Wanted: Sam Bass

by Paul Colt

  “Any chance they’ve left the area?”

  “It’s possible, but nobody seems to think so. Cane, Russell and the Rangers pulled in a rancher name of Murphy and his son a week ago. I heard they were suspected of harboring Bass, but they ended up letting them go. They got close a couple days ago. Killed Arkansas Johnson in a shoot-out over to Salt Creek. No sign of Bass though. He’s about as slippery as a mud puppy.”

  “Russell?”

  “US marshal, Stillwell Russell. Mail robbery got him on the case. He’s working with the Rangers.”

  “And Cane you said, he’s here as well?”

  “He is. We worked together on the Mesquite trap.”

  “What level of cooperation are we getting with this Russell chap and the Rangers?”

  “We’re not. To hear Russell tell it he doesn’t have much use for private detectives.”

  Kingsley pursed his mustache, brows knit. “But didn’t you imply Cane was working with them?”

  “I did. Cane and Russell are thick as thieves for some reason.”

  “Ah. I believe I might shed some light on that. Russell may be affiliated with this Great Western Detective League Cane claims to represent. I’ve done a bit of investigation on that one. The whole thing is the brainchild of one Colonel David Crook. He has managed to recruit a rather extensive network of law enforcement officers to his little association. He puts the services of his operatives out for hire much as we do. They also pursue reward opportunities. They share information through the league offices in Denver and share the rewards. Quite a tidy little arrangement really. It gives local law enforcement assistance when cases go off their jurisdictions and provides bonus money based on results.”

  “So that’s how it works.”

  “Perhaps we should have a chat with our friend Mr. Cane. He might be willing to cooperate for old times’ sake.”

  “You can certainly try.”

  “You don’t sound optimistic.”

  “You didn’t exactly shoot straight with him the last time.”

  “You think he knows?”

  “He knows I was already here when he arrived following the Allen robbery.”

  “He’d only be guessing.”

  “Like I said, you can try.”

  “Is he staying in the hotel?”

  “He is.”

  “Let’s invite him to join us for a drink in the bar.”

  Longstreet’s invitation to meet him and Kingsley in the bar for a drink roused Cane’s suspicion. He hadn’t liked the Englishman from the first. His less-than-forthright exchange of information back in Buffalo Station had done nothing to improve his estimation of the man. The fact that he was here and wanting to talk was probably owing to the fact Russell had Pinkerton frozen out of the investigation. He felt bad about that for Longstreet’s sake but business is business. The Pinkertons had a reputation for grandstanding at the expense of legitimate law enforcement, most likely based on the actions of men like Kingsley. Men like Russell didn’t appreciate being shown up before their superiors or in the case of others, the people who elected them. Mostly law enforcement professionals had little use for Pinkerton agents. He could talk to Kingsley, but he didn’t have much to offer. He found them at a back corner table in the hotel saloon.

  “Cane, good of you to join us, old boy.” The Englishman rose, extended his hand and favored him with his best patentmedicine smile.

  “Kingsley, what brings you to Dallas?”

  “Oh heavens, you must know. Have a seat.” He looked over his shoulder and waved to the bartender for another glass. He brought it over. The Pinkerton man poured.

  “As you might imagine our clients and my superiors are quite anxious to see this Sam Bass affair wrapped up. Beau here has been filling me in on the most recent developments. He tells me you’ve managed to gain the cooperation of the law enforcement officials on the case. It seems that courtesy doesn’t extend to us.”

  “It doesn’t? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Longstreet rolled his eyes.

  “Have you then gained their cooperation?”

  He nodded.

  “Splendid. I was hoping we could enter into an exchange of information, for old times as it were and all that.”

  “Hmm, don’t know that I got that much out of our last little exchange. You got something better this time?”

  Guarded gates clouded the Englishman’s eyes. “Yes, well nothing terribly specific at the moment. As you know I’ve only just arrived. I thought perhaps you might have something by way of a more recent development.”

