Wanted McBain

by I. J. Parnham

  Both Nat and Spenser snorted a harsh chuckle, but Dewey firmed his jaw.

  ‘I’ll survive.’

  ‘Or you could join us,’ Spenser said. ‘Then, you’ll live.’

  ‘Fine talk when you’re tied to a boulder.’

  Spenser hung his head, but Nat nodded.

  ‘It is,’ he said. ‘Because Fernandez is within an hour of capture, and without him to protect you, you’ll need friends, and we’re the nearest you’ll get.’

  ‘How is Fernandez getting captured?’

  ‘Because we’ve worked out Sheriff Ballard’s plans – the ones he hasn’t told you. And we know Isaac’s plans, the ones—’

  ‘Tell me what they are.’ Dewey slapped his chest. ‘Then Fernandez will know how invaluable I am.’

  ‘Fernandez told you to deal with us in any way you saw fit. So, until we know you’re on our side, we’ll say nothing.’

  Dewey stared at them, but then scoffed and slumped to the ground to sit facing his prisoners, cross-legged.

  ‘You’ve got no information. So, I’ll just guard you until Fernandez returns.’

  ‘We have maps of the route the gold’s taking to Bear Creek, and of where Ballard’s ambush will take place.’

  Dewey sneered and looked away, his chin held high. Hearst glanced at Nat and raised his eyebrows, but Nat shook his head and mouthed a cautionary plea for him to say nothing.

  Dewey rocked his head from side to side. He mumbled to himself, and then leapt to his feet and shuffled five paces up the slope.

  With a slap of a fist against his thigh, he stalked down the slope to stand over Nat. He fingered Nat’s bonds and tugged on them, confirming that they pressed Nat tight against the boulder. Then he hunkered down and ripped open Nat’s jacket.

  Nat firmed his chest and flinched as far from Dewey’s hands as his bonds would allow, but Dewey still rummaged through his pockets. He found nothing, but then his questing hand slipped deep inside Nat’s jacket, and his eyes widened.

  ‘Now, what’s this?’ he chortled.

  Dewey leaned down to thrust his hand behind Nat’s back, but Nat swung up a long leg and crashed it into the back of Dewey’s right knee.

  In an involuntary action, Dewey stumbled forward, slamming into Nat’s chest. As he tried to regain his stance by pushing himself from the boulder, Nat entangled his right leg around Dewey’s ankles and kicked out. Nat could move only a few inches, but his lunge tumbled Dewey to the side.

  As Dewey slammed his hands to the ground to right himself, Nat lunged to the full extent of his reach, just a foot, but it was enough for him to reach Dewey’s holster. With a twirl of the wrist, he drew Dewey’s gun, and thrust it deep into his guts.

  ‘Make one wrong move and you’re dead,’ he said. ‘Now cut me free.’

  Dewey gulped and raised his hands. ‘I’ll have to get the knife from my horse to do that.’

  ‘Don’t try to be clever. It doesn’t suit you. You’ve got a knife in your boot. Use that.’

  ‘How did you know I had a hidden knife there?’

  ‘Because you just told me.’ Nat grinned. ‘Now, release me.’

  Dewey gulped and, with slow movements, slipped the knife from his boot and sawed through Nat’s bonds.

  When Dewey had severed the main three bonds, Nat beckoned Dewey to back away and struggled out from the cut rope.

  He took the knife from Dewey and released Spenser. Then, after a moment’s thought, he released Hearst, too.

  ‘Obliged to you,’ Hearst said, stretching his back. ‘But I—’

  Hearst heard frantic footfalls and swirled round to see that Dewey was scurrying up the slope. Spenser followed his gaze and laughed.

  ‘Hey, Dewey, get back here,’ he shouted. ‘You’re our prisoner now.’

  Dewey hunched his shoulders high and, on hands and feet, scampered up the slope. Hearst moved to chase after him, but Nat shook his head.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘We’ve got no further use for him.’

  ‘It still doesn’t stop us teaching him a lesson,’ Spenser said.

  He dashed ten paces up the slope and located his gun. Then he fired over Dewey’s head.

  Dewey thrust his head down. He hurtled up the last few paces to the top of the ridge and hurled himself, headfirst, over the top.

  Nat and Spenser glanced at each other, smiling, and then turned to Hearst, but the lawman firmed his jaw.

