Crooked M Killings

by Frank Ellis Evans

  So he rode in silence, juggling the possibilities in his mind.

  ‘What are you thinking, Reuben? You’ve not said a word since we left the hut.’

  He partly explained his fears, omitting to mention his worry that she might freeze. She listened in silence, staring straight ahead. When he finished speaking, she turned her head towards him.

  ‘I’m coming along, Reuben. End of argument. Two guns are twice as good as one.’ And the tone of her voice made it clear that the discussion had ended. ‘Do you really think they’ll not be waiting for us, Reuben?’

  Reuben rubbed his stubbly chin and frowned.

  ‘I ain’t sure, Sal. My hunch is that they won’t but Cassidy ain’t stupid and between him and Abe they might have worked it out by now. If they have worked it out. . . .’ His voice trailed away. The thought that Cassidy would be waiting to ambush them didn’t bear thinking about, but they had to be prepared. ‘If they are waiting for us they’ll be facing this way. That’s why it will be to our advantage if we circle round town and come at them from the back.’

  The words didn’t sound convincing, even to the speaker, but he could not stop Sal and he couldn’t let her go to certain death alone.

  The sun was peering over the horizon as they finished circling and rode into Redwood.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Frank

  At the same time as Reuben and Sal were bedding down for the night in the hut, Frank was staring up at the faces of Shep Cassidy and Crazy Pete Robinson as they leaned over his bruised and battered face.

  ‘OK, Frank. If you ain’t going to tell us, we’ll start work on yer wife.’

  Robinson spun on his heels and smashed his fist into the wall next to Margy’s head.

  ‘How do you think she’d look with no teeth, Frank? I’m sure I could do a bit of dentistry. In my own style of course.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘How about it, Frank? Time for me to improve yer wife’s teeth?’

  The threat to his wife was too much. Frank broke down. He would tell them what they wanted to know.

  ‘So, Frankie boy. Tell us. It’ll be good to see Reuben Kane ’n’ that whore agin. I got a couple of scores to settle with them.’

  Within minutes, they knew about Reuben and Sal and they also knew that the pair were coming to town. The only part of the equation that Frank didn’t tell them was the time. He said that he reckoned Reuben and Sal would arrive at noon. He hoped that it would be a vital detail.

  Cassidy nodded at Robinson.

  ‘We’ll be ready fer ’em!’ he growled.

  ‘What about these two?’ Robinson nodded at Frank and Margy and placed his right hand on his sidearm. His intention was clear and for a moment Shep Cassidy looked on in agreement. Then he shook his head.

  ‘They cain’t do us no harm. Leave them be. Let’s go and round up the boys.’ It was a uniquely merciful moment in the life of Shep Cassidy.

  As they left his house, Frank crawled to his wife and she cradled his head.

  ‘God help us, Margy. If Reuben Kane can’t stop them . . .’ His voice faded and he stared into the frightened eyes of his wife. He felt helpless, hopeless and totally defeated.

  ‘Damn it all, Margy. What the hell has it all come to? Living here at the beck and call of Cassidy. Living in a town where we’re all too old or too damn scared to do anything.’ He staggered to his feet, helped by his wife and she led him to the chair in the front of the house, overlooking the street.

  ‘Stay there, you old fool and I’ll get you something strong to drink. Might ease the pain a mite.’

  Frank shook his head, staring pensively at the darkened street.

  ‘It’ll take more than a strong drink to ease the pain. A hell of a lot more.’

  A few lights still flickered in the warm night and Dawson, ever present, was sweeping the area outside his shop, humming quietly to himself. He stopped and leaned his broom against the shop front and lit his pipe, glancing over at Frank and waving a greeting.

  ‘Fine night, Frank. You enjoying the night air?’

  Frank made to wave back but a sharp, savage pain in the ribs caused him to lurch forward, clutching his chest. Dawson ran across the street and put an arm round the old man’s shoulders.

  ‘Are you OK, Frank? Hell, what’s happened to your face? You’ve more bruises than an old barrel of rotten apples.’

  ‘Shep Cassidy. That’s what happened.’ The voice of Margy came from behind him and she pressed a glass of special Irish whiskey into Frank’s hand before kneeling down in front of her husband. ‘I’ll get the doc over to see you, Frank, and he can give . . .’

