Showdown at Hole-In-the-Wall

by Ralph Cotton

  “He didn’t deserve to die quick and easy, sneaking in here on me that way,” said Glick. “Going to take advantage of this poor young woman . . .”

  “That wasn’t our intention,” said Ratliff. “We had no idea there was even a woman here when we decided to ride up.”

  “That just goes to show,” said Beecham, “a fellow ought not get himself distracted once he’s started out to do something.”

  “That’s the truth,” Glick agreed. “There’s nothing like a woman to turn a man in all sorts of directions.”

  “And him an upstanding family man too,” Ratliff offered with a look at the gaping bullet hole in Emory’s bloody back.

  “What was your plans then, riding up on me in the middle of the night?” asked Glick.

  “All right, I’m not going to lie to you, Dutch,” said Beecham. “We meant to catch you off guard and tease you some—you know, have some fun with you?”

  “I see,” said Glick, arriving at the fire and gesturing for the two to sit down. “Have you had enough fun with me yet?”

  “It was foolish, I’ll admit,” said Beecham. He leaned back against a rock and took a bag of chopped tobacco and rolling papers from inside his lapel, after first making sure he let Glick see what he was reaching for. “We saw you near town, then ran across your tracks again on the lower trail.” He cocked a brow and asked, “What are you doing up here anyway?”

  “I’m up here plying my trade,” said Glick, “same as I’m always doing.” He lowered himself to his saddle on the ground and let the big Colt slump at his side, his thumb still over the hammer.

  “I always knew you to work alone,” Beecham said to Glick. He glanced at Shala and Stanley, seeing the couple warming themselves a few feet away, Stanley still dazed and holding a cupped hand to his swollen jaw. “That might have been what threw us.”

  “Yeah, I suppose,” said Glick. He turned to Shala and said, “Soon as you’re warm and Stanley’s got his senses back, get your horses saddled and ride on. Leave the pack mule here. I’ll bring it. Meet me on the point five miles ahead. You know the spot.”

  “In the dark?” Shala asked, knowing how perilous these high trails could be at night.

  “Yes,” said Glick. “That shot was heard below, you can bet on it. Now we’ve got to get ourselves ahead of it, else we can forget about what we come here to do.”

  “Oh,” Beecham cut in, “you’re on the wait up here for somebody, eh? No wonder we didn’t manage to catch you off guard.”

  “You’ve cost me a good night’s sleep, Beecham.” Glick just looked at him, letting him know it was none of his business whether or not they were tracking somebody.

  “For that I beg your pardon,” Beecham said. He gestured toward the coffeepot on the fire as Shala helped Stanley toward the horses. “Suppose we can drink a cup of that? Ratliff and Emory had a cup with a damned ranger earlier. I didn’t get any.”

  “Help yourself,” said Glick, his ears peaking at the sound of Beecham’s words.

  “Obliged,” said Beecham. “We’ll just step over and get some cups out of—”

  “There’s some cups,” Glick interrupted, pointing at two clean cups sitting close to the fire. “A ranger, you say?”

  “Yeah,” Beecham replied, “but not just any ranger. It was Arizona Ranger Sam Burrack.” He jerked a thumb toward Ratliff, who had taken one of the cups and began pouring it full. “Him and Emory acted like they were long-lost family or something.”

  “No, we didn’t,” said Ratliff. “We just showed some respect—didn’t go bad-mouthing the man, like fools, the way you did.”

  Beecham gave Ratliff a hard stare.

  Glick cut in asking, “How far back was the ranger when you saw him?”

  “Not far,” said Beecham, “but he was down for the night. I expect he’ll move on come morning.” His expression turned bemused. “Hey, is that who you’re waiting for up here?” He grinned, then answered himself with a guarded chuckle, “Hell, I’m thinking it is! Of course it is.”

  “You might be thinking too damned much for your own good, Beecham,” Glick said with a warning in his raspy voice. “The fact is, I’m heading for Hole-in-the-wall, the same place I’ll venture you three were headed before you decided to come have some fun with ole Dutch.”

