The Gallant Outlaw

by Gilbert, Morris

  “How do you know that?”

  “A woman doesn’t have that kind of animosity unless she’s loved a man,” Lanie shrugged.

  Lobo ran his hand through his hair and wiped his forehead lightly. “We were friends at one time,” he said briefly.

  From that one sentence, Lanie could tell that what she had suspected was true. Lobo and Angela Montoya had been lovers, she thought. That’s why she hates him. He must have walked off and left her, or done something awful. Bluntly she said, “So, you were lovers.”

  Strangely enough, her words embarrassed him, but he lifted his chin a little and gazed at her unflinchingly. “Why do you care, Lanie?”

  “I don’t care,” she retorted crossly. Then, even as she said it, Lanie realized that she did care. She cared very much! Resolutely she thrust the thought away from her. “But if she was in love with you once, you may have to use her to get us out of here.”

  “No.”

  The refusal was so flat that Lanie knew instantly there was no use in pursuing it. She was embarrassed by the scene and agitated by her own show of jealousy when faced with Lobo and Angela’s relationship. Confusing and conflicting thoughts crowded her mind. She said lamely, “Well, Betsy’s here and she’s all right. So we have a chance.”

  “Yeah, we’ve got a chance,” he replied. “And I don’t want to mess this up. It’s gonna be tough. They’re going to be watching us like hawks, no matter what we do.” He pushed himself away from the door, walked to the window, and looked outside for a few moments. Then he turned back to Lanie and continued. “They’ve already put a man out front. We’ve got to be careful, ’cause they could sneak up here. Mateo’s watching this window. Someone will be watchin’ it all night. They’re not about to let us leave here unexpectedly.”

  Lanie’s shoulders drooped. The hard ride and the immense strain of the past few hours were beginning to affect her. Lobo glanced at the single bed. “You take the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

  It was early, but they were both tired. “I’ll blow out the light, and you can get undressed,” he said.

  “I’ll just sleep in my clothes,” she said hastily.

  He did not reply. Finding a blanket in the gear they had brought in, he made a bed beneath the window, took off his boots, and started to lie down. Instead, he walked over to the single chair in the room, carried it to the door, and shoved it underneath the doorknob. Shrugging, he told Lanie, “Somebody might come bustin’ in here, and they’d expect us to be in the same bed.”

  Lanie didn’t reply as Lobo lay down. For days now she and Lobo had slept within five feet of each other beside campfires. But somehow being in a bedroom with him was totally different. She was apprehensive, almost afraid. She lay down on the bed stiffly, unmoving and tense, until she heard his even breathing, and then she relaxed.

  Sleep didn’t come at once, though. Lanie lay quiet, thinking of the strangeness of it all. Her other life—her life of teas and parties and balls and fancy dresses—seemed a million miles away. With a mental start Lanie realized that she could not easily go back to such a life. It would seem so—so tame after all she had gone through!

  Suddenly she thought of her father. Why, this is what Dad has always talked about! He’s never liked it in the city! She thought about the land she was in, how sprawling and open it was, how it made her feel so small, yet very important. This is what Dad loves—wide open spaces. I wish we could go back to Montana, see some of those places he and Mother talk about.

  She began to worry a little about the next day. What will we do? How will we get away? What will—

  “I’m glad Betsy’s all right.” Lobo’s voice was quiet but it startled her.

  “Yes. I was afraid. But I had a chance to talk with her a little.” Lanie sighed. “She’s going to have a hard time, even when we get her away from here. She’s ashamed of what she’s done. It’s going to be very difficult for her.”

  “Never easy to get over your bad deeds.”

  His words intrigued her. “You’re speaking from experience, I take it.”

  Lobo didn’t answer her for a few moments, but finally he said, “Well, we’re not on this earth here for very long, and sometimes I think it’s all meaningless. But once in a while, I meet someone who’s found more meaning and purpose than I ever have. Like Lorenzo.” His voice grew gentle as he spoke of the marshal. “I’ve thought a lot about him. I knew him for a long time, and he was a good man, one whose life meant something.”

  “He died well, didn’t he.” Lanie’s voice, too, was filled with tenderness as she thought of Lorenzo Dawkins—so hard yet so gentle and faithful to the end. “I admired him very much.”