  “As a matter of fact there is something.”

  “Excellent! I’m sure we shall be in position to reciprocate in due course.”

  “Oh, well I suspect that won’t be necessary.”

  “It won’t? Sorry old chap, I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

  “I expect we’ll have the case wrapped up by then.”

  “I see. Well here’s to success then. Cheers!”

  Cane tossed off his drink. “Thanks for the drink, Kingsley.” He scraped back his chair, nodded to Longstreet and left.

  Longstreet watched him go. “I told you he wouldn’t play along.”

  “Yes, well either he’s bluffing or they’ve got on to something of interest. You said they arrested this Murphy fellow and then let him go. What was that all about?”

  “I suspect it had something to do with Tom Spotswood.”

  “Spotswood, who’s he?”

  “The gang member they captured after the Allen Station robbery.”

  “Do you suppose this Spotswood implicated Murphy?”

  “He may have.”

  “Then why let Murphy go? I think I should like to have a chat with this Spotswood chap.”

  “Slim chance of that, the sheriff’s got him over at the jail.”

  “Oh? We shall see.”

  Sheriff’s Office

  Dallas

  “Sheriff Logan? Allister Rothchild, barrister at the bar, at your service.” He forced a smile.

  Logan took in the distinguished gentleman in the bowler hat and tweed jacket who’d just entered his office. English he’d guess by the accent.

  “What can I do for you Mr. Rothchild?”

  “I understand you have my client incarcerated here.”

  “In car sir, what?”

  “In jail, my good man, you’re holding him in your jail. A Mr. Tom Spotswood.”

  “Your client?”

  “Quite so.”

  “You’re his lawyer.”

  “Why else should I be here to see him?”

  “I figured the court would have to appoint someone to represent him.”

  “Yes well I’ve agreed to represent Mr. Spotswood. Now, if you please, I’d like to speak with my client.”

  Logan rose. “Are you armed?”

  “Me? Mercy no.”

  “Open your coat.”

  He did.

  “Right this way.” He opened the door to a two-cell jail. “You got a visitor Spotswood.”

  Spotswood sat on the edge of his bunk. He scowled at the Englishman. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Allister Rothchild, I’ve agreed to represent you.”

  “Agreed with who? I ain’t agreed to be represented.”

  “I say young man you are in serious trouble here. Competent legal representation should be highly agreeable to you. Now if you please Sheriff, attorney-client privilege and all that you know.”

  “Spotswood?”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  Logan closed the door and returned to his office.

  “Now as I see it here you are charged with robbing the Texas Central Railroad at Allen, Texas. Is that correct?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I would say your incarceration speaks eloquently to that.”

  “What?”

  “I also understand that you were caught. What is that quaint colloquialism you colonials are so fond of? Ah yes, you were caught red-han
ded. Now the question is what might we do to mitigate the severity of your punishment.”

  “What?”

  “What can we do to lighten your sentence?”

  “I already done that.”

  “Did what?”

  “Told that US marshal who was in on the robbery.”

  “Yes, that might help. We shall have to plead accordingly. Who were your accomplices?”

  “I already told the marshal.”

  “Mr. Spotswood, how am I to effectively represent you if you are not forthcoming with me? Now please tell me what you have previously told the marshal.”

  “Sam Bass is the leader. Arkansas Johnson, Blocky Jackson, Seaborn Barnes and Jim Murphy rode with us.”

  The Englishman knit his brow. “James Murphy of the Murphy ranch Murphys?”

  “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

  They arrested him and then let him go. Why?

  Because he is an informer!

  Murphy Ranch

  “Somebody’s comin’.” Blocky Jackson had lookout in the hayloft.

  Bass looked out over the dusty road leading to town. A buggy rolled toward them behind a pair of matched blacks, trailing a dun cloud.