  “But first you have some trouble you have to settle with Ranger Burrack?” Beecham suggested.

  “No, there’s not trouble between me and the ranger,” Glick said. His eyes turned cold and caged.

  “Then why is it you’re up waiting for him?” Beecham pried.

  “I never said I was waiting for him,” Glick said, getting more irritated but doing a good job keeping it hidden. “You’re the one who said it.”

  Before Beecham could reply, Shala stepped her horse up closer to the campfire. “We’re gone, Mr. Glick,” she said. She avoided looking at the two detectives. Stanley sat on his horse beside her, his jaw cupped in his hand, conscious, but still looking dazed.

  The Dutchman only nodded and gestured the couple toward the darkness. “I’ll be along before morning. I’m going to listen to what these two have to say about Burrack and some other things.”

  The Dutchman and the two detectives watched as the couple’s horses walked away into the outer darkness beyond the campfire. Finally Beecham said in a lusty tone, “Damn, Dutch, I’m sorry for what we was about to do, but I sure wish we’d got it done before you butted in.” He chuckled darkly. “You’ve got yourself something going on here with that big, pretty woman. I’d have to be a damned fool not to see it.”

  “There’s not many a young woman like that one running loose,” Glick returned with a dark smile. “She rides like a man, shoots, hunts, traps like a man.” He let out a breath, and added, “And my God, have you ever seen anything as pretty in your life? I can’t see how any man could keep his hands off her.”

  “She is a striking young woman,” Beecham said, “that’s for sure.”

  “A man would have to be blind or else crazy not to see it,” Glick said.

  “Then you’re not holding any hard feelings for me and Ratliff here?” Beecham asked, testing where the two stood with him. While he’d spoken, Ratliff had filled him a cup of hot coffee. He picked it up in both hands, blew on it and sipped it.

  “Naw, none worth mentioning,” Glick said. “But that fine young woman is all mine. I wasn’t about to let Emory spoil my claim on her. I’ve been working my claim too long.”

  The three laughed quietly. Then Glick changed the subject and asked, “Did the ranger mention me or the couple?”

  “No, not a word,” said Beecham. “I can tell you some things about that ranger, if you’re interested.”

  “I probably already know,” said Glick. “But you can tell me what I need to know about the Hole-in-the-wall Pass.”

  “Like what, for instance?” Beecham asked, testing the Dutchman.

  “Like how many detectives such as yourselves am I going to be running into?”

  Beecham considered things for a moment, then shrugged. “All right, I expect you’ll be hearing about that anyway now that winter’s ending. Beck and his gang lie low all winter up in the hole. Come spring they all head out and get back to robbing. But this spring there’s a big push coming. That’s why we’re heading their way before the snow’s all gone from the higher passes.”

  Ratliff cut in, “The railroad is through being made to like fools by Memphis Beck and his kind. We’re ending it once and for all this time.”

  “I’ve heard all this kind of big talk before,” Glick said with a grin.

  “This time it’s going to happen though. You’ve got my word on it,” Beecham replied. “You’d be wise to stay out of the way and let us detectives handle this. No offense, Dutch, but you’re only one man.”

  “None taken,” Glick said. “But I believe I’ll ride right on up to the hole and see what I can do, if it’s all the same.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Beecham.

 
“I intend to,” Glick said. He paused, then asked, “How do I slip into Hole-in-the-wall Pass without getting my eyes shot out?”

  “You’ve never been to Hole-in-the-wall Pass before?” Beecham asked.

  “If I had, I wouldn’t be asking, now would I?” Glick countered, sounding a little testy. He studied Beecham’s eyes, considering just how much valuable information the detective might actually have for him.

  “I expect you wouldn’t,” Beecham said soberly. He sipped his coffee, understanding what Glick wanted from him. “The best way into the hole—the only way I know of from the east—is through the pass that runs through the red wall.”

  “I’ve known about the red wall,” said Glick. “Heard about it playing poker with a trail hand from the big KC spread.”

