Cemetery Jones 3

by William R. Cox

  Sven said, “You marked ’em up some. Not enough, though.”

  “Best we leave them and eat and think this out.”

  Beaver said, “Best idee yet today.” Dog growled in his throat. They doused the light in the barn and went into the house.

  Mrs. Liz Dunstan was saying, “Now, Danny, you know your pa said you can’t have any money.”

  He was sweating. “Mama, I owe it.”

  “Why are you so squirmish? We’re just goin’ to the dance lesson, all of us.”

  “I got to pay a man what I owe. Please, Mama.”

  She dug into her reticule. “Well. Twenty dollars. Now don’t you let your pa know I give it to you.”

  “He’ll never know. I gotta run, Mama.”

  “Gimme a kiss.”

  He touched her cheek with his dry lips and ran out to the stable. He had a horse saddled in readiness. He was scared to pieces; he could not stay alone on the ranch, and he feared going into town. He saw Tom Vaughn in the bunkhouse and got away as quietly as he could manage. He spurred the horse into a dead run for town.

  He dropped from the horse behind the whorehouse and went to the back door. Kate regarded him with cold indifference. He took out the twenty dollars and threw it in her lap.

  “I wanna know anything you heard about Cap Fisher or any other thing that’s happenin’.”

  She said, “He’s gone with his riders to the north. You got other matters to worry about.”

  “What d’you mean?” His stomach seemed to drop a foot.

  “Beatin’ up the Olsen twin. Every soul in town knows what you and them two did.”

  “What ... what two?” Now his mind was reeling.

  “You can’t do nothin’ in this town it don’t git around. Hell, how d’you think I know Cemetery Jones is in town?”

  “Jones? In town?”

  “You better look out, sonny boy. Your pa may own us all but Cemetery Jones don’t give an owl’s hoot. He’s got Doodles and Monty put away somewhere and he’ll be on your ass.”

  The Kid swallowed hard, stared at her for a moment, then ran back to his horse. He rode the back yards to the saloon where he and the other two had become drunk. He said, “Put somebody on a horse and send ’em after Cap Fisher. Tell him that Cemetery Jones is in town. In town, understand? In town!”

  The barkeep said, “That’ll cost you twenty.”

  “I ain’t got it on me. Put it on my bill.”

  “If it goes on the bill it’s forty.”

  “I don’t give a damn. Get a man out there right now or you might get it like some others.”

  The bartender said, “It’ll be done. Nobody in this part of town’s got any use for Jones.”

  Kid Dunstan said, “See word gets to the right people,” and ran to his horse and rode to the City Hall. He tied up behind it at the farthest possible point so that he might get away on the moment. Not that he knew where he would go except back to the home ranch. Even there he would not be safe, he knew.

  He arrived at the front of the building in time to see the family carriage arrive with his parents and Vera Brazile. He went to it and the dancing teacher handed him a rifle, saying in a low voice, “Take care of this. It belongs to Captain Fisher.”

  Kid Dunstan followed them into the hall. The lights were already on and the black men were on their little dais with their instruments. There was no one else in the place. He leaned the gun behind the bandstand. His father was half drunk and all the way angry.

  “By damn, where is ev’body? It’s time they were here. By gum I give ’em the best in the West and they don’t appreciate it. I’ll have some hard words for them that don’t show up and you can tell the world right now.”

  Mrs. Dunstan asked, “Who is there to tell? Ain’t nobody.”

  Vera Brazile said in a patient, silken tone, “Now, folks. Let us be patient. They will probably arrive soon. Pompey! Play.”

  Music wouldn’t do it, Kid Dunstan thought. Everyone knew about Oley Olsen. He put his hands in his pockets but the shaking did not stop.

  It was deceptively quiet in the Olsen house. Cassie fed soup to Oley with a large pewter spoon. The hound chewed on a bone in the kitchen. Sven, Sam, and Beaver, replete with steak and potatoes, gathered in the bedroom. The doctor lingered. Sam spoke to him.

  “Could you stick around here for a spell?”

  “I could. I will.”