  Lobo didn’t answer. He considered Lorenzo, and how he’d gone out to meet death with ease and in such peace.

  Sleep started to steal over him as he began thinking about how extremely careful they would have to be tomorrow. Wouldn’t put it past Vic to put a bullet in me, just out of pure suspicion. Or just plain meanness.

  And then he thought of Angela Montoya and the days they had had together. Wildly sweet memories they were to him, and yet there had been no giving in it—just total selfishness. They had used each other to feel loved but had never given of their inner selves. He then drifted off into a fitful sleep.

  ****

  When Lanie awoke the next morning she looked around anxiously before remembering where she was. She glanced uneasily at the floor and saw that Lobo was gone, the blankets folded up. She got to her feet and pulled on her boots, then washed up at the basin and tried to fix her hair.

  I would give anything I own to bathe and wash my hair! she thought, petulantly yanking her hair as she tried to arrange it. Then the gravity of her situation crowded her mind. She stopped fidgeting with her hair and straightened up. Who cares what I look like? The important thing is to get Betsy away from here.

  When she walked out of the bedroom, the smell of frying bacon drifted toward her. Coming into the kitchen she looked around for Lobo, but he wasn’t there, nor was Betsy. Only Buckley Ogg and Vic Perrago were in the room.

  “Sit down,” Vic ordered. “Your boyfriend’s gone for a walk with Angela.” His tone was bitter and he walked to the window to stare outside.

  Ogg ignored him and said in a friendly tone, “Sit down there, Miss Johnson.” He busied himself getting up to pour some coffee. “Don’t worry about Vic. He’s just a little irritable.” His round face broke into a grin. “I guess you may not have heard, but Lobo and Angela was pretty close at one time. Looks like they might be startin’ up again, and Vic’s a little bit touchy about that. Aren’t you, Vic?”

  Perrago turned a venomous look on Ogg and walked out the door. “I’m going to go get ’em,” he muttered. “We gotta talk.”

  Lanie heard him on the porch, calling out loudly, and then he entered the room again. He walked to the table, his legs wide apart, his arms crossed, his eyes narrow. “You sure about this, Buck?”

  Ogg looked sleek and self-satisfied, almost like a Buddha, as he nodded to Perrago. “We’ll look into it, Vic. Won’t cost anything to listen.”

  The two must not have been far away, because Angela entered almost at once, followed by Lobo. Furtively scanning Angela’s face, Lanie saw that the anger and animosity of the day before was gone. Well! He said he wasn’t going to use her—but it looks like that’s exactly what he’s doing.

  Perrago waited until the pair was seated, then said brusquely, “All right. Give us the layout on this, Lobo.”

  “Sure, Vic! It’s simple!” Lobo said enthusiastically. “I got a man working for me—he’s the go-between. Between me and Ralph Johnson, Irene’s father. As soon as her father finds out she’s all right, he’ll send us the information about shipping.” He continued to explain the plan as he, Lanie, and Woman Killer had worked it out and ended by saying, “What will happen is this—as soon as we find out that the goods are on the train, we go do the job.”

  “What about her?” Perrago demanded, nodding
at Lanie.

  “We’re gonna need every man we can get on this job, so I’ve got a special spot all picked out for her. We shut her up in there”—he nodded toward the bedroom—”and your woman, too, I guess. We can’t take ’em out to hold up a train, and we can’t spare anyone to watch ’em.”

  Perrago considered the scheme, gnawing on his lower lip. “All right. And what about your man? How are you gonna contact him?”

  Lobo leaned back in his chair nonchalantly. “Well, Vic,” he drawled, “reckon if I told you everything I know, you might not need me anymore. So I’m not telling where my meeting place is with my man, and I’m not telling you who he is. What I will tell you—when I get the lowdown—is which train to hit. And I know the place to hit it.”

  Ogg broke in suddenly, “They’re bound to be carrying plenty of guards with a big shipment.”

  “Nope. That’s one thing I found out from Johnson. They don’t send out a whole lot more guards when they ship out the real stuff. They figure it’d be sorta like posting a sign: ‘Gold and Silver on This Here Train.’ ” Amused laughter rumbled in the room and Lobo continued. “Sometimes they don’t send out even one more guard than usual. And that,” he smiled beatifically at Lanie, “is what’s gonna happen this time.”

