“Yes.”
“I’ll take that and you take these.”
When Wolpert tossed him a pair of handcuffs, Juan looked at them with contempt. “What’re those for?”
“They’re for you. Put them on.”
Any other time, and Wolpert wouldn’t have expected an outlaw to entertain that idea unless he was being held at gunpoint. But after the ruse of being taken in to Dog Creek worked out well enough for them to retrieve Eddie and the other prisoners, the notion wasn’t such a strange one. It fell along similar lines of army training. If you got a man used to peculiar circumstances, he was more apt to follow through with even more peculiar ones when asked again. Their time spent in Lester was a far cry from army training, but Wolpert hoped it had been enough to smooth the road for him now.
Juan picked up the handcuffs and cinched one of them around his wrist. It took some maneuvering, but he got the other one on as well. “What are you doing with the rope?”
“Tying up the rest of the men.”
“So those Wells Fargo guards think you already caught us, eh?”
“Just like Dog Creek,” Wolpert replied with a mischievous grin. “I’ll even flag them down, show them my badge and convince them you men are all wrapped up prettier than Christmas morning. And once they let their guard down, we all spring a trap and take down the lot of them without a fuss.”
“What happens when they disarm us?” Juan asked. “Is that when we jump?”
“No, because you’ll already be disarmed,” Wolpert said as he stepped up to take the pistol from Juan’s holster. “Before you get your knickers in a twist, I’m going to bury the pistol five paces behind you.” As Wolpert turned and walked the paces, he used the heel of his boot to loosen up some of the cold dirt, dropped the gun into it and pushed enough of the dirt back to cover the gun. He then turned around and walked back to Juan. “I’m tossing your rifle over in that same direction, but I doubt you’ll need it. When Burt or I give the signal, those guards will be close enough for you to swat the backs of their heads.”
“I don’t like this,” Juan said. “And neither will anyone else.”
“Well, Burt doesn’t like it that someone sent word ahead to Wells Fargo about us being here, but we all got our crosses to bear. Just do your best to get the job done, because if we don’t come out of this with what we came for, those Wells Fargo men won’t be the only ones bleeding.”
Wolpert didn’t need to bluff when he said that. Those words were painfully true and every last one of the outlaws knew it. After finishing up with Juan, Wolpert paid a visit to each member of the gang. He got a system down fairly quickly and once the men could see their partners had already agreed to act as prisoners one more time, it was easier to get the next fellow to fall in line. Once again, Wolpert was reminded of his army days where orders being passed along from higher up the chain were obeyed no matter how ridiculous they seemed. Those outlaws weren’t fighting for their country or common man, but they were still soldiers taking orders. And, like any other soldier at the onset of a battle, they knew disobeying an order could get them shot quicker than if they charged a fortified position.
When the stagecoaches came over the rise, Wolpert had all but two men tied or shackled with their guns buried a few paces away from them. He’d just finished tying Ben’s hands together when the riders approaching from the south quickened their pace to thunder directly at the outlaws.
“I’m taking your gun,” Wolpert said in a rush.
Ben shook his head and struggled against the ropes. “The hell you are! I’ll be defenseless.”
“And you won’t look like a proper prisoner if you’re armed.” Not waiting for permission, Wolpert reached out to grab the gun from Ben’s holster. When the outlaw started to protest even harder, Wolpert cracked the side of the pistol against the side of Ben’s head.
The outlaw dropped like a rock. Wolpert tucked the gun away and hurried over to where Burt was waiting. When he drew his horse to a stop, Wolpert stayed in his saddle and said, “They’re not happy about it, but it’s done.”
“Why are they all just sitting there?” Burt asked anxiously. “Didn’t you tell them to get their rifles ready and pick them guards off?”
“Nope. Different plan.”
