Blinking as if he’d just awakened from a dream, Otto grunted, “Why come to me with this?”
“Because I can tell you ain’t like the rest. Surely not like that fella in the next room who’s got his nose buried up Davis’s backside.”
If Otto came to Adam’s defense, he was just a little rat with no further aspirations. But if he showed contempt for those who did their jobs as best they could, then Otto Berringer truly was the sort of man Wolpert was looking for.
The sneer Otto wore when looking toward the front office spoke volumes. “What’ve you got in mind?” he asked.
“I’ll be accompanying you men when we take these three into Dog Creek,” Wolpert said. “That is, if they’re headed in that direction.”
“Oh, they sure are.”
“Good. We’ll drop off the trash and I’m sure you know someone who can arrange to pull Eddie Vernon out for a private conversation.”
“Yeah. I think I know someone.”
Of course he did. A rat could always sniff out more of its own kind. “Good. I’ll let you work on that.”
“Hey,” Otto hissed. “Best if you didn’t mention this to any of the others.”
Since the deputy had beaten him to the punch with that request, Wolpert slapped him on the shoulder and said, “No need splitting that money any more than necessary, right?”
“That’s right.”
Chapter 18
By late afternoon the next day, the three outlaws were dragged into the back of a wagon to be transported to Dog Creek Jail like so many sacks of dirty laundry. Wolpert had heard about the move from Otto the previous night after the deputy bought himself and the sheriff a drink. Before leaving the saloon, Otto had also worked in a few not-so-subtle hints that he was looking for better work and willing to ride up to Nebraska for it. Wolpert accepted the drinks and promised him a prime spot once he weeded out some of his less ambitious deputies. The lie came easily enough and the liquor helped.
The following day, Wolpert rode alongside the wagon with Adam right beside him. Marshal Davis rode ahead of everyone like the tip of a spear aimed for one of the mangiest eyesores in the state. It was a short ride to Dog Creek, but the prisoners stooped over and hung their heads as if they’d been forced to walk every step of the way. The jail was situated near a bend in the creek, which amounted to only a crooked glimmer of ice beneath the castoff from a dirty snow drift. It was bigger than Wolpert remembered. Made of brick walls and iron bars, the jail was the one thing that didn’t move in the slightest no matter how hard the wind blew.
“Here we are, gentlemen,” Davis proudly announced. “Your new home until the judge figures out what to do with you. Even then, you’ll be lucky to get this far outside the walls again. Soak up that clean air while you can.”
Juan and Tom climbed down from the back of the wagon. Their wrists and ankles were shackled with a chain running through the lower set to connect all three prisoners together. Cade had a tough time stepping down without falling, but the other two held him up well enough.
“There ain’t been a reward announced for these three, Zeke,” Davis said. “That is, unless you know something I don’t.”
“I know plenty of things you don’t, Luke. I intend on staying in town until we find out for certain whether or not someone’s more grateful to have these men locked up.”
“Do what you please.”
“Mind if I see these men inside?”
Marshal Davis examined the sheriff carefully, but relaxed when he saw that the prisoners were having a hard time walking after the beatings they’d been given. Eventually, he shrugged and said, “You can follow along with my men if you want. I’ll need to have a word with the man who runs this hellhole anyway.”
With that, Davis climbed down from his saddle and handed his reins to one of the deputies. As the rest of the procession made its way to the front door, Davis veered toward the corner of the building where a smaller door reinforced with iron slats creaked open. Wolpert couldn’t hear what was being said, but the man who greeted Davis had the look of someone who might be in charge. He was an older fellow with thinning gray hair and a rumpled suit. After exchanging a few enthusiastic slaps on the shoulder, both Davis and the other man disappeared inside.
“You coming or not?” Adam prodded.
Wolpert nodded and fell into step beside Cade. With Tom between them and Adam, the sheriff felt as if he could speak softly enough for his words to be marred by the shuffle of the big man’s feet and the clanking of the chains.
“How you holding up?” Wolpert asked.
“How’s it look?”
“Wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Despite the clipped sentences and low voices, Wolpert still kept his eyes open for any trace that another deputy was getting too close. For the most part, the other lawmen were too busy waving at the guards in the jail and shouting a few instructions about who was coming in through the front gates.
“How long before you find our boys?” Wolpert asked.
“Shouldn’t be long.”
“What’s that?” Adam snapped as he strode around Tom with his shotgun aimed at the prisoners. “What’s he saying?”
“He’s not saying much,” Wolpert replied.
Looking to Cade, the deputy asked, “What’s he saying to you?”
“He’s asking where we hid the bank’s money. Same questions as the marshal was asking the other night. Ain’t you law dogs got anything else to think about besides money?”
That earned him a short chopping blow from the butt of Adam’s shotgun. It caught Cade squarely in the stomach and doubled him over, which was strictly for Adam’s sake. Wolpert could recognize when a prisoner was playing possum just to avoid getting a follow-up blow to put him in line. The act was good enough to satisfy Adam for the time being.
Before Adam could issue another warning, Wolpert got in front of Cade, grabbed him by the collar and roughly stood him up straight. “You’d best think about keeping your mouth shut if you wanna stay alive.” Turning to Juan, he added, “That goes double for you. What’ve you got to say to that?”
Deep down inside, Wolpert prayed the other man wouldn’t let him down by breaking character. Just when it seemed Juan might choose the wrong time to reform, he grunted, “I say I’ll live longer than you, law dog.”
Without missing a beat, Wolpert stormed over to Juan and clamped a hand around the outlaw’s throat. Pulling him in close, Wolpert gritted his teeth and snarled, “Find our men quick and prepare them quicker. I can have you out tonight if you’re able.” Raising his voice enough to be heard by the others, Wolpert added, “You understand me?”
“Yeah,” Juan said.
“Good. And don’t forget it.” Acting every bit like someone who’d put a man in his place, Wolpert shoved Juan along and escorted the prisoners into the jail.
Two armed guards stood at the entrance, brandishing shotguns as if they were aching to use them. Large metal doors opened into a room with nothing in it besides the filth on the floor and hooks on the walls. Once inside, the prisoners were turned so they faced the wall and forced to raise their arms so the shackles between their wrists fit into the hooks. A large, burly man announced his presence by walking down the line and cracking each man in the small of the back with a thick wooden club. After that, the prisoners hung from their hooks like fish on a line.
“You better get used to that!” the burly one announced. “Because if’n you don’t do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it, that’s gonna be the best you’ll get.”
As the man started rattling off the jail’s rules and regulations, Otto tapped Wolpert on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow him into a small room stuffed full with a single desk and one old chair. Wolpert had no idea how the skinny fellow behind the desk got there without twisting himself into a knot.
“This is Chuck,” Otto said. “He watches things when the warden’s away.”
Ris
ing from his chair, but unable to stand up all the way, Chuck extended a hand across the top of his desk and said, “When the warden and both his seconds are gone, I watch things. Usually between midnight and five in the morning.”
“Same difference,” Otto said quickly. “We got a proposition for you, Chuck. You got a prisoner named Eddie Vernon?”
“Yes. Hasn’t been here for long. Why?”
“He ran afoul of some rich folks before coming under your care and they’re willin’ to pay to see he gets his comeuppance.”
“He’s locked up in Dog Creek Jail,” Chuck said. “What more comeuppance does a thief need? We ain’t savages.”
“Tell him,” Otto demanded.
Wolpert stepped up and said, “He’s a murderer. Just didn’t get caught for it.”
Chuck was out of his chair and on his feet fast enough to knock his desk forward an inch. “There ain’t gonna be a lynching here. Not on my watch! Not after the last one.”
“Wouldn’t have to be,” Wolpert assured him. “Just pull him out and let us have a few moments to show him the error of his ways.”
When Chuck looked over to him, Otto said, “We’ll hack an ear off. I’m thinking maybe a finger to go along with it. Send it to this rich fella and we’ll get our money.”
