Larry and Stretch 7

by Marshall Grover

  Chapter Seven

  The Wrong Governor

  Bell was on his feet again. He needed another drink. As he poured it, he vehemently assured Brayner:

  “What you ask is impossible! Five bank-robbers—making their getaway in the governor’s private carriage? No, damn it all! It can’t be done!”

  “On the contrary, Lennox,” grinned Brayner. “I’ve observed our local lawmen very closely, and I assure you they aren’t apt to become suspicious. We’ve already won their trust and admiration. Now, they’ll learn that we’ve been invited to accompany you on your journey west. All very logical, Lennox. Not one chance in a thousand they’d dare check the baggage of the governor and his friends.” He stopped grinning abruptly. “Besides, I’m not asking you. I’m telling you!”

  The governor swigged his second shot, trudged across to the window and stared down into Main Street.

  “I can’t give such a decision,” muttered Bell, “on such short notice. You’ve taken me by surprise.” He was stalling, desperately. “I need time to think it over.”

  “Time to plan some counter-action, maybe?” challenged Brayner. “Forget it, Lennox. There’s no counteraction. You’re over the well-known barrel. Not a thing you can do to stop me.” He rose up, sauntered to the window and stood close to his victim. “Of course, you could give me away. You could betray me to the sheriff. He might set a trap for us, catch us in the act of breaking into the First National. I’d be finished—but so would you.” He gripped Bell’s arm. “At the first hint of treachery on your part, I’ll talk. Loud and long, Lennox!”

  “Damn you!” breathed Bell. “If there were any other way ...!”

  “There’s no other way,” declared Brayner. “No alternative. You’ve come too far, Lennox, and you’re too old to turn back.” He tightened his grip on Bell’s arm. “I want your answer, and I want it now.”

  Bell’s shoulders slumped in defeat. His voice was. husky, almost inaudible.

  “As you say—there’s no alternative for me. I’ve—come too far.”

  “Excellent,” smiled Brayner. “I knew I could rely on your discretion.” He moved away from the window, picked up his hat. “No alteration in your schedule, I presume?”

  “My carriage,” sighed Bell, “will be joined to the next westbound train. We leave at one-thirty in the morning.”

  “I’ll see you at the ball—Your Excellency,” Brayner promised. “And later—at the depot.”

  “Yes ...” Bell nodded slowly. “Yes ...”

  “Don’t forget to make the necessary arrangements,” warned Brayner. “I anticipate we’ll be finished at the bank by eleven-thirty, and taking our baggage to the depot some time before midnight.”

  “The railroad people,” Bell sadly assured him, “will be advised.”

  “Look on the bright side, Lennox,” said Brayner, as he strode to the door. “You’ll have congenial company all the way from Horton to the Utah border.”

  He lifted a hand in cheerful farewell, opened the door and moved out into the entrance hall. A moment later, Bell heard the outer door closing behind him. He cursed then, softly, fluently. His brain was in turmoil, his nerves frayed. How could he keep up the pretence? How to conceal his fear and despair from the attentive Griswold, the ever-alert Calhoun?

  They rejoined him soon afterwards. By then, he had hidden his disquiet behind a mask of affability. Griswold came in smiling, and remarked:

  “You appear to have enjoyed your reunion with Mr. Brayner, sir.”

  “Always a pleasant diversion,” drawled the governor, “talking over old times.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re relaxing.” Griswold nodded approvingly. “But may I suggest you retire now? We aren’t due at City Hall until two p.m. You could have several hours of sleep in the meantime.”

  “I suppose ...” began Bell.

  He broke off. Somebody was knocking at the outer door. Calhoun grimaced impatiently, as he got to his feet.

  “I’ll turn ’em away,” he growled. “Enough is enough, Governor Bell.”

  The Pinkerton strode purposefully from the room, moved into the hallway and on to the outer door. Quite a few years had passed since he had accompanied another State governor on a tour of his electorate. That other governor had been the genial Horace D. Brill, and Calhoun had played his part in the hectic adventure that had followed the kidnapping. Consequently, he had made the acquaintance of Brill’s rescuers—two shiftless, drawling Texans who had won his admiration and affection.