  ‘Don’t fuss, woman!’ Frank exclaimed, waving a dismissive hand. ‘Ain’t the first time I’ve cracked a rib or two and there ain’t anything the doc kin do that we cain’t do ourselves. A couple of these will help,’ he added, before downing the whiskey in one gulp. Nevertheless, he winced as he straightened up and Dawson and Margy looked on with concern.

  ‘So what happened? You say it was Cassidy?’ enquired the shopkeeper.

  ‘It was Cassidy all right. I’ll fix up another whiskey for you, Frank. Care to join him, John? It ain’t every night we get the best Irish out.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Margy. I don’t mind if I do.’

  ‘I’ll leave Frank here to tell you what happened.’ She looked at her husband with wifely concern. ‘Are you sure you don’t need the sawbones, Frank?’

  ‘I’m sure. Another whiskey’ll help though. A big one.’

  For the next few minutes, John Dawson listened as Frank related the happenings which had led up to his beating. He didn’t mention Reuben or Sal, except to say that there had been an ancient feud between Reuben and Pete Robinson. Frank reckoned that to give any more information could compromise the safety of Sal and Reuben.

  Occasionally Dawson whistled softly in disbelief as the story unfolded.

  An hour or so later, slightly mellowed by the whiskey, they sat staring at the sheriff’s office over the street.

  ‘Damn it, Frank. I sure wish I wuz twenty years younger.’

  ‘Me too, John. But we’re an old town of has beens and nothing we say’ll do anything to improve things. Cassidy’s got the town and us just where he wants us.’

  ‘Nothin’ truer. There ain’t nothin’ truer.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Battle Stations

  ‘We’ll leave our horses here. We don’t want anyone to see us riding in. Have you got your guns?’

  Sal grinned in the gloom. Stupid question.

  ‘Now where do you think a lady would hide two Colts and a Winchester, Marshal Kane?’

  Reuben grinned back at her. She looked for all the world like a prim lady going peaceably about her business, her bonnet low over her eyes and her dress swirling as she walked. She turned to face him and in her hands she held what looked like a bulky shopping bag. It contained her guns. Another Colt .45 was tied loosely into her petticoat – not accessible with great speed but strategically handy.

  ‘I’ll take the right side of the street. You take the left. Keep your eyes peeled, especially in the upper windows and the roof spaces. Worth keeping your third eye focused under the sidewalk. It’s a place I’ve hid in afore now. If we ain’t been challenged before, I’ll swing up onto the balcony of the saloon and enter Cassidy’s bedroom the unorthodox way – by the window. You stay down here and go in the saloon through the front door. We gotta bank on them not recognizing you, which’ll give you time to start shooting. I should be on the landing by that stage and they’ll be caught in the crossfire.’

  ‘Easy as fallin’ off’n a log!’ Sal smiled again. Curiously, she didn’t feel nervous.

  She surprised herself by leaning forward and giving Reuben a light kiss on the lips. It surprised Reuben even more.

  ‘I’ll see you for lunch, Marshal. Take care of yourself.’

  She stepped into the dingy street and when she reached the sidewalk, she looked back and nodded. Reuben returned her sig
nal by checking that his Winchester was ready for action then they both moved slowly, cautiously making their way down the street.

  Lee Hing’s restaurant was being prepared for the early risers who would need a breakfast and a single light flickered from the kitchen area, where Lee Hing was slicing chunks of white fat to go into the massive blackened frying pan which he would use to fry the bacon. Lee had worked out many years ago that the smell of bacon cooking would draw in hungry cowboys and anyone else looking for a temporary cure for a hangover, like moths to a flame. He placed eggs on a rack, ready to drop them into the pan with the bacon, and then he started to cut huge slices of bread, ready for buttering or frying. Lee Hing was oblivious to what was happening just a few yards from where he worked. Had he known, the restaurant would have been in darkness and he would have been quietly tucked up in bed.

