To tell the truth, he thought, he ought to let his brother rot in jail. If it had been some other cause, he might even have done so. But for murder Sheridan would see Burt hanged, and Larry Hugess was not about to stand still while his brother was hanged at Winslow where the whole damned territory could see the Hugess name on the front pages of the Enterprise. So there was only one thing he could do.
Sheridan was waiting for him to speak. Burt was looking at both of them like a dog who’s heard the word ‘walk’ -he couldn’t wait to get out.
‘Well, Burt,’ Larry Hugess said.
‘Come on, Larry, come on, come on,’ Burt said. ‘Open this damned door, Sheridan.’
When nobody moved, his face fell as though someone had told him there was no Santa Claus. ‘Hey,’ he said plaintively. ‘What is this? Do I get out or don’t I?’
‘As to that,’ Hugess said levelly, ‘perhaps Marshal Sheridan and I could discuss it.’
Sheridan laid it down flat and hard. ‘No discussions, Hugess.’
Larry Hugess let a frown touch his forehead. He let his cold gray eyes rest on Sheridan’s. They both knew what he wasn’t saying: in effect, he was inviting Sheridan to back down, no harm done. Or take the consequences.
‘No deals, no discussions, no fix, nothing Hugess!’ Sheridan said. ‘Your brother is going to Winslow and he’s going to be tried.’
‘Now,’ Hugess said. ‘Let’s not be hasty, Marshal.’
‘Hasty, hell!’ Sheridan snapped. ‘You’ve been high man on the totem pole so long you think all you got to do is snap your fingers and everyone jumps, Hugess. Your little brother here killed a man in cold blood and you figure you can ride into town and get him off the hook. You figure you’ve got it all tied up with a string. But you’re wrong. I’m going to take Burt out of here and I’m going to ride him across to Winslow and there’s not a solitary damned thing you can do about it!’
Larry Hugess felt the anger rising in him like mercury in a thermometer.
‘You talk a good fight, Sheridan,’ he snapped, coldly. ‘You forgotten you have to cross Flying H land to get to Winslow?’
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ Sheridan said.
‘Go on, Larry,’ Burt urged. ‘Lay it on him.’
‘Shut up, Burt,’ Larry Hugess said, without emphasis. Burt Hugess closed his face with a snap like a clam, and Sheridan permitted himself a grin.
‘You’re being valued, Burt,’ he said. ‘Your big brother’s just working out how much it’s going to cost him to spring you, if he tries. And wondering whether it’s worth it. Right, Hugess?’
Larry Hugess looked at him with hooded eyes, Sheridan was too confident and he couldn’t figure out why.
‘You won’t make it,’ Hugess said softly, letting the warning finally come out.
‘Wrong,’ Sheridan said. ‘We’ll make it. Your ace has been trumped, Hugess. You can lean on me all you like. I doubt you’ll make the mistake of trying it on the US Department of Justice.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’ snarled Hugess.
Sheridan grinned. He was enjoying Hugess’s discomfort, and now he laid it on thick and heavy, relishing the way the big man’s face fell as he gave it to him. ‘We were planning to get word to the US Marshal,’ Sheridan said. ‘You put that one out of the window by blockading the town.’
‘So?’
‘You shouldn’t have done it, Larry,’ Sheridan said. ‘If there’d been no blockade he’d have left town and you’d have had me. As it is, he didn’t, and I’ve got you.’
‘What are you jabbering about?’ Hugess snapped, patience at an end. ‘Who’s he?’
‘Burt and me got ourselves a guardian Angel,’ Sheridan explained. ‘Frank Angel. Special Investigator of the Department of Justice. He’s the man your boys stopped from leaving town. He’s riding with me and Howie and Burt across to Winslow.’
Burt looked from Sheridan’s triumphant face to the crestfallen one of his brother.
‘Larry?’ he said.’ What you goin’ to do, Larry?’
Larry Hugess was shaken, but nothing showed on his face even though his mind was racing. Damn the luck! To have a Justice Department investigator happen into town at this moment was nothing but the purest bad luck. However, Dan Sheridan was counting his chickens a sight too early. Frank Angel had no means of contacting his superiors. Ergo, they did not know exactly where he was. So if he was alone. . . ?
