Wanted: Sam Bass

by Paul Colt

  Bass shrugged. “It ain’t a mint shipment, but you don’t get one of those on every train.”

  “Whole lot of trouble for two hundred bucks.”

  “What are you bitchin’ about, Tom?” Blocky said. “You punch cows four months for that kind of money.”

  “Blocky’s right,” Johnson said. “It’s one job. Once you’re over the line, you keep going. Sooner or later you catch yourself a big prize.”

  The mail sack didn’t yield much loot, but the federal offense got Stillwell Russell on the case officially. He immediately swore in a posse and lit out for Allen. They picked up the gang’s trail and tracked them into the hills. They found the white-oak stand at the creek bed where the sign said the gang stopped before splitting up. Other than a discarded flour sack and a mail bag with its contents rifled, they didn’t find anything more useful than horse droppings. The lack of tracks leaving the grove suggested most of the gang used the creek to cover their tracks. Russell had his men fan out, riding the creek banks looking for sign. After an hour’s search trackers concluded that most of the gang covered their tracks as they left the stream. They found one fresh set of hoofprints, leaving the stream headed southeast deeper into the hill country. The trail petered out a few miles from where it left the stream. Russell called a halt. Now what?

  Ben Davis, one of the trackers, spoke up. “Marshal, I recollect an abandoned line shack not far from here. Saved my life in a snowstorm some years ago. He might a gone there. It ain’t no more’n a hunch, but there it is.”

  “Best we got at the moment, Ben. Mount up.”

  Thirty minutes later Davis led them into a blind draw. The shack sat on a low rise, well out of sight. A bay horse slept hipshot, picketed beside the cabin.

  “Looks like we might a struck it lucky,” Russell said. “This draw has him boxed in pretty good. Ben you stay here with a couple of the boys in case he gives us trouble. The rest of you, unlimber them guns and follow me.”

  Russell and his men rode into hailing distance.

  “Yo the cabin! US Marshal Stillwell Russell. Come out with your hands up!”

  An anxious moment passed, measured in the buzzing of a fly. The cabin door cracked open. Tom Spotswood stepped out blinking back the sunlight, hands in the air.

  “What do you want with me, Marshal?”

  “Suspicion of robbery.” Russell rode up to the cabin and stepped down. “What’s your name boy?”

  “Spotswood. Tom Spotswood. I don’t know nothin’ about no train robbery.”

  He stopped in his tracks. “Did I say train robbery?”

  “Well, I, ah, just guessed.”

  “Keep an eye on him boys while I have a look around.” It didn’t take long to search the cabin. The place had that dusty, musty deserted smell that infests abandoned buildings. Spotswood hadn’t bothered to tidy up the spiders or the armadillo droppings. There wasn’t much of anything else in the place except Spotswood’s gear. Russell found two hundred sixteen dollars and a gold watch in the saddlebags. He stepped back outside for a lung full of fresh air.

  “Kind of a lot of walkin’ around money.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ agin’ carryin’ money.”

  “Not as long as it’s yours. Nice watch.” He flipped the cover open and read the inscription. “Who’s Emerson Fielding?”

  Spotswood shrugged.

  “How’d you come by his watch?”

  “I won it in a poker game.”

  “Same game you won the cash in?”

  He nodded.

  “You’re one lucky feller, Tom Spotswood. Leastwise you will be if Emerson Fielding didn’t have this watch taken from him by the men who held up that Texas Central train over to Allen a couple of days ago. If he did lose it on that train, you’re gonna do hard time boy. Now if you was to tell me who was with you when you robbed that train, things might go easier.”

  Spotswood cut his eyes to the posse and the guns leveled at him. No way out. They had him dead to rights.

  “Sam Bass. It was his idea.”

  Bass. They had a line on him now. Russell narrowed his gaze, boring into Spotswood. “And?”

  Spotswood sang like a bird.

  Shady Grove

  “I got a telegram from Stillwell Russell directly after that. Sam Bass had turned up sure enough. Cane was plenty willing to head down to Dallas to finish the case. I ’spect he’d a gone even if the Texas Central hadn’t added another five hundred dollars to the stack of rewards pilin’ up for the man.”