  “You and Cassie can hold the fort. I know Sven won’t stay still any longer.”

  The twin’s hand crept to his gun butt. “You said that right.”

  “Let’s augur. Sooner or later Fisher’s goin’ to find out we’re in town,” Sam said.

  “He’s always got somebody snoopin’ around,” Sven agreed.

  “So he ain’t dumb. He’ll be ridin’ back. Meanwhile we want Kid Dunstan.”

  “Most of all,” said Sven and Oley together.

  “His father can’t go against the truth,” Sam continued. “Leastways I don’t believe he can.”

  “His ma can,” Cassie said.

  “We take the chance Dunstan won’t be shamed in his own town. Now I heard from the musicians that there might be one of their dances tonight.”

  Beaver said, “If they ain’t to home they’re at the hall.”

  “Only one way it could all go wrong,” Sam said. “If Fisher, knowin’ we’re here, decides to go to Sunrise.”

  Beaver said, “He’ll run himse’f into a buzz saw if he does. Whole town’s awaitin’ for him.”

  “We can hope on that. We got to.” Sven said, “Cap’ll have a mean bunch with him.”

  “Sure he will.” Sam grinned without mirth. “Countin’ on that. Hope they had to do with tryin’ to kill Renee.”

  “The three of you against all of them,” Cassie said.

  “I don’t want anybody hurt account of me,” Oley said weakly.

  “Me, I got other reasons,” Sam said.

  “There will be some from the lowdown part of town will back Fisher,” warned the doctor.

  “Got to chance that,” Sam said. Dog came in from the kitchen, licking his chops. “We forgot him.”

  Dog said, “Woof.”

  “He’s been sorta lucky,” Sam explained.

  “Like a ha’nt,” Beaver said.

  “Palaverin’ won’t get it done,” Sam said. “We leave the long guns, won’t need ’em in this rangdoodle.” He tried to make it as light as possible, seeing the worry on the faces of Cassie and Oley. The doctor seemed composed, a man of parts. Sam walked to the door.

  Cassie and Oley waved goodbyes. Sven paused to touch his brother’s hand and pat the girl’s shoulder. They went out into the moonlit night.

  Somewhere between Sunrise and Dunstan a rider stared curiously at a strange vehicle, then went on his way. In the imitation Conestoga wagon Adam Burr clucked at the big, sturdy dappled horse and said, “This is slow going.”

  Clayton Lomax said, “It’s the wise thing to do.”

  “I know. It was a good idea. But Sam could be killed before we get close.”

  From behind them, seated on the bench, Renee said, “That’s why we’re here.”

  “Yes. He would never send to Beaver for help if he wasn’t in grave danger,” Adam assented. “But you, Clay, you needn’t have come along.”

  “Friendship,” the preacher said. “Friendship is to be prized above all else on this earth. Sam Jones is your best friend. Sunrise has shown me friendship. It adds up.”

  “It might be very rough—and you won’t fire a gun.”

  In the reflected light of the moon Lomax opened and closed his huge hands. “I have these.”

  “That’s all I had when I came west. It was Sam taught me to use a revolver. It was Sam who made me a confirmed westerner,” Adam said.

  Renee sat with her long hands clasped. It had been her idea to borrow the wagon and attempt to reach Sam. The response from Adam had been immediate and the preacher had joined them at the last moment. They could have brought Don
key Donovan, she knew, but the presence of an outside lawman might have complicated matters even further.

  Sam believed the danger came from Dunstan, therefore no doubt existed in her mind. Sam’s instincts in the presence of danger were not to be debated. Sam had dwelt on the precarious edge of danger for years—too many years, she thought. That was what worried her so much, the apprehension that his fortune would change. If he was to die in her defense, she wanted no more than to die with him. It was a sobering thought, one hitherto strange to her.

  Adam said, “Better we should be moving than waiting. The suspense was too much after Beaver left.”

  Renee said, “I wish Peggy had stayed home.”