Burt’s eyes narrowed. If he’d glared at Wolpert any harder, steam might have risen from his tear ducts. “Who said anything about a different plan? Those guards will be on us any second.” As he spoke, Burt looked to the south where the riders had been approaching. While the silhouettes could still be seen, they weren’t in the same spot as before. They’d spread out and weren’t as close as he’d expected. “They’re slowing down,” he snarled.
“Probably because they know what they’re up against.”
“Do I have to ask how they’d know something like this?”
“Probably not.”
“You son of a bitch. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you.”
“Then why did you?” Wolpert asked. “Probably for the same reason that I took your blood money and looked the other way for so long where the law was concerned. Because it was the easiest method to put some money in our pockets.”
“So you set this up?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a long way to go just to get to me,” Burt said through gritted teeth. His hand drifted to his holster and lingered within an inch of his .44.
Wolpert saw the movement but didn’t react to it just yet. His Cavalry pistol was where it always was and he knew he could get to it at a moment’s notice. “This isn’t about you, Burt. And it’s not about the rest of your gang either.”
The stagecoaches were approaching at a steady pace that brought them over the rise and at the edge of rifle range. It would take a bit longer for the plodding wagons to get close enough to be hit by a bullet, and the horsemen accompanying them rode about only twenty yards ahead of the line.
“If this ain’t about me, then why turn on men who trusted you?” Burt asked.
“Because it’s something I should do.”
“Says who?”
Without a word, Wolpert tapped the piece of tin hanging from his shirt.
“And what about them?” Burt asked while nodding toward the line of men extending on either side of him. “If you think you convinced them to turn on me, you’re in for a nasty surprise.”
“They’re disarmed and tied up. Soon, they’ll be in the hands of those men out there.” Motioning to the south, Wolpert added, “They’re Texas Rangers. Or possibly U.S. Marshals. Either way, they’re higher law than me.”
“This is a joke,” Burt spat. “You’re a joke. Or maybe you’re just a fool. Better yet, I think you’re just trying to wrest this gang away from me. Why the hell else would you risk your neck to break those men outta Dog Creek just so you could send ’em back again? I heard about what happened. There ain’t no way to fake that sort of news.”
“Exactly. And if I had tried, you would have gone into hiding and wouldn’t be found again for a good, long while. You’d come up with some other plan and start this whole mess over again so I couldn’t do a thing about it. If those men play their cards right and don’t lose their heads, they’ll serve their purpose by fattening up the goose I intend on bringing to market.”
Burt started pacing as his hand dropped to his pistol. He didn’t draw the gun, but gripped it as if he might crush the weapon within his grasp. “You’re not making a lick of sense.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand even if I explained it to you.”
“So what do you expect me to do? Just give myself up?”
“No,” Wolpert replied. “That would be too easy. I would expect you to either try to shoot your way out of this or run. Since I’d only have one chance to do this properly, I needed you to commit yourself to the point where you couldn’t run. There is the chance that you might do something I wouldn’t expect, though. You could hand over your gun and take your punishment like a man.”
�
��Just like you, huh? After all those years of takin’ bribes, snappin’ the law in half and doin’ whatever you please, you think one good deed will set it all straight?”
“I’m not going anywhere. When this is over, I’ll be judged like everyone else. The big difference between you and me is that I’ll own up to what I’ve done. My guess is that, even if you were standing in front of your Maker, you’d still try to con your way through without admitting to all of your sins.”
To Wolpert’s surprise, a good portion of the anger in Burt’s eyes faded away. He gazed wistfully at the stagecoaches, turned back to the men coming from the south and then looked at his gang. Some of them were struggling to get up, but most were crawling a few paces to dig in the dirt. “I suppose you’re right about that, Zeke. When you know you’re bound for hell, it never hurts to try and sneak a little glimpse at heaven.”
“Trust me,” Wolpert sighed. “It hurts.”
“You really mucked this up good for me, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Burt squared his shoulders to Wolpert and took a few cautious steps back. “I ain’t gonna run and I sure ain’t gonna hand myself over to some double-crossin’ backstabber like you.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“Still, it’s been good workin’ with you.”
