LeRoy, U.S. Marshal 3

by Neil Hunter

  Lang collected a batch of wanted flyers, turned in his badge to a disappointed town marshal, and left Sedalia after outfitting himself for his first venture.

  It took him almost a month tracking the wanted man. An opportunist bank robber who had shot and killed a teller during his latest crime. Cleve Grogan had escaped with no more than five hundred dollars and headed for Kansas. Lang caught up with him in a dusty little town near the Cimarron. The man was almost out of money and when Lang found him in a run-down saloon Grogan figured he might has well make his stand. It didn’t amount to much. Grogan went for his gun and Lang shot him dead.

  It was the start of his career as bounty man. Over the next few years Lang increased his reputation as a skilled hunter of men. He seldom brought in his prisoners alive. It suited his purpose. A dead man didn’t offer any further resistance. If a man was posted to be brought in alive Lang followed the rules. His reputation went before him and it soon became know he would take on personal hunts for men who had committed crimes.

  Lawrence Machin was one of those men, offering a substantial bounty for the men who had crippled his brother.

  Twenty-One

  LeRoy considered the possibility he had made a flawed decision taking Teague and Hobbs across country instead of staying on the regular trail to Yuma. The desolate terrain had seemed the ideal way to go, but now there appeared to be people on his backtrail. The presence of Tannen would seem to add weight to that thought.

  Tannen – Riggs – Munro.

  Especially Lafe Munro. LeRoy didn’t forget his confrontation with the man in the saloon back in Landiss. The man had been put down and made to look foolish. It struck LeRoy that Munro wouldn’t be the kind to forget the humiliation. Nor would he back away from his pledge to go after Teague and Hobbs. Tannen was LeRoy’s prisoner but the threat from his partners was not likely to be dismissed.

  Then there was the matter of the Apache.

  Were there more out there waiting for him?

  LeRoy didn’t discount the possibility, though the Apaches were more inclined to go around in groups. He couldn’t dismiss the thought there might be more of the hostiles in the area. A further distraction to add to his burden.

  LeRoy allowed a forced smile to edge his lips. As if he didn’t already have enough on his hands.

  He was thinking about his three prisoners. He didn’t doubt they were all ready to kill him given the slightest chance. They had little ahead of them except the threat of being locked up in Yuma Territorial prison. The prison was sometimes described as hell on earth. Stone cells that baked during the day, the oppressive heat enough to drive a man mad, and often did. At night the heat vanished, replaced by the cold that froze a man to the bone. The regime at Yuma was hard, the prison guards unsympathetic and often brutal. The combination was enough to drive a man to attempt some kind of escape bid regardless of the risk.

  For his own sake there was little LeRoy could do save stay alert. Even then he was aware it was an almost impossible fact to see everything around him. An example was the Apache who had almost blown him out of his saddle. He might not have such luck next time.

  He had faith in his abilities yet understood he was only human and facing overwhelming odds would stretch him to the limit. That understanding did nothing to deter him. He would do what he had to do to see his assignment through to the end.

  And hopefully walk away on his own two feet.

  Twenty-Two

  The derelict cabin hung askew, openly leaning to one side. Weeds grew around its base. It was plain to see it had been deserted for years the previous tenants either dead or having moved on. LeRoy saw it as enough to provide overnight shelter. Maybe with a chance of a fire to heat food and coffee. Something they all needed.

  He pushed across the open area, guiding his prisoners towards the cabin.

  ‘We can bed down here tonight,’ he said. ‘Get some rest.’

  ‘Hell, LeRoy, you going soft on us of a sudden?’ Riggs said.

  ‘Don’t you believe that for a moment.’

  He dropped from the saddle, flexing his aching limbs.

  If he hadn’t been as weary as he was the sudden situation might not have developed.

  All LeRoy knew was a palpable threat arose and it caused him to reach for the gun on his hip. Across the clearing he saw dark shapes come into view.

  Armed riders.

  Two of them.

  They urged their horses forward, firing a few shots that startled the animals his prisoners were riding. They bucked forward and Teague, Hobbs and Tannen used the distraction to urge the horses into a dead run away from the cabin.