  ‘We may be free, but I still have to take you in,’ he said. ‘I don’t advise you to take on a lawman.’

  ‘We won’t do that,’ Nat said. ‘But we’ve still got Fernandez to capture before I hand myself in, like I promised.’

  ‘If you’re right and Ballard is after Fernandez, I’ll leave him to it, but you aren’t convincing me that you’re going after Fernandez. You are coming with me to Bear Creek to free Cassidy.’

  ‘I can prove I didn’t lie.’

  Hearst sneered and pointed down the slope, but when Nat shook his head and folded his arms, he raised his hands.

  ‘All right, for Cassidy’s sake, I’ll listen. You have one minute to convince me.’

  ‘I can’t do it in a minute, but in thirty minutes, you’ll see proof that the gold shipment was in the freight car and didn’t come off until it reached Denver.’

  ‘We were in the freight car. There was no gold.’

  ‘What was in the car?’

  Hearst shrugged. ‘Four men playing poker, and a few boxes and crates.’

  ‘Was there a crate big enough to hold the gold?’

  Hearst rubbed his chin. ‘There was one large crate, but that contained rancid furs.’

  Nat snorted a laugh. ‘Like Isaac told us, if a dozen guards can’t reach Bear Creek without Fernandez raiding them, who else can?’

  ‘I don’t know. Who can?’

  ‘An old-timer driving a cart loaded down with a packing crate filled with rancid furs.’

  Hearst winced. ‘You saying the gold was in that crate, too?’

  ‘I sure am. There may have been a heap of furs in it, but the gold underneath them will wash clean, and it’ll head down this trail within the hour.’

  Hearst winced. ‘That’s the most ridiculous way of delivering gold I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘Maybe, but are you still with us?’ Nat smiled. ‘Or are you letting Fernandez steal it?’

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘We’re here,’ Sheriff Ballard said. ‘So, where’s Hearst?’

  ‘He’s close,’ Cassidy said, drawing his horse alongside Ballard’s.

  Cassidy glanced up and down the trail, but not a single person interrupted his view. Neither had he seen anyone since he’d left Bear Creek.

  Although he didn’t like to admit it, his hunch that Hearst would have headed towards the last place he’d seen Nat and Spenser was increasingly looking to be false.

  Ballard snorted. ‘So why are you searching this trail, and not the trail to Denver?’

  Cassidy ran his gaze along the low hills, searching for the signal Hearst would give him if he were holed up there, but on seeing nothing, he turned to Ballard.

  ‘The gold came off the train before Hearst and me boarded it. So, it’s heading west, and that means—’

  ‘That means you’ve got no idea what’s happening. You’re second-guessing someone who’s only good enough to be the deputy to an idiot sheriff.’

  Cassidy gritted his teeth. ‘I’m following my hunches as to where Hearst went.’

  ‘You haven’t got no hunches, and I’m not wasting my time on you no more. You and Hearst are in no position to foul up anything and I’ll have Fernandez within the hour.’ Ballard aimed a firm finger at Cassidy. ‘Then I’ll come for you. Don’t let me find you or . . .’

  ‘Or what? You’ve got nothing real to charge me with.’

  ‘I’ll find something.’ Ballard tugged on the reins, pulling his horse round on the trail. ‘Now, go!’

  Ballard spurred his horse for speed and hurtled back toward
s the Denver trail, his horse throwing up great plumes of dust behind him.

  Cassidy watched Ballard leave, confirming that he didn’t look back even once. He glanced over his shoulder at the trail stretching ahead towards Monotony and then again at the hills, looking, for the last time, for a signal.

  On seeing nothing, he shrugged and nudged his horse into following Ballard at a steady trot.

  * * *

  ‘That’s the gold shipment, is it?’ Hearst said.

  ‘Yep,’ Nat said, peering down the slope.

  A cart was approaching, a haggard and round-shouldered old-timer driving. On the back of the cart, wide ropes secured a battered crate – the same crate that Hearst had seen in the freight car.

  Hearst narrowed his eyes, confirming that the driver was Art Weston, the man who Cassidy had confronted on the train. Even from 200 yards away, the breeze ensured that the rancid smell emerging from the crate polluted Hearst’s nostrils.

  ‘Then I suppose we’ve got to head down there and help that old-timer,’ Hearst said.

