There was a small cabin, a stable, and a corral. In the corral were several horses, none of them showing signs of having been recently ridden. As he pulled up in the yard the cabin door opened and a big man came out. And he was very big.
He came out of the door slipping a suspender over his shoulder. "You lookin' for somethin'?"
Shanaghy touched the badge on his chest. "I have to search the place." The big man came into the middle of the yard. "You'll play hell. If you know what's good for you, you'll git!"
"Sorry, I have to search the place, Mr. Moorhouse."
"Know my name, huh?"
"Of course. The law knows such things."
"Then you should damn well know that tin badge ain't worth nothin' outside of town. And not very much in it."
Shanaghy smiled. "I'd hate to have to put you in jail for obstructing the law."
Moorhouse laughed harshly. "You arrest me?"
"That's right." Shanaghy was smiling. "But I'll have a look at the stable first."
"Mister," Moorhouse said, "I given you a chance. You git out of here now or they won't be enough left of you to pick up with a sponge." Shanaghy smiled. "You know, Mr. Moorhouse, I like you. Now I'm going to search the premises, and if you obstruct me I'm going to throw you in jail. We haven't any courthouse and we haven't any city hall and we haven't any jail, but I can shackle you hand and foot, and I'll do it. Maybe next week I'd come out to see how you're getting along, but I might forget."
Moorhouse started toward him. Shanaghy kicked his feet out of the stirrups and dropped to the ground. He moved so quickly, Moorhouse was surprised. The big man stopped abruptly, half turned and Tom Shanaghy hit him. The punch was a good one and Shanaghy could hit, but Moorhouse didn't even stagger. He swung a wicked roundhouse blow that Shanaghy went under, smashing both hands to the ribs.
Moorhouse grabbed him by the shirt and vest and swung him around, throwing him to the ground a half dozen feet away. Tom lit on hands and knees and drove at Moorhouse with a driving tackle that brought the big man crashing down. Shanaghy was up first. "Get up, Mr. Moorhouse. They tell me you're a tough man. You can let me search the place or continue with this nonsense and take a beating."
"Nobody ever beat me," Moorhouse said, and he started at Shanaghy. Tom feinted and smashed a right to the ribs. He stepped around, feinted again and started to the right. Moorhouse rushed, swinging with both fists. He caught Tom with a roundhouse left that knocked him staggering, and followed it up with a clubbing right that drove him to his knees. Tom came up fast, hooking to the body again, and Moorhouse grabbed him in his huge hands, throwing him over his knee. "Now I break your back," he said calmly.
Shanaghy turned, twisted and tried to break free, but the big hands drove him back. Excruciating pain shot through Tom's back. He jerked a hand free and smashed a right to the big man's face. He seemed impervious to blows, as Tom hammered him again and again, and then he hunched himself higher and began to press Shanaghy down harder and harder.
Shanaghy threw his legs high, trying to break free, then higher. He managed to lock one leg under Moorhouse's chin and against his throat. He smashed his knee toward the man's Adam's apple. Although he did not reach it, the big man let go with one hand to tear the leg from his throat. Shanaghy gave a terrific iunge and broke free.
He staggered to his feet and Moorhouse came up, diving at him. Shanaghy clubbed him behind the head, driving him to the earth. Moorhouse came up again, caught him with a wild swing, and Shanaghy stepped inside, ripping wicked uppercuts to the bigger man's unprotected body. Moorhouse staggered and went back, and Tom threw a high overhand right to the chin.
It caught Moorhouse squarely and he went to his knees. Tom Shanaghy backed off a step. "Get up," he said. "You wanted to fight. Now let's get started."
Moorhouse looked at his bruised knuckles. "There has been enough fighting for today," he said sourly.
"Then I shall search the house."
"Search and be damned. There is nothing there." Moorhouse turned and stared at him from bloody, battered features. "They have beaten you," he said. "You are whipped."
He smiled, revealing a broken tooth and bloody lips. "And now they will kill you. I heard them say it. If it is the last thing they do, they will kill you."
Chapter Nineteen.