  There was a slight swerve to the road and a shaft of moonlight touched the sleeping girl on the built-in cot. The hard life had left no marks upon Peggy McLaine Burr. Young and pretty, she had the resilience and courage of her grandfather, Renee thought. There had been no way they could leave her behind. Adam said as much now. The big horse continued its steady, space-eating pace. Renee sank into deep thought.

  The rider Kid Dunstan had ordered to be sent said, “He’s back in town’s all I know.”

  Maguire said, “The bastid moves like a damn ghost.”

  “All the better,” snapped Fisher. “We’ll nail him in town.”

  “You ask me, we oughta go on to Sunrise and finish the job.”

  Fisher said in a fierce whisper, “Shhh! That’s between you and me.”

  “It’s the main job. Without Jones we can do it.”

  After a moment Fisher shook his head. “With him still alive we’ll never see a day we don’t expect him.”

  “What the hell?” Maguire had lived that way all his grown existence.

  The other men sat their horses and paid little heed to the dialogue. They were hired to follow, not to make decisions.

  “These four tried it on Jones,” Maguire said, nodding toward them. “Lotsa people tried it on him. Right now them dumb bastid kids got him riled. No tellin’ what he’s up to.”

  “He’ll be at the dance lesson,” Fisher said. “He’ll be raising a fuss over the beating of the Olsen twin.”

  “The mayor’s on the hot seat,” Maguire said. “His kid and all. I say let that rest and we go to Sunrise.”

  “We can charge Jones. We know he’ll fight. He won’t have a chance.”

  “Mebbe not. But some of us got to die in a fight with him. How do we know which?” Maguire grinned, his thin face a ghoulish mask in the light of the moon.

  “He don’t know me personal. He knows you.”

  “I’ll take the chance.”

  Maguire said, “Look, I rode myself skinny on this job. I put up with that scum Rafferty and slept no more’n an hour or two in Mexican smells. This here ridin’ into a town that’s not expectin’ us is the best dodge we had yet. What’ve they got? A marshal and one deputy. A few storekeepers, a couple cowboys. I can rouse Rafferty to help with some men. I want this job ended.”

  “You’ve been paid plenty,” Fisher said.

  “What good’s money when you’re dead?”

  “Are you scared of Jones?”

  “Scared? Certainly I’m scared. You ain’t scared to face Jones you’re a damn fool.”

  “Then I’m a fool.”

  “Could be,” Maguire told him. “Me, I ain’t no fast gun. I’m a man does nasty jobs for people so he can gamble and live in whorehouses. I stay alive bein’ scared of shooters like Cemetery Jones.”

  Fisher shook his head. “We’re different. I’d rather go down facing him. It’s a matter of principle.”

  “With you it’s whatever you say.” Maguire lifted a thin shoulder. “With me it’s stay alive and enjoy life. Hey, you’re the boss.”

  Fisher considered. The man’s pure sophistry was a bit tempting. On the other hand he had his own goal to consider above all. He had felt the gap between Vera Brazile and himself growing day by day. He had needed her money. Now perhaps he could be free of that necessity by taking over Dunstan ... or at least the policing of the growing town while he waited a chance to dethrone the present boss. It was his opportunity to acquire power, that lifetime desire. If he could accomplish the other deed and obtain more money from the woman who hated Renee Hart with such passion so much the better. Meantime he must temporize with this grinning, evil employee.

  “Riding into Sunrise with these few men is more dangerous than facing Jones. Can’t you see that? They are warned. They are on their own ground. Dunstan is our home ground.”

  “Like I said. It’s up to you.”

  One of the men waiting up ahead called, “There’s a wagon comin’ down the road. Sort of a canvas top rig.”

  “Better we’re not seen,” Fisher said. “Back to town, men. You all want Jones. Let’s get him.”

  They wheeled their horses and rode. Maguire dropped back to the tail end of the group, which did not go unnoticed by Fisher. If the man was going to skulk it was well to be warned, he thought. Still, if there was a chance to put a bullet in the back of Cemetery Jones, he was fairly well assured that Maguire would be on the job. Jones alone in Dunstan—that was the key. Fisher’s confidence grew as he rode. He did not give a thought to the canvas-covered wagon winding its way to Dunstan.