  When he opened that outer door, he was ready, willing and able to repel all unwanted visitors. His mouth was open and the speech was ready in his mind. He stood like that for a pregnant moment, trading stares with the grinning drifters. Larry said, with devastating nonchalance:

  “It’s that Irish snooper—and he ain’t changed one little bit.”

  “Nope,” grinned Stretch. “His doggone mouth is still open.”

  “Valentine!” breathed Calhoun. “Emerson!”

  “He ain’t forgot our names,” Stretch observed.

  “You crazy, trouble-hunting tramps!” whooped Calhoun, as he pounded Larry’s back.

  In the parlor, Bell and his secretary swapped puzzled glances. The sounds emanating from the entrance hall were loud and contused, and unmistakably convivial. Calhoun and the visitors were exchanging insults, but gleefully, in the manner of old cronies.

  “You old flea-bit hoss-thief!”

  “Ugly as ever ...!”

  “Why aren’t you galoots rotting in jail somewhere?”

  Griswold blinked uncertainly at the governor, and remarked, “It seems Mr. Calhoun is having a reunion.”

  Calhoun rejoined them, grinning broadly and with the Texans striding in behind him. They were still chuckling, but their mirth was to be rudely checked.

  “Your Excellency,” beamed Calhoun, “and Mr. Griswold—I want you to meet a couple old friends of mine.”

  Bell summoned up a welcoming smile, rose from his chair. And then, in his blunt, forthright way, Larry hurled a query.

  “Where’s Horrie?”

  “Horrie?” frowned Griswold.

  “Who d’you mean?” Calhoun asked Larry.

  “You know damn well who I mean.” Larry gestured impatiently. “Our old pard—Horrie Brill—the governor. He’s the hombre we want to see.”

  “Larry,” said Calhoun, “don’t you ever read the papers?”

  The Texans stood in the center of the room, Stetsons shoved back from their foreheads, thumbs hooked in their gunbelts. Bell was maintaining his smile of welcome. Griswold appeared puzzled, and Calhoun downright embarrassed.

  “I’m sorry, Your Excellency,” the Pinkerton apologized. “When my friends said they had to see you, I took it for granted you were acquainted.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve had that pleasure,” said Bell.

  “Hell, John Thomas,” growled Larry. “Can’t a man get an answer to a straight question around here? I said where’s the governor?”

  “You’re looking at him,” said Calhoun.

  Larry’s eyebrows shot up. Stretch’s jaw sagged.

  “How’s that again?”

  “You heard,” grinned Calhoun. “Allow me, friends. This is Governor Lennox Bell.”

  “But ...!” began Larry.

  “There’s been another election,” Calhoun explained. “Mr. Brill was defeated by this gentleman.”

  “By a narrow margin,” Bell pointed out. “And I might add that it was an unusually amiable fight. Friends—as well as rivals. I’ve known Horace Brill many years.”

  “Aw, hell,” groaned Stretch, and he flopped into a chair.

  Larry swore, so luridly, so vehemently, that Griswold nervously recoiled from him.

  “Take it easy,” soothed Calhoun.

  “Take it easy, you say? Damn and blast, Irish! We made somebody a promise; somethin’ mighty important! I know for sure Horrie would’ve helped us out. We were countin’ on him—and now ...!”
r />   “Quit stomping on your tile,” chided Calhoun. “Simmer down, Valentine. Maybe it’s something Governor Bell could handle—seeing as he’s an old friend of Mr. Brill’s.”

  Bell sat bolt upright, his eyes gleaming. Until this moment, he had been tasting the bitterness of despair, and doing his best to maintain the mask of serenity. Now, he felt a surge of hope. His pulse quickened and his heart pounded. He forced himself to speak quietly.

  “Mr. Calhoun—did I hear you refer to this gentleman as—Valentine?”

  “Yes, sir,” nodded Calhoun. “Larry Valentine and Stretch Emerson. If you’ve heard of ’em, it’s no surprise to me. Quite a reputation they got.”

  “Gentlemen ...” Bell smiled wryly at the Texans, “I get the impression I owe you an apology for having won the election.”

  “Well,” shrugged Larry, “I guess it ain’t your fault. It’s just we had somethin’ to ask Horrie Brill—somethin’ we wanted him to do, for a friend of ours.”

  “I suggest,” Griswold warned his chief, “that you don’t become involved in this matter—whatever it may be. You can’t be distracted, Your Excellency. You have a heavy schedule already, and ...”

