“Well, if you won’t call them off, at least allow me to have a word with them. Perhaps we can come to an agreement to pool our resources.”
Like most rampaging beasts, George wasn’t so quick to get riled up again once he’d been allowed to run for a bit. He nodded meekly and said, “The information you want is in my office. Would you mind following me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
As he followed George across the main floor, Wolpert glanced up to find a path of planks laid down between the overhead beams. It wasn’t enough to be considered a second floor, but must have been a good method for a few skinny overseers to watch the horse stalls from one vantage point.
George’s office was nothing less than a temple to his own perceived, and heavily overblown, greatness. Every picture on the wall had him in the forefront striking a pose that would befit a war memorial. Documents on the wall ranged from certificates and diplomas advertising the accomplishments of one George R. Unger. The desk was big enough to camp under. Even the pens looked expensive and since he didn’t want to hear the story of how they were acquired, Wolpert didn’t stare too long at them.
“Have a seat,” George said as he waddled around to the larger chair behind his desk. “I’ll get that information.”
“If it’s a location, a general idea would be good enough. I’ve got men scattered throughout the state and I just need to know which ones to alert.”
The sheriff’s lie either didn’t go over or simply didn’t make a difference in George’s decision, because he didn’t stop sifting through the papers in his drawer. “No trouble at all,” he said. “I feel bad about shouting before. Times have been hard lately, with the theft and all.”
“I understand. Why don’t I just find a room for the night and you can pass the word along to your men however you need to? I can come back tomorrow for whatever papers you find in your desk there.”
“Please, Sheriff Wolpert. I insist. Have a seat.”
The longer he left Cade and the others to their own devices, the more uncomfortable the lawman became. Since he knew correcting the other man’s mispronunciation of his name would probably be ignored, Wolpert sat down and tried to think of a quick and easy way out of that office without raising any suspicion.
“So,” George said, “it sounds like your men are pretty good at their jobs. When those horses came up missing, I couldn’t find a trace of them or the men who took them.”
“Yeah, I’ve got some good trackers.”
“Maybe they could use some help. The men I hired would prove to be mighty valuable.”
“No need for that. Just call them off.”
Wolpert was getting an uneasy feeling. Part of that was because he’d wound up in the office despite his previous reservations. Another bad sign was the way that George kept searching through the same drawer without seeming to find anything.
“My security around here is pretty tight,” George continued. “I’ve got guards patrolling the building at night and men watching over it during the day. A thief would have to be pretty good to slip anything by me.”
“I suppose so. How about I leave you to go through your papers at your leisure?” Wolpert offered as he stood up. “There’s other business for me to attend to and I’m sure you’ve got enough to keep you busy.”
The office door was opened, allowing a fellow in a rumpled white shirt and black vest to step inside. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to show a pair of forearms that looked thicker than some of the beef being tended in the town’s stockyards at that moment.
Ignoring Wolpert’s last words, George continued along his own train of thought. “A thief would have to be really good, or more likely, he’d have to have connections inside my operation to get this job done. What’ve you got to say about that, Sheriff?”
Wolpert knew something was amiss even before the slab of beef in shirtsleeves had stepped inside. He tested the waters by trying to walk past the big fellow and was immediately stopped by a hamlike hand pressed against the center of his chest. “Best take that hand off’a me, son,” Wolpert warned.
The big fellow smirked and shoved Wolpert with enough force to knock him against the front of George’s desk. The lawman allowed himself to stumble just enough for his hip to catch upon the desk, which made it easier for him to lift his leg up and drive his boot into the big man’s gut. Unlike George’s, this man’s ample stomach wasn’t formed by lard. It was solid muscle and Wolpert’s boot thumped against it without drawing much more than a twitch from his target.
As soon as he saw the big man lift his fist, Wolpert held on to the desk, swung both legs up off the floor and rolled to the side. The fist slammed into the desk hard enough to lift George’s end off the floor. George hopped up as well, jumping from his chair and gleefully stabbing a finger at the fleeing lawman.