Wolpert twitched at the earnestness in that remark. He hadn’t seen it coming and didn’t know what to say about it.
When Burt took his next step back, he dropped to one knee and drew his .44 in a smooth motion.
Wolpert reacted quickly, but shifted into a sideways stance that narrowed the target he presented to the other man. The Cavalry pistol was a comforting weight in his hand and he barely had to think about how to make the old companion sing. His thumb pulled back the hammer and his finger tightened around the trigger a fraction of a second before he felt the mechanism click into place. His ears barely took in the sound of Burt’s gunshot, since his mind was entirely focused on his own actions. When the pistol went off, Wolpert felt it all the way down to his left foot.
No. That was something else.
Burt fired again, sending a round hissing past Wolpert’s ear like an angry whisper.
Wolpert thumbed the hammer a second time and fired, punching a hole through Burt’s rib cage. The kick of the bullet spun the outlaw around to show Wolpert a messy hole in his side. Despite being through-and-through, the wound was far enough out to one side that it barely cut through any meat. Burt snarled through the pain and fired again. He wasn’t hitting his mark, but got close enough to send Wolpert to the ground.
Once he was down, the lawman rolled to his left and squeezed off another shot just to keep Burt from getting his confidence back. He saw his chance when Burt pulled himself laboriously to his feet. Just as the outlaw was regaining his posture, Wolpert aimed low and squeezed his trigger.
The bullet caught Burt in the shin and dropped him into a screaming pile. He thrashed about with such force that he nearly popped himself back onto both feet again. Instead, he fell over in the opposite direction and sat up to take proper aim. “I may not be getting what I want,” he snarled, “but neither will you. I’ll see to that, by God!”
Shots crackled on either side of Wolpert’s head as a few of the gang members found holdout pistols that Wolpert had been too busy to take away. Their little guns didn’t do anything but draw unwanted attention as the gunmen on either side returned fire.
“Give ’em hell, boys!” Burt shouted. “Zeke sold us out! Drop him along with the rest of ’em! All of ’em!”
Burt’s voice was obscured by the gunshots echoing through the air. Their intent wasn’t lost, however, as the gang members struggled to put up a fight against their restraints. Even if they could hold their arms in front of them, working a pistol correctly wouldn’t be easy.
Pain seeped through Wolpert’s lower half like water soaking through his clothes. A gust of wind brought the acrid scent of burnt powder to his nose, touching his leg with an icy hand that curled his toes within his boots. Sucking in a hard breath, Wolpert grabbed at a spot below his knee and found it to be soaked with the warm wetness of his own blood. One of Burt’s shots had caught him in the shin and just keeping on his feet would be a trial he might not be able to win.
Burt himself was the one who saw him through the pain. The outlaw screamed something at Wolpert and raised his gun for a shot that was most definitely going to be fatal. The range was too short for it to be anything else.
It wasn’t the first time Wolpert had known he was about to be sent into oblivion. He’d faced similar moments when he rode with his old regiment or got on the bad side of a bad deal as a lawman. Things tended to get real quiet and real still, as though the world was giving him a moment to decide how he should proceed. Very sporting for such a wicked thing.
Wolpert took his moment to straighten his arm and let it do its duty. His hand steadied for the space of a heartbeat. His Cavalry pistol settled into its proper angle and he squeezed his trigger. He didn’t recall thumbing back the hammer of the old single-action pistol, but he must have done it because the reliable weapon barked half a second before Burt’s. The single bullet cut through the air between them, punched through Burt’s head and knocked him back. Burt’s gun went off as his eyes gazed upon the heavens with a longing that remained etched onto his face for his last few seconds.
Wolpert’s senses came back to him in a rush, filling him with the chaos of his surroundings. The stagecoaches stayed behind as riders from north and south closed in to trap the outlaws in a pincer maneuver that was taught to every cadet in military school. Wolpert’s instincts forced him onward despite the pain coursing through his leg. Bones scraped against bone, digging into muscle with every step, but he kept on.