  “On the other hand,” countered Bell, “I’m sure Horace would grant their request—and would thank me for doing so on his behalf.”

  “It’s no skin off your nose, governor,” muttered Larry. “I reckon Horrie Brill would’ve obliged us, but ...”

  “I should hope so,” smiled Bell, “considering that you saved his life.”

  “Well,” figured Larry, “I don’t know if those Weyman gunslicks figured to kill him.”

  “I’m familiar with the story, Mr. Valentine,” Bell assured him. “It was told to me by our mutual friend quite some time ago, and I’ve never forgotten.”

  “His Excellency,” Griswold nervously reminded Calhoun, “should be resting.”

  “I must admit I’m tired,” said Bell, as he got to his feet, “but I’m also curious, and I doubt if I could sleep with so many questions in my mind—questions about Horace’s great adventure.” He showed the Texans another amiable smile. “Would you humor an old man, boys? We could retire to my bedroom and talk about it.”

  “I wouldn’t advise ...” began Griswold.

  “Whatsamatter?” challenged Stretch. “You afeared we’ll shoot your boss?”

  Calhoun chuckled softly, as Larry dryly assured the secretary, “We scarce ever shoot State governors.”

  “Stop worrying, Griswold,” said Bell. “Our friends will leave quietly, if I become too weary to continue our little conference.”

  He had his way. The drifters were eager to be gone, because it seemed they had little—if anything—in common with this distinguished statesman. Even so, he was an important man and his manner was friendly enough. Friendly enough, maybe, to grant their request? Well, it was worth trying.

  They accompanied the governor to his bedroom and watched perplexedly, as he secured and locked the door. Then, closing the window, he beckoned them closer.

  “Forgive me,” he begged. “It’s imperative that we talk in private.”

  “Well,” said Larry, “that’s okay by us.”

  “Let me get this straight.” Bell squatted on the edge of the bed, eyed them expectantly. “You wished to ask a favor of Horace Brill?”

  “Mighty important favor,” declared Larry.

  Bell produced three cigars.

  “Go ahead, gentlemen. Tell me about it.”

  Encouraged by his demeanor, Larry recounted the salient details of Annie Stogie’s predicament. In doing so, he didn’t attempt to play down his own rashness in making what now seemed an impossible promise. He was as frank as if he were confiding in an old and trusted friend. Was

  Bell listening attentively? It was difficult to tell. The governor seemed so depressed, so preoccupied. But, when Larry had finished, it was obvious that Bell had digested the gist of it.

  “That’s all you ask of me?” he demanded. “I’m to hail this Stogie woman as an old friend, claim I was a guest at her marriage to one Jacob Stogie, and that he too was a friend of mine? And make some suitable remark about her son, so as to dispel any doubts as to his legitimacy?”

  “Maybe we’re askin’ too much,” muttered Larry. “But one thing I want you to know. I’m sure about Annie. I believe her. She was married—and Burl did have a regular father.” He matched stares with the governor. “But, if you think I’m askin’ too much ...”

  “Asking too much!” Bell sighed heavily. “Such a little thing, Valentine. Such a small favor—compared with what I’m about to ask of you.”

  “You mean there’s somethin’ you want from us?” prodded Stretch.

  “That,” said Bell, “is a masterpiece of understatement.”

  “It’s a what?” blinked Stretch.

  “Whatever it is,” shrugged Larry, “we’ll be glad to oblige.”

  “Just like that?” frowned Bell. “You’d offer your help —regardless of the consequences?” He puffed a blue cloud through which he surveyed them intently. “Don’t misunderstand me, boys. I’m not trying to make a bargain with you. I’ve already decided to grant your request—whether or not you decide to help me.”

  “That,” said Larry, “is mighty white of you. We’ll sure appreciate it.”

  “So much for your problem,” muttered Bell, “your small, easily-solved problem.”

  “And what’s your grief?” demanded Larry.

  “You’ll wonder,” Bell predicted, “why I confide in you. I’ll hold nothing back, and there are many who’d say I’m acting rashly, confiding such secrets to a couple of strangers. But, you see, I already know a great deal about you. I know, for instance, that you have always refused to answer the questions of inquisitive journalists. I know you keep your own counsel, and that your word is your bond. That’s terribly important to me, because I’ll be placing my whole future in your hands.”

