Calloway's Crossing

by I. J. Parnham

  “I’ll recap,” he said. “Your story is that Ryan demanded money off you. You tried to get Frank Moore to call him off, but he wasn’t interested. You tried to get me interested, but failed. So you returned to Calloway’s Crossing. Then this gunslinger just happened to stop by, get into an argument with Ryan and then leave, but you reckon he might have ambushed and killed him later.”

  Trip nodded. “That’s what I reckon.”

  “Then you went to Calloway’s Gulch for no good reason.”

  “I went to make sure the workers had enjoyed themselves at my saloon and would come again.”

  “My mistake, you went to ask that, but when you got there, you forgot to ask anyone if they’d enjoyed themselves.” Kaplan smiled. “I checked, but you did decide to break in and spend the night in Adam Calloway’s house. While you and Grace were otherwise engaged the money arrived and was stolen, and you reckon this mysterious gunslinger took it.”

  “I reckon.”

  Kaplan narrowed his eyes. “So you know nothing about Adam’s whereabouts, and you know nothing about the thousand dollars in your saddlebag?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you reckon that story is more plausible than the simpler one that you killed Ryan and then stole the money?”

  “It is, because it was this gunslinger.”

  Kaplan took a long slurp of his coffee. “That would be this gunslinger that nobody has ever seen?”

  “That’s not true. Grace saw him, and Chester and Isaac Wheeler did, too. They came to Wagon Creek. Ask them.”

  “That’s a good point.” Kaplan placed his mug on his desk, slapped his legs and stood up. “I will.”

  “When they agree with my story, will you release me?”

  Kaplan headed to the door, but stopped in the doorway.

  “If they agree with your story, I’ll arrest them and put them in the cell next to yours.”

  “Why?” Trip spluttered.

  Kaplan winked. “I may be an old lawman on the verge of retirement who’s looking for a quiet life, but I know about the law and about people. When innocent people see a crime, no two ever see it the same, but when guilty people concoct a story, it’s strange, but they always provide exactly the same story.”

  “You can’t lock us up because we support each other.”

  “I can, but don’t worry. A court won’t convict you. Unless Chester is so weak-willed that when he’s faced with jail, he changes his story.” Kaplan opened the door. “You’d better hope he’s too strong to do that.”

  The lawman headed off, and returned within ten minutes. Whether he’d found Chester or Isaac and heard their stories, Trip didn’t learn as he conferred with one of his deputies in low tones.

  Then he left again. Trip paced back and forth, reckoning that if the marshal’s plan was to make him sweat in the hope he’d tell the truth, it was a good one. As the morning wore on, Trip couldn’t help but wonder what crimes Kaplan could deem him to have committed if he were to tell him everything.

  He had asked for Baxter’s help in running Ryan out of Calloway’s Crossing, but Baxter had done the killing. He had agreed to provide information to Baxter that’d help him steal twenty thousand dollars, and although Baxter had done that, he hadn’t been involved in the raid.

  Telling the truth might get him out of the trouble he was in, but might, if seen in an unfavorable light, drop him in even deeper trouble, and he was sure that Chester, and maybe Isaac, would put distance between themselves and the events of yesterday. His brooding was becoming darker when Kaplan returned with Isaac in tow.

  He didn’t place in him in a cell, but let him sit at a spare desk while he wandered around the office, doing nothing in particular. As Isaac was sweating heavily while tugging at his clothes, Trip tried to flash him an encouraging smile, but Kaplan happened to be facing him and Trip had to turn away.

  Twenty minutes passed without Kaplan asking Isaac a single question. By then, Isaac was squirming around on his seat as if he wanted to blurt out a full confession without Kaplan asking him anything.

  Just as Kaplan was eyeing Isaac with anticipation and walking toward him, a horse pulled up outside. Trip stood on his cot to reach the cell window and the sight of Grace arriving lifted his spirits.

  “How can I help you?” Kaplan asked when Grace had come inside.

  Grace nodded at Trip through the bars and smiled at the nervous Isaac, receiving a gulp in response.