  Neither Sal nor Reuben knew that before they even reached town, Shep Cassidy had convened a meeting with his mob following the visit to Frank and Margy. The presence in Redwood of Reuben Kane was the sole item on Cassidy’s agenda. The group sat around a table in the back room of the saloon. Pete Robinson was leaning back on a wooden chair, picking at his nails with a sharp knife and chewing on a cheroot. Every few seconds his weasel face would appear from under the sombrero and his dark eyes would flash round the room. Cassidy was pouring himself a whiskey and next to him sat Deputy Tom James, checking his sidearm by looking down the barrel and spinning the chamber. Eli Carson and Bill Pierce sat facing the door on the opposite side of the table. They were unused to being invited to meetings but with the deaths of Jed and Shorty Gambles and the unexplained disappearance of Rab and Johnny Davies, numbers were thin and Cassidy was a believer in ensuring that enough guns were at his disposal to deal with any situation that might arise.

  They were waiting for Abe Coulson and Cassidy always became irritable when he was kept waiting. It was rumoured that he had once killed someone who was five minutes late for a meeting but the fact that he needed Coulson, coupled with the latecomer’s speed and accuracy with his guns, ensured that Cassidy would not be planning to challenge him.

  The door swung open and Coulson, immaculately dressed in his customary grey frock coat and a white silk shirt topped with a black bow tie, strode slowly to the only empty chair, situated to the right of Shep Cassidy. Cassidy nodded in a perfunctory manner, downed his drink and glared round the table.

  ‘Now you’re all here,’ he glared pointedly at Coulson, who smiled serenely, ‘we can decide how to rub out Reuben Kane.’

  ‘And the woman.’ It was Tom James who spoke. ‘She’s part of it.’

  Cassidy glared at him and continued.

  ‘We know that Kane has trailed us and we know he killed Jed and Shorty – or at least he was there – and he tried to kill me. He’s got a woman with him. Sal McIntyre’s her name. She’s a sort of man-woman – buckskins and a man’s hat and she’s known to shoot too. John Dawson’s spoke with her and Tucker persuaded him to part with a little information. We’ve bin told that they’ll come at noon but my hunch is they’ll be here earlier. I’ve arranged for Dawson to be up early and he’ll give a signal – he’ll light a smoke – if he sees anything.’

  ‘So what’s the problem, boss?’ asked Eli Carson, who didn’t see the danger of one man and a woman.

  ‘The danger is that Kane is fast. He kills good. The woman I ain’t sure about. Mebbe she’s just his whore. Mebbe not. Whatever she is, we’ll kill her.’

  ‘Mebbe we could have some fun with her first.’ The deputy saw the fierce expression on Cassidy’s face and he paused in mid sentence. ‘Sorry, boss.’

  ‘We kill her. We take no chances. None at all.’

  ‘OK, boss.’ Suitably chagrined, James lapsed into silence.

  ‘As I said, I think theys’ll come early. If’n they do, we’ll be waiting. Me ’n’ Pete’ll be in the Crazy Lady. Pete’ll be lying on the roof outside of the window with a Winchester.’

  He glanced round to ensure that his audience had understood. Satisfied that they had, he continued.

  ‘Eli, Bill – there’s two coffins standing leaning agin the front wall of the undertaker’s. Stand in those and wait. You’ll be able to see the street through the cracks. Anything suspicious, shoot and ask questions later.’ He surveyed his companions again. ‘Tom. Stay in the sheriff’s office. Blast him from the window.’

  Coulson blew a cloud of blue smoke into the air and smiled at Cassidy.

  ‘And me? Where do you want me, Shep?’

  ‘You’re our wild card, Abe. You just go where you want to go. When you see ’em, you know what to do.’

  Abe Coulson laughed a quiet, throaty chuckle.

  ‘I sure do, Shep. I sure do.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brewing

  Reuben was surprised to see light emanating from Dawson’s Emporium. He smiled to himself and muttered to himself under his breath.

  ‘I reckon you never sleep, John Dawson. A twenty-four hour pursuit of money six days a week and fifty-two weeks a year. Well, good luck to you. But keep to hell outta my way. The last thing we need is an innocent person walking into the firing range.’