  Larry’s interest was aroused, in no uncertain terms.

  “Say whatever you want,” he quietly urged, “and we’ll keep our mouths shut.”

  “Until I realized who you were,” said Bell, “I was a lost man. I could see no solution to my predicament, no means of escape. I can’t appeal to the sheriff, nor confide in Calhoun—much as I admire him.” He frowned at the tip of his cigar. “Tonight—during the ball to be held in my honor—five men will attempt to rob a Horton bank. To be specific, the First National.”

  “Hey, now …” began Stretch.

  “Hush up, big feller,” grunted Larry. “Let him tell it all.”

  Now the sorry, long-forgotten details poured out of him, while his two-man audience hung on his every word. He left nothing out. He talked on for almost ten minutes. When he had told it all, he was breathless, wearied by his emotion. “Well, there it is, Valentine ...”

  “Call me Larry,” frowned Larry.

  “Call me Stretch,” offered Stretch.

  “Does that mean ...?” began Bell.

  “It means,” drawled Larry, “we never were partial to blackmail.”

  “Too sneaky for my blood,” Stretch grimaced.

  “We don’t know Brayner ...” said Larry.

  “But we don’t admire him at all,” finished Stretch.

  “I ain’t sure how we’re gonna settle his hash,” Larry told Bell, “but you can bet I’ll think of somethin’. Meantime, just leave everything to us.”

  “It won’t be easy,” Bell worriedly warned them. “I must confess I have no idea how you could thwart Brayner—and still protect me. It seems—too much to expect ...”

  “Don’t fret on that account,” advised Larry. “When we brace Brayner, we ain’t apt to tell him how we caught onto him.”

  “In an emergency,” said Bell, “he’ll stop at nothing. Somehow, he’s managed to convince the people of Horton that he’s a man to be trusted—trusted and admired. In his younger days, he used to boast that he could charm the birds from the trees. But to challenge him is to in
vite disaster. He’s dangerous—an experienced gunman ...”

  “Bueno.” Larry grinned mirthlessly. “Whatever trouble he starts, we’ll finish it.”

  “He claims he hasn’t confided in his accomplices,” Bell recalled.

  “Better still,” shrugged Larry. “If Brayner gets what’s comin’ to him—meanin’ a bullet where it matters—your worries are over.”

  “I’m not asking you to kill Brayner,” sighed Bell.

  “If Brayner gets to be dead,” Larry promised, “it’ll be because he was doin’ his damnedest to gun one of us.”

  “Which he likely will,” remarked Stretch, with supreme nonchalance.

  “Well ...” Bell bowed his head, “I couldn’t take the easy way out. If I allowed Brayner to use me this time, I’m sure he’d try again. I’d be haunted by him.”

  Larry stood up. Stretch yawned, scratched his head and enquired, “Where do we find these owlhooters?”

  “They’ll be at the ball,” said Bell.

  “Me, too,” nodded Larry.

  “And me,” grinned Stretch. “I wouldn’t miss that shindig for all the longhorns in Texas.”

  “You might get to the shindig,” frowned Larry, “but maybe not.”

  “No?” Stretch eyed him aggrievedly. “Well, doggone it, where else am I gonna be?”

  “The likeliest place I can think of,” grinned Larry, “is perched on the roof of that bank—like a Texas buzzard.”

  “Brayner will make his move some time after eleven,” said Bell. “I remember he said they’d be taking their baggage to the railroad depot between eleven-thirty and midnight.”

  “That baggage,” vowed Larry, “ain’t goin’ no place.” He nodded to his partner. “Best we mosey along now. We got things to do.”

  Stretch stood up, yawned again. Studying them now, Bell was plagued by remorse.

  “Have I the right to ask this of you?” he wondered. “You’ll be risking your lives on my account—and what of the Horton lawmen?”

  “No tin star is gonna make trouble for us,” Larry assured him. “Not when we show ’em that happy baggage—full of greenbacks. Won’t be any use Brayner’s pards tryin’ to bluff it out, either. They’ll be caught cold.” As he turned towards the bedroom door, a new thought occurred to him. “Forget what Brayner said—about you talkin’ to the railroad bunch. If he asks you, tell him you set it up for him. What he don’t know won’t hurt you.”