Rimfire

by William W. Johnstone

  Clancy turned his horse toward the creek at the next spot where it looked easy enough to ford. “The kid’s right, I suppose. We don’t want to run smack-dab into McPhee.”

  Belmont planned to kill Haggarty, Ace mused as they rode east through the valley. Could he stand by and allow Haggarty to be murdered? Ace didn’t think so. He certainly couldn’t let Ling come to any harm if he could prevent it. More and more, it looked like he was going to be put in the position of having to help those two escape from Belmont’s vengeance.

  And then Belmont, Clancy, and the rest of that pack of killers would be after him.

  It was a hell of a lot of trouble for two thousand dollars, thought Ace. Maybe it would be better if he lit a shuck out of there before they ever reached the Tartan. He could find Chance, and they could put Rimfire, McPhee’s spread, and the whole valley behind them.

  But that would mean abandoning two people—not two innocent people, to be sure, but still human beings—to whatever Belmont had planned.

  At the moment, the odds were not great—Clancy, Whistler, and Robertson against Haggarty. If Ace waited until they got their hands on Haggarty and Ling, he might be able to turn the tables, especially if Chance was nearby and could take a hand, as he hoped. Then he could try to convince Haggarty and Ling to give up whatever plans they had of robbing McPhee and get out of there instead.

  They would still have Belmont after them, but there was a limit on just how many problems one man could fix, Ace told himself.

  “What the hell are you broodin’ about, mate?” asked Clancy, breaking into Ace’s grim thoughts.

  “Nothing,” Ace replied with a shake of his head. “Just hoping that Haggarty and the girl don’t go into Rimfire with McPhee. I’d just as soon get this over with tonight.”

  “I hear what you’re sayin’. We’ve come all the way from San Francisco—well, Whistler and I have, anyway—and I’m ready for the boss to settle things with those two.”

  “He’s going to kill Haggarty, isn’t he?”

  Clancy snorted. “He stole from Mr. Belmont. What do you think is gonna happen to him?”

  “And the girl?”

  “He’s got a soft spot for that witch,” Clancy said with a sigh.

  Whistler spoke up for the first time. “But that won’t stop him from givin’ her to us, will it, Clancy?”

  His voice reminded Ace of a snake slithering through the grass.

  Clancy just grunted, but he didn’t deny what Whistler said.

  A ball of cold sickness formed in Ace’s belly. From the sound of it, things were even worse than he thought. He had to find some way to make them right.

  Or more likely . . . die trying.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  By late afternoon, Ace and the other three men were hidden on a wooded hilltop in sight of the Tartan headquarters. Clancy took a spyglass from his saddlebags, extended it to its full length, and peered through the lenses at the cluster of buildings.

  “Better be careful not to let any sunlight reflect off that glass,” Ace cautioned him. “If anything glints up here, some of McPhee’s men are liable to spot it and investigate.”

  Clancy gave him a disgusted look. “Don’t tell me how to do my job, mate. I’ve been spyin’ on people longer than you’ve been alive.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but I know the sort of men McPhee has working for him. They’ve always got their eyes open for trouble.”

  “And trouble’s what they’re gonna get,” muttered Clancy as he resumed his surveillance of the ranch.

  Ace had field glasses of his own and used them to watch the house, making sure to stay in the shadows under the trees where the sun’s slanting rays couldn’t reach the lenses. After a while, his scrutiny was rewarded.

  A man stepped out of the ranch house onto the wide front porch, took a cigar from his vest pocket, and lit it, puffing contentedly.

  Ace recognized Jack Haggarty immediately.

  The gambler wasn’t dressed as flashily as he had been on the Missouri Belle, but the prematurely white hair and neat mustache were unmistakable. If Haggarty was there, then Ling had to be, Ace thought. It was nice to know that the pursuit he and Chance had launched had finally borne fruit.

  Of course, the presence of those murderous criminals who were currently his “partners” complicated things considerably, Ace told himself.