  “Time for lunch, Colonel.”

  He glanced up at my Mona Lisa. This would be interesting. The old boy had unfinished business he’d want to clear up.

  “Always time for something around this place. Can you give us another ten minutes, Penny? We’re at an important juncture in the story and I don’t want to lose my train of thought.”

  She made a mock frown. “Five minutes and not a minute more or you’ll have me in trouble for bringing you late.” She turned on her heel.

  Crook watched until she was out of sight. He produced the empty contraband from under his blanket. We made our customary exchange.

  “Now tell me about this important juncture before you lose your train of thought.”

  He arched a shaggy brow in disgust. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with my train of thought. It’s one of the few things I got that still works like it should. Course round here that’s a rarity. You see how easy I bought the time we needed.”

  “Resourceful as ever, Colonel. See you next week.”

  The following Saturday I arrived in the sun-washed solarium, fresh with the scent of floor polish. Penny wheeled the colonel down the hall at the stroke of the appointed hour. We exchanged smiles.

  “He’s yours for the afternoon, Robert.”

  “Thank you. Has he been behaving himself?”

  “After a fashion, as long as you don’t expect too much.”

  “Listen to you two. Who the hell do you think you are? You treat me like a misbehaved child. I’ll have you know I take umbrage at such treatment.”

  “See what I mean?”

  “I do. See you later?”

  “Of course.”

  “Must I sit here and listen to you two further your romantic interests? Come along Robert, you have a book to write.”

  She gave me a Mona Lisa behind the colonel’s back and turned to go. I made a show of groping for my pad and pencil as she crossed the room to the hall.

  “I’m not fooled, Robert. You can watch her wiggle on your own time. I’m a busy man. Now let’s get on with it. Where were we?”

  I sat. “You sent Cane to Dallas.”

  “Ah yes.”

  March 20

  Cane stepped off the eastbound train in Dallas on a warm sunny early-taste-of-spring day. He slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and headed back to the stock car. As he crossed the platform past the depot headlines sprang from the Dallas Daily Herald.

  Bass Gang hits Texas Central train at Hutchins

  Looks like we made it in time for the party after all. The article reported the robbery had taken place two days before. The bandits made off with an undisclosed amount of cash and valuables taken from the passengers. It sounded like small potatoes again.

  He collected Smoke from the stockman, tacked him up and walked him up the street toward town. The arrival of the railroads some six years earlier turned Dallas into a thriving agricultural city of some seven thousand. The streets bustled with commerce, mercantile stores, banks, saloons, hotels and restaurants. According to Crook, Marshal Russell was headquartered at the Windsor Hotel. The Windsor wasn’t hard to find. It was easily the biggest building in Dallas. He looped Smoke’s rein over the rail and climbed the boardwalk to a broad pillared porch, running the length of the building on either side of a double door center entry. The lobby had a quiet library feel to it with red-velvet-covered furnishings. Heavy drapes of the same blood red muted the outside light to a warm glow. He crossed the freshly waxed floor to a
registration counter flanked by a sweeping spiral staircase ascending to the upper guest floors. An officious-looking clerk with a waxed mustache, oddly in keeping with the condition of the floor, eyed him suspiciously.

  “May I help you?”

  “I need a room. I’m also looking for Marshal Stillwell Russell. I understand he’s staying here.” The man seemed to relax at the mention of the marshal. He spun the register.

  “I’m afraid the marshal isn’t in at the moment, but you are welcome to leave a message, Mr….”

  “Cane, Briscoe Cane.”

  “No need to leave a message, Cane. Russell doesn’t hold much with detectives.” The unsolicited advice came from a familiar voice behind him.

  “Longstreet, what are you doing here?”

  “Same as you I reckon. You’ll be wasting your time with Russell. He won’t cooperate with a private detective.”

  “You mean he won’t cooperate with a Pinkerton detective. He’ll cooperate with me.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Great Western Detective League.”

