Ralph Compton Train to Durango, page 13
“Maybe I should have followed him,” Sheriff Dumery said.
“No,” said Wes. “Palo moves like a shadow in the dark, and Empty will go with him.”
Quickly El Lobo stepped through the door. Empty had finished eating and was waiting patiently.
“Come, perro,” said El Lobo.
Palo Elfego had made friends with Empty almost immediately, and they had since gone man hunting together enough for the dog to know what was expected of him. Illivane was already lost in darkness, but Empty set out after him. Illivane had left his horse in the alley near where his three companions had been captured. Pausing before entering the alley, he looked around. He thought he had seen a shadow on the boardwalk across the street, but he couldn’t be sure. There were a few distant lights, but the mouth of the alley loomed dark before him. Again he paused, drawing his Colt. He had seen something move. Just for an instant, he saw it again. Stone’s damn dog was following him!
“Ho, perro,” said El Lobo, as Empty returned to him. “He waits for me, eh?”
El Lobo, keeping to the shadows, crept along the boardwalk until he was well beyond where Empty had crossed the street. Again the dog vanished in the darkness, and this time the Indian followed.
“Come on, damn you,” Illivane gritted through clenched teeth. But he heard and saw nothing. As he stepped into the blackness of the alley, his horse snorted, stamping its feet. Fearing he was about to be left afoot, Illivane managed to grab the reins before the animal could run. He thrust his foot into the stirrup, but before he could mount, Empty seized his other leg. Feeling the flesh tear, he ripped his leg free. Already spooked, the horse broke into a fast gallop down the alley. With no proof of their suspicions of the stranger, El Lobo holstered his Colt and remained in the shadows, watching the stranger race away.
“Bueno perro,” El Lobo said.
Empty following, El Lobo returned to Delmonico’s, where he joined his companions.
“It’s good you didn’t shoot the varmint,” said Sheriff Dumery. “He wasn’t breakin’ the law, comin’ in and lookin’ around.”
“If he’s who we think he is, we gained one advantage,” Wes said. “He’ll know better than to try bushwhacking us in the dark, with Empty around.”
“Get horse, take perro, and follow,” said El Lobo.
“No,” Silver said. “He’ll be worth more to us, goin’ back and taking the word to his compadres that we’re not easy to kill.”
“Good thinking,” said Sheriff Dumery. “If he comes back, we’ll recognize him. I’ll keep my eyes open in case there’s other strangers ridin’ in. I ought to be gettin’ answers to the telegrams I sent about them three that’s in jail.”
“I’ll let you know when you get answers,” Hagerman said.
• • •
Illivane reined up to rest his sweating horse. His leg throbbed like a sore tooth, and he cursed all dogs in general and Empty in particular. Having been to Dodge before, he knew where the jail was. With some vague hope of freeing his comrades, he started there. There was no light before the jail, and at first, Illivane saw nothing. But as he drew near and the sound of his coming could be heard, two men stepped out of the surrounding shadows. In the dim light of stars, there was no mistaking who they were, or their intentions. Each of them was armed with a long gun. Illivane swallowed hard, and not looking in their direction again, rode on. As soon as the lights of town were behind, he circled around, crossed the railroad tracks, and started in a fast gallop toward Indian Territory.
• • •
“Rein up and sing out,” a voice challenged.
“Illivane,” the outlaw replied.
His remaining eight men hunkered around a burned-out fire, waiting. Illivane got down and began unsaddling his weary horse. He was in no hurry to break the unwelcome news.
“I’ll take care of the horse,” said Hawser. “You tell us what you found out in Dodge.”
There was no help for it, and Illivane told them, concluding with his narrow escape and the armed men before the jail. When he had finished, there was a long silence. Concho finally spoke.
“How in hell did Hampton, Damark, and Lawton end up in jail?”
“I wasn’t able to find out,” Illivane said.
“I reckon you’re gonna leave ‘em there to hang,” said Easterly.
“Hell, no,” Illivane shouted angrily. “We’ll ride in and bust ‘em out, if every one of us is gunned down to the last man.”
