Wanted: Sam Bass

by Paul Colt

  “I can take care of myself, Sam.”

  “I know you can, Blocky. I’m savin’ this dumb son of a bitch’s life if he ain’t too stupid to appreciate it.”

  Barnes’s dull gaze stared round-eyed down the muzzle pointed between them. He raised his hands and backed off. “No trouble.”

  “That goes for you too, Murphy.”

  “No trouble, Sam. No trouble a’tall.”

  Dallas

  The Western Union messenger peddled his velocipede up to the Windsor Hotel and jumped down. He leaned the ungainly cycle against a front porch post and hurried into the hotel. Telegrams were always in a rush. The desk clerk smiled at the pink-cheeked young man’s officious demeanor. Hard to make that work in knee britches, he thought.

  “Telegram for Marshal Russell.”

  “You found him, son,” Russell said as he and Cane entered the lobby from the dining room. The young man handed Russell an envelope and caught the quarter the marshal tossed in his direction. He was gone to his next errand as quick as he’d come. Russell tore open the telegram.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “What is it?” Cane asked.

  “Bass and his gang, leastwise they figure it was Bass.” He handed the yellow foolscap to the detective league man.

  Cane read. “You gonna organize a posse?”

  Russell shook his head. “What for? That trail will be two days’ cold by the time we catch up to it. I’ve rode the skin off my ass half over north Texas and what have we got to show for it? We need a trap. I just ain’t figured a good one yet.”

  “Let me know when you do. I might ride out to this Eagle Ford to have a look for myself. You never know when a man like Bass might get sloppy and make a mistake.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Cane had nearly finished tacking Smoke when Longstreet came into the hotel livery.

  “You headed where I think you’re headed?”

  Cane turned. Sunlight poured through the stable door rendering the Pinkerton a silhouette between the shadowed stalls. “Where’s that?”

  “Eagle Ford.”

  “How’d you find out?”

  “Denver Office got a wire from the Texas & Pacific.”

  “Pinkerton’s havin’ its share of trouble with this bunch.”

  “Least we’re in good company. What do you expect to find out there?”

  Cane shrugged. “Anything would be somethin’ more than what I’m likely to find sitting on my ass here.”

  “I got a better idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why would I give that up? You and Russell ain’t much for cooperation.”

  “You talkin’ another trade?”

  He nodded.

  “Kingsley agree to that?”

  “Kingsley ain’t here.”

  “I can’t speak for Russell.”

  “No matter. He cooperates with you. You cooperate with me. It’s all the same.”

  “All right. What have you got?”

  He looked around, making sure no one was within earshot. “There’s a big Texas & Pacific gold shipment, leaving Fort Knox on the tenth.”

  “I suppose Pinkerton’s been hired to guard it.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “How else would you know? Information like that don’t get blabbed all over town.”

  “No, it don’t. Then again if it did, it might attract the attention of a man like Bass.”

  Recognition dawned on Cane. He smiled and stripped Smoke’s latigo. No need to ride to Eagle Ford with that plan.

  “Why would the Texas & Pacific agree to such a risky trap?”

  “They didn’t.”

  Cane pulled a scowl. “Damn it, Longstreet you’re talkin’ in riddles!”

  Shadows couldn’t hide the twinkle in his eye.

  “There ain’t no gold shipment.”

  Windsor Hotel

  Midday sun turned the lobby to a crimson glow. Russell drummed his fingers on the table his long countenance composed in a dour mask. Cane waited patiently.

  “I see the merits, but I don’t much like it. Why work with private law in suits?”

  “You said it yourself. We do it on the merits. It’s a good idea. Pinkerton can arrange it. Have you got a better plan?”

  He rubbed his chin with a meaty paw. “Not at the moment.”

  “Half a loaf is better than none.”

  “So they say. It just sticks in my craw.”

  “Longstreet didn’t have to bring us in on this.”

  “No he didn’t. So why did he? What’s in it for him?”

