"I want to talk to you, Marshal," Cully said as he approached Brennan.
The lawman was leaning against a large rock that stood several yards beyond the campsite. He had slipped one of his guns from its holster and was examining its action in the fading light. Without looking up from his task, he said, "I thought I told you not to call me that anymore, Cully."
"Don’t guess it matters now. Wolfe knows we're here. He probably knows that you're in charge of the posse, too. His man probably went right back to him and described you."
Brennan closed the cylinder of his Peacemaker. "I imagine you're right," he admitted. "Wolfe knows me, that's for sure. He's known all along that I was after him, and he knows I'll get him one of these days. It's going to be soon now; I can feel it in my bones."
Cully hooked his thumbs in his belt and stood in front of Brennan. "What are you going to do?" he asked flatly.
Brennan finally looked up. He slid his fingers along the ivory butt of the Colt and then slipped it back in its holster. He said, "I'll leave a couple of men here to make it look like we're camped, just like we're supposed to be. Then the rest of us will slip into town and hit Wolfe while he's not expecting it. We'll get that woman back, and the money, too."
"What if it doesn't work?" Cully demanded. "What if Elizabeth gets killed in the fighting? Have you even thought about that?"
"Of course, I have," Brennan replied, his tone sharper now. "I'm not a reckless fool, son, no matter what you may think."
Cully shook his head. "I'm not accusing anybody of anything. I just think it would be a good idea if we worked out a better plan."
"Better plan?" Brennan snorted. "What sort of better plan?"
Cully thought quickly, trying to come up with something that might work. He said, "If you all go riding into Elysium, Wolfe won't wait to see what's going to happen. He'll just kill Elizabeth out of hand.
But a couple of men might be able to slip into town, find out where she is, maybe get her free."
"A couple of men?" Brennan repeated in his booming voice. Several startled posse members stopped what they were doing to pay attention to the conversation between the two lawmen. "Two men wouldn't stand a chance if Wolfe got his hands on them!"
Cully tried to speak softly, but he realized that he was getting louder, too. "Maybe not," he said, "but Wolfe wouldn't be as likely to kill the girl, either, if only two men were found in town. You take the whole bunch, and he'll kill her as soon as he knows you're coming."
"Who says he'll know we're coming?" Brennan asked.
Cully laughed. "You think you can take a posse of greenhorns right into an outlaw hideout without anybody knowing about it?"
As soon as the words were spoken, Cully regretted them. Hearing angry mutters from the posse members, he knew that his brashness and impulsiveness had just made him some enemies among the townsmen from Abilene. But it's true! he thought. For all their courage and perseverance, these men weren’t experienced fighters like those in Wolfe's gang.
The more levelheaded men among them realized that and agreed with Cully. Angus swung to face the posse and said, "Aye, the lad's right. 'Twill do no good t' raid Wolfe's town."
Elliott Pannier stepped forward. "I agree, Mr. MacQuarrie. Marshal Brennan, you promised that man we'd stay here until the ransom money was delivered. I believe we should wait."
"Waiting won't do anything but get your fiancée killed," Brennan replied. "And a promise made to scum like Wolfe and his men doesn't mean anything!" He started to push past Cully. "Now get your horses ready to ride."
Cully angrily reached out to stop him. His hand clamped on Brennan's upper arm and swung him around. Brennan was suddenly furious as Cully confronted him.
"Wait just a minute here!" Cully demanded. "What is it you're really after, Brennan? Do you want to get Elizabeth back safely, or are you just after Wolfe?"
A shudder went through Brennan as he glared at Cully. With the eyes of the entire posse on him, he paled in rage. "I've been after Wolfe for a long time, boy," he rasped, his voice little more than an emotion-choked whisper now. "I'm not going to let him get away again, not when I'm this close to him."
"Why?" Cully prodded, his own temper barely under control now. Finally, the questions and doubts that had plagued him ever since the posse left Abilene were bursting out into the open. It was time to clear the air. "Why is it so important that you get Wolfe?"
"Why?" Brennan repeated. "I'll tell you why, Cully...Because the bastard killed my wife!"
