Alias: The Hangman From Hell

by Franklin D. Lincoln

The Laredo Kid was not much of a drinker and never did he actually tie one on, so to speak. Tonight was one of those rare times that The Kid felt the need to fortify himself with a drink. This day had been shattering to his nerves and he still felt shaky from all that had happened. The shooting a few minutes ago was something he could normally deal with, but on top of hanging those boys today, he was feeling very poorly.

  He had taken a table in a rear corner of The Cow Palace with his back to the wall and a good view of the whole saloon in front of him. Business was slow for The Palace this night, for the circus had drawn most of the usual clientele away. The only remaining patrons were the die hard drinkers, who would rather drink that go to a silly old circus.

  Several men were gathered about the bar with bottles and glasses. The conversations seemed muted and only occasional grunts could be heard over the tinkling of glass and the swishing of poured whiskey.

  On his way in, Laredo had picked up a bottle of rye, along with a shot glass and had carried them to the table. He shrugged out of the long black coat. That damnable coat! He loathed it. Didn’t want to wear it anymore. He tossed it over the back of an adjacent chair, took off his hat and dropped it onto the table away from his glass and bottle. He had just poured the first drink when the deputy came in. The lawman looked about the room until he located The Hangman sitting in the back. He sidled up to the bar, ordered a drink and tossed a coin onto the mahogany bar top. The bartender poured him shot and restoppered the bottle.

  The deputy half turned so he could watch The Hangman while he nursed his drink. The Hangman was already pouring himself a second drink.

  Laredo sat and stared dully at the glass as if trying to decide if he should take it or not. Visions of the day flashed through his brain. Once again, he was hanging two young boys. And, once again, he was savagely attacking another and hanging him in anger. It was all done, now. There was nothing he could do to change anything. Today he had done the blackest deeds of his life. He had to do something now. But, what? How could he ever get out of this mess he was in? And what business did he have telling Patsy Dolan that he was going to help her and Cliff Allen? Just what in hell, could he do? Had he just been blowing smoke after all? Had he merely been trying to get the girl off his case? He didn’t know. He just didn’t know anymore. He lifted the glass and threw the drink back.

  The glass was still against his lips, when a voice said, “Mind if I join you?”

  Laredo lowered the glass. Belle Bonner was sitting down in the chair opposite him without waiting for acceptance.

  “Seems like you are anyhow. Whether I like it or not.” He poured another drink and started to bring it once again to his lips.

  “You’ve had a really bad day, haven’t you, kid,” she said.

  There it was again. “Kid. What did she mean? Did she know who he really was? He set the glass back down.

  “What’s on your mind?” Laredo demanded. There was a tinge of threat in his voice and his eyes were cold.

  “Nothing,” she said as if she hadn’t noticed any apprehension or hostility. “It’s just that you’ve had a rough day and I thought you might need a friend.” Her tone was quiet and sympathetic.

  “Friend?” Laredo scoffed. “A hangman has no friends.”

  “But, you’re not a hangman. Just who are you, anyhow?”

  Laredo eyed her carefully, thoughtfully. Was she baiting him? “Don’t you know?” He chided. “Why I’m Henry Dillard, The Hangman From Hell at your service ma’am.”

  “You’re no hangman. You proved that today. A school boy could have done better than you.”

  “Girl,” Laredo corrected. Belle looked confused.

  “Girl,” Laredo repeated. “A school girl. According to his honor, the great and noble Judge Isaiah Caine, a school girl could have done better.” He tossed down his drink.

  “So, the judge knows you’re not Henry Dillard,” she said matter of factly.

  He hadn’t wanted to admit that to himself, but yes, The Judge probably did know it. But, if so why hadn’t he arrested him? Because he still needed a hangman for tomorrow. That’s the only way this could be playing out. And, once the show was over, The Judge would then tend to him.

  He hadn’t responded to Belles’s supposition, so she said, “So who are you?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, I don’t.” She sounded sincere.

  “You really don’t?” Laredo found it hard to believe.

  She reached out and put her hand on his. She said softly, “No, kid. I really don’t. And, I really don’t care. All I know is, you‘re in trouble. Big trouble. Way over your head. I just wish I could help.”

  Something stirred deep down inside The Laredo Kid’s heart. He really did believe she actually cared about him. Or was it just the wishful thinking of a lonely, desperate man.

  The bat wing doors swung open and Laredo glanced up. Belle turned in her chair to follow his gaze. Clay Shaw had just walked in.

  “Your keeper?” Belle surmised.

  “Yes,” Laredo agreed. It hissed through clenched teeth.