‘Angel, eh?’ he said. ‘You got lucky. Sheridan.’
‘You might say,’ Sheridan smiled.
‘Larry?’ Burt said desperately. ‘What you goin’ to do?’
Larry Hugess turned to face his brother, spreading his hands in a theatrical shrug. He kept his voice quite without inflection. ‘Can’t do a damned thing, kid,’ he said. ‘You got Federal law watching over you, and I can’t buck that. The marshal here will take you over to Winslow and - well, you’ll just have to hold on, Burt. I’ll get you the best damned lawyer in the territory, you know that—’
‘Larry?’ Burt Hugess’s voice was disbelieving. It was as if he had seen Dan Sheridan actually move a mountain. ‘You gonna let them take me?’
‘I don’t see what the hell else I can do,’ Larry Hugess said. He looked at Sheridan and nodded at the door. Sheridan unlocked it and bowed him through ironically. Burt Hugess watched his brother go with his mouth hanging open. Larry Hugess didn’t even look back.
‘All right, Sheridan,’ he said. ‘I see how things are.’
‘Just one more thing,’ Sheridan said.
Hugess stopped at the rail dividing the office.
‘You make the mistake of trying to take your brother away from us,’ Sheridan said levelly, ‘and he’s liable to get accidentally dead. You read me?’
Larry Hugess nodded. It was worth swallowing the insults, letting the marshal have his moment of triumph. He had learned what he needed to know. Sheridan had now become a secondary priority. He went out into the sunlit street. Howie Cade was outside the door. He turned and looked at Hugess.
‘Get what you came for?’ he said.
Larry Hugess went past him and across the street without speaking. There was no emotion in him now, just cold determination. He had discovered what his course of action must be, and he was now going to put the wheels in motion. He neither knew now or cared whether the dust he’d thrown in Sheridan’s eyes had been effective or not. Larry Hugess had not become the most powerful man in this region by worrying about trifles like that. He preferred to use legal methods where legal method would work, and he referred not to stop outside the law unless it was absolutely necessary. But he had amassed power so that he could use it, the way another man will use a hoe or an axe. When it was necessary, he would employ all of it. Like now.
He walked into the Palace and his men looked up expectantly. Johnny Gardner hurried along the bar with a spotless glass and Larry Hugess’s favorite brand of bourbon whiskey.
‘Everything jake?’ Danny Johnston asked.
‘Let’s get a table,’ Hugess replied, as Johnny Gardner hovered nearby. ‘Willie, you want to join us?’
Willie Johns nodded and slouched across to the table where Larry Hugess poured him a drink. Hugess did not look at the gunslinger as he spoke. ‘There’s a man in town called Angel,’ he said softly. ‘Frank Angel. He’s an investigator for the Department of Justice.’
The—’
‘Quiet, damn you!’ hissed Hugess as Danny Johnston started to speak. That’s right, the Department of Justice.’
‘Federal law,’ mused Willie Johns. That ups the ante a mite, don’t it?’
‘How the hell did he happen along?’Johnston wanted to know.
‘It makes no damned difference how,’ Hugess told him. ‘All that matters is that he’s here and he’s going to back Sheridan. They plan to take Burt across to Winslow for trial. I plan to see they don’t’
The two men looked at him. His florid face was set in a heavy frown of determination, and they felt an almost tangibl
e aura coming from him, a sense of something black and evil set in motion and out of control.
‘Listen, Boss,’ Danny Johnston said nervously. That’s heavy stuff.
‘You think I’m going to let them take my brother out and hang him?’ hissed Larry Hugess, controlling his urge to shout, hands flexing on the table in front of him like the huge paws of some carnivorous beast. ‘You think I’m going to stand by while they drag my name through the dirt? Everything I’ve built shot to hell by some sniveling snooper? Not by a long chalk! By God, not by a long chalk!’
Danny Johnston looked at Willie Johns and Willie Johns grinned.
‘What you want done, Mr. Hugess?’ Willie Johns asked softly.
‘Angel!’ Hugess ground out. This Frank Angel. I want him found. I want him found fast. And then I want him dead!’