  Nat nodded and the three men paced out from their cover and shuffled down the slope, Spenser bringing up the rear and holding their horses. Hearst took the lead and, with a hand raised, stood on the side of the trail.

  With a holler and a firm pulling back on the reins, Weston stopped fifty yards from them. He leaned forward and peered at Hearst while holding the reins in one hand and slapping his other hand on the rifle that lay on the seat beside him.

  ‘That be close enough,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I don’t aim to cause you no trouble,’ Hearst said.

  ‘You might not, but a man who packs a gun and stands on the trail is looking to be shot. So, keep those hands high.’

  Hearst raised his hands and then gestured for Nat and Spenser to also raise their hands.

  Hearst sniffed. ‘That crate sure smells ripe.’

  ‘What smell?’ Weston shrugged. ‘I’ve got me a delivery to make. So, if you aren’t trouble, move aside and I won’t give you none.’

  ‘Good. Isaac wouldn’t like that.’ Hearst provided a welcoming smile. ‘He sent us on ahead to help you deliver his furs , Art Weston.’

  ‘I’ve taken these furs nigh on five hundred miles, no problem at all – people don’t want to come close to them. So, I don’t need no help for the last twenty miles.’

  ‘Isaac thinks that you might because Rodrigo Fernandez is around and he’s waylaying people on the trail.’

  Weston narrowed his eyes. ‘My eyes aren’t what they used to be, but I recognize you now. You were with that trigger-happy sheriff on the train.’

  ‘I wasn’t trouble then and I’m not trouble now. I just want this shipment to reach Bear Creek safely.’

  ‘You’re going to a mighty lot of trouble for a heap of old furs,’ Weston said. ‘No matter what that sheriff said, there isn’t no gold in that crate.’

  Hearst glanced at the crate. ‘Maybe there is, or maybe there isn’t. Either way, it’s less than an hour to Bear Creek, and we ought to be able to find a way to work together for that long.’

  Weston leaned from the side of the cart to spit on the ground and then appraised the three men. He provided a sharp nod.

  ‘I guess I’ve got room for three youngsters.’

  ‘Obliged.’

  Weston shook the reins and hurried his horses on to draw alongside Hearst. He gestured for them to climb on the back of the cart.

  Hearst sniffed as he sat beside Weston. Nat vaulted on to the back, but he sat as far from the crate as he could. Spenser mounted his horse, and when Weston shook the reins, he rode alongside, trailing their horses behind them as they headed down the trail towards Bear Creek.

  ‘When are you expecting Fernandez to raid?’ Weston asked.

  ‘He’s holed up in Deadman’s Gulch,’ Hearst said.

  ‘Then I’ll take the longer route and avoid him – there’s a turning four miles on.’

  Hearst smiled. ‘That pretty much sums up our plans for avoiding trouble.’

  Chapter Twenty

  For three miles, Weston drove the cart at a steady pace. He maintained a steady prattle about his journey, which, aside from Cassidy knocking the conductor out of the moving train, had been dull.

  Hearst encouraged the conversation, as talking to Weston gave him plenty of opportunities to look around and check where Spenser and Nat were. Even though he couldn’t shake the nagging fear that these men had an ulterior motive in accompanying the gold, every mile that passed got them closer to Bear Creek and helped to calm his suspicions.

  When the turning that avoided Deadman’s Gulch appeared ahead, Hearst was even enjoying Weston’s jabbering, but then hard metal thrust into Hearst’s back.

  Hearst flinched, the action shaking him from the torpor into which he’d sunk, but even as he slipped his hand towards his gun, Nat dragged it from Hearst’s holster and hurled it over his shoulder.

  Hearst flexed, ready to swirl round and grab Nat, but at the side of the cart, Spenser swung in and trained his gun on him. At his side, Weston snorted, but held the reins high as he watched Nat thrust the metal in further.

  ‘Do nothing,’ Nat said. ‘I was once a deputy and I’ve got no desire to kill one.’

  ‘I don’t know why Cassidy hired a no-good varmint like you,’ Hearst snapped, raising his hands. ‘Or why he still trusts you.’

  ‘I’m not looking for no understanding from you. I just want Weston to stop this cart. Then you’re leaving us.’

  At the side of the cart, Spenser firmed his gun hand, but Weston stared straight ahead and rode on for another fifty yards.

  In response to another barked command from Nat, Weston turned and considered Nat’s firm-jawed gaze. He spat over the side of the cart and then pulled back on the reins, halting the cart.