  “I’ve been asking around and I have information which proves Trip is innocent,” she said. She walked toward Kaplan and placed a finger on his chest.

  Kaplan shrugged. “Would that be real information or just pretty talk from a pretty woman?”

  “You are such a tease.” She smiled, but then removed the smile. “This time, it’s real and it’s just a name.”

  Grace leaned forward and whispered in Kaplan’s ear. Kaplan paled and flinched back.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never been more so.”

  Kaplan sighed and then called for the keys. Without further word, he pointed at Isaac and at the door. Isaac didn’t need any encouragement to run outside. As he slammed the door shut behind him, Kaplan unlocked the cell door and gestured for Trip to leave, too.

  “I’m obliged,” Trip said, as he joined Grace. “What did you say to prove my story?”

  “It’s just the name of the man who’s behind everything that’s been happening to us for the last few days.” Grace sighed, as did the marshal. “That name is Milton Calloway.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  TRIP DIDN’T DARE TO ask any questions while they were in the marshal’s office. He was just pleased the marshal had released him. Kaplan did follow him out, but only to report he wouldn’t waste his time investigating another one of Milton Calloway’s schemes, and then returned to his office.

  “What have you got to say?” Grace asked when they reached their horses.

  “Thanks,” Trip said.

  “Anything else?”

  Trip considered. “Well, as you seem to know more about this situation than I do, I guess I’d like to know what’s happening.”

  “Milton’s double-crossing again,” she reported, her eyes showing her irritation and her jaw tensing with a suggestion that she’d expected him to say something else. “There isn’t nothing more to it than that.”

  Trip nodded. Isaac was loitering farther down the boardwalk, so he beckoned him and the young man shuffled closer.

  “Trip, I wouldn’t have talked no matter what Kaplan did to me,” Isaac said, his shoulders hunched and his hands shaking.

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” Trip said, trying to sound convincing.

  Isaac sighed with relief, his shaking stopping. “Are you going off to get Milton now?”

  “Yeah.”

  Isaac stood tall. “Take me with you. I wasn’t nervous in there for what I might reveal. It was because I’m not happy about Pa making me run out on you.”

  “I can understand that, but relax. You and I don’t have a problem.”

  “Does that mean I can come anyhow?”

  Trip nodded. He mounted his horse and, with a subdued whoop, Isaac hurried away to collect his horse. Then at a steady pace, Trip, Grace and Isaac headed out of town and swung around on to the trail to Calloway’s Crossing.

  “Why are you so sure Baxter didn’t steal the money and that Milton’s behind this?” Trip asked Grace.

  “Why are you avoiding the subject?” she said, her eyes narrowing as she turned in the saddle to him.

  “What subject?”

  “If you don’t know. . . .” Grace sighed. “As you only care about Milton, I’ll tell you this – Milton Calloway is the biggest double-crossing snake that’s ever lived around these parts, and what’s been happening to us is precisely the sort of thing he’d organize.”

  Trip shrugged. “I believe that double-crosser is capable of doing anything, but when I left him he was heading away from here. He has no reason to re
turn.”

  “Stealing his brother’s fortune is a good enough reason.”

  “You’ll need more than that.”

  “Adam Calloway’s disappeared.”

  Despite Trip’s contempt for Milton and his growing belief that she could be right, he shrugged.

  “There could be plenty of reasons for that.”

  “There could, but I did myself some thinking and none of this feels right. Three weeks ago you stopped Ryan Trimble killing Milton and in gratitude Milton gave you Calloway’s Crossing, but then by a huge coincidence, Ryan arrives and demands money off you. He’s also the man who should have been guarding the money that was destined for Adam.”

  Trip felt blocks of thought rearrange themselves in his mind, and he didn’t like their new shape.

  “I knocked myself out when I tried to save Milton,” he said, speaking slowly. “Ryan had been all set to kill Milton, but when I came to, he’d gone. I guess Milton could have bargained for his life by telling Ryan about his brother’s money, and Ryan could have come here to protect the money when he was really planning to steal it. The plan would have worked if Baxter hadn’t have happened by.”

