Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  With their help, Flint hobbled toward the open doors. Another of the townspeople said, "My wagon's parked just down the street. I'll bring it up, and the marshal can ride in the back of it."

  "That's a good idea," Rose said as she closed her bag. "The less he uses that leg, the better."

  Cully fell in beside Flint and the men holding him up. "Why would Wolfe risk coming into town like that?" the deputy asked. "You think he was after Elizabeth all along?"

  "Could be," Flint grunted. "Her father's a rich man, remember."

  Cully frowned. "Seems I remember hearing Wolfe say something about intending to take her out of the hotel. My brain's sort of fuzzy about that. But it sounded like he came to kidnap her."

  At that moment, the man who owned the wagon returned with it, and Flint was eased into the back of the vehicle. After Rose, Cully, and Angus climbed on board to ride with him, the townsman turned his team around, drove down Spruce Street, then swung into Texas Street. The shooting at the stable and the train station seemed to have awakened at least half the town, because several dozen people stood on the boardwalks. Some of them were in nightclothes; others were cowboys, gamblers, and fancy ladies from the still-open saloons.

  The wagon drew to a stop in front of Dr. Keller's office, and several of the awakened townspeople gathered around the wagon. Lamps burned in the lobby of the Grand Palace Hotel next door. While Angus and the wagon owner lifted Flint from the wagon, the hotel doors opened, and Nicholas Stockbridge, followed by Roland Stockbridge and Elliott Pannier, walked out onto the boardwalk and over to the wagon.

  All three men were in their shirt sleeves, their collars loose.

  "Good Lord!" Stockbridge exclaimed as Flint was being lifted down from the wagon, his bloody pants leg in tatters. "What the devil happened, Marshal?"

  "Wait," Flint said to Angus and Rose, who were helping him. Leaning on them, the lawman went on, "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Mr. Stockbridge."

  With a frown on his face, Stockbridge said, "I thought I heard my train pulling out a few minutes ago. What's going on?"

  "Roscoe Wolfe and some of his men stole your train," Flint bluntly told the railroad president.

  Stunned, Roland Stockbridge stared at the marshal. "But...but where would Wolfe take it? And why would he want a train?" he said.

  "That's not the worst of it." Flint looked bleakly from Nicholas Stockbridge to Elliott Pannier. "Wolfe has kidnapped Miss Elizabeth."

  "No!"

  The cry was torn from Pannier. His features sagged, and his pasty face became even paler in the light coming from the hotel lobby.

  Nicholas Stockbridge's hands clenched into fists. His breath hissed through his teeth. "That can't be true," he said flatly. "Elizabeth is up in her room—has been all night."

  Cully shook his head. "I'm afraid not, sir. I saw her down in the stables by the train station, and Wolfe was holding her prisoner then. She was nowhere to be found after he and his gang got away."

  Roland Stockbridge clutched at his father's arm. "My God, Father, we've got to do something!" he exclaimed, his voice shaking with emotion.

  Stockbridge shrugged off Roland's hand. "You're sure about this, Marshal?" he asked.

  Flint nodded.

  Stockbridge's face darkened in rage. "I'll kill the son of a bitch myself!" he suddenly thundered.

  Rose Keller broke in, "Gentlemen, you'll have to excuse us. Right now, the marshal needs to be inside getting medical attention."

  Angus and the other man started to move Flint toward the door of the doctor's office, but Stockbridge stepped forward and caught at Flint’s arm. "I want to know what you're going to do about this," he demanded.

  Cully moved in. "You'd best let the marshal go, mister," he said in a low voice.

  "My daughter is out there somewhere," Stockbridge retorted. "She's in the clutches of that damned outlaw, and I want you people to do something about it!"

  "That's just what I intend to do, Mr. Stockbridge," Cully replied. "I'll be rounding up a posse to go after them. We'll get Elizabeth back." He rested his hand on the butt of his gun. "I can promise you that."

  "Come on inside, Cully," Flint said. "We've got some things to talk about."

  "All right, Marshal." Cully kept his cold stare directed at Nicholas Stockbridge until the railroad magnate released Flint's arm.

  One of the townspeople called out, "Marshal, you want us to start gettin' our horses ready to ride after those skunks?"