  LeRoy had no time to do anything but look after himself as the guns turned in his direction. In the hectic moment he had recognized the newcomers.

  Lafe Munro and Don Riggs.

  And they were coming across the clearing, guns settling in his direction.

  He needed cover and the only possibility on offer was the cabin. Weak as it was LeRoy had no choice. He turned and pushed against the door, feeling it give. LeRoy heard slugs thud against the timber, blowing shreds in the air. He instinctively dropped to a crouch pushing against the wooden barrier formed by the door of the cabin. The warped wood gave and he pushed harder. The brittle planks snapped and LeRoy tumbled through, coming down hard on his left shoulder. He heard another shot and felt the slug pull at his sleeve. Survival instinct made him jerk to the side, sprawling across the cabin floor and colliding with a table leg. He dragged himself further away from the front wall.

  More shots. Ripping through the wall, scattering splinters as they burned the air. LeRoy stayed as low as he could, conscious not to raise his head. He didn’t like the need to hug the floor of the filthy cabin. The alternative was worse. A little indignity to staying alive had to be tolerated.

  LeRoy took the moment to push himself off the floor and move to the far corner of the cabin, hugging the wall.

  ‘LeRoy, get your ass out here. Ain’t no place to go. We got you cornered, so throw out your gun. We don’t plan on leaving.’

  The grating voice was unmistakable.

  Lafe Munro.

  Using his tenuous relationship to Daniel as an excuse to go after Teague and Hobbs. Munro had his reasons and LeRoy figured the promise of a big bounty had more to do with it than a supposed loyalty to the injured man.

  Either way LeRoy was in the firing line. Literally with his back to the wall at the present. A problem LeRoy refused to tolerate.

  He checked both handguns. Saw they were fully loaded. He holstered one. Pushed the other into the back of his belt, out of sight, butt turned for easy access with his right hand.

  What he had planned was calculated. A risk that might have been so thin it didn’t bear debating. He had no choice. Munro and Riggs were not about to back away. LeRoy stood in their way when it came to getting to his prisoners and their own partner. They would want him out of the way – preferably dead - and out here in the desert wasteland lay their chance.

  With the law taken down they would get Tannen back, leaving Teague and Hobbs at their mercy. For Munro it was a result he wanted.

  It was not something LeRoy could allow to happen if there was a chance he could alter things.

  He had never lost a prisoner yet – and he wanted that record to stand.

  ‘LeRoy, we ain’t figuring on staying here forever,’ Munro said. ‘You come out now else we’ll burn you down. You hear me, lawdog. That cabin will catch fire fast and there ain’t no two ways about it. Mister, make your mind up ’cause I got little patience...an’ we got your prisoners to round up.’

  ‘Hell, Lafe, don’t waste talk. Let’s burn him down,’ Riggs said.

  LeRoy took a breath, kicked the sagging door aside and held out his gun hand with the Colt hanging from the trigger guard. He was gambling on Munro and Riggs feeling they had him boxed in – which was not far from the truth – and would be enjoying the moment. With two guns on him the pair would be satisfying their need to cr
ow over him. That wouldn’t last long, so he had to make the most of the moment.

  As he stepped clear of the door Munro said, ‘Drop the gun.

  LeRoy let his pistol slip from his fingers. Saw the grin forming on Rigg’s unshaven face.

  ‘Goddam it, Lafe, we got him. Mr. lawdog hisself.’

  Out of their saddles they stood fifteen feet from him. Guns up and centered on LeRoy. Caught in the moment and savoring it.

  ‘Make him get down on his knees,’ Riggs said. ‘I want him to crawl. High and mighty LeRoy. Down on his knees like a dog.’

  ‘We got no time for that,’ Munro said.

  The distraction was all LeRoy needed and he let himself fall sideways. Going on his left side and reaching behind him for his backup Colt. He threw out his left hand to cushion his drop, yanking his gun free and pulling it round his body, dogging back the hammer...

  He heard the slam of a shot. Saw the wink of flame from the muzzle of Munro’s gun. The slug burned over him as he returned fire. His own shot catching Munro across his shoulder. Only a touch that seared his shirt and barely scored flesh but was enough to make Munro step back.