A quick survey of the house revealed nothing beyond the fact that a woman had been living there. A few odds and ends remained, a broken comb for her hair, some strands of ash-blonde hair, and a faint lingering perfume, almost intangible.
Moorhouse was sitting on the steps, his head in his hands, when Shanaghy emerged. He looked up, a bloody handkerchief in his hands. "You hit hard," he said grudgingly.
"You asked for it."
"That I did. Never figgered anybody could do it."
"No need to feel ashamed. I've done some bare-knuckle fighting."
"Figgered it. Why I quit. There's no use bucking a stacked deck."
Shanaghy sat down beside him. "These folks friends of yours?" "Not by a damn sight. That woman ... She's too high an' mighty. Ordered me around like I was a slave. Only one she'd talk to was him." "Holstrum?"
"Aye. Seems like she'd set her cap for him-only I don't think she liked him, either. They was up to something, all of them together." "They stole a gold shipment that was to pay off cowhands in town. Most of it belonged to Greenwood."
The big man was silent, dabbing at his broken mouth. "Well, I done killed a man or two but I'm no thief. I'd no part in it."
"Didn't think you had. How many of them are there?"
"There's him ... Holstrum, I mean, and there's that young woman who lived here. Then there was George Alcott, Pin Brodie, an' there was two others whose names I never did get. They didn't come here but once or twice." "They are all together now?"
"They are."
"Any idea where they are headed?"
"You think they'd talk to me? Scarce give me the time of day. Was I you I'd guess they was going east. Two or three of them are easterners, and her who was running the shebang, she wanted to go east."
"The woman who lived here? She was running the show?" "Not her. The other woman. I never seen her. She come here a couple of times but at night. Seems like she met them out on the grass somewheres. Now and again I heard talk. Led me to thinkin' she was the bull o' the woods ... the boss, I mean. She was somewheres over west, I reckon. She come and went from that direction, and from a thing or two she said I figgered she had her a place over yonder."
Shanaghy took his time thinking about it. They were on horseback now, and they were headed south, but he had a hunch that Moorhouse's comment was probably the right one, and that they were headed east.
Holstrum had been looking for a "lady," an eastern woman who had what he considered class. Now he had her, and he would have money and he would be heading east. At least, that was the way he had it planned. "You liked Holstrum?"
Moorhouse shrugged. "He paid me on time. He never complained none. He just wanted folks kept off and away, especially after that woman come. He didn't want anybody around ... Not that anybody ever did come." "I think they mean to kill him."
"What?" Moorhouse passed a hand over his brow. "Well, I feared for it. It was plain to see he figgered he was in charge, but he wasn't. Not a'tall. It was that woman, and after her it was George. Holstrum, he give orders an' ever'body was almighty respectful of him, but behind his back they made their own plans. I heared 'em."
The whole gang was riding now and they had a good start. Shanaghy had taken time looking for wagon tracks, and he had lost time in his fight with Moorhouse, but from the information he might save time. Never one to arrive at decisions too quickly, he thought the situation over carefully. "Mr. Moorhouse? What's off to the south?"
"Ain't nothing. Not for miles 'n miles. Nothing but prairie grass an' antelope. 'Casional buffalo. That's why I figgered east. West there's nothing, either, 'cept maybe that other woman's place, an' it don't seem likely she'd take 'em there, her bein
' so careful not to be seen, and all." East, then. Shanaghy thought of it carefully. Holstrum was known in Kansas City, at least to a few people. If Shanaghy rode after them, he would have to almost kill his horse in catching up, and they might have fresh horses waiting, which would leave him stranded on the prairie and out of action. He got up. "Sit tight, Mr. Moorhouse. I'll be calling on you."
"I ain't arrested?"
Shanaghy grinned and held out his hand. "You're too good a man to lie in jail.
Besides, you've already been helpful."
"Well ... Like I say, I killed a man or two but I'm no thief. My ma raised me better."
Tom Shanaghy stepped into the saddle. His knuckles were battered and sore and his shirt was torn. He turned his horse and rode back to town. All was quiet when he rode in. He stepped down at the livery stable and saw Greenwood come out of his saloon and lean on the rail. Judge McBane joined him there.
