Wanted: Sam Bass

by Paul Colt

  “Paw, riders comin’!”

  Henderson Murphy shaded his eyes and shook his head. “Paper said the governor called out the Rangers. That’s got the look of a whole company.”

  “Ain’t no social call, Paw.” Young Jim spat. “Sum-bitch Tom Spotswood ratted us out. I gotta warn Sam.”

  “Sam Bass can take care of his self, boy. You ride off on that errand you’ll lead that posse to him sure. You need to get yourself out of here. Now saddle you a horse and git. I’ll try to stall ’em.”

  Jim ran to the stable without looking back.

  The old man stood on the front porch, a Henry rifle crooked in his arm. Russell drew a halt just beyond the yard gate.

  “Have your men spread out Captain. Keep your eyes peeled for any sign of trouble. I’ll ride on in and have a talk with Murphy.”

  “You sure you don’t want a few of us to come along, just in case.”

  “Best we let it rest easy for the time bein’.”

  “Yo the house! I’m comin’ in alone.” Russell eased his bay through the gate and jogged across the yard. He drew rein.

  “Henderson Murphy?”

  “I am.”

  “Stillwell Russell, US marshal. We have reason to believe your son may be involved with a recent string of train robberies. I’ve got a warrant here for his arrest.”

  “Boy ain’t here.”

  “We’ve had reports that Sam Bass and his gang may be hiding in the area.”

  “Don’t know nothin’ about that.”

  “That so. Your son is riding with Bass and you don’t know it.”

  “I told you. The boy ain’t here. Ain’t seen him in quite a spell. I figure he run off.”

  “Mind if we have a look around?”

  “I do mind. This here’s private property.”

  “Like I said, I have a warrant. Don’t make me arrest you for obstruction.”

  Cane rode into a stand of white oak at the rear of the ranch house. He stepped down and ground tied Smoke. He saw no sign of movement other than a cloud of flies buzzing around fresh dropping in the corral. All eyes were likely on the company of Rangers drawn up across the front yard. He left the thicket and strolled across the yard past the house. The rear stable doors opened to a corral. Somewhere inside a horse snorted. He hugged the stable wall cat quiet as he approached the door.

  A young man emerged from the shadows inside leading a horse. He started across the corral, headed for the gate at the far side.

  “Hold it right there, son.”

  The boy froze. His hand drifted toward the butt of a .44 on his hip.

  “I wouldn’t try that if I were you. Now lift your hands and turn around real slow.”

  He turned. “Who the hell are you? You got no call to come in here givin’ orders.”

  “You’re Jim Murphy.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “You’re under arrest on suspicion of train robbery.”

  “That’s bullshit! You ain’t got no proof.”

  “Oh, I think we do. We got a witness.”

  “Spotswood.” He reached for his gun. It never cleared leather. Cane’s blade stuck in his forearm. His eyes went wide in shock as he stared at the bone handle.

  “You stabbed me.”

  “Count your blessings. You could be dead.” He drew his gun and disarmed the kid.

  “Get this thing out of my arm.”

  “All in good time. Now head on out front. There’s a US marshal and a company of Texas Rangers waiting to make your acquaintance.”

  Cane marched the Murphy boy out to the front yard.

  “Look what I found, slipping out the back way.”

  Russell turned to the elder Murphy. “I thought you said the boy wasn’t here.”

  Murphy returned a sullen glare.

  “I’ll take that rifle now. You’re under arrest for harboring a fugitive.”

  Dallas

  The posse rode into town with their prisoners under a heavy guard. People stopped what they were doing to stare. Ain’t that Henderson Murphy and his boy Jim? Word spread through the crowd.

  “Take ’em to the jail?” Peak asked.

  Russell nodded.

  “Hold on, Marshal,” Cane said. “You gonna put him in a cell next to Spotswood?”

  “I suppose.”

  “I got an idea. It might be best to keep those two separate until we see how it plays out.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Maybe we can make a deal.”

  “A deal?”

