Clay Nash 2

by Brett Waring

  “Hold on! She told me she was coming here to tend her sick brother!”

  Burrows arched his eyebrows, shook his head slowly. “Nope, Julie ain’t got any livin’ kin in this neck of the woods, Nash. All wiped-out like I said. Then she lost her husband to fever, I heard. Like I said, a gal who’s had a heap of sorrow.”

  “Which she could be trying to change to something better by teaming up with our road-agent,” Nash said.

  Burrows frowned worriedly and spoke almost to himself. “Not Julie ... I couldn’t believe it of Julie Benbow.” Nash figured that Burrows likely knew more about the girl than he did, but he intended to find out a hell of a lot more within the next couple of days.

  “What time does the train leave for Blackwood?” he asked, standing and hitching up his gunbelt.

  Time was running out for Brad Burns, one way or another.

  ~*~

  They came for Burns in the middle of the night. The cell door crashed open and a man stood beside it holding a lantern while two beefy guards stormed in and, without a word, yanked the startled Burns unceremoniously off the floor, dragging him outside.

  “What the hell’s goin’ on?” demanded Tyler Cade, voice slurred with sleep.

  The guard with the lantern stepped inside to casually cuff him across the mouth, then moved back swiftly and slammed the door with a ringing crash. The group moved off along the dark passage and another door clanged shut behind them.

  “Looks like Burns is in for another ‘talk’ with Bronson,” Alex Bryant said in the darkness of the cell.

  The other men who had been in there had been awaiting trial for minor crimes and now had been removed to the main part of the prison.

  And so, at the moment, only Cade and Bryant occupied the cell.

  Cade said, “I’d like to see Burns have another little session with Bronson tomorrow night. Then, the day after, it’s rock pile day ...”

  And that meant opening the main gates to let the chain-gang file through to work on the road they were building for the county. Almost half the guards in the prison went along to keep watch.

  Brad Burns was returned to the cell just before dawn. He was unconscious when the two sweating guards dropped him onto the floor. One of them looked at Cade as he watched in the half light.

  “Clumsiest rooster I ever saw,” the guard said, jerking a thumb towards Burns’ heavily-breathing form. “Fell down them stairs again.”

  He went out, chuckling and Cade got up and knelt beside Burns. Bryant joined Cade.

  “Judas!” he breathed when he saw the wetness glistening on Burns’ face. “Bronson’s losin’ his touch. He don’t usually mark-up a man this bad.”

  “Don’t seem to care about Burns. My guess is he wants to know where that gold is for himself. Bet Hume don’t know he’s beatin’ up on Burns this way. Hey! You okay, pard?”

  Burns was stirring and he froze when Cade spoke, staring straight above him.

  “It’s all right, Burns. This is Cade.”

  Burns relaxed some and turned his head slowly to look at him in the dim light. His mouth moved several times before Cade was able to make out what he was saying.

  “Nash ... did this to me ... Got—gotta get out and—kill him.”

  Cade nodded, smiling crookedly. “Sure, kid. We’ll get out. And we’ll be glad to help you kill Nash. Glad to!”

  His smile faded abruptly and his face twisted up with hate.

  He patted Burns lightly on the shoulder and told Bryant to get a pitcher of water from the wooden bucket on the wall. He had to look after Burns. He needed the yellow haired man for a while. For two things, in fact: to help him get out of there and, after they’d killed Nash, to make him a rich man.

  Cade figured he could make Burns tell him where that gold was hidden once they were out of the prison. He knew a few tricks that Bronson hadn’t even thought of.

  Chapter Eight – Breakout

  Sheriff Carson was surprised to see Clay Nash step down off the stage from Knife Edge, and the surly booking clerk lost some of his color when he saw the big undercover agent. But he needn’t have worried. Nash had more important things on his mind than the behavior of ill-mannered clerks.

  He grabbed his war bag from the baggage rack and strolled across to where the lawman was leaning against the wall of the depot.

  “Didn’t expect to see you up in this neck of the woods again, Clay,” Carson said as they shook hands. “Figured you had your man and you’d be off on some other chore for Wells Fargo.”

  “We like to make sure we’ve got the right man,” Nash told him soberly. “Seems to be some doubt about Burns being the hombre who pulled those robberies. Tell you about it over a drink.”

