Bowdrie (Ss) (1983)

by L'amour, Louis

  "What you call trouble? He is wanted for robbing and killing! We must run away to Mejico for the marriage!"

  Bowdrie shrugged.

  "Must be mighty excitin' to have two such pretty girls worried over a man." He glanced at Pete Mendoza.

  "This marriage all right with you?"

  Pete shrugged.

  "No, not at once. After I hear there is trouble, yes. My daughter is my daughter. If she wants this man, and if she marry with him, all is well. If they are in trouble? Well, I have been in trouble, too!"

  Bowdrie glanced at Bill.

  "You can unsaddle those horses. There's no need to run away. Before sundown tomorrow, you will be a free man ... or married," he added, smiling.

  "On the other hand, better keep the horses saddled. Pete and I can ride into town with you. We can all stay in the hotel until morning, and then we will get all this straightened out."

  "They'd kill me!" Bill protested.

  "Yerby told me there was a lot of hard feeling in town."

  "You saw Yerby? He wasn't with the posse?"

  "He and King Cowan left the posse, then they split up. Cowan rode across country to see Farago, and Yerby cut back here to see me.

  "What did he want to see you about?"

  "He wanted to help. He thinks a lot of Lisa and he wanted to see if I had money enough to get out of the country. You see, he knew I was quitting the bank before the killing of Tom Lindsay.

  He's been pretty nice."

  "All right, let's get into town." He turned to Lisa.

  "I'd come along, if I were you. I doubt if there will be trouble. We will beat the posse back to town."

  When the girls and Bill Culver were safely in the Maravillas Hotel, Bowdrie turned to Mendoza.

  "Stay with them. I've work to do."

  The street was dark and still. It was past midnight and the little cow town's people had found their way to bed. By six o'clock the next morning it would be awake and busy, stores would all be open by seven, and out on the range the cowhands would have been at work for two to three hours.

  Bowdrie moved to the chair he had occupied earlier and settled down to wait. The chair sat in complete darkness, and from that vantage point Bowdrie could view the whole street.

  The only place showing a light was the saloon, where the posse, which had ridden in shortly before, were having a few to "cut the dust," as the saying was.

  Chick was tired. It had been a long day. Yet more was to come, and he had a feeling about it. He hitched himself around in his chair to leave his gun ready to hand. His eyes scanned the buildings across the street. The bank was dark and still, its windows staring with wide, blind eyes into the street.

  Almost an hour passed before his ear caught a faint noise that might have been a hoof clicking on stone. He slid from the chair and crossed the street and vanished between two of the frame buildings.

  At first he could see nothing; then his eyes caught a slight movement toward the rear of the bank, then a faint clink of metal.

  Bowdrie stepped forward quickly and inadvertently kicked a pebble, which rattled on a loose board. Instantly, flame stabbed from a gun at the rear of the bank.

  Bowdrie fired in return, and glimpsed the dark figure of a man lunge toward the barn. Chick fired again, but as he squeezed oS his shot, the running man stumbled and fell, rolled over, and vanished around the barn. Bowdrie followed, running. A hastily fired bullet kicked up dust at his feet; then there was a clatter of hooves and he rounded the corner of the barn in time to see a horseman vanish into the trees.

  Limping because of his lost boot heel, Bowdrie went back to his chair.

  Toward daylight he got up and went to the hotel, realizing there was small chance the unknown man would return.

  Dawn broke cool and cloudy over the town. Sleepy, and still tired, Bowdrie came down to the hotel door and scanned the street. Already there were horses in front of the saloon and the cafe. Then he saw Wilse Kennedy striding toward the hotel.

  Chick drew back inside. Bill Culver, wide-eyed and pale from an obviously sleepless night, sat in a big hide-covered chair. Lisa was nearby, and beside Culver was Rita Mendoza, clutching one of his hands.

  Pete Mendoza, square-shouldered and thick-chested, leaned against a newel post at the foot of the stairs, his face somber.

  Sheriff Kennedy shoved open the door and stepped in.

  "I heard you was here," he said to Culver.

  "I come after you!"

