High Wild Desert

by Ralph Cotton

  “Shut up, Teague,” he said. To Oldham he said, “Get your man looked after, see the dove.” He paused, then said, “Tell the bartender I sent you there. Then get out of New Delmar.”

  “See the bartender?” said Coyle. “Why, Ranger, are you buying me a drink?”

  The Ranger only stared coldly without reply. Oldham returned the stare as he backed his horse and reined it toward the doctor’s office, just past the Number Five Saloon where the twangy piano rattled loudly from two blocks away. As his men started turning their horses behind him, Deak Holder jerked his horse around toward Dankett still standing back in the darkness.

  “Get this straight, Deputy,” he warned Dankett. “My name is not Little Dick. Don’t ever call me that again.” He spun his horse and rode away, bobbing in his short stirrups.

  “Sure thing, Little Dick,” Dankett said coolly.

  As the six riders moved out of sight toward the doctor’s office in a rise of dust, Dankett stepped out of the darkness and walked closer to the Ranger and Teague.

  “‘Take him down, Coyle’?” he said, staring hard at Teague as he mimicked him. “‘Kill him now . . . ’?” He raised the big shotgun. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  “Don’t do it, Deputy. Let it go,” Sam said, seeing what was coming.

  “Aw, Ranger, just one or two good ones in the nose?” Dankett said, almost pleading. “It won’t kill him.”

  “No, Deputy, that’s not my style of law,” Sam said. “When you get to be sheriff someday, you’ll understand why.”

  “Get to be sheriff?” Dankett said, lowering his shotgun, much to Teague’s relief.

  “Why not?” said Sam. “You sure came through well enough to get my endorsement.”

  “I was just doing my job,” Dankett said.

  “I know, Deputy,” Sam said. “That’s what sets the quality of it.”

  Dankett grinned under his lowered hat brim.

  “Obliged, Ranger,” he said.

  “Let’s get this one to jail now, Deputy,” Sam said. “We’ve got company coming.”

  Chapter 20

  When the Coyle brothers and their men reached the doctor’s office, Dr. Starr had only recently returned from checking on Anna Rose. He had taken off his shoes, dropped his suspenders from his shoulders and settled down with a new bottle of rye he’d picked up at the Number Five Saloon. He’d sunk down into an overstuffed chair by the fireplace and raised the bottle to his lips, but no sooner had he downed a long drink than the front door knocker resounded loudly.

  “Holy Moses!” he said aloud. “Does anybody ever sleep in this town?”

  He stepped into a pair of soft house slippers and plodded to the front door, opening it.

  “You fellows,” he said, almost taking a step back from the six men crowded onto his front porch. In front of the others, Chic Reye staggered in weakly and grabbed the doctor’s shoulder for support.

  “Doctor, help me, I’m hurting . . . something awful,” Reye said in a halting, pain-racked voice. Sweat poured freely down his face, some of it mixed pink with blood from the uncovered bullet wound in his cheek. “My guts are all on fire.”

  “Get his arms and follow me,” the doctor said to his companions.

  Oldman Coyle and his gunmen stepped in. Dave Coyle and Karl Sieg took Reye by his arms and followed the doctor as he gestured them toward his treatment room. Inside the room, they laid Reye down on a gurney. The gunmen gathered around as the doctor leaned over Reye and peeled back the bandage from his greenish blackened stomach.

  “Tell me straight, Doctor,” Reye said. “Has that little sawed-off sumbitch killed me?” He stared down at Deak Holder standing amid the gunmen. Deak gave a short grin.

  Dr. Starr winced at the sight of his infected navel wound, as did the onlooking gunmen.

  “That would be my first prognosis,” Starr said. “But let’s see what we can do to keep you from dying.” He turned to the men. “All of you out of here.”

  “Except me,” Oldham said firmly as the others backed out into the other room. “I want to know about Anna Rose, Doc. Is she going to be all right?”

  “Damn, Oldham,” said Reye. “What about me here? Look at this belly wound.”

  “You’re going to be all right, Chic,” Oldham said, dismissing the moaning gunman.