  “But it did work,” Grace said.

  “You don’t know Milton as well as we do,” Isaac said. “His schemes are devious. Even Baxter killing Ryan could have been part of it.”

  “You mean Milton hired Baxter?” Trip asked.

  “Perhaps he did, or maybe he used the distraction he provided to steal the money for himself,” Grace said.

  “Or maybe both,” Isaac said.

  Trip continued to question them as he tried to piece together how Milton could have manufactured his recent predicament. Adam’s comment echoed in his mind that when dealing with Milton, free was often the highest price any man could pay.

  Even so, he couldn’t see how Milton could be behind everything, but Isaac and Grace were convinced that Milton was behind this. It was only when they were a mile from the river and Grace reported they were being followed that Trip accepted what had happened.

  Although the rider was around a mile away, Trip reckoned it had to be Baxter. With that sight, the final piece of Milton’s plan fitted into place in his mind, and so did the way he’d defeat him.

  “We’re stopping in Calloway’s Crossing,” he announced.

  “Baxter’s following us,” Grace said. “We have to run.”

  “We don’t. You no longer have to be the one who does all the thinking. I’m thinking now, and I’ve decided to start thinking like Milton.”

  Grace and Isaac both nodded in support, but Trip wasn’t as confident as he sounded and he took the precaution of speeding up as they closed on the river. The others hurried on to join him and at a fair trot they rode into the deserted Calloway’s Crossing.

  Behind them, Baxter was gaining fast, but they still had several minutes before he arrived. Trip reckoned he had enough time, provided his assumptions were correct. He discovered the first was right when they headed into the saloon and found Adam lying tied up and gagged behind the bar.

  Adam was dirt-streaked and when Isaac sawed a knife through the bonds tying his hands behind his back, he needed all three of them to lever him to his feet. While Isaac searched for a jug of water, Trip drew Grace aside and whispered quick instructions to her, his brisk tone not inviting any discussion.

  She nodded and hurried outside, not needing to wait until he completed his explanation. Then he checked on Adam.

  “Was it Milton?” he asked.

  “Of course it was,” Adam croaked and swung away to dry spit to the side.

  Isaac arrived with a jug and Adam snatched it from his grasp. He poured the water down his throat, most of it cascading onto his chest, but he gulped and gulped before finally withdrawing the jug and beaming as if that had been the finest drink he’d ever consumed.

  “Where is he?” Trip asked.

  “He can’t have gone far.” Adam nodded toward the door. “He heard you coming and ran.”

  Adam’s comment reminded Trip of the urgency of the situation. As his companions were the haggard and bone-weary Adam and the eager but youthful Isaac, he reckoned he’d have to deal with Baxter on his own.

  “You two, stay in here and keep your heads down, no matter what Baxter does,” he said.

  “You haven’t got no gun,” Isaac said.

  “A gun wouldn’t help me. To defeat a fast-draw gunslinger like Baxter, I need to out-think him.”

  Trip didn’t wait for any more comments and hurried outside. Baxter was still a minute away from Calloway’s Crossing, his horse thundering up dust in his wake, giving Trip enough time to discover whether his decision to think like Milton would work.

  He hurried along the side of the saloon to the top of the bank and then slipped down into the dry gully. Milton had been behind everything that had happened recently. He’d told Ryan how he could steal his brother’s money, he’d hired Baxter to double-cross Ryan, he’d witnessed Ryan’s shooting, seen where they’d taken the bodies and left a note for Kaplan implicating Trip.

  Then he’d stolen the money from Calloway’s Gulch and planted some of it on Trip. Adam was the only person who had seen him and that meant he had a good hiding-place, and one that was close to Calloway’s Crossing.

  Trip reckoned he knew where it was. Ever since he’d built the saloon, he’d wondered about the growing heap of dirt that a burrowing animal had made in the bank, but now that he’d entertained his suspicions, the heap didn’t look as if it’d been pawed away.