  Josh Chancy, King Cowan, and Ross Yerby crowded into the door behind Kennedy. With them were several others.

  "What are you doin' here?" Josh asked Culver.

  "I figured you'd be halfway to Mexico by now."

  "He told me to stay." Culver gestured at Bowdrie.

  "He said he could prove I wasn't guilty."

  Kennedy gave Chick an angry glare.

  "What business is it of yours? I thought you was ridin' for Yerby?"

  "He hired me. I am quitting as of now. My name is Bowdrie."

  "Chick Bowdrie?" Josh exclaimed.

  "I happened to be in town," Bowdrie explained, "on some business of my own. It seems your bank trouble and my case are sort of tied together, so I declared myself in."

  "We got a sheriff to handle our affairs," Cowan declared.

  "I've been a friend of that boy's since he was a baby, but if he steals and murders, he pays the penalty! We don't need no Ranger comin' in here to tell us our business!"

  "You're damned right!" Kennedy said irritably.

  "And if he ain't guilty, why'd he run? And who could have opened that safe? He was the only one knew the combination."

  "You've been so busy," Bowdrie replied, "that I've had no chance to report another crime. Steve Farago's been murdered."

  "Farago?" Kennedy looked over at King Cowan.

  "If he's been murdered, you ought to know. King. That was where you were goin' when you left the posse."

  All eyes had turned to the cattleman. His face flushed.

  "You ain't suspectin' me of kinin' Steve?"

  "Why did you go to see him?" Kennedy demanded.

  "You an' Steve have had trouble for years, off an' on."

  "I needed to have a talk with him. Me an' Steve have had no trouble for months. Maybe a year. He did raise a fuss about some stock he thought was his, but he was an old sorehead, anyway."

  "Did you see Steve? Did you get over there?"

  "He was dead when I got there. He'd been shot, and the body was still warm."

  "What did you do?"

  "Got away from there as fast as I could. If folks found me there with him dead, they'd be thinkin' just what you all are thinkin' now. The trouble I had with Steve was no kinin' matter."

  "Plenty of men have been killed over rustled cattle!" Josh was skeptical.

  "An' if I hear right, Farago was carryin' a lot of money."

  Chancy turned toward Yerby.

  "Didn't you buy some cattle off him?"

  "Yes, and I paid in cash. He wanted it that way. He said he could take care of his money as well as any bank could."

  "Just like the old coot," Josh put in.

  "He never did care for banks!"

  "We're getting' away from the subject," Kennedy interrupted.

  "I don't see how that Farago affair could have anything to do with the bank robbery and the kinin' of Tom Lindsay.

  "Bill Culver, you worked for Lindsay. Who had the combination besides the two of you?"

  "Nobody."

  Lisa's cheeks were pale, and when her eyes turned pleadingly to Bowdrie, they showed her fear. Her lovely lips seemed thin and hurt.

  "The safe wasn't blowed, was it?" Kennedy persisted. He was the center of attention and was enjoying it. His sharp little eyes were triumphant.

  "No.

  "Then how do you reckon that money was stole, if you or Tom Lindsay didn't take it? And if Tom took it, he'd have to make it good out of his own pocket, wouldn't he?"

  He paused, looking arou
nd, impressed with his own presentation of the facts.

  "Now, where was you when the shot was fired that killed Tom?"

  "I don't know," Bill protested.

  "I have no idea. I'd saddled my horse earlier and then went in to tell Lindsay I was quitting.

  Then he sprang that business about the missing money on me.

  He said I couldn't leave. He was having me arrested. I told him I did not steal his money and that I was leaving.

  "Rita and I were getting married and we were going to El Paso.

  We'd postponed it several times, and she told me this was the last time. If I wanted her, it was now or not at all. Well, I wasn't going to have it postponed again, so I told Tom Lindsay to figure things out the best he could, and left."

  "You just went out an' rode off?"

  "That's right. I got my horse and rode away."

  "Were there any other horses in that stable?" Bowdrie asked.

  All eyes turned to him. Kennedy, irritated, started to interrupt.

  "Not in the stable. There was a sorrel pony with three white stockings tied behind the stable."

