Ralph Compton Rusted Tin

by Ralph Compton

  “I don’t know,” Wolpert said while offering her a hand. “We’ve both had to deal with our fair share of idiots lately. You should try keeping the drunks in line day in and day out. That’d be sure to drive you out of your mind.”

  She took his hand and gripped it tightly while pulling herself to her feet. “More than likely, we both deal with the same drunks.” Now that she was up, Lucy dusted herself off and took a moment to survey the stall. For a place meant to be used by horses, it was immaculate. “I guess I’m done here.”

  “This stall is cleaner than where I lay my head every night, so I’m inclined to agree. Why didn’t you tell me about the horses being stolen?”

  “It won’t make any difference. Even if you found them, someone would just come by to steal them again. Some kinds of trouble will find you no matter what you do to avoid it. This way I’m rid of the whole mess.”

  As much as Wolpert wanted to commiserate with her, he held his tongue. While he could sympathize with what she’d said, he wasn’t in the same boat. The trouble that found him was more like a current of water flowing along a ditch he’d dug with his own two hands. While it was tough to stanch the flow completely, there were times when it could be diverted at least for a while.

  “Here,” he said while handing her a bundle wrapped in an old newspaper. “I brought you something to make up for your trouble.”

  Her forehead wrinkled suspiciously as she took what he offered. After peeling back the paper, Lucy uncovered the money and then pushed the bundle toward him again. “What’s this?”

  “Something to make up for what happened. Or perhaps it’ll go a little ways in making up for it.”

  “Where’d it come from?”

  Wolpert blinked and sifted through those words a few times in his mind. After dealing with Jane not too long ago, he wasn’t prepared to have to explain a stack of money so extensively. “It . . . There’s a fund for this sort of thing.”

  “Is there?”

  “Yes, and it’s meant to pay restitution to those like yourself who—”

  “Take it back,” she snapped.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re lying. Folks who talk too much about something they should already know are lying. Take the money back. It’s too much anyhow.”

  “Fine. You caught me.”

  Still holding the money, Lucy tilted her head a bit as if that allowed her to see the lawman from a different perspective. “I did?”

  “You’re right. There’s no fund. I got that money from Frank Wellsley and the other men responsible for those horses being stolen. I’ve done some digging into the matter and discovered a few things. Namely, there were men who paid Frank to get those animals from you. Since that job was carried out at your expense, it only seems fair that the money goes to you.” When she still seemed hesitant to keep the money, he added, “It’s either that or it goes to paying for a fancy headstone for Frank.”

  “Well,” Lucy said as she reeled the money in, “since you put it that way, I suppose I might as well help myself to some restitution.”

  Wolpert nodded. “Good. I’m glad you see it that way.”

  She flipped through the cash, stopped just under halfway through the stack, peeled away most of the bills and handed the remainder to Wolpert. “That should cover what I would have gotten for those horses.”

  “And the gear?”

  “Yes.”

  Seeing that he wasn’t going to convince her otherwise, Wolpert accepted what was left of the money.

  “Thank you, Sheriff. Maybe this’ll be enough to take my mind off scrubbing these stalls from top to bottom. I’ve been thinking that maybe I should practice a little of what I’d been preaching.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, all that talk about you doing your duty. Well, I was raised to repay one kindness with another. When was the last time you had a big home-cooked supper?”

  “It’s been a while.” Even before he and Jane had parted ways, it had been a long while.

  “Then come by our house tonight. What’s your favorite?”

  “No need to go through all that trouble.”

  “No trouble. Besides, I didn’t say I’d cook whatever you told me to. If it’s too much trouble, I’ll let you know. Now what’s your favorite?”

  More than anything, Wolpert wanted to answer her question. It was a simple answer, really. Pork chops with mashed potatoes and pan-seared apple slices. He’d eaten that meal for the first time at a place in Chimney Lake during a time well before Burt made his mark there. The hotels or restaurants he’d visited were sloppy enough to mess up cold oatmeal and Jane never really cared what he wanted to eat.

  In the few seconds it took for all of that to run through his head, Wolpert’s thoughts took a turn. He studied Lucy’s face, watched the way she stood and even recalled the tone of her voice when she’d last spoken. Perhaps she was trying to butter him up for some reason. Maybe she wanted to get him to let his guard down or say something that he’d wanted to stay hidden. Plenty of folks wanted to get on a lawman’s good side, especially when they knew he was for sale. Lucy could just be another one of those.

  The second he thought along those lines, Wolpert hated himself for it.

  “How about steak?” Lucy offered. “You look like a steak sort of man. I can bake up a pie and—”

  “No, thanks, ma’am,” Wolpert cut in. “I’ve got business to tend to that’ll take me out of town for a spell.”

  Lucy didn’t try to hide her disappointment. “Oh. Well, you didn’t seem like you were in a hurry. If you’d like something to eat before you go . . .”

  “Thank you kindly, but no. I really just meant to make sure you got this restitution before I was on my way.”