  “Yeah. Take ’em to the hotel. Put them in separate rooms under guard. Call a doctor to look after the kid’s arm. Once he’s patched up, let’s have a talk with him.”

  Russell turned to Peak. “You get all that?”

  He nodded.

  “Do as he says.”

  The Murphy kid sat in a straight-backed chair in the corner of a room on the third floor of the Windsor Hotel. His arm was freshly bandaged. Two of Peak’s Rangers flanked the door. They opened at a knock. Cane, Russell and Peak filed into the room.

  “You boys can wait outside,” Peak said.

  The kid eyed Cane suspiciously.

  “You’re in a lot of trouble, Jim,” Cane said. “Four counts of train robbery will put you away for a good long time. Ever been to prison?”

  Murphy gave him a vacant stare.

  “I’ll take that for a no. Too bad, if you had you’d know just how much trouble you’re in. The boys who wind up in territorial prison is a bad bunch. Pups like you don’t last long in there. Nowhere near as long as the sentence you’re gonna get. Best case you do real hard time.” He drew the bone-handled blade from the back of his holster and sat on the bed across from the kid. He picked at a fingernail with the blade.

  “They slam them steel bars on you and you’re at the mercy of your fellow inmates. Guards don’t give a shit. You’re just one more mouth to feed. You best find the biggest meanest son of a bitch you can and make yourself real nice to him. If you do, you might last for a spell. That about right, Marshal?”

  The kid cut his eyes to Russell. The marshal gave his best somber undertaker look and nodded.

  “If I was you, Jim, I’d make a deal to keep my young ass out of that pen,” Cane said.

  “Deal?”

  “That’s right. We get what we want and we let you walk out of here now. We don’t get what we want, we lock you up with Spotswood and you’re on your way to the penitentiary and all them nasty boys waitin’ to welcome you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Sam Bass and the rest of the gang.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Don’t play games with me kid. You’re part of the gang. You know it and we know it. You lead us to Bass and you walk out of here now. We get him, you walk on the charges against you. You go back to Daddy’s ranch and lead a normal life.” He held Murphy’s gaze.

  The kid turned to the window and gazed out at sunshine and blue sky.

  The bedsprings squeaked as Cane rose. “You let them barred doors slam behind you and you’re gonna regret this moment for whatever little is left of your miserable life. What’s it gonna be, Jim boy?”

  The kid stared out the window.

  Cane shrugged. “Marshal, Captain, let’s get out of here.” He started for the door.

  “I’ll get him for you.”

  Cane cracked a half smile, his back to the kid. “That’s more like it.” He spun. The blade flashed and stuck in the window frame beside the kid’s ear. Wide eyes fixed on the wavering bone handle. Cane plucked it out of the frame and returned it to its sheath. “Remember that, if you ever get a notion to cross us. Let ’em both go.”

  Jim and Henderson Murphy rode out of town in silence. The old man hadn’t said a word when they were released. He knew something was up. They cleared town and took up a short lope for home. After a time Henderson pulled the pace down to a walk to spell the horses.

  “Why’d they let us go, Ji
m?”

  “We made a deal.”

  “What sort of deal?”

  “I help ’em get Sam and the gang and they let me go.”

  “Sam Bass ain’t no good, but rattin’ out friends is a shameful thing. Then there’s the likelihood Sam finds out and kills you.”

  “That’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

  “Why?”

  “Cause it’s a chance he kills me if he finds out. They send me to prison, Paw, ain’t no chance about it.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  May

  A barefoot young boy in patched overalls who did odd jobs around town delivered the note to Marshal Russell’s room at the Windsor. He summoned Jones and Cane to a quiet corner of the lobby bathed amber in late-afternoon light. Russell passed the note around without comment.

  Salt Creek Bottoms.

  JM

  “Where’s Salt Creek?” Cane asked.

  “Denton County,” Russell said. “Captain, when can your men be ready to ride?”

  “First light.”

  “Cane?”

  He nodded.

