Ralph Compton Rusted Tin

by Ralph Compton

“A percentage of what? Unless we all know what’s going on, we’ll just have to take whatever Burt gives us.”

  Tom’s eyes narrowed into slits and his hand drifted back toward the gun he’d lowered just a few moments ago. “Are you proposing we cross Burt?”

  “No. I’m proposing that we make sure Burt knows he’s not dealing with a bunch of idiots,” Wolpert told him. “Say what you want about how I make my money, but I’ve got plenty of experience in haggling over a fair price for services rendered. Undercutting another man’s slice of your pie ain’t cheating. It’s doing business. Even sending word to that horse trader in Omaha was part of business.”

  Having listened to this without moving a muscle, Cade asked, “Why would Burt turn on us while we were in Omaha?”

  “He didn’t,” Juan snapped. “He just didn’t expect this crooked lawman to do what he was supposed to do.”

  “You know that for certain?” Wolpert asked.

  “Yes.”

  Even if Burt had confided in one or two of his men, Wolpert still knew he had some room to work. “If I was being sacrificed alone, why didn’t he send me on my own? Or maybe he told you men to go do some drinking and gambling while I was being captured?” Another shot in the dark hit its mark when all three outlaws shot each other quick, vaguely guilty looks. “He didn’t. He just didn’t know how capable his partners truly were . . . any of them.”

  The outlaws were more interested now than ever. A portion of truth mixed with a dash of flattery could do that. “Killing an incompetent partner to take his share of the profits ain’t a new idea by any stretch,” Wolpert said. “Working with smart partners on a level field, on the other hand, well, that’s damn close to a pleasure.”

  “You think that’s why he wants us to bring back all these old friends of his from Dog Creek Jail?” Tom asked.

  Shrugging, Wolpert mused, “More men make for an easier job and if worse comes to worst, some fat can be trimmed without cutting too far into the steak.”

  The wind blew across the campfire as if purposely trying to reach down into the pile of twigs and pinch the flame out between a set of unseen fingers. The stars had become brilliant points of light, each one with only slightly less brightness than the sputtering flame. The can of beans had been passed around to the outlaws and was emptied in short order. Wolpert stood up and went to his saddlebags to hunt for some jerky and noticed that the others were no longer watching him like a hawk. They had other things to think about.

  Finally, Juan asked the question that Wolpert had been hoping to hear. “Do you know what’s gonna be in that lockbox?”

  The lawman shook his head. “Nope. And if none of you men know, I’d say that’s a cause for concern. What I do know is that the lockbox is real important to Wells Fargo because it’s got to do with a whole bunch of important shipments bound for Texas, New Mexico and California.”

  The outlaws were buying what was being said to them because they watched Wolpert the way a dog watched a piece of meat being dangled in front of its nose. When Cade spoke, he was practically drooling. “So it’s a big payroll shipment that’s bound to be divvied up and sent to other places?”

  “Something like that,” Wolpert said.

  “Or maybe a bunch of gold?”

  “I don’t think it’s gold. Do you know a man by the name of Eddie Vernon?”

  Juan nodded. “Yeah. He’s one of the men in that jailhouse we’re going to. Got put in for busting open one too many safes for a gang of train robbers in Abilene.”

  “What about the gang?”

  “Some got caught with Eddie and the rest scattered. Don’t know what happened to ’em after that.”

  “Is Eddie good at his job?”

  Bracing himself against a passing breeze that threatened to shred his coat with icy nails, Juan replied, “Real good. I hear the only reason he got caught is because that gang of his brought in too many safes for him to crack. Even hired him out for any other robbers to use his services. Word spread and the law came a-calling.”

  “So, if it ain’t gold, what is in that box?” Tom asked.

  “I don’t know exactly,” Wolpert said. “But I know that once this job is over, there’ll be plenty more on the horizon. That’s why Burt will be glad to have partners he can trust.”

  “And what makes you such an expert about all of this?” Cade asked. “Why the hell should we listen to you?”