  “All right, then.” Lucy straightened her posture, wiped her hand on the front of her skirt and extended it to him. Looking him in the eyes, she remained rigid and expectant to make it clear she wouldn’t move until she got what she was after. Rather than disappoint her again, Wolpert shook her hand.

  Lucy’s skin was soft, despite the calluses and rough texture created by years of hard work. More than that, she was the warmest thing he’d touched in recent memory.

  “I appreciate all your help, Sheriff. And the restitution was a nice surprise. The offer for supper still stands, so feel free to drop by if you have time before you leave town.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Even though it was tough for him to let go of her, Wolpert couldn’t get out of that stable quickly enough. Once she was behind him, he got his feet moving and didn’t let them stop. After he stepped through the front doors and turned toward the street, he tossed the remaining money to Matt. “Here you go,” he said. “That’s to help get the livery cleaned up.”

  It took Matt several seconds to get his feet down from where they’d been resting on the fence rail and even longer for him to regain his balance. By the time he fumbled with the bundle to get a look inside, Wolpert was halfway down the street. “Anything I can do for ya, Sheriff, just say the word.”

  “Look after your sister!”

  “Sure will!” Matt shouted back. Once the lawman had walked a bit farther down the street, Matt angled his chair toward the stable doors, propped his feet back upon the rail and closed his eyes.

  Chapter 7

  Omaha, Nebraska

  Four days later

  Wolpert wasn’t partial to trains. He didn’t have anything against them, but he simply preferred to have a horse beneath him that took him where he wanted to go. Even if he wound up riding alongside a set of train tracks for most of a journey, he liked knowing he could steer one way or another and even stop if the mood struck him. Sitting in a train, sealed up with all those folks in a rattling tin can with the cinders blowing in through the windows, Wolpert was trapped. Then again, he felt just as trapped while carrying out the orders handed down by Burt Sampil. Taking a train to save some travel time seemed much less of an ordeal in comparison
.

  Omaha was a prosperous town with a healthy wild side. For many, it had been the last bastion of civilization before heading farther west in covered wagons or less. In more recent years, it had retained the feel of a town built on a precipice. Folks of all shapes and colors roamed the streets. Saloons and brothels were easy to come by. The smell of stockyards was always in the air and nobody batted an eye at the sight of three strangers walking along the side of the street.

  Wolpert, Tom and Cade had ridden into town, leaving Juan at the train station closest to Omaha’s western border. They could have disembarked even closer to their destination, but decided it was best to take some time to get a feel for the town. This had been Wolpert’s idea and was a halfhearted attempt to give him an extra hour or so to think of how he would approach his current task. The fact that his attempt had worked so handily opened up several more possibilities where manipulating his overseers was concerned. The lawman had no delusions that every one of his moves was being scrutinized. With Burt giving them their orders, the other three men could be ready to do just about anything.

  “That’s the place,” Cade said as he pointed to a wide building on Pierce Street. “That’s where them horses came from.”

  “So you’ve been here before?” Wolpert asked.

  “Juan and two of the fellas that’re in jail scouted it out to steer ’em to your neck of the woods.”

  “Were you or Tom ever seen here?”

  After considering that for a few seconds, Cade replied, “Yeah, but not doing anything against the law.”

  “Nothing against the law, huh? So all of your noses were completely clean and nobody here in Omaha could possibly have a bone to pick with you?”

  Both of the other men glanced at each other for just long enough to bring a pair of guilty consciences to the surface.

  “Right,” Wolpert snapped. “I’m going in there on my own. The whole reason I was brought in on this job is to try and do it without a fuss. You boys have a problem with that?”

  If Cade or Juan did have a problem, they lacked the gumption to say a word about it. Instead, they clenched their jaws and allowed Wolpert to walk ahead. When the lawman crossed the street, they took positions down a ways from the long building beneath the sign that read UNGER’S HORSE TRADING.

  As Wolpert approached the main entrance to the wide building, he tugged on the lapel of his coat to make sure his badge was still pinned to the shirt beneath it. When he was in the boundaries of his jurisdiction, it was rarely necessary to mark himself in such a fashion. Folks either knew who he was or found out the hard way. In Omaha, however, Wolpert was hoping a friendly demeanor and proper credentials would suffice.

  “Afternoon,” Wolpert said to a kid no more than eleven or twelve years old who swept the area around the front door. “I’m here to talk to the man who owns this place.”

  “That’d be Mr. Unger,” the boy replied, twisting his dirty face into a mix of bewilderment and apprehension. “Who’re you?”

  “I’m Sheriff Zeke Wolpert from Keith County.”

  The bewilderment on the kid’s face deepened. “Where’s that?”

  “How about you fetch Mr. Unger?” When the boy didn’t move so much as a muscle, Wolpert added, “Now.”

  The sharp tone in the lawman’s voice was better than a swat to the kid’s backside in getting the boy moving. He scurried into the building, made a sharp turn toward what looked like a small office near the front of the place and disappeared through a door. Wolpert strode across a floor covered in straw and counted no fewer than two dozen stalls within the building. Some workers drifted between the stalls, tending to the horses in them and straightening the tools or supplies situated on the walls or in the corners. Before the sheriff got to within spitting distance of the door, the boy came running out. Hot on his heels was a short man with a large belly wearing a string tie and a gray vest over a wrinkled white shirt. Because of the amount of time he’d spent so close to a tailor, Wolpert could tell the fat man’s pants were made from expensive material that had been poorly stitched together.