  No one said anything; Vic Perrago grunted noncommitally. Lobo’s chair dropped down with a crash and he leaned forward, his eye glittering. “Come on, Vic! Look at it! No guards, lots of money, one train—” With a loud clap, Lobo smashed his fist into the table. “Hit it! We’re gone, and that’s the last you’ll see of me—any of you.”

  A thick silence fell over the room, and Lobo knew they were greedily weighing the possibility. His eyes surveyed the faces—Ogg, Perrago, Montoya.

  “What do you think, Buck?” Vic demanded. He put great faith in the fat man’s keen insight and would make no move without his agreement.

  Ogg eyed Lobo as he said pleasantly, “I put no trust in any man. But I think Lobo’s hungry enough to pull it off.” Then his voice changed slightly and his heavy lips twisted with cruelty. “We’re gonna watch you, Lobo. You’re gonna be in the crosshairs at all times. One thing goes wrong, and you get a bullet in the brain. You got that?”

  “Sure, Buck, I know that,” Lobo said carelessly. “But don’t you forget—I want to be rich worse than any of the rest of you.” His tone couldn’t have been more mild, but every person there recognized the seriousness in his words.

  Approval flitted across Buckley’s face and he said, “All right, Vic. Let’s do it!”

  “It’s on,” Perrago agreed. He looked around the room and added, “One more thing. I’ll get some cash out of this Winslow girl. It’ll take some doing, but I’m gonna get word to her old man to lay his hands on some cash and get it to me or I’ll send her head in a sack.”

  “Gonna be hard, doin’ two things at once, won’t it?” Ogg said blandly.

  But Vic was adamant. “No. I’ll send a telegram to her old man and tell him to have the cash in Fort Smith and we’ll hand the girl over.”

  “What’s her name? Betsy what?” Lobo asked innocently.

  “Winslow.”

  “There was a man named Winslow in town,” Lobo observed helpfully. “Fella in a wheelchair. Talk was, he’d come out from Chicago, lookin’ for his girl.”

  “That’s him!” Perrago said, grinning broadly. “Good! Now I won’t have to go hunting him down. I’ll send Grat into town to contact him. Make him have the money ready just before the robbery, and we’ll bring him the girl. Two birds with one stone.”

  Ogg shook his head. “Too complicated.” But as Vic’s face grew mutinous, Ogg saw that Perrago had made up his mind, and decided to cut his losses. “All right, all right,” he said placatingly, holding up one fat hand. “I guess it can happen. You can sure use the money.”

  Then Ogg turned to Angela. “You been awful quiet, Angela. How about it? You for it?”

  Lanie watched Angela, observing that the woman was dressed to the tee. Her entire demeanor was softer, more pliable, less threatening than the previous evening. Obviously something had happened between her and Lobo to cause these changes. As Lanie thought about it, anger stirred within her.

  “It’s all right with me,” Angela answered, her eyes on Lobo. “I think it’ll work.”

  Betsy came through the front door, carrying a bucket of water. Her eyes downcast, she walked into the kitchen and set the bucket on a cabinet. Perrago said expansively, “Looks like you’re going home soon, honey! That is, if your old man comes up with enough hard cash.” Scraping his chair back from the table, he walked to her and turned her around. Cupping her face with both hands, he leaned down and kissed her. “Think he’ll pay enough for you to make a trip to town?”

  Held powerless in his strong hands, Betsy did not move, nor did she answer. As always, this irritated Vic Perrago. Brutally shoving her away, he hissed, “I’ll be glad to get rid of you! You’re as cold as a dead fish!”

  He turned back to the others and said shortly, “Lobo, the message. When’s it coming?”

  “I’ve got a spot staked out,” Lobo answered. “I’ll have to ride out and check it every day.”

  “You’re not going alone,” Perrago snapped.

  “I’ll go with him,” Angela said.

  Her even tone angered Perrago. He had tried his best with this woman, and at one time thought he possessed her. But now he seethed at her preference for Lobo Smith and said viciously, “I don’t think I trust you, either.”