‘Quiet?’ Johns asked, his voice still feather light and gentle. ‘Or noisy?’
‘It doesn’t matter a damn!’ Hugess said. ‘Quiet would be better, but I don’t care how you do it. Just wait until I can get back to the Flying H, then get started. Hunt Angel out, wherever he’s hiding. Then kill him!’
Chapter Nine
Larry Hugess rode out of Madison soon after midday. By that time, Dan Sheridan and Howie Cade had told Angel everything that had transpired in the jailhouse while Hugess was there. The three of them sat there now, nursing tin cups of coffee. Sheridan’s face was reflective, as was Angel’s. Only Howie Cade was jubilant, high on the way they’d faced down Hugess and his men.
‘And now he’s headin’ back to the Flyin’ H with his tail atween his legs,’ Howie grinned.
‘I’m not so sure,’ Sheridan said.
‘Hell, I just seen him leave!’ Howie said.
‘About his tail,’ Sheridan explained. ‘He backed down a sight too easy for my liking. Not Larry Hugess’s way at all.’
‘Hellndamnation, Dan,’ Howie Cade said. ‘You’re a gloomy bastard.’
‘Yup!’ Sheridan said.
‘What you figure his next move to be?’ Angel asked him.
‘He’ll wait for us to move,’ Sheridan said. ‘I think.’
‘You don’t figure he’ll make a frontal attack on the jail?’
‘Can’t see it,’ Sheridan replied. ‘He knows two men could hold this place against a small army. It’s built like a fort.’
Angel nodded, his own thoughts busy. From what Sheridan had told him of Hugess’s reactions, he didn’t think the rancher was going to wait for the marshal to make a move. Hugess wasn’t that kind of man. He’d grab the bull by the horns and throw it into the next field, but he wouldn’t sit around waiting to see what the bull was going to do. Hugess was strong, cunning, intelligent, and powerful. Angel had his own ideas about the Flying H man’s possible course of action.
‘A suggestion,’ he said. Sheridan looked up, eyebrows raised politely. ‘You and Howie cover each other the whole time from now on,’ Angel said. ‘One doesn’t go out in the street without the other covering. Or I’ll cover both of you.’
Sheridan looked at the Justice Department man without saying anything. His eyes dropped to the gun at Angel’s hip.
‘When did you put that on?’ he asked quickly.
‘When you deputized me,’ Angel smiled.
Sheridan nodded, and the silence grew.
‘Hey, what the hell is this, a secret society?’ Howie Cade crowed.
Angel didn’t answer him. Dan Sheridan just looked up at Howie, and then the light dawned in the deputy’s eyes and he sat down.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I get it now.’
It had taken them both a little longer to put it together, but only a little. Given that Hugess couldn’t take his brother out of the jail without a bad fight, given that he couldn’t sit around waiting for them to take Burt across to Winslow to be tried, there was only one other thing he could do.
‘He aims to take us out one by one,’ Howie said.
‘That’s right,’ Angel said. ‘And my guess is the first one he’ll go after will be me.’
‘Willie Johns,’ Howie said.
‘What about him?’ Sheridan asked.
‘When Hugess rode out of town, he took Danny Johnston and the rest of his boys with him,’ Howie said. ‘Everybody except—’
‘Willie Johns,’ Angel said softly.
Both men looked at him. Willie Johns was the fastest man with a gun either of them had ever seen. He was sudden death and they knew it, and they knew Angel knew it. But Dan Sheridan couldn’t suggest Angel back away from the man. Every instinct told him he ought to tell Angel to get on his horse and get the hell out of Madison, that this fight was none of his making and there was no point in getting killed for a town he’d never heard of before two days ago. But the words wouldn’t come, and so he just hung his head, not looking at Angel as the Justice Department man got up from the chair and put the tin cup down on the scarred old desk.
‘Jesus, Angel,’ Howie Cade said. ‘Listen, I’ll come with you.’
‘We both will,’ Dan Sheridan said, stating to get up, but Angel stopped both of them with an upraised hand. Sheridan stopped halfway from the seat of the chair, eyebrows knitting in puzzlement.
‘Got an idea,’ Angel said.