“You’re not just some law dog trying to find my horses! You’d be the Sheriff Wolpert who works for Burt Sampil. Now, those are the sorts of connections that could get into my place and escape with my horses,” George declared. “Tell me why you’re really here and I may be able to call off Ricky here before he tears you in half!”
Even if Wolpert was inclined to answer, he didn’t have time to form a single word before Rick took another swing at him. He ducked under the punch and drove a straight jab into Rick’s belly. Wolpert’s intention was to hit the other man in the same spot his previous kick had softened up. Unfortunately, Rick’s torso was about as soft as the side of a mountain. Wolpert stepped back and when Rick moved in to get a hold of him, the lawman delivered a powerful uppercut to his jaw.
That one had an impact on the big fellow and sent Rick back a few steps.
“Whoever you are, mister,” George said, “you’ll be sorry you showed your face in my town.”
Rick wasn’t as slow as most men his size. Rather than rely on his bulk to do his fighting for him, he was quick enough to grab hold of Wolpert before he could get away. Once he closed his fist around the lawman’s wrist, he reeled him straight into a punch that took Wolpert off his feet.
The punch landed so heavily that Wolpert barely even felt it. One second he was desperately trying to get away and the next, he was lying on his side. After a portion of the fog cleared from his head, Wolpert could tell he hadn’t exactly fallen. He was dangling from Rick’s grasp like a rag doll being carried by a very large child. This child didn’t take very good care of his play-things and proved it by kicking his rag doll in the ribs.
Wolpert acted out of reflex when he drew the Cavalry pistol from its holster and pounded the side of its barrel against Rick’s hand. When that didn’t loosen the big man’s hold on him, he tried again using the butt of the pistol’s grip. A wet crunch mixed with the sound of Rick’s pained grunt was quickly followed by the thump of Wolpert’s body against the floor. No longer dangling like a broken toy, Wolpert scurried away from Rick and jumped to his feet.
“That’s enough!” the lawman said. “Whoever you think I am, you’re making a hell of a big mistake.” Wolpert took a quick glance at the doorway. Standing just outside the office were no fewer than five men, each of them pointing either a shotgun or a pistol at the lawman.
Chapter 8
Tossing his gun and handing himself over to the firing squad hadn’t been enough for George Unger. The businessman wasn’t satisfied until his men had swarmed into his office, surrounded Wolpert and forced him to endure a few more clubbing blows from Rick. And just when the lawman had been about to keel over, George stepped in to deliver what he considered to be the final knock. His smooth, flabby fist slapped against Wolpert’s face like a piece of wet liver. After that, the sheriff’s other wounds piled up to force him into unconsciousness.
When he awoke, he was in a room without any windows and tied to a chair. The ropes keeping him in place had so little give in them that they might as well have been steel bands. Lifting his chin sent a rush of pain through his entire upper body. Even though his neck hadn’t been broken by Rick’s savage attacks, it h
ad come dangerously close.
“. . . think he’s coming around,” said a vaguely familiar voice. “Wake him up.”
Before Wolpert could speak on his own behalf, a bucket of water was dumped on his head. The shock of the cold caused him to jump, which, in turn, caused another wave of pain to shoot all the way through every aching bone in his body.
“Glad to see you up and awake again,” the hazy vision of George said through all the cobwebs that had collected within Wolpert’s skull. After blinking some of the water from his eyes, the lawman caught sight of George perched on the edge of a chair directly in front of him. A grin filled the lower portion of George’s chubby face and he clasped his hands between his knees. “Well, awake anyway.”
“This is a hanging offense,” Wolpert grunted.
“You sure about that?”
“If it isn’t, I’ll make it one!”