  "Whose horse was it?" Bowdrie inquired.

  "I don't know," Culver replied.

  "I never gave it a thought."

  "I seen that horse," Josh Chancy said.

  "That horse was stole from Jim Tatum two weeks ago."

  Kennedy broke in angrily.

  "All this talk is getting' us nowhere!

  The fact is, nobody could have done it but Culver, and I'm arrestin' him for robbery an' murder!"

  Lisa jumped and cried out, but Pete Mendoza stepped forward.

  "You touch him over my dead body!"

  Wilse Kennedy started to speak, then looked again at Mendoza, knowing all too well the Mexican could give him every break and still kill him.

  He started to splutter something about bucking the law, when Chick broke in.

  "Hold your horses, everybody! Pete, you back up and sit down.

  The law's in charge here, and you aren't helping one bit.

  "I'll take charge now. Bill Culver is completely in the clear.

  The man who killed Tom Lindsay also killed Steve Farago, and robbed him as well."

  All eyes switched to Bowdrie. Ross Yerby moved forward as if to speak, and King Cowan's face was stiff with apprehension.

  "You are wondering what a Texas Ranger is doing here in town, anyway."

  Deliberately he scanned each face in turn.

  "I came here on the trail of a wanted man."

  He paused.

  "That man doesn't even know he's wanted, but I've been tailin' him, and when I hit town, I had a hunch I wasn't far behind him.

  "Matter of fact, I was close behind him, but I didn't expect there would be a kinin'. That was something' neither me nor the killer reckoned on. He didn't know I was chasin' him, and he didn't expect anybody would even suspect him until he and his money were long gone."

  Bowdrie's eyes dropped to Bill Culver.

  "The man I'm talkin' about figured on leavin' here fast!"

  Bowdrie pushed his hat back.

  "As to that safe, it was no problem to the man I'm talkin' about. In the first place, he made a duplicate key to the front door, prob'ly from a wax impression from a key left on the desk. I've been in town only a few days, and I saw those keys lyin' on the desk in plain sight with nobody near.

  "The thief came to the bank at night. That safe has a knob that could be unscrewed from the combination lock. I spotted it when I first walked in, knowing what kind of a safe it was. He slipped a piece of paper under the combination lock, and then screwed the knob back on.

  That way, every time the combination was twirled, it would leave a mark on the paper.

  "All the thief had to do was take off that knob, get his paper, screw the knob back on, and open the safe. He could read the combination by the marks on the paper."

  "If he could open that safe," Kennedy asked skeptically, "why didn't he just take the twenty thousand and go?"

  "Wait a minute," Bowdrie replied, "I'm not through." He turned to Culver.

  "How often has Lindsay had that much in the bank?"

  "That's the first time, so far as I know. He keeps about five or six thousand on hand, and that's enough for the business we do."

  "And who knew he had more?" Kennedy said.

  "Culver, that's who!"

  "He knew," Bowdrie said, "and the killer knew. I told you I came here trailin' a wanted man. This man thought he was safe, in the clear. He figured he would still be in the clear when this job was completed. He knew Culver was leavin' town and planned to hang it all on him.

  "Only, he hadn't left the clean slate behind him he believed he had. He thought he had killed a man in New Orleans, but the man was not dead.

  He lived to give a description and to tell us his killer stole thirty thousand dollars in counterfeit money."

  "Counterfeit?" Cowan exploded.

  "That's right. That's why the bank was robbed, to recover the money before anybody knew it was counterfeit. That is why Lindsay was killed, because Lindsay found out! An' Farago was killed before he tried to spend any of it."

  "But who .. . ?" Kennedy demanded.

  Bowdrie was looking past him at Ross Yerby.

  "That's right, Yerby! You bought cattle with counterfeit money! You pulled the bank robbery to get it back, then you'd have had the counterfeit, six thousand extra, and the cattle too!

  "Two things you didn't count on, Yerby! That man in New Orleans livin' long enough to talk, and Lindsay takin' any of that money before night.

  Lindsay was short of cash, so he slipped a bill out of your bundle to spend for drinks, and recognized it as queer money."