  Carson frowned and nodded slowly, falling into step beside Nash as they walked back up the street towards one of the saloons.

  Over a drink, and a feed, Nash told the lawman about his investigation thus far and Carson sat back slowly in his chair and built a cigarette, looking at the big Wells Fargo man, as he spelled out his conclusions.

  “I think you’re wrong, Clay,” he said flatly. “Julie Gant’s had a tough time and she’s had to learn to look after herself. I wouldn’t know about why she wanted to get on that stage so bad, but I’ll bet it had nothin’ to do with the robbery. She’s too fine a woman for that, Clay.”

  Nash shrugged. “I’ll check her out. She still in this town?”

  Carson frowned. “No, she ain’t. She left. Dunno where she went.”

  “Maybe she went back to that spread of hers up in the hills?”

  Carson arched his eyebrows. “Why would she do that?”

  “Maybe she figures the road-agent will go there. I still think I winged him. If Burns isn’t my man, then the outlaw will be needin’ care and, if she’s in this with him, she’s the one he’ll go to.”

  “Yeah, but s’pose Burns is the right man. She’d run out, wouldn’t she?”

  “Not before she picked up the gold from the robbery and I figure it’s around here some place.”

  Carson pursed his lips, nodded slowly. “Yeah, you could be right. Sure would be a lot of gold to pass up. Thirty thousand and then some.”

  Nash nodded as he stood up and left some money on the table beside his empty plate. “I’ll go hire a mount and ride on out there. Have to camp out tonight but should be at the Gant place tomorrow. You want to ride along?”

  “Reckon not, Clay. I’d like to, but there’s been a big gold-strike up at the diggings and the word is that there’s a bunch of miners on their way into town to whoop it up ... I’d better stick around, I guess.”

  “Sure. Well, adios, Sheriff. See you in a couple of days.”

  “Good luck,” said Carson, watching Nash carry his war bag down towards the batwings. He put a boot up on the chair vacated by the Wells Fargo man and drew deeply on his cigarette. His face was thoughtful as he blew smoke.

  ~*~

  “Guard! Guard!”

  Tyler Cade yelled urgently, shaking the cell door and rattling it in the lock. He grabbed up the tin dipper on its long wooden handle from the water bucket and ran it back and forth across the bars, calling for the guard again.

  There was the sound of pounding boots in the passage and then Mitch, one of the big, brutal guards who had been in on Burns’ first beating, appeared at the door, six-gun in hand. He slammed the gun barrel across Cade’s fingers where they gripped the cell door bars.

  “What in hell’s all this racket? Stand back from that door!”

  Cade sucked his numbed fingers and stepped back, gesturing behind him to where Bryant was kneeling beside Burns.

  “It’s Burns. I reckon you and Bronson went too far with him this time. He’s bleedin’ everywhere and I think he’s dyin’.”

  Anxiety flitted briefly across Mitch’s brutal features as he looked past Cade to Bryant and the dim form of Burns on the floor. It was little more than two hours since Mitch himself had flung Burns’ battered and unconscious body down there. His m
outh pulled tight as he heard the harsh, rattling breathing of the man and he yelled at Bryant to stand against the wall. He could see Burns’ face then, a mask of blood, and the man’s chin gleamed wetly as did his shirt. Hell, his shirt seemed to be soaked to the waist with blood! Judas, if he died, there’d be hell to pay ...

  “Back in the far corner, both of you!” Mitch snarled, gesturing with his gun. Cade and Bryant backed up and Mitch took the key ring from his belt and unlocked the door. He went in warily, covering the other two with his gun as he moved to Burns and looked down at the man. His breathing was ragged, his chest convulsing. Mitch couldn’t see him any too clearly as he was in deep shadow, despite the wedge of sunlight coming in through the barred window. He reached down with his left hand and grabbed Burns’ left shoulder, feeling the wet shirt. He shook the injured man roughly, keeping an eye on Cade and Bryant. “Hey! Burns! You okay?”

  “’Course he ain’t okay! He’s soaked with his own blood!” growled Tyler Cade.