  “He’s a straight shooter. Likely he’ll expect we return the favor somewhere down the road.”

  “I knew there’d be a catch.”

  “What catch? As of now Pinkerton holds the best cards. The reward for Bass is substantial. We’d be on the case for half the amount wouldn’t we?”

  “I s’pose.”

  “Good. It’s settled then.”

  TWENTY

  April 10

  Longstreet let word of the gold shipment leak in a couple of saloons over in Denton. More than one of the Bass Gang trails disappeared in the area. Acting on the Pinkerton’s advice the Texas & Pacific made up the train to suit the part. It consisted of the engine, wood tender, three passenger cars, a freight car, a mail car and caboose. The mail car had its usual compliment of two Pinkerton men so as not to attract any special attention. That’s where ordinary ended. The passenger cars had a Pinkerton agent, Russell and two of his deputies at each end. Longstreet rode up front with the fireman where he could get the drop on anyone commandeering the engine. Cane rode in the caboose with the conductor. The freight car carried horses for Longstreet, Cane, Russell, the deputies and the Pinkertons.

  They rolled out of the station on a cool spring morning under a rumpled blanket of gray cloud spitting spring showers. The first two stops proved uneventful. By the time they rolled into the third stop at Mesquite, Cane was beginning to wonder if Longstreet’s planted rumor had reached Bass and his men. Mesquite was a short stop to take on and discharge passengers, mail and a small amount of freight. Cane took advantage of the stop to hit the station privy, making light of some morning coffee.

  He crossed the wooden platform, bustling with the business of servicing the train. He didn’t notice the lean man in a black coat with a drooping gray mustache approach the rear of the mail car as he hurried on his errand. By the time he returned, the train was ready to depart. He scrambled into the caboose while the conductor waved his signal lantern up the line to the engineer. He followed Cane into the caboose and took his seat. The customary long whistle blast announced the train’s departure. Couplings engaged up the line. The caboose didn’t move.

  “Now what?” The conductor asked of no one in particular. He stepped out to the platform behind the car, grasped the ladder to the roof and swung around the side to have a look up the line.

  “What the hell!”

  Cane bolted from his seat, getting the message that something was wrong. He brushed past the startled conductor and jumped down to the platform. The mail car and the rest of the train were rolling west, gathering speed. A man in a black coat and hat climbed the ladder leading to the mail car roof. Cane drew and fired in the hope someone would hear the shot and get the idea something was wrong. The train showed no sign of slowing. No luck. The mail car rear guard had been stripped away. He spun around to the conductor.

  “This is probably the start of it. Telegraph the next stop!” He looked past the depot to the sleepy little town. Where in hell can I get a horse and fast?

  Longstreet never heard Cane’s shot over the chuff of the engine and the rattle of the rails. He too was beginning to wonder if the bait for his grand trap had fallen on deaf ears.

  He nudged the engineer. “How long to the next stop?”

  The man with a soot-stained face popped the cover of his pocket watch.

  “An hour and thirty minutes.”

&
nbsp; Longstreet settled back to wait.

  Stillwell Russell gazed out the window of the first passenger car. The trap was taking on the feel of a fool’s errand with each passing mile. A fool’s errand would be bad enough without the Pinkerton man at the other end of the car there to remind him he’d end up owing the private coppers even if they failed to get Bass. He’d let Cane talk him into the arrangement over his own better judgment. Now the best case looked like a split in the reward if there ever should be one.

  Arkansas Johnson crept slowly and carefully along the roof of the mail car. Dropping the caboose had been easy enough with the train at a stop. Pulling a coupler pin on a moving train would be another matter. First he had to get there without tipping off the guards below. Wind whipped a spattering of rain across the swaying car. The rain stung his cheeks and made the roof surface slippery. He dropped to his knees and crawled slowly, taking care that a boot scrape not give him away. They planned to let the train carry them out of reach of any pursuit that might have resulted from dropping the caboose in Mesquite. Sam and the boys waited another ten miles or so up the tracks. All he had to do was get in position to act on their signal.