“You know, I was a bit worried about that,” George explained. “But it didn’t take much asking around to get the word on you. Apparently, even if you are the real Sheriff Zeke Wolpert, that don’t mean much. Everyone in Keith County and even folks from neighboring ones know that there’s no real law in that part of the state. Not since Sheriff Vincent was killed. Plenty of folks around here know Keith County’s lawman is just a known crook wearing a badge, making his rounds and collecting blood money for killers and anyone else who’ll pay his fee. Is that you, mister?”
Wolpert wasn’t about to answer that question since everyone in the room already knew the answer.
George leaned forward and shuffled to within a few inches of Wolpert’s chair. “I suppose you probably really are Sheriff Wolpert,” he said. “That’d explain why you’d associate yourself with a bunch of known horse thieves.”
“And what makes you think I didn’t come all the way out here for the reason I told you?” Wolpert asked.
“Because I got word that you’d be coming to throw me off the scent.” George shook his head and lowered himself back onto his own chair. “No, you’re here for something else and I know what it is.”
In the time that had passed since he’d opened his eyes, Wolpert could make out a few more details. The roar in his head had died down just enough for him to hear some of the same sounds he’d heard when he’d entered Unger’s place of business. More than likely, he was still in that same building. It looked as though he was in an old storage room with bags of feed piled along every wall except for the one with the door. Two men armed with shotguns stood in front of that door. The largest figure in the corner had to be Rick. Either that or Wolpert was even unluckier than he’d thought and there were two grizzly bears on George’s payroll.
Unable to stomach the smug grin on George’s face any longer, Wolpert asked, “So, why do you think I’m really here?”
“You wanted to know where those horses were headed.”
“If I was the one who stole them, wouldn’t I already know that?”
After a quick nod from George, Rick lumbered out of the shadows and delivered a chopping right cross to Wolpert’s face. Since he was tied to the chair and unable to roll with the punch, the lawman felt the impact all the way down to his toes.
“That’s what you wanted to know,” George snapped. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“Who’s pretending?”
No sooner was the question past Wolpert’s lips than Rick’s fist was once more bashing into his face. That half of his head was still numb from the first blow, but the bigger man’s knuckles opened a nasty gash that trickled blood onto the corner of Wolpert’s mouth.
“It won’t pay to try and fool me now,” George said. “I’ve wasted enough time with you already. Where the hell are my damn horses?”
“You’ve got plenty more to take their place.”
When Rick leaned in behind another punch, Wolpert twisted himself around as much as he could while tucking his head down good and tight. Although the lower section of the big man’s fist scraped against his ear, most of the punch was absorbed by the back of the chair itself. Wolpert heard the distinct crack of splintering wood and tried to talk over it.
“I’m not trying to get lippy with you,” Wolpert insisted. “I honestly don’t know what’s so special about those animals. It’s a crime for anyone’s horse to be stolen, but this is an awful lot of fuss just for a pair of them.” Lifting his chin so he could point his swollen, bloodied face at George, he added, “Crooked or not, I’m still a lawman. Whatever those horses are, they must be awfully good for you to risk your neck doing all of this to a man wearing a badge.”
“You mean that trinket you got pinned to your chest? Even if half of what I’ve heard is true, you’ve been taking enough bribes to make yourself rich. I could always just drop your body in a shallow hole and say it was left behind by some angry rustlers. Or I could dump it somewhere outside town and let someone else find it. You think anyone would doubt those stories?”
All of that sank in a bit too well for Wolpert’s liking.
George started ticking his points off using sausage-like fingers. “I want to know where my horses are. I want to know who helped you take them and I want to know why you came back to Omaha. Let’s start there and see if you give me a good enough reason to keep you alive.”
Allowing his head to hang down and his jaw to droop, Wolpert tried to think of every angle possible where his current fix was concerned. Just when he thought he’d run out of time, Rick stepped forward to knock him around some more. The big man had switched his focus to the sheriff’s chest and stomach. Despite the ropes absorbing some of the impact, enough got through to make it difficult for Wolpert to breathe. When he finally did manage to fill his lungs, he emptied his last meal onto the floor.