  The animal that had made the heap was larger and was more used to double-crossing than burrowing. Trip hunkered down on the mound, fingering the dirt and examining the fresh earth. Now that he knew what to look for, the outline of a length of wood and perhaps matting buried beneath the dirt was obvious.

  “Now I wonder what’s down here,” he said. “I’m mighty worried this animal could be dangerous. I reckon I might stick dynamite down this here hole and get rid of it.”

  Trip brushed away dirt while he waited, not that he expected an immediate answer, freeing what did prove to be canvas.

  “I said I have dynamite and I’m going to stick it down this here hole,” he uttered, kneeling down and fingering the canvas.

  He shook the canvas, freeing a wider stretch and confirming that it covered a hole and then a tunnel that led beneath the saloon.

  “Now I just hope no person is down here or they aren’t going to like it when they get blown to pieces.”

  “All right, don’t do it,” a voice said from under the ground.

  “Milton Calloway, you double-crossing toad,” Trip snapped.

  A corner of the canvas raised and a face appeared – Milton Calloway’s.

  “How did you figure out I was here?” he asked, blinking rapidly at the brightness as he clutched a bulging bag to his chest.

  “I started thinking like you. Now you’re coming out with the money, and we can put an end to this.”

  Milton moved to slip back into his hole, but Trip grabbed his collar and dragged him out on to the bank. Milton squirmed, but Trip kicked him toward the top of the bank, and with Milton before him they reached ground level as Baxter rode into Calloway’s Crossing.

  In short order, Baxter dismounted and one steady pace at a time headed toward them, both guns drawn with one aimed toward the saloon and the other at Trip. He stopped ten feet away, his jaw having the same firmness as it’d had when he’d blasted Ryan away.

  “You should have run, Trip,” he said. “Now, you die.”

  “I won’t,” Trip said. “I’ve been double-crossed, too, but I’ve put an end to that. Give him the bag, Milton.”

  “I guess. . . .” Milton gulped, his hands shaking, and the bag slipped from his grasp to land at his feet.

  When the bulging bag toppled over on its side Baxter raised his eyebrows.

  “Is that the money?” he said.

  “It sure is,” Trip said.

  “Then come closer,”
Baxter urged.

  Neither Trip nor Milton moved, so he ripped off a shot that thudded into the bag before emerging and whistling past Milton’s leg. Milton stepped back a pace and, as if he’d finally accepted he wouldn’t get away with the money now, he lowered his head.

  Then he did a double-take and ran, his arms wheeling as he kicked up his heels and pounded over the edge of the bank. Trip craned his neck to follow Milton’s progress as he hightailed it down the dry gully, heading for the river.

  Within a minute, he reached the boggy extremity of the river. Only then did he come out of the gully, but he hurried off downriver toward Calloway’s Gulch.

  Baxter snorted. “That leaves you to give me the money.”

  Trip nodded and picked up the bag. Inside the bills rustled as they shifted position. He opened the flaps, and wads of bills that could well come to nineteen thousand dollars were inside. He closed the bag and faced Baxter.

  He swung the bag back and forth, appearing as if he was about to throw it to Baxter’s feet, but at the full extent of his backward swing, he released the bag. It flew end over end, heading beyond the bank.

  “Why?” Baxter said.

  The bag came to a rolling halt on the gully bottom and, on the last roll, the flaps swung open and spilled wads of bills over the dirt.

  “If you want the money, get it,” Trip said, folding his arms.

  Baxter narrowed his eyes. “What are you planning?”

  “Nothing.”

  With a nudge of his wrist, Baxter gestured to the bottom of the gully.

  “Fetch it.” Baxter loosed off a shot, the slug tearing into the dirt at Trip’s feet. “Or the next one will be four feet higher.”

  Trip shrugged and headed down into the gully. Baxter followed him to stop on the top of the bank. Trip didn’t hurry. He walked down to the bag, righted it and placed the spilled wads into it one at a time, but a slug tore through the top of the bag.

  “Hurry up,” Baxter urged. “That was your last warning.”

  With still more than half of the wads spilled out beside the bag, Trip stood up.