  “Everybody get out of sight and stay out of sight until they’re gone or trouble starts.” The gang scattered to the barn and bunkhouse weapons handy. The buggy wheeled through the gate and up the drive to the house.

  Longstreet drew the team to a halt in front of the house. He set the brake and stepped down following Kingsley up the step to the porch.

  “James Murphy?” Kingsley inquired.

  “Henderson Murphy, Jim’s paw. Who are you?”

  “Reginald Kingsley. This is my associate Beau Longstreet. Might Jim be about?”

  “What do you want with him?”

  “We’ve a business matter to discuss.”

  “What sort of business?” Jim appeared in the doorway behind his father.

  “I should prefer to discuss it in private.”

  “Can’t hurt to talk, Paw. Let ’em in.”

  The elder Murphy stepped aside allowing Kingsley and Longstreet to enter a sparsely furnished parlor. Young Murphy didn’t offer them seats.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “We are with the Pinkerton agency.”

  He threw up his hands. “I been through all that with Marshal Russell and the Rangers.”

  “We understand that. We also understand they arrested you for the Allen train robbery and then let you go.”

  “That’s right. Paw told ’em I was here at the ranch at the time. It was his word against Spotswood’s. They didn’t have no proof.”

  “That’s not why they let you go.”

  Perspiration beaded up on his forehead.

  “They let you go, because you made a deal with them.”

  The boy cut his eyes left and right. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Oh, but you do, Jim. It’s written all over your face. Now here’s the thing, we’re here to make you a better deal.”

  Murphy’s eyes clouded. “What kind of deal?”

  “A two-hundred-dollar deal.”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Go on.”

  “You tell us what you tell the marshal and we pay you two hundred dollars. We’ll make it four hundred if we get there before the marshal.”

  “Get where?”

  “Come along now Jim. We don’t have time to play games. The Rangers got Arkansas Johnson at Salt Creek. We both know how they found him. That was a start. You’ve got more work to do.” He handed him a calling card.

  “I’m at the Windsor Hotel. We’ll be waiting with your money.”

  Murphy ambled over to the bunkhouse as the buggy trailed a dusty cloud down the road back toward town.

  “Coast is clear.”

  Bass met him at the door. “What was that all about?”

  “Cattle buyers.”

  “Oh.”

  “They did have some news. The Rangers got Arkansas at Salt Creek.”

  “I was afraid of that. That settles it.”

  “Settles what?”

  “It’s time to get out of here. We need travelin’ money. There ain’t enough of us left to take down another train. We need a nice quiet, sleepy town bank. Back when I was freightin’ they had a nice fat one down at Round Rock. I think maybe we should pay them a visit.”

  Round Rock.

  Shady Grove

  I arrived that Saturday morning with a sense of anticipation. I could feel the story coming to an end, I just couldn’t see it. I waited impatiently in the visitor lounge. The familiar comfort of the room seemed dampened that morning by the gray light of a raw fall day. Outside a cutting wind scented with the promise of snow bestirred a rumpled flannel blanket of cloud. Winter would soon be with us. The long night would begin. I took comfort from knowing Penny would be there to help the time pass. That and the fact I should finish the book by spring.

  Her heels clicked the polished floor up the long hall that led from his room past the dining hall to the lounge. She wheeled him in with a twinkle in her eye and her best Mona Lisa. I went lost for a moment.

  “Good morning, Robert. I am here you know.”

  “Good morning, Colonel. I trust this gray morning finds you in good humor.”

  “I’m always in good humor. It is only the world’s capacity to appreciate it that wavers.”

  “He can be positively incorrigible when he gets like this,” Penny said.

  “Dear girl, no need to put on airs for your beau at my expense. At the moment he’s here to see me. You may have him when your elders are finished.”

  She pursed her lips and shook her head. “See what I mean? You may have him until lunchtime.” She turned a hip and retreated up the hall.

  “Put your tongue back in your mouth and have a seat, Robert.”

  He held out his hand. I passed him the bottle and tucked the empty safely away in my coat.