  "Just wait until I've talked to Deputy Markham," Flint answered.

  As the marshal was taken down the walk and into Dr. Keller's office, Cully started to follow, but Elliott Pannier abruptly stepped forward. "Could I have a word with you, Deputy?" he asked. His features and voice were those of a man struggling to keep his emotions in check.

  "Make it quick," Cully said.

  "You said you saw Elizabeth at the stables. Were you there with her, sir?"

  Cully hesitated and then said, "Wolfe had grabbed her before I ever got there."

  "That's no answer, Deputy," Pannier shot back. "On the other hand, knowing Elizabeth as I do, perhaps that's all you need to say. It's fairly obvious why she was meeting you at such a late hour in a place like the stable."

  "I didn't say I was meeting her—"

  "You didn't say you weren't."

  Roland Stockbridge angrily caught Pannier's arm. "Here now, that's my sister you're talking about!" he said. "I want to know what you're implying, Elliott."

  "So do I," Nicholas Stockbridge demanded, his tone icy.

  Pannier shook his head. His shoulders slumped wearily. "Never mind," he said. "It's not important, anyway. What matters is rescuing Elizabeth before she's hurt."

  "Can't argue with that," Cully said. "Now, I've got to go talk to the marshal." He turned and strode into the building. As he stepped over the threshold, he encountered Angus and the wagon driver, who were just leaving after getting Flint settled in the doctor's office.

  At Rose's orders the marshal was stretched out on the divan in the waiting room, since all the beds were presently occupied by patients from the train wreck.

  She was kneeling beside him, offering him a small vial of medicine as Cully entered.

  "This will help the pain, Marshal," Rose said.

  Gently but firmly, Flint pushed it away. "Maybe later," he said. "Right now, I can't afford to be knocked out." He looked up at his deputy. "We've got to talk about this posse business, Cully."

  "I figure we can get started in about fifteen minutes, Marshal," Cully began.

  Flint started shaking his head. "You're not going anywhere, Cully. You can't go chasing Roscoe Wolfe clear across the country."

  Cully stared at him. "Why not?" he demanded. "He kidnapped that girl!"

  "I know he did," Flint said patiently. "But officially, our authority ends at the town limits. You know I don't mind stretching that a little when need be, but Wolfe is too far away by now."

  For a long moment Cully was silent, his features tightening into an expressionless mask. "I'm going," he said, and he stalked out of the office without another word.

  As he strode up the walk to the street, his mind was in a turmoil. There was no one in the world that he admired more than Lucas Flint, but all of Cully's instincts screamed that for once the marshal was wrong. He didn’t know what Wolfe had in mind for Elizabeth Stockbridge, but it was surely nothing good. The only chance that woman had was for a posse to get on the trail of the outlaws right away.

  Quite a few townsmen stood on the boardwalk waiting for Cully. Among them were Elliott Pannier and Roland Stockbridge. Nicholas Stockbridge was nowhere in sight.

  "What about it, Cully?" one of the townsmen—a man named Floyd—asked excitedly. "Are we going after Wolfe?"

  "Of course, we are," Cully growled. Something inside him blanched at going against Flint's wishes, but at the same time he firmly believed he had no choice.

  Elliott Pannier looked intently at Cully and said, "I'm goin
g along on this posse."

  Before Cully could even start to object, Roland Stockbridge declared, "I'm going, too."

  Cully looked from Pannier to Roland and shook his head. "I'm not going to take a couple of inexperienced easterners," he said flatly. "Not on something like this."

  "She's my sister!" Roland grated.

  "And my fiancée," Pannier added, his voice trembling. "You simply cannot tell us that we can't go, Deputy. We have a right."

  From behind Cully, a thick Scots’ voice said, "Aye, 'tis plain t'me the lads have the right, Cully. Let them go wi' us."

  Cully turned to face Angus MacQuarrie. "Us?"

  "Aye." Angus nodded. "Lucas is a good man, but somebody has t'go after tha' poor lass."

  Cully took a deep breath. "All right. I'll be glad to have you along, Angus." His relief went deeper than this simple expression of gratitude. He wasn’t as close to Angus as Flint was, but he knew that the burly tavern keeper was a good man in a fight and could keep his head in a tight situation.