  Wolpert was quick to explain, “Because I know what I’m talking about. Being any kind of lawman means you got to know how to take apart a gang of outlaws. Trust me when I tell you that a gang that trusts each other to the end is the toughest kind to crack. Any of you men ever been to Texas?”

  “Sure,” Juan said. “Plenty of times.”

  “Then you know those boys play by another set of rules. They’re equal parts crazy and proud. Mix that up inside a man with a badge on his chest and it ain’t a pretty sight for any outlaw that’s in his sights. You fellows stepped up and got me out of a tight spot back in Omaha,” Wolpert said earnestly. “For that, I owe you something more than just telling you where to go to get shot at again. Them vigilantes back there weren’t supposed to get so close.” Since that was the truth, Wolpert made sure the others could read it on his face. “I’ve dealt with Burt longer than you have and I’m telling you we could stand to earn some real money if we position ourselves as the part of this gang that ain’t expendable.”

  Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, Juan asked, “What about the men that we intend on busting out of that jailhouse?”

  “They got caught and tossed into a cage,” Wolpert replied with a shrug. “We’ve kept out of messes like that. Which would you rather trust? As far as I’m concerned, I say keep them on the fringe, tell them only a little of what they need to know. When things get bad, have them prove their worth by stepping to the front line. If they don’t come back . . . so be it.”

  There were nods all around the campfire before the outlaws stretched out to get some sleep. With that little bit of acceptance, Wolpert knew he’d taken one hell of a step. He might not be driving the gang, but the team had allowed him to take the reins for a spell. For a bunch of wild horses like these, that was saying a lot.

  Chapter 15

  The ride down into Kansas should have been an easy one. It was flat country where the biggest things working against any travelers were the wind and all the towering slopes it could create out of loose snow. That alone would have tacked some time onto the journey, but Wolpert and his new outlaw partners had more than the elements stacked against them. Three out of four of them were wanted men.

  Under normal circumstances, Wolpert figured he could have covered the distance between the sputtering campfire where they’d started and the town of Lester in two days. Situated roughly thirty miles south of the Nebraska and Kansas border, Lester was built in a crooked stretch of Prairie Dog Creek. More important than the creek or even the town itself was the jailhouse sitting on its own like a brick that had landed after being dropped from on high. It was a solid chunk of rock and iron on a patch of land that was flat enough to deny any man a place to hide. Wolpert had been there only twice before, but that was enough to burn the picture of it in his mind along with a single sentiment: God have mercy on any poor soul unfortunate enough to be trapped in there.

  But Wolpert didn’t have the luxury of riding to the Dog Creek Jail as fast as his horse would carry him. He had other things to think about. Top among them was how quickly word would spread about the bank robbery in Chimney Lake. Folks had a tendency to gossip about any old thing, but something like that would spread like wildfire. Because of that, Wolpert couldn’t spend any nights in a hotel room no matter how far away from civilization it was. Even the filthy town they’d spotted that was made up of canvas tents flapping around creaking wooden frames wouldn’t suit their purposes. All four of them needed to stay out of sight while the rumors fermented and found their way to receptive ears.

  After crossing
into Kansas, he and the outlaws split up. Wolpert wanted to keep his head down for a while and encouraged the other three to do the same. He made sure to pass along just how many friends and cousins Johnny and Mike had in the neighboring states, and if those three wanted to take their chances with the vigilantes again, that would be their own foolish mistake. Considering the look of dread that crossed their faces at the slightest mention of Chimney Lake’s self-proclaimed enforcers, none of the outlaws wanted to risk crossing their path again.

  After five days of silently picking his way along broken trails and snowy fields, Wolpert caught sight of Lester. It was a decent-sized town, but the open desolation of the Kansas landscape made it seem much smaller. By this time, Wolpert had not only become accustomed to the harshness of his journey but was embracing it. Preachers often talked about serving penance for one’s sins, and the ride out of Nebraska was hard enough to fit that bill. It was a start anyway, not to mention high time he went through some hardship to make up for what he’d done.