Howie Cade snorted. ‘You’ll need better than that if you aim to go against Willie Johns, Angel. Here take the Greener an’—’
Angel shook his head. ‘He sees me with that thing, he’ll hunt cover and wait,’ he said. ‘Or Hugess will have one of his boys try for me from ambush. Willie Johns will try to pick a quarrel with me and make me use my gun. Then he’ll have a perfect excuse for blowing me apart’
‘So?’
‘So maybe I’ll surprise him,’ Angel said, and he was out of the door before either of them could speak again. Sheridan lunged to his feet, heading after the Justice Department man; in the same instant Howie Cade did the same thing, and they collided like two comics in a slapstick routine, cursing at each other wordlessly as they pushed apart and went out after Angel into the bright noon sunshine. He was already across the street. They saw him push through the batwing doors of the Palace like a man without a care in the world.
Willie Johns was into his fourth game of solitaire when Angel came in through the door. Johnny Gardner was the only other person in the place, and the sound he made when he managed to swallow the ball of fright in his throat sounded like someone pulling a boot out of a mud hole. His eyes rolled heavenward as if praying for some sweet chariot to swing low and carry him home, then skittered slantwise to watch Willie Johns, who was weighing Angel with eyes as friendly as those of a hungry sidewinder.
‘Omigod,’ Gardner managed. The sound of his voice hung in the still damp air like a fragile bird. He watched Angel walk straight along the bar, his left hand touching it lightly as if for balance, until he was close to Willie Johns.
Willie watched him come. He had his guns on, and he knew this had to be his man. Nobody else in town but himself and Sheridan and, if you cared to count him, Howie Cade, was wearing a gun. The stranger had on a gun: ergo, he was Angel. He’d seen him before.
‘Well, well, well,’ Willie Johns said. This was the cowboy who’d backed off at the bridge when they’d closed up the town. The knowledge spread inside Willie like warm honey. This was going to be a pushover. Angel was not more than about twelve feet away now, and Willie moved his hands slightly, drawing Angel’s attention to the guns in their curious canted holsters at his sides. As if it had been a signal, Angel stopped. Willie allowed himself a little smile.
‘I see you’re wearing your guns, Willie,’ Angel said.
Willie nodded. He was curious to see how Angel would play this.
‘It’s not allowed anymore,’ Angel said mildly.
‘Don’t aim to take ‘em off,’ Willie said. ‘What you figger to do about it?’
Angel stood at the bar, head canted very slightly to one side as though debating that very point in his mind. What he was actually doing was very carefully
assessing Willie Johns’ position in the chair and the position of the chair in relationship to the table. He was ready for Willie. He had been ready ever since he had left the jail and crossed the street, using that small piece of time to discipline his mind and body in the way that the little Korean, Kee Lai, had taught him during his training in the echoing gymnasium in Washington. The deep inner reserves of self which the Chinese call ch’i can be summoned at will with training, to bring all of the self, all of the power of the mind and the body together into one place for one moment of time, a combination infinitely stronger than the separated sum of the two. He was ready and he moved.
Angel took three steps and Willie Johns reacted as Angel had expected. He kicked his chair back away from the table and went for the guns at his side, and as they both moved Angel shouted ‘Sheridan!’
Willie Johns wore his guns in their peculiar hang because, given that he could set himself into the almost-deformed crouch that went with the fast-draw technique he had perfected, the guns lay almost horizontal to the ground. All that he had to do was slide them back seven inches and they were ready to fire, a method infinitely faster than the long down-and-up-and-level-and-fire technique most men used with the six-gun. Angel knew all about that kind of technique, and he also knew its disadvantage: that you had to be set just so, flat on your feet and able to swivel the body perhaps forty-degrees through from right to left or left to right to facilitate the pulling of the gun. Willie had been none of these, and in addition, Angel had shouted the name of the marshal, causing in Johns that millisecond of indecision, that instant of fear that he had been whipsawed, which made him scrabble for his guns instead of the clean fast, unbeatable draw that he would have otherwise have made. Even so, Willie Johns was fast: incredibly fast. He would still have killed nine men out of ten put up against him. But not Frank Angel.
Hunt Angel! (A Frank Angel Western #5) Page 7