  Clancy had spotted Haggarty, too. “There he is. That means the Chinese girl is here, too. The boss was right. McPhee didn’t take them to Rimfire with him.”

  Ace wondered if Haggarty and Ling had already found McPhee’s safe, managed to break into it, and looted its contents. If that was the case, they were probably waiting until nightfall before slipping away and making a run for it. If not, they would be patient, biding their time until they could clean out the safe.

  It didn’t really matter. Their plans were about to take an unexpected—and potentially deadly—twist.

  After a few minutes that he spent smoking and looking satisfied with himself, Haggarty turned and went back into the ranch house.

  Up on the hilltop, Clancy pointed and gave directions to the men with him. “Once it’s good and dark, we’ll slip down there, keepin’ well away from the bunkhouse. Whistler, you and Robertson will stay on the porch and cover the bunkhouse. If there’s an alarm raised and those cowboys start to come out, you cut ’em down as soon as they set foot in the open, understand? It’ll be your job to keep ’em bottled up while Jensen and I grab Haggarty and the girl.”

  “Sure, Clancy,” said Whistler. “We can do that.”

  “I’m going in the house with you?” asked Ace.

  “Aye. And before you can say anything . . . yeah, it’s because I still don’t trust you, kid. I want you where I can keep an eye on you. If you’re tellin’ the truth about wantin’ to get even with those two, just like the boss, you’ll do as I say and won’t cause any trouble.”

  “You’ll see,” Ace said.

  In reality, he was glad that Clancy had decided to split their force. He would only have to deal with the Australian once they were in the house. He might still have to face off against Whistler and Robertson before the night was over, but at least the odds would only be two to one.

  Or even, if Chance was able to take a hand.

  Ace wondered where his brother was.

  * * *

  Chance had seen Ace and the other three men riding up the back side of the hill, shielded from the ranch house by the trees and the hill itself. Even though he lost sight of them when they disappeared into the thick growth of pines, he had a hunch they would go to ground there and keep an eye on the ranch headquarters while they waited for night to fall. He didn’t know what they were after, but the odds of them making a move in broad daylight seemed pretty slim.

  So if they could wait, he could wait, too.

  But when darkness settled over the ranch, he intended to sneak down there so he would be close by if his brother needed his help.

  * * *

  Haggarty didn’t put in another appearance during the remaining couple hours of daylight. Ace felt his impatience growing as the shadows of dusk began to gather. Someone in the house lit the lamps. A warm yellow glow of light filled the windows.

  The men wouldn’t make their move until it was completely dark, and as they waited for that, time seemed to drag with maddening slowness.

  Finally, Clancy said, “All right, let’s move out. We’ll lead the horses.”

  Robertson said, “We should have brought extra mounts for Haggarty and the girl.”

  The same thing had occurred to Ace back in Rimfire, but he hadn’t pointed it out, not wanting to make it easier for Clancy to succeed in kidnapping Haggarty and Ling. The mustachioed crook might know everything there was to know about surviving on the Barbary Coast as part of San Francisco’s criminal underworld, but he wasn’t experienced when it came to handling trouble on the frontier.

  The thought that Ace might help the two thieves get away h
ad already been stirring in the back of his brain, even then.

  “Why the hell didn’t you say something about that back in Rimfire, Robertson?” snapped Clancy.

  The stocky gunman shrugged. “Belmont don’t pay me to think. Just to shoot.”

  “And you’re a city boy like me, Whistler,” Clancy said to the shaggy-haired killer. “What about you, Jensen?”

  “I just didn’t think about it,” Ace lied easily.

  Clancy cursed for a moment, then said, “All right, it’s too late to do anything about it now. If we can, we’ll steal a couple horses from the barn. If not, Haggarty and the woman can ride double with us. Whistler, you take Ling.”

  “Glad to,” said Whistler.

  Ace couldn’t see him, but he could hear the leering quality in Whistler’s voice.

  “Jensen, you keep up with Haggarty.”

  “All right,” Ace agreed, hoping that it would never come to that.