  “That again? We’ll see.”

  “We shall. Let me stow my gear and let’s go find us a bite of lunch and a beer. It’s been a while since Buffalo Station. We probably got some catchin’ up to do.”

  The clerk slid a key across the counter. “Room thirty-five, third floor on your right.”

  “Much obliged.”

  Longstreet suggested a small café down the block from the hotel, allowing as how the hotel dining room was a mite stuffy. It was also frequented by others working on the Bass Gang case. They pulled up chairs at a corner table with a blue-andwhite-checked tablecloth and blue bandannas for napkins. A chalkboard at the door announced a roast beef and mashed potato daily special. They settled on two orders and two beers.

  “So how long you been in Dallas?” Cane asked.

  “Kingsley sent me down here after Buffalo Station. He spotted agents in Dallas, Houston and Austin figuring Bass would show up somewhere around one of them. I’ve been watching the gambling action figuring if he did show up, pretty soon he’d be looking for a game.”

  “And did he?”

  “Look for a game? Hell no. If he had we’d a had him by now. First we knew he was back came out after the Allen train robbery. The gang got away with a mail pouch. That got Marshal Russell on the case. His posse ran down one of ’em. Fella by the name of Spotswood. Ever hear of him?”

  Cane shook his head. The waiter arrived with their beer. They both took a swallow.

  “So this Spotswood identified Bass?”

  “He did, along with the rest of the gang. Now my turn, what makes you so sure Russell will cooperate with you? He’s been real tightfisted with the case as far as we’re concerned. He comes off as the pillar of public service. He puts his place above any private investigator in it for commercial reasons.”

  “Unless there’s a cut of the reward in it for him.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “He’s a member of the Great Western Detective League. All the league members share in a portion of the rewards at the end of the year. Kind of holds everyone’s interest in cooperation. The league had Russell on the lookout for Bass before he ever lifted a mail pouch.”

  “Well that sure enough explains things.”

  “Explains what?”

  “I had to offer my gambler informants extra money to get to the front of the line for information on Bass.”

  “Russell got to ’em first.”

  “He did.”

  Cane smiled. “See how this thing works. I’m tellin’ you, Beau, you’re wastin’ your talents workin’ for that Pinkerton outfit.”

  “We’ll see who gets Bass.”

  Two steaming plates of roast beef and mashed potatoes arrived.

  “I ’spect we will.”

  NINETEEN

  Cane paid for lunch. He excused himself by telling Longstreet it might be best if he located Marshal Russell on his own. We wouldn’t want to inhibit the marshal’s inclination to cooperate now would we? Longstreet got the point.

  Cane returned to the Windsor. The registration clerk greeted him with a wave on entering the lobby.

  “Marshal Russell returned over the lunch hour, sir. I gave him your message. He said to tell you he’s gone to the sheriff’s office to check on his prisoner. He said I should tell you to meet him there.”

  “Much obliged. Where do I find the sheriff’s office?”

  “Just down the street in the next block,” he said, indicating the east.

  Cane found the sheriff’s office as directed. The door creaked open. The office held the sheriff’s desk on one side and a deputy’s desk on the other. The barred door to the jail opened at the back beside a rifle rack behind the sheriff’s desk. A potbellied stove beat back the early spring chill from the corner across from the deputy’s desk. The sheriff sat at his desk facing a long-featured man in a frock coat. The sheriff looked up.

  “Sheriff John Logan, how can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Marshal Russell.”

  “You found him.” The long-featured man turned in his chair.

  “Briscoe Cane.” He extended his hand. “Colonel Crook sent me down from Denver.”

  A flicker of recognition passed Russell’s eye. He rose and accepted his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’ll be with you directly.” He turned back to the sheriff.

  “I like your idea, John. Spotswood’s statement implicates young Murphy. Making a sweep of their ranch makes good sense. Bass knows every draw, creek, cave and thicket in the territory. Hiding’s not a problem for him. They need supplies though. Hiding out on a friendly ranch makes sense. Get your warrant and put up a posse. I’m ready to ride when you are.”