  Sam, Beaver, and Sven crossed the dark yard behind the Olsens’ house.

  Sam said, “We better pick up our customers in the barn and go.”

  Sven led the way with the lantern. Dog jumped ahead as they entered the barn, growling at Monty.

  The two were gasping at their efforts not to contract their legs. Beaver reached down and loosened the connecting link of rope and they groaned as their legs extended.

  “Their hands behind ’em will do,” Sam said.

  Doodles moaned, “My arm. It’s dead.”

  “You’re lucky the rest of you ain’t dead,” Sven exploded.

  “Now, now, just give us time,” Sam said. “We have to get these jaspers in shape to take a walk right this minute.”

  Hands secured behind them they walked up and down, prodded by Sven’s gun, Doodles protesting, Monty glowering, defiant. When their circulation had been restored Sam said, “Now we go to the dance.”

  “Damn you to hell,” Monty snarled.

  “Could be arranged,” Sam said. “Thing is, you go along for the ride.” Dog snapped at Monty’s heels. He flinched, muttering curses. Sam lined them up, prisoners to the fore, Sven directly behind them. He said to Beaver, “You want to be in this parade?”

  “Best I lay low.”

  “Right. Me and Dog, we’ll march behind,” Sam said.

  They paraded up the alley. Cassie and Dr. Fox saluted them from the window. It was, Sam thought, a matter of timing. Showing themselves on the main street had its danger but it was a chance to evaluate the response of the decent folk in Dunstan.

  Hidden from view there were staring eyes as they made their way to the auditorium behind City Hall. Sam could feel them. Monty attempted to swagger; Doodles limped, shoulders bent. Sven prodded them. Dog sniffed the air as if estimating the possibility of an attack.

  There was no way of knowing the whereabouts of Fisher and whatever force he had gathered. There was no way to estimate the reaction of Cyrus Dunstan to the evidence against his son. It was a matter of taking a chance and being ready to fight. And it still did not lead directly to the plot to assassinate Renee.

  “It’s a puzzlement,” he said to Dog. “A damn tricky matter any way you figure.”

  The dog made a sound that had become familiar, a reassurance, Sam felt. They neared their destination and he could hear the music. It was lively. They would be dancing, whoever had finally attended the lesson.

  Beaver had vanished from view. Doodles and Monty lagged. Sven shoved them toward the side entrance of the hall. Sam peeked in the window. The moon was at full, casting an eerie sheen upon the scene.

  Inside the hall there were a half dozen middle-aged or better couples, Vera Brazile, the older Dunst
ans—and the son and heir. They were moving, with little or no grace, at the instructions of the dancing teacher. There was no joy among them.

  The music was loud and clear and good. Sam paused a moment to enjoy it. Sven pushed the captives to the door. Sam nodded and the twin opened the door and shoved Monty and Doodles inside.

  The action was so swift that Sam could not get past the trio; then Dog collided with Sam’s legs and immobilized him.

  Kid Dunstan spun away from the stout woman he was unwillingly escorting and was out the back door faster than he had ever before moved. The only way to stop him would have been to shoot and Sam had no notion of doing so. When Dog started in pursuit, Sam called to him to stop. “Later, maybe,” he said. “This here is good enough for right now.”

  Sven mourned, “I could’ve had him. If you didn’t tell me not to, I could’ve had him.”

  Now everyone was staring at them and the music stopped. Sam waited another minute, then said, “Seems like your son don’t want to be in on this, Mayor.”

  “What the hell’s goin’ on here? What you doin’ with those boys tied up like o’ that?” Dunstan’s voice was not quite so loud and forceful as it might have been.

  Mrs. Dunstan was crying, “Danny! Where’s my Danny gone?”

  “Where the good people won’t find him right now,” Sam said.

  “I wanta know.” Dunstan’s voice diminished. “You, Monty. What’s this here about?”

  Monty shrugged without speaking. The mayor stared at Doodles, who began talking as though a faucet had been turned on.

  “It was your own son that started it. It was Danny Dunstan. He wanted to beat on Oley Olsen. He talked me into it. It was Monty held him ...”