It had the desired effect—an uproar of shouting, cursing protests. Illivane said nothing until it all dribbled down to an uneasy silence. Then he spoke.
“A man with a price on his head has two choices. He can hide where he hopes the law won’t never find him, keepin’ his nose clean, or he can keep pushin’ his luck till it’s run out. You think if any one of us was in the juzgado, that them three would risk their necks tryin’ to bust us loose?”
“Hell, no,” they growled in a single voice.
“Then we’ll split the gold nine ways, and it’s every man for himself,” said Illivane.
“So much for honor,” Bender said.
They all laughed uproariously. Illivane said nothing. His leg hurt like hell.
• • •
Dodge City, Kansas, April 7, 1885
There was no disturbance during the night, and by the time Silver and his companions reached Delmonico’s for breakfast, Foster Hagerman, Harley Stafford, and Sheriff Dumery were already there.
“I got some telegrams,” Sheriff Dumery said, “but not them I was looking for. There’s one from a newspaper in St. Louis, another newspaper in Kansas City, and a third from a paper in San Antonio.”
“They intercepted his telegrams regarding those three killers,” said Hagerman. “They’re wantin’ a confirmation before they print anything.”
Silver laughed. “Send them one. That ought to put the fear of God into the varmint in Kansas City who hired this pack of killers. The Golden Dragon is quick to reward those who fail, whether they’re at fault or not.”
“Maybe they won’t find it so easy, hiring a new bunch of killers,” Harley said.
“I wish we could be sure of that,” said Wes. “Gold has some strange effects on men, shooting their judgment all to hell.”
“I’ll get telegrams off to them newspapers today,” Sheriff Dumery said. “I’m for doing whatever it takes to keep killers out of Dodge. I got to admit this has turned around in a way I didn’t expect.”
Hagerman laughed. “He thought this conspiracy was going to draw killers from everywhere, and I was afraid he might be right. Now, with three of them facing the rope, I’d say it’s having the opposite effect.”
“Don’t crow too loud, too soon,” Silver warned. “The Dragon always hires killers outside its own ranks, when it can, because there’s little danger to the organization if they’re killed or captured. Our move in Indian Territory, our use of the telegraph, and especially our use of the press has crimped their tail feathers, but it won’t stop them.”
“El Diablo de oro,” said El Lobo.
Sheriff Dumery had taken some paper and a pencil from his pocket, and was writing.
“Here,” he said, passing what he had written to Foster Hagerman. “These are answers to them three newspapers. Get ‘em off as soon as you can.”
“I’ll send them when I return to the depot,” Hagerman promised.
“I reckon some of us ought to keep a close watch on the eastbounds,” said Harley. “If these Dragon hombres is all gathered in Colorado, the next trouble may come from there.”
“You watch the trains when you’re in town,” Hagerman said, “and when you’re away, I’ll be watching.”
“Bueno,” said Silver. “We’re obliged.”
Warily, they all left Delmonico’s together. Harley Stafford and Foster Hagerman headed for the depot, and after a moment’s hesitation, Sheriff Dumery went with them.
“I like Dodge,” Molly said, when she and Silver were in their room, “but I’m getting awful tired of just doing nothing. How much longer?”
“I don’t know,” said Silver. “I’m counting on those hired killers from Indian Territory pulling up stakes and riding on, now that they know their amigos are locked up. If they do, the Dragon will be forced to back off and try again. Once they pull out all the stops and turn their big guns on us, we won’t be able to hole up here in Dodge. Eventually we’ll have to take the offensive, and hit them hard, where it hurts.”
When the westbound train rolled into Dodge, Harley Stafford was there. Only one man got off, and as he stood looking around, Harley was watching him. He carried two tied-down Colts, and his dress was not that of a cowboy. His Stetson hat was tipped forward so that the brim shaded his eyes, and he wore a ruffled white shirt beneath a fancy red tie. His dark trousers were tight and tailor-made, and his highly polished black boots reflected bright in the morning sun. Since there was nobody else around, he fixed his cold blue eyes on Harley, a half smile on his lips.