  Shaw noted The Hangman at the table and then stepped up to the bar next to the other deputy. They exchanged words. Both glanced in The Hangman’s direction. The other deputy nodded his understanding, tossed back the rest of his drink, set the glass on the bar and walked out through the swinging doors.

  Shaw ordered a drink and resumed the watch.

  Fifteen minutes later, a squat man of about fifty came hustling through the bat wings. He wore pinch nez glasses and he wore a clerk’s eye shade over his bald head. He had a piece of paper in his hand about the size of a telegram. Clay Shaw straightened with interest as the man waddled up to him and handed him the note. The deputy scanned it quickly. A wry half grin began to spread across his face. He said something to the messenger, plucked a coin out of his shirt pocket and slipped it into the man’s chubby palm. The man thanked him and scurried out. Shaw pushed the telegram into his shirt pocket as he sauntered over to The Hangman’s table.

  “I told your man to keep his distance,” The Hangman said gruffly, looking up at the lawman staring smugly down at him. “Same goes for you. You can keep watch if you want to, but stay far enough away so I don’t have to smell you.” He started to lift his glass for another slug.

  “You’ve had enough for one night,” Shaw said firmly. “Time you got to bed. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. We don’t want you hung over. Now, do we?” He smiled, satisfied with his bravado.

  “I’ll let you know, when I’m ready.” Laredo turned his attention away from the lawman, hoping that it would provoke him. This time, Laredo was baiting Shaw. He had wanted to punch him out ever since he met the smug little bastard. Until now, he had refrained, to keep up his pretense. But, now, he didn’t care. He just didn’t care. In fact he wanted Shaw to try something. Anything. Just give him an excuse to give this weasel of a lawdog the thrashing he deserved.

  Shaw fell for it. “Come on!” he ordered as he grabbed The Hangman by the right arm and started to pull him out of his chair.

  Shaw realized his folly right away, but it was too late. He had underestimated The Hangman. He was not drunk after all. Not even tipsy. Laredo came out of his chair fully prepared and sunk his left fist into Shaw’s midsection. The deputy let his breath out with a whoosh and doubled forward, releasing his grip on The Hangman’s arm. Laredo’s right followed with an uppercut to the chin, straightening Shaw upward to full height. Another right smashed into the lawman’s nose, He flew backward against a table. It slid out from under him and he fell flat on his back on the floor. He lay still, dazed but not fully unconscious. Blood gushed from his battered nose.

  “What’s going on here?” Sheriff Fred Logan’s voice boomed as the elder lawman entered the saloon in time to see The Hangman standing over Clay Shaw. He hurried to the deputy’s side and knelt beside him. Shaw began to move his head and his eyes opened slightly, then closed and opened again.

  Logan lifte
d the man’s shoulder and rested it on his knee. He looked up at The Hangman and demanded, “You do this?” His face was flushed and he was furious with rage.

  “Yes, I did,” Laredo muttered. “He asked for it and I gave it back. Let him up and I’ll be glad to do it again.” He took a half step forward, but Belle Bonner caught his arm and held him back.

  “You’ve done enough,” she pleaded. Laredo glared at her. Then she said to the sheriff, “He had a little too much to drink. He didn’t really mean it.”

  “Oh, I meant it all right,” The Kid insisted.

  “Obviously,” Logan said. “Just what is this all about?”

  Shaw was regaining his senses and pushed himself to a sitting position. He rubbed a hand across his bruised jaw. “Never mind, Sheriff,” He said, still eyeing the man standing above him. “We just had a misunderstanding. He didn’t take to being guarded well. That’s all.” He started to push himself to his feet. “He wasn’t ready to turn in for the night and I guess I pushed him a little too hard.” He managed to stand erect with the aid of the elder lawman at his elbow.

  “I think Clay was right.” Logan stared at The Hangman. “It is time you turned in.” He then said to Shaw. “You too, Clay. It’s been a long hard day for all of us. It’s time we all turned in. It’s going to be an even longer and harder day tomorrow. I’ll take Mister Dillard home now. I won’t be needing you any more tonight. Get some rest and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Shaw nodded agreement. “I guess you’re right, sir,” he said. He stooped and picked up his hat from where it had fallen. In the dim light, he failed to see the piece of paper that had fallen from his shirt pocket. He placed the hat on his head as he headed out the doors.

  “Let’s go, Dillard,” Logan ordered gruffly.

  Laredo stood his ground as if his boots were nailed to the floor. He was still angry and made no effort to go.

  “He’s right, kid,” Belle Bonner urged. “You are tired. I can see it. Just go on and get some sleep. You’ll feel better about things, I’m sure,” she pleaded.

  Laredo sighed, rubbed the back of his neck and said, “I guess I did get a little out of hand after all.” He didn’t believe it, but it was time to mend fences a little. At least for appearances.