  “I think she will make it,” Starr said. “She’s beat all to hell, her ribs are broken—most of them anyway. She needs to wake up, but I’m optimistic she will before long. She’s just coming around more slowly than I would prefer. Whoever beat her had no intention of her ever living through it.” He shook his head, feeling the surge from the long drink of whiskey loosening his tongue. “Thank God the Ranger caught him. If they hang him, I’ll declare him dead whether he is or not. Bury him alive—send him to hell still breathing.”

  “What?” said Oldham. “Did you say the Ranger caught the man who did it?”

  “Yes, he did,” said Starr. “He’s in the jail right now, him and his pal both.”

  “Henry Teague?” said Oldham.

  “No, the other one,” said Starr. “Rudabough, I believe his name is.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Oldham said, feeling anger welling up inside him as the reality of it sank into his mind. “The Ranger didn’t tell me this.”

  “From the look on your face, I think I can understand why,” Starr said as he gathered instruments and fresh bandages for Reye’s treatment. “I suppose he failed to tell you about the money as well?”

  “He didn’t say anything about money,” said Oldham. “You mean the money of mine that Anna Rose was holding for me?”

  “Yes,” said Starr. “Rudabough had the money on him, all of it in chips from the Number Five Saloon. The Ranger and Clow Dankett took it off him.”

  Oldham’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to remain calm. He thought about how he’d asked the Ranger why Teague was in cuffs.

  Public drunkenness, he thought angrily. The Ranger knew what would have happened had he told him everything.

  “Can I see her, Doctor?” he asked Starr. Before any killing got under way, he wanted to hear from Anna Rose’s own lips what had happened to her and who was responsible for it.

  “Her? What about me here?” Reye said again. “I’m the one with my liver on fire.”

  “Shut up, Chic,” Oldham snarled. He drew back a hand, tempted to reach out and thump the moaning gunman on his rosy swollen navel, but he stopped himself.

  Seeing what Coyle had almost done, Starr stepped in between the two, protecting his patient.

  “Tell Lila I said you can see her—but mind you, only for a minute or two,” Starr said, raising a finger for emphasis. “If Anna Rose is awake, don’t wear her out talking. If she’s still asleep, leave her alone.”

  Without another word, Oldham turned and walked out of the room. As the men watched, he walked across the room to the front door.

  “Wait up, Oldham,” said Dave Coyle, seeing his brother swing open the door. “Where are you going?”

  “To see Anna Rose,” Oldham said with determination.

  “Not by yourself you’re not,” Dave said. “We said we’ll all stick together here, remember? We don’t know what that Ranger is apt to do.”

  “I remember,” Oldham said, yet he continued on out the door anyway.

  “Damn it!” Dave cursed, headed for the front door as it shut behind Oldham. “Sieg, you and Deak come with me. Simon, stay here with Reye.”

  • • •

  At the door to Anna Rose’s room, Lila stepped aside as Oldham walked in and took his hat off. Behind him at the bottom of the stairs, Dave, Deak and Sieg slowed to a halt after trying to catch up to him. They had stood looking up the stairs as Oldham entered the room.

  Oldham stopped and looked over at the bed where the battered sleeping dove lay, her
head propped up on a thick pillow. Lila watched him stare across the room at Anna Rose for a moment. At length, he spoke to Lila without taking his eyes from Anna Rose.

  “I’ve got to see her,” he said bluntly, not asking the big blond dove’s permission. But he turned to Lila and awaited her nod of approval all the same.

  “Sure,” Lila said softly.

  Oldham walked quietly across the room and kneeled beside the dove’s bed as if in prayer.

  “Oh, Jesus, Anna,” he said under his breath, seeing the condition of her face, running a hand ever so gently over her bruised and battered brow.

  To his surprise, Anna Rose’s eyes sought him from beneath blackened, swollen lids.

  “Joe . . . ? Is that . . . you?” she said, her words trailing weakly.

  “It’s me, Anna,” said Oldham. “Only I’m not Joe North,” he said, ashamed of himself for having lied to her. “My name is Coyle . . . Oldham Coyle.”

  “I . . . knew that, Oldham,” Anna murmured. “I thought you . . . wanted me to call you . . . Joe North.”