Cully rocked back as if he had just been struck by a fist. He had suspected that Brennan had some sort of personal grudge against Wolfe, but he had not expected the tragedy that Brennan now revealed.
"Wolfe and his gang hit the bank in a little town in Missouri a couple of years ago," Brennan went on, the words sounding hollow. "They didn't get much. Wolfe probably doesn't even remember it. But as the gang was riding out, they traded shots with the local sheriff and a couple of deputies. Nobody was hit—
except one woman who happened to be unlucky enough to be walking down the boardwalk to the store."
Cully licked his lips, which had gone dry. He said, "I'm sorry, Marshal. I didn't know—"
"Of course, you didn't. But that doesn't change anything. I've been after Wolfe ever since that day, and I won't rest until I've brought him to justice."
Brennan turned away, but again Cully reached out and stopped him with a hand on his arm. "You're right, Marshal. That doesn't change anything. I'm sorry about what happened, but that doesn't mean you're right about this plan to attack the town."
For a long moment, the two men stood facing each other, Cully's hand on Brennan's arm. Their stubborn gazes locked while the posse members watched the two determined men. Several of the men were making comments in support of either Cully or Brennan.
Roland Stockbridge pushed out of the cluster of men. "I agree with Marshal Brennan," he announced loudly. "I think we have to hit the town while Wolfe isn't expecting us."
Angus flung his arms out. "Dinna be daft, man! D'ye think Wolfe is a fool? O' course he'll be ready for some sort o' raid!"
"That's right," Pannier echoed. "Please, Roland, I know how worried you are about Elizabeth, but we have to wait—"
"No!" The word ripped from Brennan's mouth. He tore his arm from Cully's grasp. "I'm in charge here, and I say we attack!"
Cully tried to move in front of him, all too aware of the tension around him. The posse was split, and if they weren’t careful, they were going to wind up fighting among themselves. Pushing toward Brennan, Cully said, "Hold it, Marshal—"
His face contorted in fury, Brennan lunged, launching a punch at Cully's head.
Reacting instinctively, Cully blocked the punch. Before he knew what he was doing, he had thrown one of his own. His fist caught Brennan on the jaw, knocking the marshal backward. One of Brennan's boots hit a rock, tripping him. He sprawled on the ground.
An angry shout went up from the men who had supported Brennan, answered by warning growls from those who had agreed with Cully. Men clenched fists and squared off, ready to strike. Within seconds the camp would break apart in a full-fledged brawl.
"Hold it!"
The shouted command came from Tom Brennan. The marshal slowly climbed to his feet and rubbed his already swelling jaw. He grimaced, and then surprisingly, a smile slowly spread across his face.
"That's quite a punch you pack, son," he said to Cully, who stood tensely, waiting to see what would happen next.
"Sorry I had to do that, Brennan," Cully said tightly.
Brennan shook his head. "Don’t be. You were right." He raised his voice. "Did all of you men hear that? Cully's right. We can't afford to take chances with the young lady's life, and we sure can't afford to waste energy fighting among ourselves. There'll be no brawling in any posse I'm in charge of. Is that understood?"
There were murmurs of agreement from the men, who slowly began to relax.
"We'll work out some other p
lan," Brennan went on. "That all right with you, Cully?"
Cully nodded. "That's all I wanted."
"Fine. Right now, I think I want some of that java before this jaw gets too sore for me to enjoy it." Brennan headed for the coffeepot, grinning at the men who were going back to their tasks.
The crisis appeared to be over. But for some reason, Cully was still worried. Too many things could still go wrong.
14
Elizabeth Stockbridge's eyes were dry. She had cried all the tears that were in her during the course of this long day. Even though her arms ached from being pulled over her head and tied to the bed, her face showed no pain: She refused to give Roscoe Wolfe the satisfaction of seeing her hurting.
Wolfe sat in a chair near the bed, smoking a cigarette and taking sips from a bottle of whiskey. Although he had occasionally run his hands over her body during the day, he had not molested her in any other way.