  Looking into Lucy Myles’s eyes as she’d called him out had changed him. For some reason that he couldn’t quite guess, what she thought of him mattered and she didn’t think much.

  Perhaps that had changed before he’d left town.

  Perhaps that’s why he’d paid her a visit before leaving. At the time, he’d simply wanted to get another look at her. The more he thought about it, however, the likelier it seemed that he’d tried to force her to change her opinion by telling her what he intended to do. Either way, it had felt good seeing her that last time. It had felt good hearing her voice and even seeing a smile on her pretty face. Even if he’d imagined that smile, it was a memory worth having. It was worth dying for.

  Over the last few days, Wolpert had had a lot of time to think. Now that Lester was in sight, even if the ride had worn him down to the bone, it still didn’t feel like enough. It felt right that he should sit in the cold for a while longer. He wanted to savor a few more days of rolling up his sleeves and paying what he owed. Then again, was a man supposed to enjoy his punishment?

  That’s where it all fell apart.

  He never was too good at the philosophical matters.

  Wolpert snapped his reins and steered his horse down a narrow street that led to the town’s main thorough-fare. It was just before noon, which meant he was looking at a fairly good sample of Lester’s busiest time of the day. The town was more than triple the size of Sedley, but that wasn’t saying much. Plenty of folks were crowding the streets and tramping over the wobbly slats that formed the boardwalk. Smells of several different kinds of food reached his nose with every breath, tempting him more than the perfume of a warm and willing woman. After having survived on the last of his rations and a few bits of small game he’d shot along the way, Wolpert nearly rode his horse directly into the closest restaurant.

  Instead, he rented a stall for the hearty animal and made his way to a place recommended by the liveryman for its tender steaks. The instant Wolpert got his hands around a cup of hot coffee, he was a happy man. The plan was to meet up with the others later that day. For all he knew, Tom, Cade and Juan might already be in town waiting for him to show up in the agreed-upon saloon. Wolpert wouldn’t know that until he had some real food in his belly. Even if some flying pigs put on a show outside, Wolpert wouldn’t leave his seat until he’d had his meal. Considering all the penance he’d paid, he figured he’d earned it.

  Just when he was feeling guilty for savoring the quiet after insisting that the other three stay out of sight and forsake all pleasantries along the way, Wolpert found a better reason than the food to enjoy the warmth of the little restaurant. Most of the front window was covered by a curtain that had been faded from the sunlight. Even with just a foot-tall strip of unimpeded glass through which to see the street, Wolpert had no trouble making out the bulky form of Marshal Luke Davis. And if he did miss the sight, Wolpert would have needed to be blind to miss the small legion of deputies following him.

  Marshal Davis was made up of large, simple angles that made him look as if he’d been quickly knocked out of a pattern etched onto a slab of solid oak. His hair was a light-colored scrub inching down from beneath the brim of a flat-topped hat where it turned into whiskers that added some texture to a chiseled jaw. The parade of lawmen blocked the view of the street for only a few seconds, but their heavy footsteps thumped against the boardwalk well before and long after they passed by. Even though Wolpert didn’t think he’d been spotted, he kept his head angled downward and slightly away from the window.

  Wolpert drank the last of his coffee and paid his bill as quickly as he could without giving the appearance of being rushed. Once outside, he didn’t have any trouble catching up to the other lawmen. It would have been more difficult guessing which way a traveling circus had gone. All he needed to do was listen for the stomping and watch for the group of strutting deputies. Marshal Davis might have been a whole lot of things, but quiet wasn’t one of them. Wolpert trailed behind the procession for several minutes. For the most part, the other men rarely broke their stride. When he spotted the marshal’s office farther down the street and was certain the men were headed that way, Wolpert turned another direction. From there, he wound back across town, made his way to the entertainment district and picked out the Songbird Saloon.

