Bounty of Greed

by Paul Colt

  “Good night, Lucy.”

  She took his arm and let him lead her out the door to the clang of the bell. They strolled along the boardwalk toward Mrs. O’Hara’s in silence.

  She rested easy on his arm, the feeling more comfortable than he remembered. “It’s still there.”

  She picked up his meaning with no more preamble than that. “Always has been.”

  “But I thought . . .”

  “You think too much.”

  “How was I supposed to know?”

  “Listen to your heart for once.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that.”

  The next sound that passed between them was the familiar squeal of Mrs. O’Hara’s gate. Lucy opened the door and let them in. The house smelled of fresh baked bread. It set Ty’s mouth to water.

  “Now this is the way a home ought to smell.”

  “It is, isn’t it? One of these days you’ll have to get to work on that, cowboy.”

  “Lucy, dear, is that you?”

  “Yes, Mrs. O’Hara. Look who followed me home.”

  She stuck her head out of the kitchen, no more than a silhouette at the end of the dimly lit hall. “Is that Marshal Ledger? Well bless my soul. It’s been too long. Come on in and let me have a look at you. I’ve missed you even if our friend there hasn’t had the good sense to.”

  He shuffled down the hall feeling a bit sheepish. “Don’t blame Lucy. I’m the one stayed gone.”

  “Well, either way, it’s nice to have you back.”

  “Give me a minute to freshen up, Ty. You’re in better hands than you know.”

  Susan McSween let herself in the front door. She heard male voices coming from the parlor. She found Alex there with Rob Widenmann and John Chisum.

  “John, what a pleasant surprise.” She favored him with one of her most fetching smiles.

  “Mrs. McSween, how very nice to see you.”

  “Please, John, you must call me Susan. Alex, why didn’t you tell me John was in town?”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “No matter.” She smiled again. “You simply must stay for supper. You too, Marshal. Now, Alex, serve our guests a drink while I stir up some supper.”

  She set off for the kitchen with a flounce in her skirts and a warm flush in her cheeks. John Chisum.

  They had the Wortley dining room pretty much to themselves. The McSweens invited Chisum and Widenmann to supper, so apart from a lonely drummer, the Wortley had just about run out of guests to serve. Just about, but not quite. They had a quiet drink and ordered the special, stewed chicken and dumplings. Ty caught the flicker in Lucy’s eye as she glanced behind him.

  “What is it?”

  “Interesting.”

  “What’s interesting?”

  She lifted her chin toward the door. “Dolan just came in with none other than Governor Axtell.”

  “Chisum had the right of it.”

  “Had what right?”

  “The governor got Justice Wilson to withdraw Brewer’s constable appointment. Brady got arrest warrants issued on Dick and the boys charging them with the murders of Baker and Morton. Chisum said it smelled from here to Santa Fe. That pair back there give off the odor he was smellin’.”

  “Well, they got their heads together thick as thieves.”

  “One’s a thief. The other’s a politician. Come to think of it, thief about sums it up.”

  After dinner, Ty paid the bill and started for the door with Lucy on his arm. Dolan and Axtell were indeed deep in conversation. So deep they didn’t notice the couple approach their table.

  “So, when do you think the army will get here?” Dolan said.

  Axtell bit off his response. Dolan glanced over his shoulder and scowled.

  “Evenin’, Governor.” Ty touched his hat. “Dolan. Enjoy your dinner.”

  Outside Lucy took his arm. “They didn’t look any too pleased to see us.”

  “Pretty close to being caught red-handed. Did you hear what Dolan asked the governor?”

  “Something about the army.”

  “He wanted to know when the army would be here. Dolan doesn’t have enough guns to take on Brewer and the boys. If they bring in the army, the Regulators best make themselves scarce.”

  “Let’s not spoil a lovely evening with any more talk of such ugliness.”

  They took a leisurely stroll back to Mrs. O’Hara’s. Bright moonlight silvered the street. Chill night air frosted their breath. When they reached the front porch, Lucy took his hands in hers.