  Riggs was slower, his reactions delayed by LeRoy’s sudden move. As Riggs’ gun lifted LeRoy aimed and fired, this time with accuracy and his slug punched into Rigg’s over his belt buckle, the solid impact making him stagger. Before he could recover LeRoy fired again. This time his shot was full on target, the .45 slug burrowing into Rigg’s chest toppling him face down in the dirt.

  Munro’s angry yell was followed by his second shot. The slug found LeRoy. Tearing across his left thigh. He dropped and rolled, heard the thump as Munro triggered another shot that spat dirt in the air inches from his moving body and he knew he had to take his own shot before Munro settled his aim. He twisted his body around, angled up his outstretched gun and fired, then fired a second time.

  Lafe Munro’s head snapped back from the impact of the pair of lead slugs that hammered into his head, tearing out a wedge of flesh and bone from the back of his skull. The gun in his hand discharged and the slug plowed into the dirt at his feet as he fell back his length on the ground.

  LeRoy let his head drop, cheek pressing again the earth. He lay still tensing against the rising burn of pain from the bullet wound in his leg. A rising sickness rose and he fought it back silently. In the near distance he could hear horses making noise. He knew he needed to move. To get himself up off the ground but for the moment he just didn’t have the will.

  He heard a ragged intake of breath and from the position he realized it was coming from Riggs. The man was still alive and in LeRoy’s way of thinking that meant the man could still pose a threat.

  He rolled on his side until he could see the man’s shape a few yards away. Riggs lay on his back, blood marking his shirt where LeRoy had shot him. Hurt as he was Riggs was moving the gun still in his hand, slowly turning the muzzle in LeRoy’s direction, lifting his head as he took aim.

  LeRoy propped himself on his left hand, lifting his own gun and put his last bullet into Riggs. The slug tore in below Riggs’ jaw, angling up into his skull and slammed the man’s head to the ground.

  LeRoy felt his strength fade and he allowed himself to sink down. And that was the last he remembered.

  Twenty-Three

  Until he opened his eyes again to hot sun in his face, body aching and the wound in his leg burning with fierce pain. Sweat beaded his face. Soaked his shirt and stung his eyes. LeRoy shook his head to clear his vision.

  Stared up into an aged bewhiskered face that showed a sun browned map of deep wrinkles and fierce blue eyes.

  ‘Hell, son, you had me fooled there for a time. Figured you might be dead until I heard you groan.’

  LeRoy cleared his dry throat as he sat up.

  ‘Right now I’m close to thinking the same.’

  A brown hand held out a canteen with water sloshing around inside. LeRoy took it and swallowed a small amount. The water was not exactly cold and fresh but LeRoy was in no state to complain.

  His benefactor rocked back on his heels and took stock.

  ‘By the badge there I figure you as a lawman.’ He gave a flick of his head in the direction of Munro and Riggs. ‘They the ones tried to do for you?’

  ‘That was their notion,’ LeRoy said.

  ‘Appears they weren’t sharp enough.’

  ‘They came close.’

  ‘Should I know you?’

  ‘Alvin LeRoy.’

  ‘Heard the tellin’ sometime. About you being one hell of a lawman. They say you got a hard nose for followin’ people and never one for quittin’.’

  ‘Goes with the job.’

  The old man nodded. Held out a bony hand. ‘Barnabus Cole,’ he said.

  ‘And what does Barnabus Cole do?’

  ‘Most anything I can turn my hand to.’ He jerked a hand to where a pair of loaded pack-horses stood. ‘I sell whatever the market asks for. Travel around the territory. Folk can be a long way from stores. I offer what they need. Long as it’s on the right side of the law.’

  LeRoy managed a slow smile. That depended on what Cole interpreted as on the right side of the law.

  ‘Now while you were sleeping I pulled all them horses together and tied ’em tight,’ Cole said.

  ‘I owe you.’

  ‘You want to let me take a look at that leg of yours? You bin bleedin’ some.’