  As far as saloons went, the Songbird wasn’t anything special. There was a bar on one end, facing the front doors. A few tables and chairs were scattered throughout the room, and several card tables were set up within sight of a few other games of chance. The air stank of burnt tobacco, cheap liquor and men who hadn’t changed their clothes in recent memory. What made this saloon any different from most others was the narrow stage built at the back of the place. Plenty of saloons offered shows to attract customers. Not many of those shows were worth seeing, however, but the Songbird prided itself on its entertainment. As any of the partners who owned the place would proudly boast, the girls at the Songbird could do more than kick up their skirts.

  At the moment, a sultry dark-skinned lady in a bloodred dress sang a slow song while seated with her legs dangling off the side of the stage. The crowd was thin at that time of day, making it easy for Wolpert to spot the faces he’d been looking for. No strangers to keeping out of sight, Juan and Cade drifted toward the bar and eventually closed in on the spot where Wolpert was standing. Tom needed a little more time since he had one of the songbirds on his lap. He stood up when he had a chance, gave her a swat on the backside and crossed the room to refill his beer mug. When a card table opened up, Wolpert headed over to claim it.

  “What took you so long to get here?” Juan asked as he sat down in the seat next to Wolpert. “Did you cross paths with them vigilantes?”

  The previous players had left two decks of cards on the table. Selecting the one with the least amount of water stains on the faces and a minimal amount of scorch marks along the edges, Wolpert started shuffling. “Didn’t see a trace of them. What about you?”

  “There were a few groups of armed men near the state border. Could have been them, I suppose.”

  Settling into the seat on Wolpert’s other side, Cade said, “It was them. No hunters worth their salt would have been that noisy.”

  “Did they see you?”

  “I think they might have picked up my trail,” Juan replied. “But I didn’t have any trouble shaking them. There’s a bunch of Injuns that got a nice little surprise once I led those idiots straight to them.”

  “What about you, Cade? You sure they didn’t spot you?”

  “They may have spotted me, but they sure didn’t follow me. I kept my head down just like you said. Made it tougher than it should have been to get here, but it was a quiet ride. I only just got here this morning.”

  “Then you did real good,” Wolpert said. Turning toward Juan, he added, “You see what happens when you try to rush with a bunch of wild dogs nipping at your heels?”

  It was plain to see that Juan wanted to fire back at
that. Instead, he kept his mouth shut until he could pour some whiskey into it. After that, he didn’t seem as upset.

  Tom staggered up to the table, sat down across from Wolpert and slammed his mug down. “We playing cards or what?”

  “Let me guess,” Wolpert said, sneering. “You’ve been here the longest, just waiting for us to arrive.”

  “That’s right! What took ya?”

  Wolpert started dealing cards to each man. “Was your ride uneventful?”

  “No. I found them vigilantes and gunned ’em all down. Then I rode into town and kicked my feet up.” Laughing to himself, Tom added, “Of course it was uneventful. What’d you expect?”

  After dealing the last card, Wolpert set the deck in front of him and locked his eyes on the big man sitting across from him. “Considering the spectacle you’re making of yourself now, I’d expect the law to already have you in their sights.”

  Tom picked up his cards, fanned them and rearranged them. “You wanna know who sticks out like a sore thumb in a place like this? The men who aren’t looking at the women or otherwise enjoying themselves. You fellas are like the dead fish floatin’ around in a school of live ones.”

  The other two outlaws got a kick out of that, especially when they saw Wolpert was hard-pressed to refute it. Since they each had five cards in their hands, they all went through the motions of playing poker. That was just fine with Wolpert since he’d dealt himself three jacks. “Has the marshal noticed any of you since you arrived?” he asked.

  “Which one was the marshal?” Tom asked.

  Slapping two of his cards onto the table, Cade snapped, “The big fellow with the deputies following him like a pack of puppies. You really haven’t stopped drinkin’ since you got here, have you, Tom?”

  “Nope, and I ain’t about to start now. Stop, I mean. Start stopping. Aw, you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah,” Wolpert sighed. “I’m afraid I do.”

  “I don’t think the law knows we’re here,” Juan said. “At least the marshal doesn’t know who we are. You think those vigilantes will be able to spread the word about us this far?”