Robbers Roost

by James Reasoner

  There were four of them, five counting Elroy Strickland, who stood a little off to one side. All of the men were big and roughly-dressed, typical miners with not an overabundance of intelligence on their bearded faces.

  And all of them were carrying weapons. Landrum saw an old Spencer and three scatterguns. The Greeners would be hellish weapons at this range.

  One of the men carrying a shotgun stared at Landrum for an instant, then howled, "Get him!"

  Landrum was already drawing his gun. He was no shootist, but he could get the Peacemaker out of its holster fairly fast and, more importantly, fire it accurately. The gun bucked and roared in his hand, planting a slug in the shoulder of the man who had yelled.

  As that man dropped to the ground, Landrum swung his aim to the side, trying to get at least one of the others before they could open up with the scatterguns. He squeezed off another shot that made one of the claim jumpers duck in desperation.

  Glidinghawk came around the corner of the cabin, having slipped out through the rear window. He threw himself to the ground and fired a second after landing. His bullet tore through the thigh of one of the miners, spinning the man around and making him flop onto the hard ground.

  Landrum had his gun barrel lined on one of the remaining twosome when the man suddenly dropped his shotgun and stuck his hands in the air. "Don't shoot, mister!" he cried.

  The other man, staring down the barrel of Glidinghawk's Colt, let the Spencer fall from his hands. He imitated his companion, lifting his hands and begging for mercy.

  Landrum cast a disgusted glance at Elroy Strickland. "What's your part in this, Elroy?" he asked.

  The young miner looked very upset. "I didn't mean for this to happen, Mr. Colfax, I surely didn't. I was just tellin' these boys 'bout that nugget your sister found, and they got the idea they ought to try to take over your claim. I done tried to talk 'em out of it, Mr. Colfax. I promise I did."

  Celia peeked cautiously around the canvas in the doorway, her eyes widening as she took in the scene. Looking at the two wounded miners writhing and moaning on the ground, she said, "Trouble, Landrum?"

  "Nothing we can't handle," Davis told her. "Just some would-be claim-jumpers."

  "They're going to be leaving now," Glidinghawk added. He was on his feet, still covering the miners. "Pick up your friends," he ordered, "and get out of here."

  Fox joined Celia in the doorway, slightly wild-eyed. He had been dreaming about Ching Ping and Robbers Roost when the shooting erupted outside the cabin, and he was only now beginning to get his wits back about him.

  From the looks of things, Landrum and Glidinghawk had the situation well in hand. He eased back out of the doorway to lift a hand to his temples and rub. He had a throbbing headache.

  Landrum and Glidinghawk kept their guns out and ready as the two healthy miners gathered up their wounded companions. As the four men began to stagger away, Landrum said in a sharp voice, "Not you, Elroy! You stay right here."

  Elroy gulped. He knew he was in trouble.

  "You got to believe me, Mr. Colfax," he said. "I didn't mean to cause no trouble. Why, when I was tellin' those boys about that nugget, I never imagined they'd turn into a bunch of low-down claim-jumpers."

  "Did you tell anybody else about the nugget Celia found?"

  "Wellll . . ." Elroy cast his eyes toward the ground and shuffled his feet nervously. "I was sorta excited 'bout gold turnin' up like that again, so I reckon I told a few of the fellers up and down the gulch."

  "Which means that the word will be all over the territory by nightfall." Landrum glanced at the sun and saw that nightfall wasn't far away.

  "Reckon so," Elroy admitted unhappily.

  Glidinghawk grunted. 'That means a certain gentleman we know will hear about it," he said. "He'll have a double reason to pay us a visit now."

  "Yeah," Landrum nodded, knowing that Glidinghawk was talking about Three-Fingered Jack. "You'd better handle that matter we were talking about earlier."

  Glidinghawk tapped his chest in the spot where a lawman would wear his badge and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Landrum nodded. The Omaha would head into Virginia City to talk to Marshal Gideon Elbridge, while Landrum, Celia, and Fox stayed here at the claim to prepare for more trouble.

  The two men had worked together enough by now that each man knew, to a certain extent, what the other was thinking. Glidinghawk nodded in acknowledgment and turned toward the horses.