  Salt Creek

  They rode out the next morning at first light, Russell in the lead flanked by Cane and Jones. The Ranger column of fourteen men lined out behind. They rode east crossing grassy plain cut here and there by a network of small streams. A cornflower-blue sky and bright spring sun soared overhead. Russell set a brisk pace toward the center of the county and an area known as Timber Cross.

  The column passed south under the watchful eye of the brown sandstone peak known as Pilot Knob. Bass set his watch there as others had done for decades to provide early warning of Indian attacks. Seaborn Barnes spotted the Ranger company across the plain long before it passed Pilot Knob. He had a fast horse and a good start to reach the gang’s encampment in a sheltered valley along the Salt Creek Bottoms.

  Barnes’s horse skittered down the wooded valley wall dappled in patches of sunlight and shadow. Gang members were on their feet with guns handy when he rode into the clearing where they were camped and stepped down.

  “Company’s comin’. Looks like a whole company of Texas Rangers.”

  “Where are they?” Bass asked.

  “They hadn’t hit Timber Cross when I lit out. Likely have by now.”

  “All right boys, break camp and scatter. Work your way to the Murphy ranch. They’ve already checked that out. Likely won’t go back before I can figure out our next move.”

  Russell’s posse entered the wooded hill country and slowed to a deliberate pace as they neared Salt Creek Bottoms. He drew a halt below the rise leading to the valley wall.

  “Hold your men here, Captain, whilst Cane and I have a look up yonder.”

  The Ranger company stood down. The marshal and Cane rode on. They threaded their way up the wooded slope through spears of sunlight slicing between the trees. They halted near the rim and stepped down. They ground tied their horses and crawled to the overlook.

  Salt Creek cut the valley floor from north to south. Cane studied the stream banks. He spotted a blackened circle downstream from their position. He nudged Russell.

  “Looks like we might be too late.”

  “Son of a bitch! The bastard leads a charmed life.”

  “Come on, let’s get the Rangers and have a look around.”

  They collected their horses and rejoined the column.

  “The camp’s across the steam just south of here. It looks deserted. Captain, take some of your men and circle north, enter the valley and close down on the camp. Cane and I will take the rest and circle up from the south. If there are any of them left in the area we may get lucky.”

  They mounted, split the company and rode out. The south column crossed the valley wall a quarter mile south of the suspected campsite. They entered the valley and crossed the bottoms to the creek bank. As they crossed the stream and turned north Cane spotted a hoofprint in the soft bank. The fresh sign said the rider had headed southeast. He peeled away from the column and followed.

  The trail climbed the wooded east valley wall under a canopy of light and shadow. Halfway up the wall it hit him. Quiet. Too quiet. Smoke came to a stop. He lifted his nostrils to the breeze. Cane’s senses slowed as they sometimes did when he felt the presence of danger. He drew his Henry rifle from the saddle boot and rested the stock on his hip. He eased Smoke forward, his eye tracking from tree to tree, shadow and light, light and shadow. He couldn’t shake the sense he was being watched.

  The shot rang out as he neared the crest. A heavy-caliber bullet bit a chunk out of the white oak off his right shoulder. He leaped from the saddle and dived into cover behind the tree. A wisp of blue smoke beyond the crest to his left floated off on the breeze. He trained the Henry on that line, looking for sign of the shooter. Below and behind him further to the north he heard the faint sounds of Russell and his band of Rangers reacting to the gunshot. The shooter had to know they were there. The missed shot put him at risk. He’d run. Cane started a move toward the next tree up the slope. He felt it as much as he heard it. A horse lit out fast beyond the rim of the valley wall. He ran up the slope.

  The rider bent over his horse’s neck, weaving the trees to the south. He had a jump. Cane read the trail anticipating the path he might take. He guessed his spot. A hundred-yard shot if he guessed right. He shouldered the rifle, following the rider as he galloped through the trees. He’d guessed right. The rider broke into a bright sunlit clearing. The Henry barked and bucked. The rider slumped forward in the saddle. Cane lowered the rifle and whistled for Smoke with the thought he had a wounded outlaw to chase. The big gray gelding jogged up the ridgeline. The retreating rider rolled over his horse’s shoulder and fell to the ground.