He ran and stumbled as bullets ripped past him going in every direction. When he ran past Eddie, the former prisoner shouted and then took a shot at him.
One of the approaching riders fired at them both, but Eddie wasn’t paying the others any mind. “You really killed us all? Coward!” He fired at Wolpert again, but soon had to contend with gunmen shouting for everyone to lay down their arms.
Wolpert made it to Juan, dropped to one knee and fell over. As soon as he heard the wet crunch fill his ears, he knew he wouldn’t be getting up again on his own. “Here,” he said as he tossed the keys to the shackles. “Take these and free yourself. You and Cade and Tom need to get out of here.”
Juan was in the middle of digging up his gun when he scrambled for the keys. “Have a change of heart?” he said, sneering. “Or is this another trick?”
“No trick. I never intended for you three to be taken in.” Wolpert closed his eyes and forced them open while he still could. The pain was ebbing and a heaviness settled upon him. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it. Unlike those other scrapes with death, he found it comforting. “All right. Maybe I did have a change of heart. You three saved my life. You’re good partners and I can’t . . . can’t just let you get taken with them others.”
Bound by shackles meant for a man’s ankles, Juan struggled within the cumbersome restraints before getting the key to fit. “I ought to kill you right now.”
“Go on and do it if you’re inclined. Lord knows I deserve it.”
The shackles came loose and fell heavily to the ground. Wolpert’s eyes were open, but he could hear the world better than he could see it. Everything felt far away, but the sky seemed to squat down and stare him directly in the face. A rough hand closed around his chin and twisted his head around until he was looking at Juan.
“What’re you . . . waiting for?”
“It’s too late, you damned fool,” Juan told him. “Them guards are swarming us all.”
“The shooting stopped.”
“Looks like Eddie’s hurt. Ben’s dead and Tom’s wounded. What about Burt?”
“Gone.”
Juan shook his head, let go of Wolpert and sat down with a resigned thump. “Is this your doing?”
“More or . . . less. I arranged for . . . the law to be notified. The real law.”
“Great plan. You know they’ll put you away too. If you think your name as a lawman holds any water with these fellas, you’ve got a real surprise coming.”
“I ain’t no lawman.” Although Wolpert could move his arm, it felt more as if it were being swung on the end of a string. He grabbed his badge, tore it from his shirt and handed it over. “You are. The others . . . they’ll let you go. Just say the other two are your deputies and you . . . arranged this whole thing.”
“Arranged it? What—” Dropping his voice to a whisper as the riders approached, Juan hissed, “What am I supposed to say to convince them of that?”
“Just tell ’em how you brought everyone here for the big fall. Keep ’em occupied long enough to get to some horses and ride the hell away. That too complicated for you?”
Juan sighed. “You were playing up to this the whole time?”
“To tell the truth . . . I could’a set this whole thing up better. Maybe I should’a thought it through a bit more before I got started.”
When Juan looked down at him, Wolpert could see stark disbelief in the outlaw’s face. The expression froze there for a few seconds until the only thing left for him to do was laugh as he pinned the badge to his shirt. “I’m gonna try to get you to a doctor.”
“Don’t bother with that. I can lie here and finally let it all go. No regrets.” Wolpert’s face twitched as if he’d been kicked in the messy wound in his leg. It hurt to move his eyelids, but he peeled them open anyway.
“Looks like you may still have a regret or two.”
“Yeah. Just one.”
“What’s that?”
The beating of hooves rumbled through the ground under Wolpert’s back. Men shouted down from their saddles, but all of that was dimming into an oddly comforting hum at the back of Wolpert’s head.
“I should . . . should have had supper with Lucy.”
Chapter 25
Fort Concho, Texas
Three months later
Ralph Compton Rusted Tin Page 23