  “I’m George Unger,” the fat man said as he waddled toward the sheriff and stuck out his hand. He smiled widely, showing the yellowed section of teeth that more than likely were frequently clamped around a cigar. “What can I do for a fellow lawman on this fine day?”

  “You’re a lawman?” Wolpert asked.

  “Formerly. I rode with Marshal Ben Stanford out in Platte City. Ever heard of him?”

  “Sure,” Wolpert said as he gripped the other man’s clammy hand. “How long did you ride with him?”

  “Just long enough to catch Jesse Farrell and the Reece Brothers after they robbed them two banks. Made all the papers!”

  “Ahhh,” Wolpert sighed, trying to feign some enthusiasm. George spoke with all the bluster of a man who’d gotten roped into riding on one posse and never stopped bragging about it.

  “So,” George said, “where were you from again?”

  “I’m a sheriff from Keith County.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Not many folks have. It’s a few days west of here. I came to have a word with you about those horses that were stolen.”

  George’s face darkened and he hooked both thumbs under his belt. There wasn’t a lot of room to spare in that vicinity, so his belly took on two distinct dents to accommodate them. “Which horses might that be?”

  Wolpert came up short. With everything else that had been going through his mind, he’d let a few things slip to the wayside. At the moment, all he could dredge up was a vague picture of the animals that had been in Lucy’s stall. Trying to describe that picture wouldn’t have amounted to much more than “four legs, two ears and a long face.” Sparing himself that indignity, Wolpert said, “They were two fine animals that must have come up missing within the last few weeks. Surely Wells Fargo knows the ones I’m talking about.”

  “Yeah, I think I do recall them now. Why don’t you step into my office and tell me the rest?”

  “That’s really not necessary. I just wanted to come out here and let you know I’ve picked up the tracks of those thieves who stole your animals.”

  “I see,” George replied with a minimum of emotion.

  “You . . . um . . . did know they were missing, right?”

  George yanked his thumbs from where they’d been wedged and propped both hands upon his hips. “Of course I knew they were missing!” he bellowed. “This is my business! I started this place when it wasn’t anything more than a lot and a damn fence! I make it my business to know everything from what my stock eats to which ones have a loose shoe. What kind of question is that?”

  “Didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. Normally, someone gets a little more upset when their property is taken.” The instant those words came out of his mouth, Wolpert wanted them back. Sure enough, they weren’t received well.

  “Upset? You don’t think I’m upset?”

  The next few moments were a rush of heated swearing erupting from George’s reddening face. Wolpert did his best to weather the storm without paying much attention to it. As a lawman, he’d become skilled in knowing when to respond to a threat and when to keep his head down and just let the other man blow off some steam. As he waited for George to lose some of his wind, Wolpert noticed that none of the other workers within earshot were paying their employer any mind whatsoever. These sorts of tantrums must have been commonplace, especially directly following the loss of those horses.

  Eventually, the whirlwind of profanity from George’s mouth abated. Wolpert started listening again to hear “. . . suggest that I’d let a thing like that pass is quite simply absurd.”

  “Have you taken any steps toward finding those horses?”

  George allowed his mouth to remain open. His eyes rattled in their sockets as if they were about to pop out of his skull. “Weren’t you listening to what I just told you?”

  Rather than get another torrent started, Wolpert took the offensi
ve. “Just answer my question, sir. I just got off a train for much longer than I prefer to extend you the courtesy of telling you about your stolen property, so the least I expect is some cooperation.”

  While the previous rant had gone all but unnoticed, the lawman’s slightly upraised voice caught the attention of all the workers in the building. Wolpert could feel their eyes on him and didn’t let his own gaze waver from where it was firmly locked.

  George stewed for a couple of seconds before replying, “I suppose I may not have told you that there were some men I hired to go after my livestock.”

  “Can you call them off?”

  “Why would I want to do such a thing?”

  “Because,” Wolpert said without a pause, “they could get underfoot in my own efforts. I’ve been tracking men across my county who are known horse thieves. They’re probably taking your property to be sold within the next week or so and I want to nab the entire ring. Having more inexperienced gunmen fumbling about will only scare away the big fish.”

  “I assure you, the men I hired are not inexperienced.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Wolpert thought of something that would genuinely raise his ire. That way, his face reflected a convincing trace of anger when he said, “Whoever they are, they’re not to interfere with official affairs in my jurisdiction. Is that clear?”

  “Yes. Most definitely.”

  “Now, if you have any details as to their current whereabouts, I would appreciate that information. In return, I will be able to make arrangements with you in regards to where your horses are to be shipped once they are recovered.”

  George looked over to where some of his employees were standing and then nodded. “That sounds more than fair. Come with me into my office and I’ll give you everything I have.”

  “What about those men you hired? Have they left Omaha yet?”

  “They haven’t figured out where to go just yet.”