  “I suppose I did,” Oldham said, hanging his head. He reached over and cupped his hand over hers. She summoned enough strength to turn her hand palm up and let him hold it.

  “It’s okay . . . Oldham,” she said. “I’m sorry I . . . lost your money. I fought him hard. That’s why . . . this.” She tried her best to smile, but her lips were too swollen and cracked to allow it.

  Anger glowed white hot inside Coyle. He fought it down and swallowed hard, settling himself.

  “The money wasn’t important, Anna Rose,” he said softly, consoling her.

  “Now you . . . tell me,” she said, with a short faint laugh that quickly turned to a deep, painful cough.

  “Shhh, take it easy, Anna Rose,” Oldham said, seeing she was weakening and in pain from talking so much. “I’m going to be around New Delmar for a while. We’ll have time to talk.” He paused, then said quietly, “Was it Henry Teague and Sonny Rudabough who did this to you?”

  “Not Teague . . . just Rudabough,” she said, summoning strength in her voice. She squeezed his hand. “He said . . . you sent him, so I let him in. Said you told me to go with him . . . take care of him.”

  That son of a bitch! Oldham clenched his teeth in anger.

  “He—he liked . . . beating on me,” she continued. “I should have thought and . . . charged him.” Again she tried a brave smile; again her battered lips wouldn’t permit it. She coughed and cringed from the pain of it.

  “Please, stop talking, Anna Rose,” Oldham whispered. “You need to lie still, let your ribs mend.”

  “All right, Oldham . . . I will,” she whispered, already dropping off to sleep.

  Oldham stood and slipped his hand from hers. Lila stepped in beside him and guided him away from the bed toward the door.

  “I should have waited longer before coming here,” he said, his hat in hand.

  “No, I think it was good for her, you being here,” Lila said, at the door. “This is the first she’s been awake. It was hearing your voice that brought her around.”

  “You really think so?” Oldham asked. He gazed back toward Anna Rose’s bed.

  “Yes, I do think so,” said Lila. “Now you need to go and let her sleep.” She turned him and ushered him out the door, into the hallway.

  “I’ll be back,” Coyle said. “I mean it, I will.” He turned and watched the door start to close.

  “She’ll be glad to see you,” Lila said, nodding. Her face narrowed with the closing door until she disappeared and the door stood closed in his face.

  “I mean it,” Oldham repeated to himself.

  Twenty feet away at the top of the stairs, his brother, Dave, stood watching him. Oldham spotted him when he turned, putting his hat back on.

  “How’s the dove?” Dave asked.

  “She’s doing okay, brother Dave,” Oldham said.

  “You could’ve waited for us to catch up to you,” Dave said in a flat, harsh tone.

  “I could have, but I didn’t,” said Oldham. “Sorry, brother, I was in a hurry.”

  “I get a feeling we’re walking deeper and deeper into trouble here,” Dave said as they made their way down the stairs and crossed the floor toward the bar. Deak and Karl Sieg followed them.

  At the crowded bar, Oldham ordered a bottle of rye and four shot glasses. The bartender stood the bottle on the bar and spread the glasses out in front of the men, waiting for Oldham to pay him. Oldham took out a gold coin but held it for a moment.

  “Ranger Burrack said to tell you he sent me,” he said.

  “Oldham Coyle?” the bartender said.

  “You know who I am,” Oldham said. “You’ve seen me here before.”

  “Right you are, sir,” said the bartender. “But I’m supposed to always ask when there’s a pickup.”

  “A pickup?” Oldham looked at him curiously.

  The bartender stooped down and came up from under the bar with the cloth bag. He checked the name tag as he set the bag on the bar.

  “There you are, Oldham Coyle,” he said. “The Ranger instructed me to give this to you upon request.”

  Coyle looked at the bag, then at his brother, Dave, standing beside him, then back at the bag. The bartender picked up the fresh bottle and uncorked it.

  “I’ll be damned,” Oldham said quietly, already having a good idea what was inside the bag.

  Sieg and Deak drew closer for a look as Oldham reached out and loosened the bag’s drawstring.

  Oldham dug a hand into the bag, grabbed some chips and let them spill from his fingertips.