  Bass checked his watch. She should be along anytime now. The gang waited in a thicket of white oak just north of the tracks. He watched the ribbon of track to the east, waiting for the first sign of smoke against the leaden cloud bank spitting rain. There. He thought he saw something. He squinted against the rain, letting the smoke plume grow certain.

  “Here she comes, boys. Mount up. Stay under cover while I give Arkansas the sign.” He swung up on the blue roan and rode out of the thicket in plain sight of the tracks. A lone horseman as expected would give no alarm to the train crew or the mail car guards should they even notice.

  The engineer sat in position manning the throttle. He glanced out the window. He turned to Longstreet and pointed. Longstreet moved to the platform between the engine and the wood tender. A lone horseman stood off some distance from the tracks. He saw no sign of any others. The man just sat there. It didn’t look like Bass was going to take the bait. Maybe he hadn’t gotten the word. Curse the luck if he hadn’t. They’d gone to a lot of trouble to draw him out in the open. Kingsley had high hopes for the operation. He’d gotten Chicago involved in convincing the Texas & Pacific to go along with the charade. Railroads as a rule didn’t fancy being held up, even for a good cause. Nobody was going to be happy if they came up emptyhanded on this one. As the rider disappeared, Longstreet shrugged and returned to his seat.

  Johnson saw the lone rider at the other end of the train. He climbed down the ladder to the mail car platform. He removed a wooden-handled hook fashioned for his purpose. He leaned over the platform rail and attempted to hook the eye opening at the top of the coupling pin. The damn thing bounced and rocked with the sway of the train rattling the rails. After a few anxious tries he connected. He stood, braced his legs and pulled. Nothing. He pulled again. The car swayed, lightly releasing tension on the coupling link. The pin came free. The mail car began to slow as the passenger cars with their posse men, Pinkerton guards and Longstreet pulled away.

  Johnson sidled over to the corner of the mail car platform. He expected the guards inside might react to the car slowing down. Then again, they might just take it for the next stop and let it go at that until it was too late.

  He peered around the corner of the car. Sam and the boys galloped along beside the roadbed, gaining on the mail car as it rolled to a stop. The gang drew rein beside the mail car door. A curious Pinkerton guard cracked it open to see what had caused the stop. He was greeted by four masked men with guns drawn. His eyes went wide with surprise. He cut his eyes left and right. The rest of the train was nowhere in sight. The Pinkerton men gave up without resistance. Why bother? They were outnumbered with nothing worth protecting on board.

  The empty mail car threw Bass into a black rage. The robbery plan had been a stroke of genius yet all they had to show for it was wasted effort. None of the gang dared voice their anger. It was plain sure Bass had enough for all of them. They’d been tricked. Most likely the whole thing was a trap. They’d been lucky. No telling how many men were on the parts of the train they’d cut loose. He felt the long arm of the law closing in. They’d have to eat the frustration of not getting the prize they planned on. It was time to lie low for a spell.

  “Handcuff and blindfold them two and let’s get out of here.”

  They rode northeast on a wide arc, backtracking any pursuit out of Mesquite. Bass called a halt at a stream running clear with snowmelt. The gang’s high expectations had turned to smoldering anger.

  “That was close,” Arkansas said.

  Bass nodded. “I should have reckoned the leak on that shipment too good to be true.”

  “They fed us what we wanted to hear. They must a known we was spoilin’ for a big score.”

  “I expect you’re right. We got a might careless. It’s time we lay low for a spell. Let things cool down. Word is the governor’s called out a company of Rangers to go along with the Pinkertons and all the rest of them that’s after us.”

  “Where you fixin’ to hide out, Sam?” Blocky asked.

  “Salt Creek. We post a lookout at Pilot Knob that gives us plenty warning of anybody comin’ through the Timber Cross.”