  “Yeah?” said Beecham. “Then you’ll know the red wall when you see it. Follow the red wall north until you reach the only pass. That’s Hole-in-the-wall Pass. Turn west into the pass and you’re smack into what I call outlaw valley. Once you ride into the valley, watch your backside.”

  “Yeah, your front and both sides too,” Ratliff interjected. “You’ll have more to worry about than just Beck and his bunch. The whole place is full of outlaws. There’s been outlaw gangs hiding there since before the war—forty, fifty years, I’ll wager.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Glick said with an air of contempt. He cocked a hairless brow. “What I really want to know is how to find Memphis Beck and his gang once I get inside the valley.”

  “That’s a question the railroads would give a fortune to know the answer to,” Beecham said firmly. “Truth is, we just don’t know. All we know to do is get in there and start hunting and killing till we root them out.”

  “All the outlaws your railroads have captured alive and beaten and tortured for information, and you still have no idea where to find Beck?” Glick asked with a skeptical expression on his pale, hairless face.

  Beecham relented a little with a slight shrug. “Well, we have heard that Beck and his men hole up along a hillside they all call Little Pearl.”

  “Little Pearl, eh?” Glick considered it. “So that’s where you detectives are headed?”

  “Yep,” said Beecham, “only don’t go saying I told you so. I don’t want word getting back to me that I said something I shouldn’t.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Glick, “I won’t.” He looked back and forth between the two. “What else can you tell me that might make my work easier?”

  After a silent pause, Ratliff said, “There’s word going around that Memphis Beck saved Ranger Burrack’s life down in Mexico last summer.”

  “How strong is that word going around?” Glick asked.

  “I heard it from a detective who heard it from a wounded Mexican lawman who was there,” Ratliff replied.

  Beecham cut in, saying, “According to the Mex, Beck saved his life too. Beck broke a fellow from Argentina out of prison to teach the gang how to make dynamite. The fellow turned against Beck, tried to kill him. But he also tried to blow up Burrack and the Mexican lawman. Beck saved their lives. So, I expect the ranger is beholden to Beck for that.”

  “That’s reasonable to consider,” Glick said, starting to realize there wasn’t much more these two could tell him about anything.

  “Anyway,” said Beecham, “now it appears that Beck has a woman they call Lady Dynamite preparing all his explosives for him. She learned it from the Argentinean whilst he held her captive—”

  He started to say more, but Ratliff interrupted him, saying to Glick, “I don’t suppose you had anything left over after supper, did you?”

  Beecham and Glick both laughed under their breath at the younger detective. “You railroad guns have got some nerve,” Glick said, shaking his head. “You slip up on a man, come damned near parting his woman’s legs? Now I’m going to have to feed you too?”

  “Hell, it’s been a long day,” Ratliff said with a crooked grin.

  “He’s right about that,” Beecham said.

  Glick sighed, stood up stiffly and turned toward the pack mule standing beside his horse. “We’ll boil some more coffee. I’ll get some grub from the supplies and rustle up something.”

  Beecham and Ratliff nodded at each other as the Dutchman rummaged in his saddlebags. Giving Ratliff a glance, Beecham said to Glick, “You know, Dutch, we ought to all ride together as far as Hole-in-the-wall Pass, just in case there’s any of Beck’s men on the trail coming this way.”

  “That’s certainly something to think about,” Glick said over his shoulder.

  The two detectives relaxed even more, despite their rifles and Colts still being far from their reach.

  Chapter 6

  The Lowdens rode quickly but carefully along the rocky trail, wisely choosing not to push the horses in the shadowy darkness. When they stopped at a place where moonlight shone on the bare face of a wide rock ledge perched high above the lower trail, the two looked out across the deep purple night.

  Stanley held a wet bandanna to his throbbing jaw and said in a stiff voice, “I hope Glick has some whiskey hidden away. My whole danged head is killing me.”

  Shala looked at him for a moment, then said in a tone of desperation, “Let’s go on, Stanley. Let’s not stop here and wait for that old man. This is our chance to get away from him. Let’s take it, before things get any worse for us!”