  “Sorry, Sheriff,” he said to Logan. “Let’s go.” He started for the doors.

  Logan followed close behind and stepped out onto the board sidewalk, It was completely dark now and the air had cooled somewhat. The Hangman stopped and said, “Oh, I forgot my coat and hat. I’ll be right back.”

  He ducked inside just in time to see Belle Bonner picking a small piece of paper off the floor. This was really what he had come back in for. He had deliberately left his hat and coat for an excuse to return.

  He snatched it from Belle’s hand before she had a chance to look at it. She was startled by the sudden action and before she could utter a protest, Laredo had the paper unfolded and was already scanning its contents. “Well excuse me,” Belle said sarcastically with annoyance. Then she noted the concern in his eyes and said, “What….?”

  “Never mind,” Laredo snapped and stuffed the paper in his shirt pocket. His suspicions had been well founded. Shaw would know from the description of Henry Dillard, in this telegram, that he was a fake. He was sure that Caine had put him up to checking on him. And, since Shaw had received the telegram here in the saloon, he had not had time to tell the judge yet. Laredo would bet dollars to doughnuts that Clay Shaw was on his way to tell his honor right now. The question was, “Did Sheriff Logan know about this?”

  He scooped up his hat and coat, draped the coat over one arm and put the hat on his head as he hurried out the doors and met Logan. Together they started down the street. Up ahead, Laredo could see someone entering the courthouse. It was too dark to tell for sure, but Laredo was fairly certain that it was Clay Shaw. There was still a light on upstairs. Logan didn’t seem to notice or didn’t let on, if he did.

  They walked a short distance along the street. The night air was cool after the heat of the day and the street was still empty, save for horses hitched at the rails. The men spoke not a word as they walked. The noise of the crowd and the music from the circus at the other end of town were the only sounds, other than the crunching of their footsteps in the dusty street.

  Did Logan know what Shaw and the judge had been up to? Did he know about the telegram? If so, Laredo dare not continue this charade any further. The time for cat and mouse games was over. He had to know where he stood.

  Laredo suddenly halted. Logan followed suit. “I’ve got to know, Sheriff,” he demanded. “Were you in on the telegram?”

  “Telegram? What are you talking about?”

  “Checking up on me. Getting a description of me from Big Bend.”

  “What?” There was genuine surprise on his face. It told Laredo what he wanted to know.

  “I was right, then. Wasn’t I?”

  “What the Devil are you talking about?”

  “Looks like your chief deputy has his eye on your job. He and Caine have been checking up on me and haven’t included you. Doesn’t that disturb you?”

  “Look. I don’t know what you are talking about. Clay Shaw is a good man. He’s soon to be my son in law and I have every confidence in him.”

  “Then why didn’t he include you about the telegram?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe, he just didn’t get a chance to tell me. I hadn’t seen him since earlier today.” His argument was sound, but there was still a tinge of doubt in the old man’s voice.

  “The telegram was in his pocket just now, before you entered the saloon. Why didn’t he tell you about it then.”

  “I don’t know. You’d just beaten the man. He was dazed. Confused. He probably just forgot.”

  “Then why did he go straight to the courthouse to see Caine, when he left?”

  “What makes you think he did?” The lawman was still protesting, but the doubt was growing.

  “Because I saw him going into the courthouse when we came out of the saloon.”

  “I didn’t see him.”

  “I did.” He handed the telegram to Logan. “He dropped this on the floor during the fight. He probably didn’t notice it was missing until he got to Caine’s office.

  Logan looked at it. “It’s too dark to read it,” he said.

  “It’s a description of Henry Dillard,” Laredo said. “He doesn’t look like me.”

  “You..you’re a fraud?”

  “Yes. Henry Dillard was the other man with me when you found me the other night. Everyone seemed to assume I was him, so I played along.”

  “Then, that explains why you botched up everything, this afternoon,” the sheriff mused. Then his tone lifted. “Then who are you?” he demanded. “Why did you pass yourself off as Dillard? For the hanging fee?” It all seemed so incredulous.

  “Right now that doesn’t matter. All you need to know is, I’m a man with a gun and it’s pointed at your middle right now.”

  The lawman glanced down. The black coat draped over Laredo’s arm almost covered the pistol he held in his hand. Only the muzzle protruded.

  “Don’t make a move. Don’t try for your gun. I’m going to let you keep it for now, but don’t make a move toward it or I’ll blow you away, right here. See those two horses tied to that hitch rail. We’re going to borrow them for a while. You and I are going for a ride.”

  As the two men rode out of town, Clay Shaw emerged from the courthouse. The fake hangman and the sheriff were riding out of town together. What could that be all about?

  *****

  Chapter Sixteen