  “Everybody know what your job is?” Clancy didn’t wait for answers. He just added, “Let’s go.”

  They led the horses and moved slowly and quietly down the hill, angling away from the bunkhouse where lights still burned.

  It might have been smarter to wait until even later in the night before making their move, mused Ace, but he supposed Clancy felt the same sort of impatience he did.

  Because of the caution with which they proceeded, it took almost half an hour to get down the hill and circle toward the ranch house. By the time they reached the bottom, the lamps downstairs had been blown out, although a couple windows on the second floor still showed light.

  Ace guessed that meant Haggarty and Ling hadn’t turned in yet.

  They tied the horses to some small trees at the side of the house and catfooted toward the porch. All four men had drawn their guns.

  * * *

  As night fell, Chance moved closer to the hill where Ace and the other men were waiting. He thought about trying to get close enough to overhear whatever they were saying, so he would understand more about what was going on, but he was convinced that Ace didn’t want his companions to know his brother was anywhere in the vicinity. Ace could skulk around like an Indian and nobody would know he was there, but Chance doubted that his own skills were up to that task. He would step on a branch and break it, or trip and fall down, or do something else that would alert the men to his presence.

  Better not to push his luck, he decided. It was a wise man who knew his own limitations.

  He was close enough, however, to know when they left the hilltop and started sneaking down to the ranch headquarters. He had been expecting them to do just that, so he was ready to follow them.

  Deep in some shadows under a tree, he watched as the four dim shapes crept closer to the ranch house.

  * * *

  When they reached the end of the porch, Clancy stepped up onto it first. One of the boards creaked faintly under his weight. He eased aside and found more solid footing. Ace, Whistler, and Robertson avoided the plank that had made the slight noise.

  When Clancy reached the door, he wrapped his left hand around the knob and carefully tried it. The knob turned. He swung the door open. Ace waited to see if the hinges would make any noise, but they were silent. Evidently McPhee or someone who worked for him kept them well-oiled.

  Clancy turned and gestured to Whistler and Robertson. The two men split up, one going to each end of the porch to stand guard. Clancy lifted his left hand and crooked the fingers in a summoning gesture to Ace, then stepped into the house.

  Ace followed.

  * * *

  Chance saw them split up. One man moved to each end of the porch, evidently to stand guard, and the other two went inside. There was enough light for him to see their silhouettes as they passed through the door. Chance recognized Ace by his shape.

  Haggarty and Ling had to be in there. That was the only thing that made any sense to Chance. Ace was going after them.

  But were the men with him allies . . . or was Ace their captive?

  Sticking to the shadows, Chance worked his way closer, hoping to find out the answer to that all-important question.

  * * *

  Without any starlight, it was even gloomier in the house and it took a few seconds for Ace’s eyes to adjust. He saw Clancy stalking cautiously toward a staircase and followed the Australian, staying close to the wall as they ascended so the likelihood of a board creaking would be less.

  Ace wasn’t sure that would matter, since his heart was slugging so heavily in his chest it seemed to him that everybody on the ranch ought to be able to hear it thundering.

  The hallway at the top of the stairs was illuminated dimly. Ace lifted his head high enough to look past Clancy along the corridor and saw that light was spilling through an open door at the end of the hall.

  They approached it as quietly as they could, but it was unlikely any slight noises they made would be heard anyway since two people in the room were talking to each other and their voices would obscure any other sounds.

  Those voices were familiar, too. Ace recognized the silky tones that belonged to Ling as the young woman said, “Don’t you have it yet, Jack?”

  “Don’t get impatient,” replied Haggarty. “This safe is one of the best they make. But I never yet met a combination lock I couldn’t crack, and this one won’t beat me, either.”

  So they had found Angus McPhee’s safe, thought Ace, and were trying to break into it at that very moment. They must have considered it an unexpected stroke of luck when McPhee received the note from Leo Belmont and decided to go into Rimfire for the night, so he could talk business with the man from San Francisco. That gave them the perfect opportunity to realize their goal.