  “Burrack must be a straight shooter after all,” he said to Dave, seeming a little surprised to ever see his money again.

  “Yeah,” said Dave. “Maybe in more ways than one.” He watched the bartender finish pouring their glasses full, set the bottle aside and walk away. “I say let’s drink up, gather Reye and Simon and ride out of here.”

  “We just got here, Dave,” Oldham said as he hefted the bag of chips, then looked around at the gaming tables, centering his gaze more intently on the raised-platform table, noticing onlookers gathered around a poker game in progress.

  “Oh no, brother Oldham,” Dave said in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re even thinking about gambling!”

  Oldham continued staring at the game with a sheepish grin and spoke to Dave over his shoulder.

  “It’s my nature to think about it,” he said. His stare lingered a moment longer, as if the game begged him to come sit in. Then he sighed, shook his head a little as if to clear it and looked back at Dave. “But no, I’m not going to do it.”

  “Good,” Dave said with relief in his voice. “Now we drink up and—”

  “I’ve got a bigger game in play right now,” said Oldham.

  “What are you talking about, Oldham?” Dave said. “We’re through here. You even got your money back. If that’s not beating the odds, I don’t know what is. Let’s call it a night, get out of here while the getting’s good.”

  “I’m not leaving yet,” Oldham said firmly. “I’ve got unfinished business.”

  Deak and Sieg gave each other a guarded look.

  “No, you don’t, brother,” Dave argued. “This thing with Hugh Fenderson has smelled like a setup all along. Now he’s on his way here, according to Teague. I’ve never considered you crazy enough to sit still and wait for a killing party.”

  “I’ve got killing of my own to do, Dave,” Oldham said. He raised the shot glass to his lips, threw back its fiery contents in one drink, set the glass down and refilled it.

  “What!” said Dave in surprise.

  “You heard me, brother,” said Oldham, setting the bottle down, pushing it aside. He stared straight ahead.

  “The Ranger?” said Dave. “After him treating you square, you’
d still kill him . . . for money?”

  “It’s not about Burrack anymore, and it never was all about the money,” he said. He picked the cloth bag up an inch and let it plop back down. “I owe for the woman.”

  “No, you don’t,” said Dave. “She took a hit of bad luck, but it wasn’t your fault. She was doing what doves do. Leave some money for her if you want to. But put her out of your mind.”

  “Out of my mind?” Oldham chuffed darkly. “You didn’t see her face, brother Dave. I did. He used my name to get her guard down. Told her I said take care of him.” He turned and stared at his brother. “He used her, robbed her, beat her, threw her in a public ditch like emptying a chamber pot.”

  “I can understand how you feel,” Dave said gravely. “But when Fenderson’s train rolls in, there could be a dozen men with him—hell, a hundred, far as that goes. Think about the odds.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the odds tonight, brother,” said Oldham. He raised his glass, threw back another shot and slammed it back on the bar, gripping it tight in his fist. “Sonny Rudabough is going to die. So is Henry Teague, just for being with him.”

  Chapter 21

  Well before dawn, Deputy Clow Dankett stuck Big Lucy’s barrel against the Ranger’s shoulder and nudged him just enough to cause him to open his eyes. He smiled to himself, noting that the Ranger did not awaken with a start. Instead he’d simply opened his eyes and slid them back and forth across the dim-lit jail without moving his head until he’d scrutinized what the world had laid before him.

  “What is it?” Sam asked in a whisper.

  “You said to wake you if I hear a train?” Dankett said.

  “Yes,” Sam replied.

  “I hear one,” Dankett affirmed.

  Sam listened intently until he heard the distant roar of a steam engine beneath the sound of snoring from the cell Cisco Lang shared with Toy Johnson and Randall Carnes.

  “Right, obliged, Deputy,” Sam said, raising the Colt from his lap, straightening in the chair tipped slightly behind the desk.

  “You wake up the way my pa always did,” Dankett said quietly as the Ranger stretched and slipped the Colt back into its holster. “He was a scout for a privateer expedition into Mexico. Said he could sleep in a cyclone but wake up if a feather touched the ground.”