“You lookin’ for somebody?” Harley asked.
“Matter of fact, I am,” said the stranger. “Is Wes Stone still in these parts?”
“He is,” Harley said.
“You see him, tell him Gabe Wilkins has got business with him.”
“I’ll tell him,” said Harley. “And you’ll be where?”
“Around,” Wilkins said.
He turned away, and ignoring Harley, started toward town.
“He looks like trouble,” said Foster Hagerman, who had joined Harley.
“He is,” Harley said. “Another gun-thrower looking for a reputation at Wes Stone’s expense. I might as well tell Wes he’s here.”
It was still early, and the saloons hadn’t opened. Sheriff Jack Dumery, recognizing the newcomer for what he was, stopped Wilkins on the boardwalk.
“You aim to be in town a while?” Sheriff Dumery asked.
“Until I’m ready to leave,” said Wilkins. “What business is it of yours?”
“It’s always my business, when an hombre shows up with a tied-down brace of Colts,” Sheriff Dumery said.
“You got a gun law in Dodge?”
“No,” said Sheriff Dumery.
“Then back off,” Wilkins said.
Dumery stepped aside, allowing the haughty gunman to proceed. Harley Stafford was on the opposite side of the street, and the sheriff waited for him.
“That two-gun varmint’s looking for Wes,” said Harley. “I’m goin’ to warn him.”
“You might as well,” Sheriff Dumery said. “I reckon he won’t be surprised.”
Reaching the Dodge House, Harley knocked on the door of the room Wes and Renita occupied. It was opened almost immediately. Wes was dressed, except for his hat. Harley entered, and Wes closed the door. Renita sat on the bed, a worried look in her eyes, but there was no way of sparing her. Harley relayed the bad news.
“You should have told him Wes wasn’t here,” said Renita angrily.
“Renita,” Wes said, “Harley did exactly what he should have done. A man can run, but he can’t hide from this kind of thing. It’s better I face him and be done with it.”
Wes checked both his Colts, thumbing a sixth load into each of them. He reached for his hat.
“I’m going with you,” Renita cried.
“You’re staying right here,” said Wes, “and until I return, don’t you open the door.”
“Wes can take care of himself,” Harley said reassuringly. “I’ll be goin’ with him.”
Harley and Wes went out, and Wes locked the door.
“I’d better tell Silver,” said Wes.
But Silver had been aware of Harley’s arrival, and when Wes closed and locked the door, Silver opened his.
“Trouble?” Silver asked.
“No more than I’ve been expecting,” said Wes. “I’m bein’ called out again.”
“Palo and me will go with you,” Silver said.
“Harley’s going,” said Wes.
“Fine,” Silver said, “but Palo and me are going too.”
Another door opened, and El Lobo stepped out. Wes said no more, and when he began his walk, Harley, Silver, and El Lobo were two paces behind. Sheriff Dumery waited across the street. The few citizens who were up and about quickly ducked through doorways into the shops, nearby. Wilkins had reached the end of the boardwalk, and when he saw the four men approaching, he grinned in anticipation. So there would be no obstruction, he stepped into the dusty street. A block away, Wes left the boardwalk and entered the street. Harley stepped off the boardwalk into the street and remained there. Silver and El Lobo crossed to the other side and avoiding the boardwalk, waited in the street. His three friends were out of the line of fire, but were positioned to side Wes if there was any sign of treachery. Wes walked on, his hands swinging at his sides. When he was sixty yards from his antagonist, he halted.
“You’re Stone, are you?” Wilkins inquired.
“I am,” said Wes. “What business do you have with me?”
“Gun business,” Wilkins said. “My draw against yours.”
“You’re a fool,” said Wes.
Wilkins laughed. “You ain’t gettin’ out of it. Pull your iron.”
“I don’t need the advantage,” Wes said. “When you’re ready, make your play.”
“Draw, damn you!” Wilkins shouted. His trembling hands hovered near the butts of his twin Colts.