  "You're lyin'! You can't prove any of that!"

  "I took three of the counterfeit bills from Farago's body before you had a chance to rob him. You have the rest of it in your possession now. Also, you have flour on your boot soles from where you spilled it last night in Farago's place!"

  "Let's see those boots, Yerby! Turn 'em up!"

  Yerby backed up.

  "That's nonsense!" he said.

  "This whole charade has been nonsense!" He glanced toward the door, but Kennedy was between him and the door. Cowan was on his right.

  "I'll have no more of this!"

  He turned toward the door, but as Kennedy moved to stop him, Yerby's hand flashed to his waistband. As the gun was coming up, Bowdrie shot him.

  Yerby backed up another step, and the gun slipped from his fingers. He slid down the wall to the floor.

  "He's yours, Sheriff," Bowdrie said.

  He took the three bills from his pocket.

  "These will match the ones from Farago's packet."

  "About the safe? Was that how it was done?" Culver asked.

  "It was. It's used quite a bit back East, with that brand of safe.

  If you run that bank, you'd better get you another."

  He climbed the stairs, gathered up his blanket roll and haversack.

  For a moment he glanced around the room.

  A bed, a chair, a stand with a white bowl and a pitcher, two pictures on the walls. How many such rooms had he seen? How many times had he slept in nondescript hotels in nondescript towns? And how many more would there be?

  Some men would operate cattle ranches or stage lines or banks.

  While they got rich, he would be keeping the peace so they could make it, but it was a job somebody had to have; somebody was needed to hold the line against lawlessness.

  He went down the steps. The lobby was empty. They had gone. Bill Culver and Rita to be married, Pete Mendoza and King Cowan to their ranches.

  Lisa?

  He hesitated. She had gone back to wherever she was when it all began.

  As for him, there was a man down toward the border who had been losing cattle, and there was an outlaw killer who had just disappeared into the Big Thicket.

  He strapped his roll behind the saddle and swung aboar
d.

  Josh came to the door.

  "Cuppa coffee before you go?"

  "It's a long trail, Josh! Another time! Come on, Crowbait," he said to the roan.

  "Move it!"

  *

  HISTORICAL NOTE

  Frank Jones was one of the saltiest of a salty lot of men. A native Texan, born in Austin in 1836, he died with a gun in his hand in Mexico where he had pursued some fleeing outlaws.

  Often wounded, he never gave up a fight and usually emerged a winner, either bringing back his prisoners or leaving them where they had chosen to shoot it out. On one occasion, shot from the saddle and left for dead, he succeeded in getting into the criminals' camp while they slept. In the pistol discussion that followed, Jones killed one man, and the two others decided to surrender.

  There were several other gun battles before his final fight in which he pursued outlaws into Mexico and was badly shot up. He died there by the Rio Crande.

  *

  TOO TOUGH TO BRAND

  He rode into the ranch yard at sundown, and the big man standing in the door lifted a hand. "

  "Light an' set! You come far?"

  "Fort Griffin. How's for some grub?"

  Two men lounged on the steps of the bunkhouse, both studying him with interest.

  "This is the 0 Bar 0, isn't it?"

  The man came down the steps. He was unshaved, and his lips were thin and cruel. Chick Bowdrie tried to keep his thinking unclouded, but this was a man it would be hard to like.

  "Are you the Ranger?"

  "I am. Name of Chick Bowdrie."

  "Heard of you. Figured you'd be an older feller."

  "I'm old enough." Bowdrie was irritated.

  "Lead me to some grub an' tell me what happened."

  "My name is Lee Karns," the big man said when they were seated.

  "I own this outfit. My foreman was Bert Ramey and he took off" for town to bank money for a cattle sale. He skipped with it. It was fifteen thousand dollars."

  A girl with a lonely, frightened face brought coffee to the table.

  She was a pretty girl, but now her cheeks were tearstained. He looked away hurriedly, not to make her self-conscious.

  "Was all that money yours?" Chick glanced casually around the room.

  It was painfully neat. The dishes were clean, yet Karns himself was an untidy man.