  Cane swung into the saddle, slipped the Henry into its boot and jogged toward his fallen assailant. He drew his .44 and eased Smoke down to a walk as he approached the body. A wounded man might play possum. He saw no sign of breathing. The outlaw’s gun remained in its holster. A backup was always a possibility. He cocked his .44. He drew Smoke to a stop and stepped down just as Russell and a cavalry charge of Texas Rangers cleared the ridgeline and galloped toward him. The man didn’t move.

  Murphy Ranch

  By nightfall they began to trickle in. Bass arrived first. He rode up to the house and stepped down. Henderson Murphy stood on the porch Henry rifle in hand silhouetted in lamplight spilling from the open door.

  “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

  “We ran into the Rangers over at Salt Creek. We need a place to hide.”

  “You and your men ain’t welcome here no more, Bass. Jim and I has been arrested once already on account of you. We was lucky to talk our way out of that.”

  “How did old Jim manage that?”

  “I swore he was here at the ranch at the time of the Allen robbery. It was my word against Spotswood.”

  “Lucky for both of you.” And the next thing you know the Rangers show up at Salt Creek. Seems a lot to credit coincidence.

  “We need help Henderson. Your place is the perfect place for us to hide out. You’ve both been cleared of suspicion. The Rangers have been all over your spread. This is the last place they’ll look.”

  “He’s right, Paw.” Jim stepped out of the house.

  “I don’t like it.”

  “It won’t be for long,” Bass said. “It’s gotten too hot around here. We need to pick up some travelin’ money and get shut of north Texas.”

  “I’ll put ’em up in the bunkhouse, Paw.”

  The old man put up his rifle and stomped back into the house.

  Jim’s right about one thing. We won’t be here long. Not long enough to tip off them Rangers is sure.

  Jackson and Barnes rode in within the next two hours. They sat on the bunkhouse porch, watching the moon rise. Bass flipped open his watch for the third time in the last half hour.

  “I don’t like it. Arkansas should have been here by now.”

  “Maybe he’s had enough and just
cleared out,” Barnes said.

  “Wouldn’t be like Arkansas. Besides we need traveling money before we blow these parts.”

  Jackson looked to Bass. “You don’t suppose they got him do you?”

  “It’s possible, I’m afraid. Makes more sense than him cuttin’ and runnin’.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Windsor Hotel

  “Mr. Longstreet!”

  The desk clerk waved him across the red-gold lobby glow.

  “We have a message for you.”

  He handed him a folded slip of paper.

  Room 210. Come see me when you return.

  Kingsley

  Longstreet climbed the stairs to the second floor and made his way down the hall to room 210. He knocked.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened to the parlor of a small suite.

  “Longstreet, old boy. Good of you to come so promptly. I was just about to have a drink. Care to join me?”

  “Don’t mind if I do. What brings you to Dallas?”

  Kingsley busied himself at a sideboard with a cut-crystal decanter and glasses. “Sam Bass, of course. We’ve got three railroad clients up in arms about that gang. They’ve got Chicago all riled up. I’m afraid we ratcheted up expectations with that gold shipment ploy. Now there’s hell to pay with nothing to show for it.” He handed Longstreet a glass.

  “Cheers. Chicago wants results and they want them now. We need to turn up the heat. Have a seat.”

  Two wing chairs and a settee covered in red-and-gold brocade surrounded a low table at the center of the room. Longstreet took a seat opposite Kingsley.

  “So where are we?”

  Longstreet shrugged. “They disappeared like smoke in the wind after the Mesquite trap.”

  “Clever devils, the way they took the train apart bit by bit. Almost as if Bass knew we were onto him.”

  “I don’t think he did. I make it out to dumb luck. Bad for us. Good for him.”

  “And no sign of him since?”

  “None. Though not for lack of looking. The governor called out a company of Texas Rangers. The Rangers and sheriffs from three counties are all combing the hills here about looking for him.”