  "All right, Elroy," Landrum told the miner. "You can get out of here now."

  "You ain't goin' to shoot me?" Elroy sounded surprised.

  Landrum shook his head. "Not this time." He suppressed a grin. Elroy had done just what they wanted him to do, but there was no point in telling him that.

  Elroy scurried away up the gulch. Landrum lifted a hand and waved at Glidinghawk as the Indian mounted up and rode away toward Virginia City. Glidinghawk had not even taken the time to eat a little and drink some coffee, but there would be opportunities for that later.

  "What do we do?" Celia asked Landrum from the doorway. She had kept quiet for the most part, but she didn't want Landrum to think she was not still a vital part of the team.

  "We get ready," Landrum told her.

  "Ready for what?"

  "War."

  Fox was distracted as Landrum and Celia checked all of their weapons and made sure that there was plenty of ammunition handy. His headache had abated somewhat after a couple of cups of scalding coffee, but his mind was still full of Ching Ping and her dilemma.

  He knew from the things she had told him before all hell broke loose at Robbers Roost that she thought he was different from all her other customers. But when the situation became dangerous, he had completely forgotten about her and scurried to save his own skin.

  Shame ate at him.

  When he could no longer stand it, he went over to Landrum and said, "I think we should go back to Robbers Roost."

  Landrum glanced up from the Colt he was cleaning and frowned. "Go back to Robbers Roost? What the hell for?"

  Fox hesitated. So far, he had told none of them very much about Ching Ping. During the ride back to the cabin the night before, Landrum and Glidinghawk had picked his brain about the physical details of Robbers Roost and the information he had uncovered there.

  But Fox had not gone into detail about Ching Ping and his feelings for her. It was none of the others' business, to his way of thinking.

  But now, if he was going to convince Landrum to go along with him, he might have to reveal the depth of his emotions. Hesitantly, he began, "There's a girl there . . ."

  Landrum snorted. "From what I've heard, there's plenty of girls there." He tilted his head speculatively. "You haven't fallen for one of those whores, have you, Preston?"

  Fox flushed angrily. "Just because a woman is forced to work in such a place does not mean she wants to. Ching Ping is a lady, I'll have you know."

  "Ching Ping?" Celia put in disbelievingly. "What kind of name is that?"

  "I've heard tell that a lot of the girls at Robbers Roost are Chinese," Landrum said. He tried to take a sympathetic tone as he went on, "Look, Preston, there's no need for us to go back to Robbers Roost. Three-Fingered Jack knows where to find us, and by now he probably knows about the gold, too. He'll come here."

  "There are other things to consider besides the mission." Fox was surprised at himself even as the words came out of his mouth.

  So were Landrum and Celia. The redhead said, "I never thought I'd hear you say something like that, Preston. I thought nothing was more important to you than following orders and going by the book."

  Fox took a deep breath. "The military doesn't know everything," he declared.

  Landrum grinned as he said, "There may be hope for you yet, little brother. But we're still not going back to Robbers Roost, at least not now. Maybe when the mission is over, we'll talk about it then."

  That ended the discussion. Fox withdrew into a corner, his face set in a sullen expression
.

  When Landrum and Celia had done all they could to prepare for further trouble, Celia pushed back the canvas over the doorway and looked outside. There was still a little daylight left.

  "Landrum," she said slowly, "how would you feel about me doing a little more panning while we're waiting? You could stand guard with a rifle."

  Landrum joined her at the door. "You're thinking about that nugget, aren't you?"

  "It's hard not to. You know Amos will let us keep anything like that we find." She turned toward him, her voice rising slightly with excitement as she went on, "We could get rich, Landrum."

  He considered for a moment, then nodded. "It's chancy, but if there's more nuggets like that one in the stream, it'll be worth the risk." He picked up one of the Winchesters. "Get a pan and let's go."

  Fox watched them disappear outside. His mood was bleak. It was bad enough that he had run out on Ching Ping. Now he wasn't even being allowed to help her.