He had talked plenty, though, rambling about his plans once he had that extra fifty thousand dollars. Together with what he had taken from the train, it added up to a cool hundred grand, more money than he had ever seen before. Of course, his men would have to have their shares, but he intended to come out with at least half.
"Reckon fifty thousand ought to buy me a pretty damned good hacienda down Mexico way," he said now. He had pushed back the canvas over the window, and he smiled at the soft light of dusk. "A man'd need a good woman to help him enjoy a place like that."
Elizabeth said nothing. She turned her head away to avoid looking at him.
"It'd be up to you, of course. You could come with me, lady. We could have us a right nice time down there south of the border. You best think about it and make up your mind, 'cause that ransom money's probably goin' to be here sometime tonight or early in the mornin'."
Elizabeth sighed. She would make the effort one more time.
She asked, "Why can't you just let me go back to Abilene like you said you would if the ransom was paid?" Her voice was hoarse, for she had had little to eat or drink during the day.
Wolfe shook his head. "I never had me a lady like you before. I figger if I'm goin' to retire from outlawin', I need somethin’ special to take its place. You're it."
Bitterly, Elizabeth said, "Last night you called me a bitch and a slut."
"Well, I reckon that's what you are. But you're awful pretty, too, and I reckon I can tame you down some." Elizabeth couldn’t see him, but she could almost feel Wolfe's leer as he went on, "Hell, that might be fun by itself."
She shuddered, hating herself because she knew he was watching her reaction.
The worst of it, she told herself, is my utter powerlessness in this situation. There was nothing she could do to help herself. She had tried the night before, and the effort had brought her nothing but more abuse.
There was one hope that she nurtured. From what she had overheard, a posse from Abilene was supposed to be somewhere close by. That young deputy Cully Markham was probably with them, assuming he had not been hurt too badly during the fight with Wolfe's men at the stable in Abilene. She cringed at the ghastly memory of those ugly moments.
That posse was her only hope. It was a long shot, she knew. With Wolfe and his men expecting trouble, they would be ready to thwart some kind of rescue attempt. But hope of deliverance was all she had to cling to.
Someone will come for me. Someone will rescue me.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and began to pray.
As evening shadows began to fall on the campsite, Cully stood up and walked away from the remains of his supper and the dregs in his coffee cup. He had spent a quiet hour sorting his thoughts and eating his meal. Now, he decided, it was time to approach Tom Brennan and work out a new plan to save Elizabeth.
The evening meal had been pretty skimpy—a couple of rabbits and a handful of stale biscuits—but the chance to drink hot coffee had cheered the men a little. Many had gathered around the fire, talking in low voices and laughing from time to time. A few sat apart, like Roland Stockbridge and Elliott Pannier. Although their lack of complaining and their surprising coolness under fire had won the grudging respect of the other posse members, everyone knew that the two easterners would never really fit in here.
Hannah had chosen a spot a little away from the fire, too. As Cully passed close by, she looked up and smiled at him. He wished he could sit down with her and enjoy a few minutes of peace again, but he had to settle things with Brennan. He just smiled and nodded and went on to the edge of the camp, where the federal marshal was checking on the horses.
"Everything all right?" Cully asked softly, not wanting to spook the animals.
"All quiet," Brennan replied.
"That's good. I figure we need to talk about the situation."
"It's a stalemate, Cully, you know that. Wolfe isn't going to move, and neither are we."
"Somebody's got to do something."
Brennan nodded. "You said something about a couple of men slipping into town..."
"That's right," Cully said quickly, keeping his voice down so that the discussion wouldn’t drift to the ears of the rest of the posse. If there was another argument, he didn’t want it spreading again. "I think two men could get in and out of there pretty easy. Once we've got Elizabeth, all of us could light out for Kansas. Wolfe might come after us, but we've got enough men to hold him off."
"It's chancy," Brennan said slowly, "but then what isn't? Who do you think should be the two men?"
"I'm one of them," Cully declared flatly, his tone brooking no argument.
"And the other? It ought to be your choice, since your neck's going to be on the line."
"I was thinking about Roland Stockbridge."