  “Come along Cane. We’ll head on up to the hotel. We can talk there.”

  Outside Russell led the way up the boardwalk. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  “Got here as quick as I could. It sounds like you’ve got some leads to follow up.”

  “We do. Snagging Spotswood was a big help. We mostly know who we’re after. Problem is Bass does know the territory. He worked as a freighter when he first came to Texas. So far he’s proved pretty damn elusive.”

  They swung into the hotel lobby. He led the way to the bar, deserted in the middle of the afternoon. “Beer?”

  Cane nodded.

  Russell signaled the bartender for two. They took a back corner table away from the door.

  “What are the chances we get him before anybody else does?”

  Russell shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. The sheriffs of Denton and Grayson counties are both out after him. So far they haven’t had much success, given Bass’s aforementioned knowledge of the territory. Pinkerton has men in town.”

  “Beau Longstreet.”

  Russell lifted a brow. “How’d you know?”

  “I know him. He’s a little frustrated you’ve frozen him out of this.”

  He chuckled. “Good.”

  “Beau’s all right.”

  “Didn’t say he wasn’t. The idea is for us to get Bass first. We’ve got Spotswood. He spilled his guts so we know more than the others do. Still that comes up short of putting a collar on any of them.”

  “Tell me about your theory on the Murphy ranch.”

  “Mostly Sheriff Logan’s idea. Spotswood identified old man Murphy’s son Jim as one of those involved in the Allen robbery. John’s hunch is that Bass and his men are hiding on the Murphy ranch. He figures Jim and the family are looking after their supply needs. Makes as much sense as anything we’ve got.”

  “So you squeeze ’em and wait to see if somebody makes a mistake.”

  “Something like that.”

  April 4

  The Texas & Pacific track approaching the trestle crossing at Eagle Ford rounded a blind curve to a slow rise. The Bass Gang parked a freight wagon across the tracks on the east end of the crossing where she’d have plenty of time to
stop. The gang took cover in the rocks where the grade sloped below the roadbed. The passengers and crew wouldn’t see them coming until they had the drop on the crew and entered the passenger cars.

  She rounded the bend right on time with a throaty hoot on her whistle. Black smoke smudges stained a bright blue sky as she slowed into the climb. The brakes belched white clouds of steam. Steel wheels screeched in sharp complaint. The big locomotive ground to a halt, car couplings clanking first forward then back. The cowcatcher stopped just shy of the wagon.

  The steam hadn’t cleared when masked gunmen stormed the train, securing the engine, caboose and messenger car while others entered the passenger coaches. The practiced routine ended in minutes with the outlaws vanishing the way they’d come to horses hidden in a wash beneath a thicket of trees. The crew pushed the wagon off the tracks. It rolled and bounced down the embankment, crashed into a boulder and tipped on its side. The wheels were still spinning when the engineer signaled the brakeman to release the brakes. She rolled out over the ford and picked up a highball to her next stop.

  This time it was Seaborn Barnes’s turn to bitch. The man was sullen and mostly kept to himself or the company of a bottle. Bass considered him impoverished of wit. Even so he could count.

  “A hundred dollars. Hell, this ain’t much better’n honest labor for all the trouble we take.”

  “It is a might puny,” Jim Murphy said. “What happened to them big gold shipments you’s always talkin’ about.”

  “They don’t turn up every time. We’ll get us one. Pretty soon I reckon.”

  “You reckon.” Barnes spat. “We got posses combin’ five counties lookin’ for us.”

  “They ain’t caught us yet have they?” Blocky said. “Sam knows what he’s doin’.”

  “Sure he does, pup. You got it all figured out, ain’t you. Not even dry behind the ears yet.”

  A black light descended over Jackson’s eyes. His hand drifted toward his gun. “Who you callin’ a pup?”

  “You, you snivelin’ little shit. You want to make a play, go.”

  Sam’s gun sprang to hand cocked. He stepped in front of Barnes. “Shut up! You got a problem with your share? You take it up with me. There’s more and better men where you come from.”