  “Shut up, you!” snapped Mitch and then he was abruptly yanked off balance as Burns came to life, grabbed the arm that was shaking him, throwing his full weight on it so that Mitch was pulled to the side and down, his face rapping the wall. It only dazed the big guard but it was enough. Cade and Bryant leapt in, smashing fists and boots into Mitch’s body, kicking his legs from under him, stomping on his gun hand. Burns started groggily off the floor, still weak from his last beating and stood there, swaying, blinking, as Bryant and Cade continued to beat Mitch. Cade grabbed the guard’s hair and slammed the back of his head against the stone wall, again and again. Finally, breathing hard, he stood up, holding Mitch’s six-gun.

  He turned to Burns, who was shaking his head to clear it. His shirtfront was soaked with a mixture of water and his own blood. It had been realistic enough to fool Mitch.

  “You ready to go, kid?” Cade snapped.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” panted Burns.

  “Let’s go then ... Alex, check the passage. But there shouldn’t be any guards between here and the Warden’s office now, not on rock pile day.”

  Bryant nodded and went to charge out, but Cade grabbed his arm. “Take it slow and easy, pard! Slow and easy! Don’t go rushin’ around corners. Check first.”

  Bryant nodded again and moved out of the cell more slowly. Cade grabbed Burns’ arm and shoved him out after him, then knelt and removed Mitch’s gunbelt and holster. He buckled them on fast, figuring he might need extra ammunition. Then still holding the six-gun, he went down the passage after the others.

  They moved swiftly through the cold stone passages without a challenge. They paused at the bend in the passage that would take them to Bronson’s office and the big man standing guard outside.

  Cade motioned to the others to hang back and leave it to him, then got down on the floor and peered cautiously around the bend in the passage. The guard was sitting on a three-legged stool beside the door, his fat jowls resting on his massive chest, eyes closed as he dozed.

  Cade removed his boots and stood up, signing to the others to stay there. He eased around the corner, gun ready, and began padding silently across the intervening space. He moved in close to the wall and eased his way along, sliding a bare foot forward a couple of feet, then bringing the other foot up to it, his hard eyes watching Gomez, the big guard, constantly.

  Gomez stirred, sniffed, rubbed the back of a hand across his rubbery nose, blowing out a breath through his thick lips. Cade froze and Burns and Bryant flattened themselves against the wall. The guard’s lips moved again as a fly walked across his chin and he slapped at it irritably, hit himself in the face and awoke with a start. Cade pressed right back against the wall, wishing he could sink into the stone. Gomez yawned and put both hands up to his face, rubbing at the sweaty flesh in an effort to come awake properly. Cade leapt forward while the man’s hands covered his face and rammed the gun muzzle against Gomez’ temple. The man stiffened and blood drained from his face as he lowered his hands slowly and swiveled his eyes enough to see Cade.

  The prisoner put his finger to his lips and increased the pressure of the gun barrel. Gomez licked his fat lips and nodded vigorously: he savvied what Cade meant. The gun barrel jerked and the guard stood up swiftly. Cade motioned for him to move past him towards the bend in the passage. Gomez sidled by, keeping his eyes on the prisoner, his hands well out from his sides, away from his gun. At the bend in the passage, Cade shoved him roughly and, as Gomez stumbled, Bryant and Burns leapt out, grabbed his thick arms and slammed him back heavily against the wall.

  “Don’t kill me!” he bleated, eyes wide and rolling as Bryant snatched his gun from the holster and cocked back the hammer.

  “For a man with a belly as big as you’ve got,” Bryant snarled, “you’re mighty gutless, Gomez!”

  He slammed the side of the gun viciously across Gomez’ ample belly and the guard gagged, his knees starting to sag. As Bryant raised the gun again, Cade stepped in between him and the dazed guard.

  “Hold up!” he snapped, keeping his voice low. “We need him.” He turned to the guard, placed his gun barrel against Gomez’ head and spoke quietly. “Now, I want you to do just what I tell you. That, way, you don’t get blowed apart, fat guts. You savvy?”

  Gomez nodded vigorously, the stench of his fear almost overpowering. It was a different matter now he was the prisoner.

  Warden Bronson looked up irritably from the form he was filling out as there was a heavy rapping on his office door. “Yeah?” he bawled. “Who is it?”

  “Gomez, Warden,” came the muffled reply.

  “Well, what the hell do you want? I said I didn’t want to be disturbed!”

  “Figured you’d want to know this, Warden ...”

  “Know what, for Pete’s sake?” yelled Bronson, still sitting with pen poised over paper. “Get on with it!”