  There was sense in the old man’s words. Unless he did something about it the wound might put him out of action long enough for his prisoners to get even further away.

  ‘Doctoring one of your skills?’

  Cole gave a ragged chuckle.

  ‘Son, in my time I turned my hand to a lot of things. Cut me some bullets out a time or two.’

  ‘It’s the cutting out that worries me.’

  ‘I got a prime bottle of whisky in my pack. Pour some on the wound it’ll help deaden the pain. And a swallow or two will help you as well.’

  ‘I guess I’m in your hands, feller. Let’s take a look at it first.’

  LeRoy shed his gunbelt and slid his pants down. Cole cut away the sodden long-johns to expose the site. After an inspection Cole leaned back, nodding to himself.

  ‘Well, Mr. US Marshal, you had a lucky escape. That piece of lead only just tucked itself in under the skin. Can see it clear enough so we won’t need to dig deep.’

  ‘That’s a blessing then,’ LeRoy said. He was unable to hide his sarcasm which was brought on by his mood.

  If he heard Cole ignored it. He pushed to his feet and shuffled off and crossed to his own horse, a shaggy piebald that seemed to be staring at LeRoy with a hard expression in its eyes.

  Cole returned with said bottle of whisky and a bundle that held a couple of knives and rolled bandages. He handed the bottle to LeRoy after pouring some of the whisky over the blade of one of the knives.

  ‘Got to make sure this knife is clean,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t be right to pull that slug out with a dirty knife.’

  LeRoy took a swallow from the bottle, finding the whisky of good quality, then handed it to Cole. Cole sluiced whisky over his hands, rubbing them together. Then, without warning he poured some of the liquid across the wound in Leroy’s thigh. It stung enough to make LeRoy wince and offer a few choice words.

  ‘I got to cut the skin over that slug,’ Cole said.

  ‘Well you don’t have to sound like you’re going to enjoy it.’

  ‘Son, I ain’t never cut a lawman ‘fore.’

  LeRoy took another swig from the bottle.

  ‘Well don’t figure to make a habit of it.’

  LeRoy caught a glimpse of metal gleaming in the sunlight, and then felt the sharp pain as Cole made his cut. The pain was hot and lingered as the blade dug in beneath the bullet, Cole having to work the piece of lead out the wound. Blood, hot and fluid, streamed from the cut and LeRoy didn’t even attempt to hold back the yell that was wrenched from his throat. He felt the bottle pried from his hand, then
more pain as Cole drenched the wound with raw whisky.

  ‘Jesus, old man, you got a nasty streak in you a mile wide.’

  Cole sat back, tilting the bottle and taking a long swallow.

  ‘You figure?’ he said. ‘Mebbe so, but we got her done.’

  ‘You got that right.’

  Cole held up the bullet. ‘Forty-five caliber. Real man stoppers. Enough to end a life placed in the right spot.

  With a sure hand he made a wad of cloth, soaked it in whisky and placed it over the three inch cut. The sting made LeRoy gasp.

  ‘This whisky treatment is going to your head,’ he said.

  Cole only grinned as he wrapped a length of bandage around LeRoy’s leg, tying off the end.

  ‘That should do it.’

  As LeRoy worked his pants up Cole wandered over to a small fire a few yards away and lifted a battered coffee pot. He poured dark liquid into tin cups and brought one over to LeRoy.

  ‘Ready for this I figure.’

  ‘Be a change from that whisky you been so free splashing around,’ LeRoy said. His tone was dry and not without a degree of willfulness.

  The coffee had a rich taste and LeRoy managed a couple of cups. He enjoyed good coffee and right now he allowed himself the luxury of detaching himself from what lay ahead.

  ‘Allus keep a supply of Arbuckle’s in my possibles bag,’ Cole said. ‘Can’t be beat. You want food?’

  LeRoy nodded. Said, ‘You seen tracks?’

  Cole drained his mug. Made a sweeping gesture. ‘Three riders heading west. You after ’em?’

  ‘Was until I had to deal with something else.’

  Cole busied himself with food from his supplies. Left LeRoy to help himself to more coffee and didn’t ask anything further, letting LeRoy add his own words.