  “Shut up, Vic,” Angela shot back. “You do your job, and I’ll do mine. That’s the way it’ll be.”

  Lanie was amazed at Perrago’s reaction; she had steeled herself for an explosion. But Vic merely stared at Angela, his handsome face turning slightly pale. She had some sort of control over him; perhaps it was the fearlessness in her eyes, and he finally nodded. “All right. Then that’s the way it’ll be.”

  “Might as well ride out today,” Lobo said diffidently. “I don’t think it’ll be there, but I don’t want to risk missing it.” He nodded to Angela. “Whenever you’re ready, Angela, we’ll take us a little ride.”

  “All right, Lobo.”

  They left within a few minutes and Lanie stood at a window, watching them. Betsy came up close beside her, saying loudly, “If you need any clothes washed, Miss Johnson, I’ll be glad to help you.”

  Still staring at the departing pair, Lanie answered distractedly, “What?—Oh yes, thank you.”

  A few minutes later they were outside, washing clothes in a number ten washtub. They were far enough out of earshot of the men, but had to be careful lest their actions betray them. Betsy said, without looking at her, “I’m afraid, Lanie. What if Lobo goes away and doesn’t come back?”

  “He’ll be back,” Lanie answered briefly,

  Betsy looked sharply at her, turning only slightly. Then scrubbed harder. “What—who is he? What kind of a man is Lobo? The others talk about him and Angela being sweethearts once.”

  The words cut Lanie much deeper than she cared to admit to herself or anyone else. She shrugged her shoulders and said nothing, her eyes on the clothes in the huge tub.

  But Betsy didn’t give in. “Well, he does look awfully hard—that Lobo. I suppose he’s just another hired killer, like everybody else around here.”

  “A man should learn to fight! Or put skirts about his knees!” Lanie rasped, trying to hold her anger in check. Savagely she scrubbed a shirt, her face grim.

  Betsy had never seen her sister so passionately defend a man, and she stammered, “I’m—I’m sorry, Lanie! I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean anything wrong! I’m just—I’m just—so scared!”

  Lanie closed her eyes, her hands growing slack. Slowly, she expelled the anger she felt and forced herself to calm down. Then she opened her eyes and looked into Betsy’s dismayed face. “Don’t worry about Lobo, sweetie. He is a hard man, and in this particular situation, I think that’s a good thing. And he will get us out of this. He wi
ll!”

  She stared at the two riders disappearing into the distant shimmer of heat far on the horizon. “I don’t know what he’ll do after that—but I know he’ll never quit until he does what he sets out to do.”

  The two women continued washing clothes, speaking quietly, both of them thinking thoughts that they didn’t care to share. Betsy was thinking of trying to pick up the pieces of her life, when she saw herself as stained and soiled. And Lanie was thinking of the long ride that Angela and Lobo would take—and what that ride would be like.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A Costly Loyalty

  As soon as Zach Winslow looked up, he knew he was going to have trouble with Wesley Stone. Zach was sitting outside on the front porch of his hotel, the late afternoon sun going down and the air becoming cooler. He had taken to sitting out here each day, letting the air cool not only the heat of his body but also the rising temperature of his spirit.

  “What’s the matter, Wes?” he asked, looking up as the tall, lanky young man stalked down the boardwalk and loomed over him.

  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Mr. Winslow!” Wesley said, his voice harsh and imperious. “I’ve stood all I can, sitting around here waiting for something to happen!” He had recovered quickly after reaching Fort Smith, and now the only sign of his wound was a hesitation and awkwardness as he moved his arm. But his face revealed the strain he had been under. “I’ve got to do something! I can’t just sit around while Betsy and Lanie are out there!”

  “Sit down, take a load off your feet.” Zach Winslow knew how to handle men; and he waved toward the chair beside him. He waited until Stone sat down before he continued. “I know how you feel, Wes,” he said easily. “This bum leg of mine’s got me tied down like it was an anchor! If it wasn’t for that, I guess I’d be riding off in a cloud of dust, going out to find Perrago’s bunch.” Zach’s eyes looked off into the distance to the west; out there, past the Arkansas River valley, were his two daughters, struggling for their very lives. “Guess I’d get myself killed first thing if I did. But I’d go anyway.”