  There was a brief silence and then Gomez’ voice came through the thick door paneling.

  “They sent word up from down below, Warden. Burns wants to see you. Mitch figures he’s about ready to talk about the gold.”

  Bronson dropped the pen right away and went around his desk fast, knocking papers to the floor but ignoring them. This was what he had been waiting for! He lifted the heavy bar from the door, turned the key in the lock and swung the door open.

  He had a glimpse of Gomez, looking white and sickly, and then the big guard hurtled forward, crashing into him, and they both went down in a heap on the office floor. By the time he had untangled himself, the three prisoners were in the office, too, and the door was closed and locked again.

  Bronson started to get to his feet and Cade lashed out with his bare foot, taking Bronson heavily in the throat. The Warden fell back, coughing, his face going purple. Cade seemed to be having trouble controlling himself as he leaned down and shoved the Colt’s muzzle into Bronson’s open mouth.

  “Cade! Don’t!” snapped Burns, grabbing at the man’s arm. “We need him to get out the gate!”

  Cade kept the gun there a moment longer and then visibly relaxed, the madness going out of his eyes as he slowly straightened and contented himself with kicking Bronson in the kidneys.

  “On your feet, you son of a bitch!” he snapped at the Warden. “You’re takin’ us out of this hellhole!”

  Still dazed, and massaging his bruised throat, Warden Bronson got slowly to his feet, hot eyes glaring his hatred at the prisoners and at Gomez for leading him into this trap.

  ~*~

  The guards on the platform above the main prison gate watched as the Warden drove his buckboard slowly across the prison compound towards them. There were three disheveled and slumped prisoners in the back, with Gomez seated near the tailgate, covering them with his rifle.

  The rig slowed and Bronson waved at the heavy gate. “Open up. Got three more for the chain-gang.”

  One of the guards sighed, leaned his rifle against the wall and came down the steps from the platform. He swung up the pivoted bar and shot back
the heavy iron bolts on the gate, shoulders hunching as he heaved open first one side, then the other. He nodded and Bronson set the buckboard moving through slowly. The guard looked at Cade, Bryant and Burns as they sat with bowed heads, hands together between their knees. He grinned and winked at Gomez.

  “‘Special’ prisoners, huh, Warden?” he said as the buckboard rolled slowly past.

  “Gotta look after ’em,” Bronson said unsmilingly and the guard laughed.

  “Hey, Gomez, what’s wrong, man? You look kinda peaked.”

  Cade raised his head slowly. “Took his monthly bath last night,” he quipped, deadpan. “We hardly recognized him this mornin’!”

  The guard laughed. “I’ll look the other way if you want to kinda stumble into his mouth with that rifle barrel, Gomez!”

  The fat guard in the buckboard said nothing, but his hands moved convulsively on the rifle, sweat pouring from him. The buckboard rolled on out the gate onto the bare flat country outside the prison and the guard, still chuckling, swung the heavy gates closed.

  “Just keep on drivin’ along at this pace for a spell, Warden,” Cade muttered from the back, pointing Mitch’s loaded Colt at Bronson’s kidneys. He held the gun low down between his knees so that it was not visible to the guards on the gate platform. “You, Gomez, you just set that empty rifle down now, rest the butt between your big feet and keep it there, savvy?”

  Gomez nodded silently and did as he was told. Bryant reached out and lifted the six-gun from Gomez’ holster and commenced to load it from the handful of cartridges he had been holding. Burns sat tensely, looking back at the slowly receding prison walls.

  The chain-gang was working a mile from the prison and Cade kept Bronson heading the buckboard in that direction for a spell then, abruptly, he told Gomez to stand up and face the front. Puzzled and scared, the big guard got slowly to his feet and faced the front of the buckboard. Cade gestured with his gun barrel.

  “Give Burns that rifle,” he ordered.

  Burns leaned forward and took the rifle from the shaking Gomez and reached into his pocket for the cartridges he had taken from the Warden’s office. Cade suddenly reached past Bronson, grabbed the reins and slapped them on the rumps of the horses, yelling loudly. The buckboard jerked forward as the horses hit the traces and Gomez yelled as he went backwards over the tailgate. He thudded to the ground, striking the back of his head, rolled twice and then flopped over onto his side. The buckboard raced on across the flat.