  His gloomy gaze fell on the boxes of supplies he and Landrum had brought from Virginia City several days earlier. He had not paid much attention to them as they were loaded and unloaded from the wagon, but now his eyes narrowed as he read the lettering on the side of one smallish

  CAUTION-DYNAMITE. Fox's breath caught in his throat. He had an idea. Again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  When Glidinghawk reached Virginia City, he immediately noticed the looks of dislike on the faces of the townspeople as they glanced at him. He knew that Indians were hardly the favorites of anyone in this part of the territory, but he didn't think anyone would bother him.

  For one thing, he wore a holstered pistol like a white man, a symbol of his being a product of two different worlds.

  For another, the grim look on his face would be enough to make most men step aside.

  He went to the general store first, knowing it would be a center of gossip and information for the whole town. He asked the frowning clerk, "Do you know where I can find that U.S. marshal?"

  The clerk had just been about to tell Glidinghawk that the store did not allow Indians as customers. Now he saw the Omaha's question as a quick way of getting rid of him. No one in Virginia City had any great love for Gideon Elbridge, either.

  Maybe the marshal and the redskin would shoot each other. It was something to be hoped for, anyway.

  "Try down at the Crystal Chandelier," the clerk told Glidinghawk. "He takes a drink there every now and then."

  "Thanks," Glidinghawk said shortly. He left the store feeling the looks of distaste boring into his back from the clerk and the customers.

  The Crystal Chandelier was an inappropriate name for a saloon that was far from opulent or elegant. It was a typical hole-in-the-wall barroom with sawdust on the floor, no better and no worse than the others Virginia City had to offer.

  But Marshal Gideon Elbridge was in attendance at the bar, a shot glass of whiskey in front of him, and Glidinghawk felt like his luck was running to the good.

  "Can I talk to you, Marshal?" Glidinghawk asked as he came up beside Elbridge.

  Gideon barely glanced at him. "What is it, Injun?"

  In low tones, Glidinghawk said, "Perhaps we should converse outside, Marshal, where no one can overhear the revelations I have for you."

  That drew a frown from Elbridge. "Where the hell'd you learn to talk like that?"

  "Dartmouth."

  The marshal shrugged and tossed off his drink. "Maybe I had better talk to you."

  The two men left the saloon and strolled down the street. Dusk was gathering, and Glidinghawk paused in the mouth of an alley that was already fairly dark. Moving slowly so as not to alarm the lawman, he reached inside his buckskin shirt and took out the papers he had retrieved from their hiding place in his boot before reaching town.

  "Take a look at these," he requested, extending the documents toward Elbridge.

  The marshal squinted at the papers in the fading light and then glanced up sharply. "Is this on the level?" he asked.

  "Absolutely."

  "You and those friends of yours are really undercover operatives for the Army?"

  Glidinghawk smiled. "Hard to believe, isn't it? That's one reason it works." He didn't mention the problems Powell's Army had encountered on its previous missions, or the certainty that the group would be disbanded if it failed this time.

  Elbridge took a deep breath, then thrust the documents back at Glidinghawk. "All right," he growled. "I reckon I believe you. I can always tell when a man's lying to me. What do you want from me?"

  "You're here looking for the men who held up that Army payroll wagon, aren't you?"

  Another look of surprise crossed Gideon's lean face. "You know about that?"

  "That's why we're here, too. And we're pretty sure we've got the bandits located."

  "Robbers Roost, right?"

  Glidinghawk nodded.

  "That's what I figured. I've been trying to figure some way to draw them out of there. It'd be sure death if we went in there and tried to get them."

  "I think we may have that solved, too." Glidinghawk rapidly detailed Fox's abortive visit to Robbers Roost the previous night and the information he had discovered about Three-Fingered Jack. When he added the story of Celia's nugget and the claim-jumpers, Elbridge nodded.

  "It's a sure thing this Three-Fingered Jack will try to hit you," he declared. "And he's probably got plenty of men on hand to come with him."

  Glidinghawk agreed. "That's why we've got to have help. That's why I came to you."

  "Hell, I'll go back out there to that claim with you-that's my job, after all-but I'm only one man. That's not going to be enough to even the odds."

  "Yes, but the people around here have a reputation for not tolerating outlaws. I know for a fact that there are plenty who would like to see Robbers Roost put out of business."