  ‘What about me?’ he said.

  ‘You’ll go with Deputy Hearst,’ Nat said.

  ‘I don’t know about no gold, but I’m to deliver that crate, and this cart is mine. I’m not letting any of them go.’

  Nat sighed. ‘What will keep you quiet, old-timer?’

  ‘I’ll drive the cart for you, youngster. Then, when you’ve unloaded your gold, if it’s there, I’ll keep the cart and the furs.’

  ‘In that case, you can come with us, old . . . Weston.’

  Weston glanced at Hearst, shrugged, and then folded up the brim of his hat.

  ‘I’m no outlaw,’ he said. ‘I don’t want no posse after me.’

  Hearst provided a sharp nod. Then, to Nat’s directions, he jumped down from the cart.

  ‘I always knew that you were lying when you promised Cassidy you’d get Fernandez,’ Hearst said as Nat rolled into the seat beside Weston.

  ‘That’s not so,’ Nat said. ‘I’ll do everything I promised. Spenser will leave your horse a mile along the trail, and as it’s only fifteen miles to Bear Creek, you’ve got plenty of time to get back there.’

  ‘I won’t head back to Bear Creek. I’ll come for you, and I won’t rest until I find you.’

  ‘You won’t follow me.’ Nat nudged Weston into circling the horses around Hearst. ‘Fernandez is in Deadman’s Gulch waiting to ambush this gold, and, as it isn’t coming, he’ll be there for awhile. If you fetch Sheriff Ballard and raise a posse, you’ll capture him, no trouble, but you can’t chase both of us. It’s either Fernandez or us. I reckon you’ll choose Fernandez.’

  ‘I guess I will,’ Hearst shouted, swirling round on the spot so that he continued to face Nat. ‘That’s even worse news for you. It means Marshal Devine will be on your trail.’

  Nat ordered Weston to pull back on the reins, halting the horses with the cart directed away from Deadman’s Gulch.

  ‘That doesn’t worry me. Devine will never get me.’

  Hearst glanced at Spenser, who was now on the other side of the cart, and then turned away from Nat to look back down the trail. Then, as Nat turned to face the front, he swirled round on his heel and b
roke into a run.

  In four long paces, Hearst reached the cart and, as Weston shook the reins and the horses broke into a trot, he leapt at Nat, grabbed his arm, and tried to pull him from the cart.

  On the edge of his seat, Nat teetered, but then dug his heels in and pulled back.

  Hearst bounded along beside the cart and relented from pulling. Instead, he leapt on to the seat.

  He sprawled over Nat and tumbled him into the back of the cart, but Nat grabbed a trailing arm and dragged Hearst with him.

  While swinging his horse round the back of the cart, Spenser ordered Weston to stop.

  As the cart slowed, Hearst dragged his arm from Nat’s grip, drew Nat to his feet and slugged his jaw with a sharp uppercut. Nat’s head snapped back and he tottered back a pace.

  Hearst lunged for Nat’s gun, but then a heavy weight slammed into his back and knocked him against the crate. He’d just realized that Spenser had jumped him when a second blow to the cheek sent him spinning along the side of the crate.

  Hearst shrugged off the blow and swirled round, but faced the two men, who advanced on him, fists raised.

  Spenser threw the first punch. Hearst ducked it, but when he bobbed up, Nat hurled a blow at his face. He couldn’t avoid this one and it thundered into his cheek, hurling him into one of the ropes that secured the crate.

  With no control of his movements, he folded over the rope, slid down it, and tumbled over the side of the cart, landing in a sprawled heap on the ground.

  In the cart, Nat shouted to Weston to hurry and, as Hearst sat up, the cart lurched into motion. Then it trundled away from him at a gallop.

  Hearst staggered to his feet, swayed, and then dashed after the cart, shouting taunts at Nat.

  After 300 yards or so, the cart was well ahead of him, so he stomped to a halt and slapped his hat to the ground.

  ‘I’ll make you regret that, Nathaniel,’ he said, kicking dirt.

  * * *

  For around a mile, Weston rode at a steady pace, but then on Nat’s instructions, he drew up beside an overgrown cottonwood tree.

  There, Spenser tethered Hearst’s horse and secured their horses to the back of the cart while Nat removed the crate lid and peered inside, wincing at the rank smell emerging from within as he rummaged.