  “Anyway, we’ve got all night,” Haggarty went on, unconsciously echoing the thoughts that were going through Ace’s head. “McPhee won’t be back until tomorrow sometime.”

  “And I want to be long gone by then,” snapped Ling. “The longer we have to stay here, the harder it’s going to be to keep McPhee at bay.”

  “Well, if you have to let him into your bed . . . it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

  “Shut up and work that lock,” Ling told her partner.

  Out in the hallway, Ace reflected grimly that although Ling’s voice was unmistakable, she had completely lost the singsong cadence of her speech she had displayed when she had been with him and Chance, not to mention all the self-deprecating references to herself as “this one.” In fact, she sounded very much American and as hardboiled as a trail town soiled dove, to boot. Ace suspected that her true personal history was much different from the heartstrings-tugging story she had told him and his brother.

  None of that mattered at the moment.

  * * *

  When Chance reached the side of the house, he dropped to hands and knees, then stretched out on his belly and crawled toward the porch. Normally he wouldn’t want to get his suit dirty, but in the clothes borrowed from the immigrants with the wagon train, that didn’t matter as much.

  Besides, Ace was in there, so Chance didn’t really care how dirty he got.

  As he got closer to the porch, he heard the man at that end of it moving around a little. Chance froze where he was. He thought the shadows at the side of the house were thick enough to conceal him, but he didn’t want to risk getting any closer until he had to.

  * * *

  In the hallway, Clancy leveled his revolver and stepped through the door. “Don’t either of you move!” he warned. “Haggarty, stay right where you are or I’ll blow your kneecap into a million pieces. Jensen, watch the girl!”

  Close behind him, Ace’s eyes took in the scene in a fraction of a heartbeat. They were in a large room that appeared to be a combination of library, study, and office. Two sides of the room were covered with bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes, telling Ace that Angus McPhee was a reader. Even under those circumstances fraught with danger, Ace wished he had time to study the titles.

  A h
uge rolltop desk dominated one side of the room, and near it was a smaller set of shelves. They had been swung into the room to reveal a small chamber that normally would be hidden. Squatting in the chamber like a big iron toad was the safe McPhee had brought from Fort Benton. Jack Haggarty was on one knee in front of the safe, leaning close to it so he could press his ear to the combination lock and listen for the tumblers to click as he slowly turned the knob.

  Ling stood beside the desk. Wearing high-topped boots, whipcord trousers, and a green silk blouse, she was dressed for riding, appropriate since she and Haggarty had planned to loot McPhee’s safe and make their getaway tonight. Her raven-black hair was pulled into a ponytail that hung down her back.

  Following the split second in which Ace took note of all that, Haggarty gasped a startled curse. He started to turn and stand up, but he froze when Clancy thrust the pistol at him.

  Ling was impassive, except for a slight widening of her almond-shaped eyes as she looked at Ace. She had to be shocked to see him . . . or maybe she wasn’t. If she and Haggarty had been playing their crooked games for a while, it probably wasn’t the first time one of their victims had come after them. Her lips tightened just the least little bit.

  Her hand moved slightly toward her waist. Ace didn’t know if she had a knife or a small gun hidden somewhere. The trousers were tight enough that it didn’t seem likely.

  But he didn’t want to take any chances with her and said sharply, “Don’t do it, Ling.”

  She smiled. “Mister Ace! Thank God you are here. This one was so frightened . . .” At the look on his face, her voice trailed off and she went on. “Oh, hell. I’m wasting my time, aren’t I?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he told her.

  From where he knelt in front of the safe, Haggarty said, “It appears these gentlemen have the drop on us, my dear.” He looked at Clancy. “I know you, don’t I? You work for Leo Belmont.”

  “That’s right. Mr. Belmont wants to have a word with the both of you—”

  Ace didn’t see any point in letting it go on. He took a quick step, raised his Colt, and brought it crashing down on Clancy’s head.