  Elbridge's face tightened. "You're suggesting that we stir up those vigilantes again and work with them?"

  "I don't see any other way to take care of Three-Fingered Jack, do you?"

  "I don't like it," Elbridge grimaced. "You cain't trust a mob. But you're right, damnit. We don't have any choice."

  Glidinghawk allowed himself a sigh of relief. With the marshal's help, they might be able to round up enough men to put up a fight when Three-Fingered Jack and his gang hit Alder Gulch.

  "Shall we go back down to the general store and start there?" he suggested.

  Elbridge shook his head. "I've been learning a few things about those vigilantes and the days when they cleaned out the Plummer gang. One of the leaders was a man named Silas McCoy. He's got a ranch outside of town now, and the crew that rides for him is supposed to be pretty rough. If we can get them on our side, we'd stand a better chance than with a bunch of storekeepers who haven't even lifted a gun in ten years."

  The marshal's words made sense to Glidinghawk. "Sounds good to me," he said. "Shall we get our horses and pay Mr. McCoy a visit?"

  Elbridge allowed himself a grin. "From what I hear, McCoy doesn't like Indians. And he's not going to be too crazy about me. Maybe he'll help us, though — if he doesn't shoot us first."

  Glidinghawk let Marshal Gideon Elbridge lead the way since he had no idea where to find the ranch of this Silas McCoy. Elbridge's idea of recruiting McCoy and his crew seemed to be a good one.

  Deep shadows of night dropped down on the two men as they rode. The marshal had had little to say since leaving Virginia City, but after a stretch of silence, he suddenly asked, "What possessed the Army to take on a bunch like you and your friends?"

  "Desperation." Glidinghawk ventured. 'They only assign us to cases where the usual methods of investigation have failed. And I have to ask you to keep quiet about the things I told you, Marshal. Very few people know our true identities, even among the military."

  "I'm surprised you told me," Elbridge grunted.

  "If we hadn't been so outnumbered, we wouldn't have."

  Gideon laughed shortly. "At least you're honest."

&n
bsp; Glidinghawk made no reply for a few minutes, then said, "When we get to McCoy's ranch, you'd better do all the talking, Marshal. We're not interesting in taking credit for this operation. You can have all of it. My teammates and I would prefer to be known simply as innocent bystanders who got sucked into the situation."

  "Probably the smart way to go about it, all right," Elbridge agreed. "McCoy will come closer to listening to me than he would to you." He lifted a hand and pointed. "Reckon that light over there is the ranch house. We'd better keep our eyes open. McCoy's liable to have look-outs around the place."

  That proved to be true. The two men had ridden only a couple of minutes longer when shadows detached themselves from the trees lining the trail and blocked their path. Starlight glinted off rifle barrels as the sentries lifted their weapons.

  "Hold it right there!" one of the men called out. "Who are you, and what's your business here?"

  Glidinghawk and Elbridge reined in, keeping their hands in plain sight so as not to spook the look-outs. "I'm United States Marshal Gideon Elbridge," the tall man answered in a clear voice. "I'm here to see Silas McCoy."

  One of the other men said, "How do we know you're who you say you are, mister?"

  "I've got a badge on my vest that says it, too."

  The challenger spat. "Hell, anybody can wear a badge. Plummer did for a time, if I recollect right."

  "I have my identification papers in my coat," Elbridge said. "If you'll let me take them out without shooting me, I'd be glad to show them to you."

  "Naw, 'tain't necessary. We'll just take you to McCoy, and if you an't who you say you are, he can shoot you. Who's the Injun?"

  "He's a friend of mine," Elbridge declared, surprising Glidinghawk somewhat. He had expected the marshal to pass him off as something less than that.

  "Well, come ahead to the ranch house. But don't try anything funny."

  Another man appeared from the shadows leading horses. The sentries mounted up and escorted Glidinghawk and Elbridge to a low, rambling ranch house that looked solid and comfortable in the moonlight.

  The look-outs had evidently sent someone to alert the house before even challenging the strangers, because Silas McCoy and several of his hands were waiting on the verandah, guns ready.