Wes Stone said nothing, waiting. Suddenly Wilkins moved with blinding speed, drawing both Colts. He fired, the roar of his first shot blending into the thunder of the other. But he was about to learn—as so many had learned before him—speed without accuracy only got a man killed. Both Wilkins’s shots were wide, and he stood there unbelievingly, his eyes on Wes Stone. Wes drew his right-hand Colt, and it seemed he did so reluctantly. He fired once, with deadly accuracy, and Wilkins stumbled backward. Blood welled out of the hole in his chest, soaking the front of his boiled shirt. As his grip weakened, the twin Colts fell into the dusty street. Then his knees buckled, and Wilkins collapsed, his cold, sightless eyes turned to the blue of the morning sky. Wes started back along the boardwalk. Sheriff Jack Dumery still leaned against an awning post.
“Sorry, Sheriff,” Wes said. “It wasn’t of my choosing, and I can’t promise there won’t be more.”
“You did what you had to do,” said Sheriff Dumery. “It couldn’t have been any more fair. A two-gun man that draws ‘em both at once is a damn fool.”
Wes went on, bound for the Dodge House. He was aware that El Lobo, Silver, and Harley followed. They said nothing, nor did they need to. Reaching the Dodge House, Wes knocked on the door and identified himself. Renita opened the door and ran to him, tears of relief streaking her cheeks. Wes sat her down on the bed. He then removed his hat, his gunbelts, and finally, his boots.
“Come on,” Wes said. “It’s over and done.”
“Until the next time,” said Renita.
“You know I had no choice, just as I’ll have no choice the next time,” Wes said. “I’m learning the same deadly lesson my father, Nathan Stone, learned before me. He tried to hang up his guns, but he couldn’t. Come the end, he died as he had lived. By the gun.”
“Then let’s go somewhere else,” Renita begged. “Somewhere where nobody knows you.”
“We’ll go when it’s time,” said Wes, “but not so that I can hide. I believe God allows some of us to shape our own destiny, and if my trail comes to an early end, I’ll have none to blame but myself.”
“I’ll be with you until the end,” Renita said, “whenever and wherever it comes.”
It was just as well she didn’t know that more would-be gunslingers would soon be coming, and that Wes Stone’s life-and-death drama would be played out again and again.
Chapter 9
In the aftermath of the shooting, Wes was in a somber mood. Silver and El Lobo, respecting his feelings, left him and Renita alone. A letter to Silver had arrived on the westbound train, but Foster Hagerman had decided not to deliver it until after Wes had faced Gabe Wilkins. Even though there was no return address and the letter was unsigned, Silver knew who had sent it. Quickly he read the contents, Molly beside him.
“Oh, hell’s bells,” said Silver angrily.
“When are you going to tell the others?” Molly asked.
“Suppertime will be soon enough,” said Silver. “There’s not a blessed thing we can do about it.”
Silver waited until supper was over. For a change, Harley Stafford, Foster Hagerman, and Sheriff Dumery were absent. When he produced the letter, Wes and El Lobo looked at it without enthusiasm. When Silver received written messages from Washington, it rarely was good news.
“I can tell you in just a few words what this is about,” Silver said. “President Grover Cleveland’s plans for sending soldiers to Indian Territory leaked out, and some powerful enemies in the Senate have blocked the move. The only saving grace is that these varmints who killed the proposal are using their influence to silence the newspapers.”
“While there won’t be any soldiers coming,” said Wes, “the outlaws in the territory won’t know that, with the newspapers keepin’ quiet.”
“Probably not for a while,” Silver said, “but it won’t matter to us. After that first bushwhacking failed and three men went to jail, I doubt the Golden Dragon will be sending more killers from Indian Territory. The next bunch will be more professional.”
“You try,” said El Lobo.
“It was a good move,” Wes agreed, “but all the killers aren’t in Indian Territory. From now on, I doubt the forces behind the Golden Dragon will do anything so obvious.”
“You’re probably right,” said Silver. “We’ll have to be more cautious than ever.”
• • •
Denver, Colorado, April 8, 1885