Brennan frowned. "Stockbridge? Why him? Why not me or Angus?"
"You and Angus need to stay with the posse. They'll still have to have a leader, no matter what happens in town. That's you. And Angus's probably the best fighting man in the group, next to you and me. Stockbridge handled himself well enough when those owlhoots hit us last night."
"But he's a tenderfoot—"
"Maybe when he started out," Cully said. "I think this experience has toughened him up considerably."
"Well, maybe..." Brennan sounded doubtful. "Like I said, it's your choice. When do you figure to go?"
"When do you think would be a good time?"
Brennan thought a moment, then said, "Dawn is still the best time to surprise somebody. Folks just aren't as watchful then. Might be your best bet."
Cully nodded. "Sounds good to me."
Brennan clapped Cully on the shoulder. "Good luck, son. You're going to need it. Why don't you get some rest now? I'll talk to Stockbridge for you, find out if he's willing to go along with the plan."
"All right. Thanks, Marshal."
Brennan moved off toward the other men. A moment later, Cully saw him sit down next to Roland Stockbridge and begin talking earnestly to the young man. Cully found a good, comfortable spot next to a tree, leaned back against it, and tilted his hat over his eyes. Lack of sleep and the weariness of the long chase caught up with him rapidly, and a peaceful, dreamless sleep claimed him almost immediately.
A strong hand pulling at his shoulder roused him from a deep slumber. Cully blinked at the darkness and looked up to see a large shadow looming over him.
"Ye'd better get up, lad," Angus rumbled. "There's something strange going on."
Cully sat up quickly. Angus was kneeling beside him, and close by was another figure, this one slender, with the light of the waning three-quarters moon reflecting on blond hair. Hannah...
"What is it?" Cully rasped. Every instinct suddenly screamed that something was wrong.
"Some of the men are gone, Cully," Hannah said in a low, urgent voice. "Mr. MacQuarrie and I didn't notice them leaving, but they're not here, and we can't find Marshal Brennan anywhere—"
Enraged, Cully surged up onto his feet. Without even thinking about it, he knew exactly what had happened. "That old double-cross
er!" he exclaimed.
"Wha' d'ye mean?" Angus gripped Cully's arm. "Ye dinna think the marshal is going to attack the town?"
"That's exactly what I think."
"Oh, no!" Hannah gasped as Cully hurried past them. The deputy cast his eyes around the camp. In the moonlight he could count the sleeping figures of only half the posse members.
"On your feet, men!" he called, his voice ringing through the camp. "We've got trouble!"
As the groggy men began rolling out of their blankets, Cully ran to the other side of the camp where the horses were tied. As he had suspected, about half of the mounts were gone. The men were calling confused questions after him. As he turned back to face them in the faint light given off by the embers of the campfire, his features were taut and grim.
"Brennan and some of the men have slipped away," he announced. "I think they're going to try to raid that town and rescue Miss Stockbridge."
Mingled among the surprised cries of the posse members, Cully heard Hannah exclaim, "Roland! Where are you, Roland?"
Elliott Pannier moved into the glow of the dying campfire, still rubbing at his eyes. He blinked sleepily and peered around. Hannah caught him by the arm and asked urgently, "Elliott, where's Roland?"
"Why...I assumed he was here—"
"He's gone, too," Cully said sharply. "Brennan was talking to him just before I dozed off. He must've sold Roland on the idea of raiding the town."
"Wha' are we ginna do, Cully?" Angus asked. His shotgun was in his big hands, and he stood tensed and ready for trouble.
Cully took a deep breath. For the first time since leaving Abilene, Tom Brennan wasn’t around to be consulted. In fact, this time Brennan was the problem. In the heat of the moment immediately after Elizabeth's kidnapping, Cully had been more than ready to lead the posse. Now that the time had come to make a decision that could affect a great many lives, his confidence in himself wavered. He had been on his own for a long time, but this was a responsibility he had never faced before.
Lucas Flint never would have taken me on as a deputy if he hadn't thought I could do the job, Cully thought. Now I have to live up to that faith.
Rattler's Law, Volume One Page 55