  "We ridin' out right away?" another man asked.

  Cully nodded. "Angus,why don't you see about getting the men armed and mounted? Anybody who doesn't have a rifle of his own can use one from the marshal's office. There's ammunition in the storage cabinet. Meet me back here as soon as you can."

  "Aye."

  As Angus and the other men started to turn away, the door into the hotel lobby banged open and a lithe figure strode out onto the boardwalk. Hannah Stockbridge wore a dressing gown, and her blonde hair was tousled from sleep. Nevertheless, fire glinted in her blue eyes as she came toward Cully. Her father hurried out of the hotel after her.

  Despite the intensity of her gaze, Cully saw tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. She faced him and said, "My father told me. You're getting together a posse, aren't you?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Then I'm going with you."

  Cully's eyes widened at this startling declaration.

  Roland Stockbridge took his sister's arm. "Hannah, don't be ridiculous. This isn't a job for some young girl." He looked at Nicholas Stockbridge. "Father, you forbid this, don't you?"

  Hannah ignored her brother and father, keeping her fiery gaze riveted on Cully. "I'm going," she repeated.

  Elliott Pannier stepped in and started trying to dissuade her as well, but Hannah ignored him. Nicholas Stockbridge pushed Pannier aside and thundered, "Young lady, get back to your room. I'll hear no more absurd talk about you going along with any posse!"

  Hannah finally tore her stubborn eyes away from Cully and looked at her father. Tears came freely now, single drops rolling down her cheeks. "But, Father, they've got her!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with fear and despair.

  "I...I know. And we're going to do everything in our power to get her back."

  "Look, Miss Hannah," Cully said, impatient but trying to keep his tone gentle, "a posse is no place for a lady. There's going to be plenty of hard riding—"

  "I can ride," Hannah cut in. "I'm a good rider."

  "You probably are," he agreed swiftly.

  "I can shoot, too. I've used a rifle plenty of times before. A friend of mine taught me how to shoot and ride. You remember Les Aiken, Father. He was from Missouri, and we spent all of last summer riding and target shooting. I can keep up and do my part."

  Cully could no longer keep the sharpness out of his voice. "Look, Miss Hannah," he said bluntly, "I'm in charge of this posse, and I don't intend to be saddled with any females on a job like this. Not even a pretty little tomboy like you."

  Hannah's face reddened. "Pretty little tomboy?" she echoed angrily. "Why, you big...big..."

  Nicholas Stockbridge took her arm and pulled her away from Cully before she could find the words she was looking for. Cully spun away from Nicholas Stockbridge and his daughter. She was one problem he didn’t want to deal with, and he would let Stockbridge handle her. For his part, Cully wanted to try one more time to straighten things out with Flint before he left with Angus and the other men. As he went back down the path to Dr. Keller's office, he knew that one way or the other, he was still going.

  Cully found the marshal sitting up on the divan, his wounded leg propped up on a pillow. Rose had already found it necessary to change his bandages, but the bleeding appeared to have almost stopped. Nevertheless, there was a bleak expression on Flint's face.

  Cully hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and said, "I figured you might be sleeping by now, Marshal, instead of sitting up."

  From the chair where she was sitting, Rose Keller said dryly, "He's stubborn, Cully—just like somebody else in this office."

  "She's talking about you, Cully, in case you're wondering," Flint said, his gaze intent on the deputy's face.

  "I know who she's talking about," Cully muttered. He glanced at Rose. "You've got a right to your opinion, ma'am."

  "But you're going after those men, anyway, aren't you?" she asked.

  "Yes, ma'am, I suppose I am."

  "What about your head?"

  Cully forced a grin. "It hurts like the very devil, but I think it'll feel better once we've got that woman back and Roscoe Wolfe behind bars. Or six feet under, however he wants it."

  "It won't be easy," Flint warned.

  "I know that."

  "What about our duties here in Abilene? Who's going to look after the town while I'm laid up and you're gone?"

  Cully grimaced. That same question had occurred to him. "There're plenty of good men around. You can swear in a couple of special deputies to keep an eye on things. Not everybody's going after Wolfe."