“How do you know you’ll get anything?” Chuck asked. “This whole thing sounds ludicrous to me.”
While Otto had been cruel and shortsighted enough to be convinced in short order, Chuck was proving to be more the thinking type. Of course, beating Otto in a thinking contest wasn’t a particularly outstanding feat.
“No more ludicrous than the law putting a price on a man’s head,” Wolpert said. “This rich fellow had the law fail him, so maybe he’s not thinking straight. The important thing is that his money’s good and it’s ours for the taking. Since you’re the one on the job, how about we give you your cut first? How’s fifty dollars strike you?”
“How about double?” Chuck asked.
“For escorting a chained prisoner into a room and leaving to get some fresh air, you’ll get no more than sixty. I’d say that’s awfully generous.”
Despite the wariness in his eyes, Chuck still looked hungry. “You got the money?”
It was almost all the money left over from the bank robbery, but Wolpert took it from his pocket and counted it out as if it were nothing but paper to be burned for heat. “Yours when we get to meet our friend Eddie Vernon.”
“Half now, the other half then.”
Wolpert nodded. “Fair enough. Here you go. When can we have our meeting?”
“Come back tonight after one. Anyone else here will be busy making sure the new prisoners are settled in. You should have enough time to . . . whatever.”
When he heard that, Wolpert allowed Chuck to take the money from him. “See you then.”
He and Otto left Chuck to his paperwork and stepped out just in time to watch the prisoners shuffle through a door that led into a foul-smelling room. Instead of looking wounded and tired, the outlaws looked more like men who were trying to get out of work detail. They dragged their feet just a bit too much. Their heads were down, but their eyes were open and unblinking. They were taking in every sight and carefully studying their surroundings.
They were hurt, but not out of the fight just yet.
The room where they were headed echoed with other men’s haggard voices, calling out to the fresh meat about to be tossed into the cage. Wolpert followed behind the prisoners and got a look into Dog Creek’s main holding area. It looked more like a huge, poorly tended zoo. A large room roughly the size of a small house had thick iron bars running from floor to ceiling in a pattern that traced the outline of a path leading from one door to just past the middle of the room. At least two dozen men were behind the bars. Some were chained to the walls, while the rest roamed where they pleased.
Men clustered together, eyeing the bars and glaring at the new arrivals. A few of them kept to themselves. From his experience, Wolpert knew those would be either the very strong or the very crazy ones. Both kinds tended to stare out one of the few small windows cut up near the top of the walls. Thanks to the thick bars sealing those windows, only a sliver of light came in and just a small sampling of air made it through without putting a dent in the stench of filth and human waste coating every breath of air within that room.
“Is that it?” Wolpert asked.
One of the guards was a man about his age with the clipped and trimmed appearance of a military man. After a quick once-over, he must have pegged Wolpert as being cut from that same cloth, because he took an easy, relaxed demeanor with him when he replied, “What more did you want?”
“I thought there were more prisoners.”
“There are. The really bad ones are kept in their own cells around the edge. Usually threatening to toss someone into one of those is enough to calm the rowdiest of them down.”
“Ever have any escapes?”
“A few got out of the jail,” the guard said with a shrug. “But they didn’t make it much farther than that. I served as a sharpshooter for five years and the man who got out recently . . . I picked him off myself. Real good runner. Kind of like hunting rabbit.”
“Sounds like our boys should be safe in here, then.”
“Sure. They won’t be happy,” the guard chuckled. “But they sure won’t be goin’ anywhere. You got a name, mister?”
“Zeke Wolpert.”
Shaking Wolpert’s hand, the guard looked down at the badge pinned to his chest.
“Sheriff Zeke Wolpert,” he amended. “Friend of Luke’s?”
“Acquaintance is more like it,” Wolpert admitted. “Where did you serve?”
“Fort Randall.”
“Ahhh,” Wolpert said fondly. “Right up along the Missouri River. Must have been a nice post.”