Leaving the horse, Shanaghy walked slowly down the street. Greenwood glanced at his torn shirt. "Looks like you've had some trouble." "I could use a beer."
"What happened?"
"Moorhouse didn't want to talk. We went around and around a bit. Then he talked.
He's not a bad man."
"They got the gold," Greenwood said. "They said it was picked up outside of town by somebody with an order for it. The order was signed by Holstrum and by Carpenter."
"Carpenter? He's dead."
"So he is, but how could the express messenger know that?" Shanaghy accepted the beer and took off his derby and placed it on the bar beside him. Greenwood's news was no more than what he had expected. "Did the engineer come in here?"
"Him? Why should he? That train stopped only a few minutes and then pulled out.
Seemed like they were glad to get away from here." Nobody said anything for a minute or two. Shanaghy tasted the beer. He was very dry. The beer was cold and it tasted good.
"Drako's dead, and so are his boys," McBane said. "You shoot almighty straight, son."
"I had to. I wasn't going to get any second chance." Shanaghy drank from his glass. "But I had some help, and I've had no chance to thank them." "Josh had his own score to settle."
"That's right. Win Drako was about to hang him, one time." Tom straightened up.
"Is Dick Pendleton still in town?"
"Matter of fact, he isn't. Josh told him you were in trouble and he came in to help. He rode back to the ranch, in something of a hurry, I guess." "And Josh? I could use him." He finished his beer. "Thanks, Greenie. I needed that."
"Well, you tried." Greenwood rested his hands on the bar. "Have another beer if you like. Might as well enjoy it. I'm cleaned out." "I don't think so," Shanaghy said quietly. "I don't think so at all."
Startled, Greenwood stared at him.
Shanaghy was smiling. "I may be guessing all wrong, but I don't think I am. If I am, you may have lost all you say, but if I'm right-" "If you're right ... then what?"
"We'll get it all back." Shanaghy hitched his gunbelt into an easier position on his hips. "Is Holstrum around?"
"He closed up when the shooting started. Holstrum never did like gunfire. He'll be around when things look quiet again. Believe me, this isn't the first time Holstrum closed up. At the first sign of trouble he hunts cover." Tom Shanaghy was thinking about Jan. Dick had ridden out of town in a hurry ...
Why? He had not seen Jan since he left her with Coonskin.
He turned to Judge McBane. "Do you know a man named Coonskin Adams?"
McBane smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Don't tell me you've run into him!"
"Met him."
"Didn't know ol' Coonskin was still around. He's a wolf-hunter. Used to trap the Rockies for fur, then worked for a couple of cow outfits cleaning up the predators."
"Where's he live?"
McBane chuckled. "Now that's a question! To tell you the truth, I doubt if anybody has ever asked that question. Coonskin is one of those people you see around. He comes and he goes. He's here one day, gone the next. He's not a man who talks of himself even when he is around."
"Somebody killed his burro," Shanaghy said.
McBane's expression changed. "God help them then."
"I need to talk to him."
"Go where you last saw him and build yourself a fire. Send up a smoke. Coonskin is as curious as any wild animal, and my bet is he will come to you. McAuliffe, who is division superintendent, knows him well and he might give you a lead. Send him a wire."
McAuliffe ... Big Mac? Maybe.
"Judge? Do the folks here still think I killed Carpenter?" "I am afraid they do. I'd heard the story before ever I got down to breakfast, told me as the gospel. I must say I never believed it for a moment." The door opened and Josh Lundy came in. His rifle was cradled on his arm. "Heard you was back. They got away?"
"Not yet."
Lundy looked at him carefully. "You got some idea? If I can help, count me in."
"You have helped, but I do need you. I'm going to need some more help."
"I'll come," Greenwood said.
"And I," Judge McBane added. "What have you got in mind?" Briefly, Shanaghy explained how the train had been deliberately backed in front of him to block pursuit, then described his arrival at Holstrum's place, and what he had learned from Moorhouse.
"Judge, I want authority from you to search Holstrum's store and his living quarters. If he is there, then at least part of my conclusions are wrong, but I am betting that he's gone. And then," he added, "I want us all at the depot to take the evening train east."