  Shady Grove

  “That’s an amazing story. They took the train apart to rob it?”

  “Brilliant really, Bass had the bollocks of a Brahma.”

  I scanned my notes. A golden glow told me the afternoon had advanced to quitting time. “I expect Penny will be along to fetch you off to supper presently.”

  “Likely so.” He patted the bulge in his lap robe. “Fortunately I shall be able to muster the courage to face the tepid portions of something brown and something green they’ll present us this evening.”

  “My pleasure to assist.”

  “I’m sure it is. Big plans for Sunday?”

  “Hardly big, Parcheesi and sundaes if you must know.”

  He smiled. “Robert, do you fully appreciate everything I’ve done for you? You have your book coming along and a romantic interest on which to squander whatever profits might follow from it. I’ve fairly given you a life.”

  “Scarcely a day goes by.”

  “I’m so pleased. By the time you return next week I shall remember the Texas Rangers.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Windsor Hotel

  April 21

  “Marshal Russell?”

  “Yes.” The speaker was a clean-shaven boyish-looking man of slight frame and serious demeanor. He looked the sort who might be found at home clerking in a mercantile.

  “I was told I might find you here. Captain Junius W. Peak, B Company Texas Rangers. Governor Coke ordered my company to assist in the pursuit and capture of the Bass Gang.”

  “Welcome Captain. I’ve been expecting you ever since I read about the governor’s order in the newspaper. Maybe your presence here will change our luck.”

  “Luck? I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Let’s just say Bass and his men have been stubbornly elusive.”

  “Has there been any sign of them since the Mesquite robbery?”

  Russell shook his head. “Nope, gone to ground without a trace as usual.”

  “They can’t simply disappear. They need supplies. Somebody has to know where they are hiding.”

  “You’d think. I do have one possibility we can follow up now that you’re here.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We captured one of them after the Allen holdup. He identified the other gang members. One of them is the son of a rancher in the area. I haven’t had enough men to do a proper search. Now with your men here we can put that to right.” He glanced over the Ranger’s shoulder to the lobby door. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” He waved Cane over. “Captain Peak, may I present Briscoe Cane.”

  Peak extended his hand. Cane accepted it.

  “The captain leads
a company of Texas Rangers the governor has called to our assistance. Mr. Cane has been helping with the investigation on behalf of the Great Western Detective League.”

  “Great Western Detective League? Can’t say I ever heard of it.”

  “Most people haven’t,” Cane said. “It works better that way.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Russell offered what for him passed as a smile. “Let’s just say the league casts a wide net for the likes of a criminal like Sam Bass. They alerted me to be on the lookout for him a couple of months before he showed up in the area. If he’d so much as spit on the sidewalk before that first robbery, we’d have had him. That’s water over the dam now.” He turned to Cane. “With the Rangers here to help we can pay that visit to the Murphy ranch we’re due for.”

  Murphy Ranch

  April 29

  Warm spring breezes tossed a new crop of sage as Murphy Ranch came into view. Russell called a halt on a low rise overlooking a broad grassy valley. Cattle grazed in black and brown patches scattered across the green-gold valley floor. The Murphy ranch sprawled along the southwest section a mile distant. Little could be seen beyond the hazy shadows of a low rambling ranch house, barn, bunkhouse and two nondescript outbuildings.

  “How do you plan to play this?” Peak asked.

  Russell glanced over his shoulder and lifted his chin toward the ranch. “With a full company of Rangers the more interesting question is how they plan to play it. I figure we just ride on in.”

  Cane squinted against the sun glare. “That’ll work as far as it goes. You can’t hide a posse this size. They’ll see you comin’ sure. Give me a thirty-minute head start. I’ll circle in from the south in case anyone tries to make a run for it.”

  “You want a squad of my men to accompany you?” Peak asked.

  “That’d up the chances of me bein’ spotted. I work best alone.”

  He wheeled Smoke west, dropped below the crest of the valley wall and rode south.