“It was. Sometimes.” The guard studied Wolpert for a few seconds. He knew better than to ask for much else because it was plain to see that Wolpert didn’t feel like talking. Since all men who’d worn a uniform through battle carried ghosts with them, they extended each other the courtesy of letting them rest. “You ever want to check on your boys here,” the guard said, “be my guest.”
“Thank you kindly. I may just take you up on that offer. Will you be around much more tonight?”
“Nope. I’m headed home to get some grub before too long. Won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”
“Glad to hear it,” Wolpert said.
Chapter 19
Wolpert sat on the porch of Henrietta’s boardinghouse, sipping tea that had been piping hot only a few minutes before being exposed to the chilly night air. He’d considered lighting one of the few cigars he carried with him just to have a little warmth, but he wasn’t able to fetch it before Otto rode up the narrow path leading to the front door.
“Chuck’s getting your friend right about now,” the deputy said in a whisper that carried just as well as a normal speaking voice. “By the time we get to the jail, he’ll be trussed up and ready.”
Otto had the anxious look of a lonely man reaching out to open the door of a cathouse. Nodding and setting his teacup down where Henrietta could find it next to his chair, Wolpert turned around to slip into his coat. The cold kept him alert and ready to move, but he still needed a moment to keep Otto from seeing the contempt that bubbled up to his surface.
“Where’s your horse?” the deputy asked. “Chuck won’t wait all night.”
“Right around back. Just keep your hat on.”
The gelding was saddled and ready, so Wolpert mounted up and followed Otto out of town. It was half past midnight and all but the saloon district was bundled up for the night. Even the rowdier section of town wasn’t about to stick its nose out into the cold without good reason, and two men riding past on horseback wasn’t nearly good enough. They slipped away without being noticed and made the ride to Dog Creek Jail in about the same time it had taken the first time around. Although they didn’t have to match
the slower pace of a wagon, they needed to be careful since there was only a sliver of a moon to light their trail.
Chuck was outside waiting for them. At least, Wolpert assumed Chuck was the man who stood near the corner of the building waving his arms like a crazed goose. Otto slowed down and dismounted well before getting to the jail, so Wolpert followed his lead.
“Hitch them horses back with the others,” Chuck said as he pointed to a shed near the back of the building. Two other horses were there, protected from the elements by thin walls and blankets that had been draped over their backs. Wolpert took his time situating his gelding, making absolutely sure the animal’s back was covered.
In stark contrast, Otto barely seemed to care if his horse had water to drink or a hunk of ice to lick. “Come on, Zeke,” he urged. “We won’t have barely enough time as it is.”
Wolpert twitched at the sound of his common name being spoken by the likes of Otto Berringer. What cut him even deeper was the ease with which Otto had accepted him as one of his own.
Chuck stood near the same door that Marshal Davis had used earlier that day. Just as Wolpert had suspected, it opened into a small office that obviously belonged to someone near the top of the jail’s food chain. Framed pictures were on the walls. A nice rug covered a good portion of the floor. The desk was made from carved, polished wood and the chair behind it was well padded. Even so, the room wasn’t a whole lot bigger than the space Chuck used for his office. Before either of the others could dawdle too much, Chuck shut the door and hurried through the room.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ve got your man in one of the single cells. It’s this way.” When he caught Otto sniffing around a box of expensive cigars on the desk, he hissed, “This way!”
Wolpert shoved Otto toward the door and when Chuck was distracted by that, he snatched a few cigars from the case. By the time he crossed the office and strode down a narrow hall, the cigars were tucked safely into the sheriff’s shirt pocket.
They walked along a narrow space beside the main cage. The walkway between the bars and wall was so cramped that Wolpert hadn’t even seen it on his first visit. Most of the prisoners were asleep, scattered on the floor or using the bars to support their backs while lying on their sides. Cade and Tom were easy enough to spot since they were in the middle of the enclosed space, sitting back-to-back so they could support each other while keeping watch on the other prisoners in every direction. Juan huddled with another cluster of prisoners, engrossed in a whispered conversation.
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