George got up and moved away from the puddle of sick faster than he’d moved when Wolpert’s gun had been drawn. “I’ll have someone wash you off and then we’ll start again,” he grunted. “You’ll tell me what I want to know or you’ll be coughing up blood to go along with all that other muck.”
Wolpert had to get some of the dregs out of his mouth, so he made a statement while doing so and spat the sour juice onto George’s shoes. He paid for that with another couple of thumping blows from Rick, but it was worth every last one. A few seconds later, he allowed himself to pass out.
Wolpert dreamed a hectic series of images, most of which involved him falling into a black, stinking pit. There was cold water at the bottom, which doused him from head to toe. He sputtered and choked on some of that water, which broke him from his dream and reminded him that the water was real. George stood in front of him with an empty bucket.
“Where’s my horses?” he asked.
It took a few attempts for Wolpert to catch his breath, and when he did, he wasn’t about to waste it by giving the businessman what he wanted. “Go to hell,” the sheriff groaned.
A savage expression overtook George’s face and he swung both arms around to knock the bucket against the side of Wolpert’s head.
It hurt for a second.
Dizziness expanded out from the split section of Wolpert’s scalp.
Darkness came, and then he dreamed of falling once again.
Instead of a splash of water, Wolpert was awakened the next time by an insistent slapping against his cheek. If he hadn’t been tied to his chair, he would have lashed out with a good slap of his own to whoever was pestering him. When he tried to speak, Wolpert’s mouth was quickly covered by a whole lot of toughened leather.
“Don’t make so much noise,” someone said. “You’ll ruin this whole thing.”
Wolpert forced himself to regain some of his fleeting consciousness until he could just make out Juan’s face in the darkness. A bit of struggling confirmed that Juan was keeping him quiet by clamping his gloved hand over his mouth. When Wolpert growled to get the other man’s attention, the leather glove was pressed even harder against the lower portion of his face.
Dropping his voice to a grating hiss, Juan said, “They knocked you arou
nd pretty bad. Do you recognize me?”
Wolpert nodded.
“Will you keep your voice down if I take my hand away?”
He nodded again.
“All right, then.” As Juan moved one hand away from Wolpert’s mouth, he raised the other one to show the gun he held at the ready. Judging by the look in his eyes, Juan was considering using it on the lawman as much as he considered using it on anyone else that might barge in on them.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Wolpert rasped.
“We waited for you to come out on your own, but it never happened.”
“So you busted in here? I must have been out for a minute or two.”
“No, we didn’t bust in here,” Juan replied. “We went to a saloon and had some drinks.”
“Then you busted in?”
“No. Then we played some cards. You’re real lucky we came for you at all, seeing as how many stupid cowboys there are in this town that don’t mind throwing their money away on a pair of tens or less.”
Wolpert squeezed his eyes shut, pulled in a deep breath and opened them again. After what he’d been through and all the punches he’d absorbed, he wouldn’t have been surprised if this conversation was some sort of dream. But Juan was still there when he focused his eyes again. The lawman was still uncertain as to whether or not that was a good thing. “You went drinking and then gambling?” he asked.
“Yeah. We just figured you were in here negotiating or talking or whatever Burt sent you here to do.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Five or six hours.”
“Five or six hours?”
Juan pressed his hand against Wolpert’s mouth, but pulled it away when it seemed the sheriff might actually bite it. “You told us to stay put, so that’s what we did. You didn’t tell us a damn thing about what you were doing or when you’d be done. How were we supposed to know if—”
“Do I honestly need to tell you to cut these ropes?”
And, like a wish come true, the ropes loosened. Wolpert shifted in the chair, which was enough for him to shrug out of the ropes completely. He turned and nearly jumped straight into the air when he caught sight of Cade behind him with a knife in his hand.
Ralph Compton Rusted Tin Page 8