McBane shook his head. "Shanaghy, I can't permit you to enter a man's private premises on nothing but suspicion."
"Suppose we go knock on his door? If he answers the door I shall go no further with it. If he doesn't, I want to search the area ... if I have to," he added. "I shall do it on my own authority." He smiled. "If I am wrong you can please the town by firing me."
"I can't believe Holstrum is involved," McBane said. "Judge, he is a man with a dream. He's a great, hulking, somewhat nearsighted man, but all his life he has dreamed of young, sophisticated women. Suddenly such a woman is here, and he believes she is going to be his. He believes the money is the key to it."
"Do you mean he planned it all?" asked the judge. Shanaghy shrugged. "I doubt it. He may have started it or somebody may sort of suggested it ... Not right out, maybe. I don't know how it all happened. I don't even know if I am right, but we're going to find out." He turned to the door. "Judge? If you'd like to come? And Josh?" Tom Shanaghy went up the few steps to the store's walk. His footsteps echoed hollowly as he walked along, followed by McBane and Josh. He paused at the store's door. There was a sign: closed until further notice. "Same sign he always uses," Josh commented.
Tom rapped on the door, and the sound echoed hollowly. He waited, listening.
When there was no sound, he rapped again.
"His living quarters are in the back. There's a door around to the side." Again Shanaghy led the way. There was a sinking inside him. Secretly he had been hoping he would find Holstrum within. He wanted to find no man guilty, and even though all pointed to Holstrum, he could be wrong. He hoped he was wrong. He knew how a dream could die, and how futile had been the dreams of this man. How much worse it would have been for him had he realized the dream in fact, for what could two such people have said to each other? What could they have done together? Sometimes it was better to keep the dream and forget the realization. Shanaghy rapped on the back door, and there was no response. Josh walked back to the stable. "His horse is gone," he called.
Shanaghy took hold of the doorknob, hesitated. For he shrank at entering the home of another, uninvited. Yet he put his shoulder to the door and the foolish lock burst.
There was a bare, simple room. A rag rug on the floor, plus two chairs and an old leather settee. There were two paintings on the wall, mystic, ethereal things ... obviously originals, like something Poe might have visioned. There were a few books, several of poetry, but only
the first few leaves had been cut as if the reader had gone that far and stopped. There were a bottle of whiskey and a glass, the bottle half empty. There was a bottle of Chateau LaFite with one drink gone.
The bed was made, neatly tucked in. The few clothes in the closet were nicely hung. The drawers were half closed as if Holstrum had packed in a hurry. The drawers were empty except for one. There was a dainty handkerchief edged with lace ... perhaps a memento of the girl Holstrum had seen but once and then never again. Shanaghy picked it up, glanced at it and dropped it back into the drawer. He remembered something Holstrum had said, or that had been said about him, about looking in a window and seeing some elegantly clad people dancing. Well, Holstrum was still looking in windows, and he was still standing outside. Shanaghy swore softly, and McBane glanced at him. "He's missed the boat again," Tom said, "I wish he could have made it, just once." "You have compassion, my friend. One does not often find it in an officer."
"More often than you think," Shanaghy said.
"And maybe Holstrum will make it this time."
"No ... " Shanaghy shook his head slowly. "I know the kind of people he is dealing with and he does not. He is thinking of her, and of what they can do in some great city. She is thinking of that money, and what she can do. And George is thinking of the money and wondering how he can wind up with all or most of it. And I think that other man, I think he is the one named McBride. I think he intends to have it all and knows how he will ... And they are all wrong unless I can stop something here."
"Here?"
"We must get our tickets."
Shanaghy closed the door behind him, fastening it as securely as possible. They walked back up the alley together. A few people were in the streets now, and some were talking, pointing out where the men had stood when the gunfight took place.
Shanaghy paused. "You said ... I killed them?"
"Both," Josh said, "dead center. I never did see better shootin'. Wilson Drako was here on the steps. He went down right there, and Dandy, who was clerkin' at the ho-tel ... "
"The clerk was a Drako? The one with the rifle?"
the Iron Marshall (1979) Page 16