  "Maybe you're right. But this is still a job for the U.S. marshal's office." Flint took a deep breath. "If you go after those outlaws, son, you'll be going against the law instead of upholding it. I thought you had given that up."

  From the strained tone of his voice, Cully knew that those words were as hard for Flint to say as they were for Cully to hear. Cully also knew Flint well enough to know that he was concerned about Elizabeth Stockbridge's safety, and wasn’t the type to take kindly to being shot up. But he flatly refused to exceed his authority.

  "I'm sorry, Marshal," Cully said, sighing. "If you feel that way, I'll just have to take this star off. Because I'm going after Wolfe and his gang. I'm going to get Elizabeth back, even if I have to take the law into my own hands."

  He reached for the badge pinned on his black shirt.

  "Just hold it right there, son," a new voice said from the doorway of the office. "I've got something to say about that."

  6

  A big man dressed in dusty black range clothes filled the doorway. He wore twin Colts, the holsters thonged down. As he stepped inside, the man swept off his high-crowned black hat and nodded politely to Rose. "Hello, ma'am," he said with a smile. "I hope I'm not intruding."

  "Who in the blue blazes are you?" Cully asked bluntly.

  At first glance, the stranger's thick white hair led Cully to believe that he was old. But as the deputy looked closer, he saw that the man's tanned face was relatively unlined. He was probably not much older than Lucas Flint.

  He also wore a badge on his chest—a United States marshal's badge.

  "My name is Tom Brennan, son," the man told Cully.

  His blue eyes turned toward Flint. "And you'd be Marshal Lucas Flint, I expect." Brennan strode across the room, holding his big hat in one hand and extending the other toward Flint. He grinned as he added, “The Rattler. I’ve heard about you.”

  Flint shook the federal lawman's hand and said, "Tom Brennan, eh? I've heard of you, too. You're the one who cleaned out the Mulford gang up in Montana, aren't you?"

  Brennan's friendly smile widened. "I had plenty of help." He turned toward Cully, and his tone became more stern as he went on, "Now, young man, I don't know why you were about to take off that badge, but it's never a wise decision to turn your back on the law."

  "I don't think that's any of your business, mister," Cully snapped.

  "Does it have anyth
ing to do with Roscoe Wolfe?" At the mention of the outlaw's name, Brennan's eyes became wintry.

  "It does," Flint answered from the divan. Cully just kept glaring at Brennan.

  "I've been on Wolfe's trail for months now," Brennan said. "I got word that he had been spotted down here in this part of Kansas and got here at fast as I could." He glanced at Flint's wounded leg. "A little late, from the looks of things. But maybe I can lend a hand now."

  Rose stood up. "Perhaps you can, Marshal Brennan," she said. "I'm Dr. Rose Keller. Would you mind trying to convince both of these bullheaded men that they have to take care of their injuries if they hope to recover properly?"

  Brennan laughed, a deep, hearty sound. "Well, I'll try, ma'am. Can't make any promises, though."

  Rose looked at Flint. "I have other patients to check on," she said. "I know it won't do any good to ask you not to argue, but at least try not to get too upset, all right?"

  "Sure," Flint agreed. He waited until Rose had left the room and then said to Brennan, "Wolfe and some of his gang were here earlier tonight. They kidnapped a young woman and stole a train."

  Brennan hooked a footstool with a boot and drew it over next to the divan. He sat down, glancing up at Cully. The deputy remained standing stubbornly.

  "Wolfe has held up plenty of trains," Brennan said, "but this is the first time I've heard of him stealing one. Who's the woman?"

  "Her name's Elizabeth Stockbridge. Her father is the president of the Kansas Pacific."

  Brennan let out a low whistle. "You think he grabbed her for ransom?"

  "That's the way it looks. Wolfe and his men hit another train west of here yesterday. Day before yesterday, it'd be now, as late as it is. There was supposed to be a strongbox full of money on that train, but it had been unloaded here in Abilene. I think this is Wolfe's way of getting even."

  "He's ruthless, all right," Brennan agreed. The federal lawman looked up at Cully again. "I suppose you were about to go after them, son?"

  "That's right," Cully said. "Somebody's got to. I already told Marshal Flint that I'll resign and do this as a private citizen if I have to."