  “I sense we are coming to the end of this story, Colonel. How do you plan to satisfy your appetites once we’ve finished?”

  He smiled. “Yes I’ve already given that some thought, Robert.”

  “And?”

  “All in good time. Now where were we?”

  I consulted my notes. “Bass decided to rob the bank in Round Rock and get out of north Texas.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Round Rock

  Sunday, July 14

  Round Rock sat on the Chisholm Trail at the east bank of the Brushy Creek Crossing. The settlement sprawled northeast from its roots in the heyday cattle town. A new commercial center grew up to the east leaving behind what came to be called Old Town. Bass and the gang pitched camp on the banks of Brushy Creek on the outskirts of Old Town. They sat around a small fire, taking a simple supper of hardtack, jerked beef and coffee. Stillness fell from a star-filled velvet sky. Starlight played across the rippled surface of the creek. A gentle gurgle mingled with soft night sounds punctuated now and then by the snap and pop of the fire, shooting sparks to the darkness. Finished, Bass rose and rinsed his tin plate and cup in the stream. He returned to his place by the fire.

  “When do we hit the bank?” Barnes asked.

  “We’ll ride into town tomorrow and have a look around. We’ll need to steal fresh horses. These horses are about played out. We get fresh horses we can hit the bank day after tomorrow.”

  Murphy smoothed his feeble attempt at a mustache. Day after tomorrow is too soon. “I don’t like it.”

  “Don’t like what, Jim boy?” Barnes asked.

  “Stealin’ horses will tip off the law to us before we get a crack at the bank. The bank’s what we’re after. All we got to do is rest our horses a few days. Then we jump the bank when nobody expects it.”

  Barnes shook his head. “Jim, Jim, Jim, why wait? No need to sit around here waitin’ for somebody to stumble on us.”

  “Ain’t no law agin’ restin’ horses. Steal ’em and you get people ri
led up.”

  Young Jim’s advice eased some doubts. After Salt Creek and the boy’s arrest Bass wondered if the kid could be trusted. He’d made sure young Jim came along on this job as much to keep an eye on him as anything. Maybe he was all right after all.

  “Jim’s right,” Bass said. “We’ll wait. End of the week should do it.”

  Windsor Hotel

  July 15

  Kingsley answered the knock at his door. It opened to a gangly young lad dressed in patched bib overalls with one shoulder strap. A slouch hat perched on a shock of unruly red hair. A splash of freckles crossed his nose and cheeks. He shifted from one bare foot to the other.

  “Telegram for Mr. Kingsley.” He offered a small envelope. Kingsley took the envelope and tore it open.

  Williamson County Bank, Round Rock

  JM

  “Have you delivered any telegrams to Marshal Russell?”

  The lad shook his head.

  He tossed him a quarter. “Good lad.”

  The boy ran off down the hall.

  Kingsley crossed the hall and knocked on Longstreet’s door.

  “Come in.”

  He found Longstreet with a towel slung over one shoulder, lather on his cheeks and razor in his hand. He stroked his chin and rinsed the razor in a basin on the dresser.

  “Murphy sent word. It appears as though Bass plans to rob the Williamson County Bank at Round Rock.”

  Longstreet stroked the last of the lather, rinsed the razor and folded it away. He wiped his face with the towel.

  “I’m on my way.”

  The lad in the bib front overalls found Russell having a beer with Cane in the Windsor saloon at six o’clock that evening. Russell slid the note across the table to Cane.

  “I’m on my way down there first thing in the morning.”

  “I’ll get word to Captain Peak in Austin. You can meet him in Round Rock.”

  Round Rock

  July 17

  Cane rode south on Lampasas, entering new Round Rock on the east end of town. He wheeled Smoke west on Georgetown following the central avenue through the town’s commercial center. He passed the Williamson County Bank, peaceful and secure as the afternoon wore on to a three-o’clock closing. It appeared he’d arrived in time.