  “We can’t, Shala,” said Stanley, “not like this. If we run out on him now, we’ll be looking over our shoulders from now on.”

  “If we don’t leave him now, Stanley, I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to us,” Shala replied. “He has plans for us, Stanley, and they’re not good plans.”

  “You’re getting too excited,” Stanley said. “Calm down and let’s—”

  “Calm down?” she said. “After what nearly happened back there? Those men could have killed you. They might have killed us both after they were through with me.”

  “I know that,” Stanley said firmly, “and I also know it was Glick who kept it from happening. He saved you from them, Shala. Whether you like him or hate him, or trust him or not, you have to admit he kept you from being raped by those detectives.”

  “No, Stanley.” She shook her head vigorously. “Glick didn’t save me from them. He saved us for himself. That’s why he waited as long as he did. He wanted to make sure we both saw what would happen if he didn’t step in and take things over. He wants us beholding to him for everything. He wants to draw us in and keep us weak and depending on him—on every word he says. Can’t you see that? Are you still addled from that rifle barrel?”

  “All I know is how it happened,” said Stanley. “He killed a man to keep you from getting raped.”

  “He was lying there, awake, listening to everything that was happening,” Shala insisted. “I have a gnawing feeling in my stomach that he had planned on those men seeing our fire and following it to our campsite.”

  “You can’t mean that,” Stanley said, cupping his injured cheek.

  “I do mean it,” Shala shot back at him. “I don’t trust anything that old man killer says or does. He’s an evil old murderer. When a man has spent his life killing other men for money, is there anything beneath him, anything he wouldn’t do?”

  “I—I don’t know, Shala,” Stanley relented. “I can’t question how he went about it. All I know is he was there for us when I was knocked out helpless in the dirt. He killed a man to save you. This ain’t the time to question what his intentions were for doing it. Let’s thank God he did it.”

  Shala just looked at him. “He’s out to get us, Stanley. He wants me. He’ll kill you and he’ll make me his prisoner. That’s what I see him doing. I don’t know how to make you understand.”

  “Okay, I do understand,” said Stanley, his jaw throbbing in pain. “I see how strongly you mean it, and I believe you. We’ll get away from him. We’ll leave first chance we get. But this ain’t the right time or place to do it.”

  “Then when is the right t
ime, Stanley? Where is the right place?”

  “I’ve got a plan,” Stanley said stiffly, the pain worsening in his jaw the more he spoke.

  “A plan?” Shala studied him closely for a moment. Finally she said coldly, “I don’t believe you, Stanley.” She jerked her horse’s reins back toward the dark, narrow trail.

  “No, wait, Shala! Don’t leave me,” Stanley called out in spite of his pain. “I do have a plan to get us away from him without him hounding us, I mean it. I just need some time to make it happen.” He turned his horse and gigged it forward. Shala stopped and turned in her saddle as he caught up to her. “I’ll take care of things, only, please don’t leave me,” he added in a softer voice.

  “Stanley, I wasn’t leaving,” she said in a whisper, lying. “I’m going over off this ledge where we can build a fire. I’m freezing.”

  “Sure, anything you say,” said Stanley, stepping his horse along with hers. “I’ll build us a nice fire. We can wrap up in our blankets together, the way we always like to do. We’ll both feel a whole lot better in a little while, won’t we?” He reached over and brushed a strand of hair back from her cheek.

  “Sure.” She gave him a smile. She couldn’t leave him, she told herself, looking into his eyes in the purple moonlight. Not here, not now, not like this . . .

  Without her around, Glick would kill Stanley. She knew it. She also knew what Glick wanted from her. But he wasn’t getting it, she told herself firmly, not while she was still alive and breathing. If the only way she had to fight Glick was to win him over, keep him hungry for her, she would. From now on she had to keep her wits about her and bend things into the shape she wanted them to be.

  It was up to her to save herself and her husband the best way she knew how, she thought, whether Stanley liked it or not.