  He waved across the street at Sal, indicating for her to stop and check the street out for anything which might make her suspect that something was wrong. He looked along the rooflines for any signs of movement, then into the blackness underneath the walkways and the many doorways, searching for fleeting shadows. He observed the barrels grouped further down the street outside the Crazy Lady Saloon. He wasn’t sure if any of them had been moved to create a hiding place for a would-be assassin. He kept the information at the front of his mind. It was only when he was as satisfied as he could be that he waved his hand to indicate that Sal could continue.

  Sal too had been examining the street, her vision heightened by the tension which she was at last beginning to feel. A sudden movement in front of her caused her to reach into her bag and close her hand round the handle of her Colt, her finger placed lightly on the trigger and pointing the hidden gun to her front.

  The noise was the door of Dawson’s shop and he appeared with a sack of flour which he placed leaning against the doorway before pinning a price tag to the wall behind it. Dawson appeared to gulp in the morning air, and then he looked first one way, then the other, up and down the street. Sal could have sworn that he’d seen Reuben but if he had he showed no sign or desire to show any recognition. This bothered Sal. She had never fully trusted Dawson and now she wondered if he had in fact seen Reuben and why he had not acknowledged him. To her left she could see that a light was shining in Frank and Margy’s house. It wasn’t surprising, she reflected ruefully, that they were unable to sleep.

  Reuben, on the other side of the street, had reached the sheriff’s office in which Tom James was crouching behind the window sill, a Winchester rifle held tightly and nervously in his sweaty hands. On the sidewalk at the far side of the street James could see a lady dressed in a gingham dress and bonnet walking slowly and quietly. Strange. Why would a lady be out at this time of the morning? He wrestled briefly with this question but his limited intellect couldn’t find an answer so he shrugged and reached to the stove to pour a mug of coffee from the old coffee pot. As he reached over he touched his hand on the hot surface and he yelped and knocked the pot off the stove, sending it clattering to the floor and spurting scalding liquid in all directions, some of it on to his hand. He cursed loudly. All thoughts of Reuben Kane were forgotten as he gripped his scalded hand and leapt to the cell, where he plunged it into a bowl of cold water.

  ‘Sheeeesh!’ he exclaimed as the cool water momentarily took the pain away. He shook his hand and blew on it before plunging it again into the bowl. The voice behind him caused him to spin around in panic. The door closed silently behind the unmistakable figure of Marshal Reuben Kane, who stood facing him with a Winchester rifle pointing at the deputy’s stomach.

  ‘Howdy, Deputy.’

  Tom James stood in s
ilence. He looked longingly at his rifle, leaning against the window sill and out of his reach, then stared at Kane and saw only coldness in his eyes. He knew that he was doomed. If Kane didn’t kill him, Cassidy surely would when he learned of his incompetence. He began to shake and gabble.

  ‘Good to see you, Marshal. I jest burnt my hand on the stove. Careless fool thing to . . .’

  The sentence hung, unfinished, in the air. Kane didn’t move a muscle. Beads of sweat glistened on Tom James’s forehead.

  ‘Give me one reason not to kill you, you son of a bitch. Just one.’

  James was reduced to incoherent babbling. His terror was palpable. Had he been capable of thought he would have realized that Kane did not want to raise the alarm by shooting him. The gunfire would have Cassidy coming out shooting.

  ‘OK, James. I’m gonna give you a chance. I’m gonna put you in your own cell and then I’ll call fer a judge and we’ll have a trial. Then, likely as not, we’ll hang you.’

  James nodded furiously. At least there would be a delay. And if Kane was killed he could say he was rushed and maybe, just maybe, Cassidy would let him off with his life. Kane took a pair of handcuffs from a hook on the wall.

  ‘Get in the cell and put your hands through the bars. Behind you.’ Kane handcuffed the deputy to the bars then he stuffed a piece of cloth into his mouth and gagged him with his own necktie.

  ‘Now, not a sound, you no good bastard. If’n I hear so much as a peep out of you I’ll be back and you’ll find out what it’s like to have a bullet in the belly. Do you understand?’

  The killer was blubbering with terror and Kane looked at him contemptuously before locking the cell and walking towards the door.

  ‘Remember. Not a sound.’ Reuben’s last view of Tom James’s was the back of his head still nodding violently. He shut the door quietly behind him and walked out into the street.