  “Care to come in?”

  “I’d like that.”

  She led him inside. The scent of fresh bread lingered in the air. He followed her into the parlor. She lit an oil lamp, trimmed the wick low and settled on the settee. She arranged her skirt to make room for him beside her. He took his intended place. She wriggled under his arm and put her head to rest on his chest.

  “There, that’s better.”

  “It is.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “For takin’ so long to figure things out.”

  “You had to get over your grief. I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m the one who didn’t wait.”

  “Who could blame you for that?”

  “Me.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, me. John came along after you left. He was safe and convenient. I needed respectable work. If it had ever come to more than it did, it would have been unfair to him. I took advantage of him. I didn’t love him.”

  “Well, I’m still sorry for takin’ so long to figure things out. I never should have put you through that.”

  She lifted liquid eyes to his. “And just what exactly did all this figuring come to?”

  The kiss came easy, sweet and soft and slow. Her fingers twined his hair. Time froze, warm and moist turned liquid, urgent. Her head went light, the air consumed of nourishment.

  “Oh, yes.” She breathed. “That never went away.”

  “Yup, I finally figured that out.”

  “Good.” She hugged him fiercely. “Don’t ever let go again.”

  “I don’t reckon I could.”

  She kissed him hard. “Good.”

  He smiled warm. “Well, little lady it’s gettin’ late. We have your reputation to consider.”

  “It’s a little late for that, cowboy.”

  “Not in Lincoln.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Flying H

  Widenmann and Ty rode into the ranch with late afternoon sun warming their backs. The marshal stepped down, looped a rein over the worn rail and clumped up the step. Brewer waited on the porch.

  “Marshal, Ty, what brings you two all the way down here.”

  Widenmann took his hand. “We need to talk, Dick.”

  “Sounds serious. Com’on in.” He led the way to the kitchen table. “Care for a cup of coffee?” They nodded as they pulled up chairs. Brewer poured three steaming cups and took his seat. “Now, what’s on your mind, Rob?”

  “The Baker and Morton killin’s.”

  Brewer shrugged. “I ’spect the boys told you. They jumped McCloskey and made a run for it. Seems pretty cut and dried to me.”

  “Maybe too cut and too dried,” Ty said. “McCloskey and I both heard the hangin’ talk when those men were arrested. I had concerns they might not make it to Lincoln. So did Mc-Closkey. He told me he’d handle it. Maybe he tried and got himself killed for it.”

  Brewer scowled. “You sayin’ my boys lied?”

  “I’m sayin’ it’s as likely as a competent man like McCloskey makin’ a mistake fool enough to put a gun in the hand of Baker or Morton.”

  “That’s pure speculation, Ledger.”

  “Not much different than Mathews and his boys sayin’ Tun-stall fired on them.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Is it?”

  Widenmann raised a hand. “Ease back, you two. What’s done is done. I’m more concerned with
what happens from here on.”

  “You want the rest of them warrants served?”

  “I do, but we’ve got a problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Dolan put Governor Axtell up to pressurin’ Justice Wilson. Wilson suspended your constable appointment. You ain’t authorized to serve them warrants.”

  Brewer shrugged. “That seems easy enough. You deputize me and the boys and we’re back on the case.”

  “I don’t have jurisdiction, at least not an obvious one.”

  “What do you mean by obvious?”

  “I’ve been thinkin’ on the ride down here. There might be a way. I’d be stickin’ my neck out from here to Santa Fe, but there might be a way.”

  “How’s that?” Ty said.

  “Tunstall did business with the army. That makes him a federal contractor, sort of. I could claim jurisdiction based on that. At least until some higher-up told me I couldn’t. If things was to go right, it might not matter by then.”

  “There you go.” Brewer beamed. “Problem solved.”

  “Not so fast, Dick, I’m the one with my neck stuck out here. I want those men brought before a court of law for a proper trial. Understand?”

  “Enforcin’ the law can be a messy business, Rob. You know that.”

  “I do. I also know angry men sometimes take the law into their own hands. I’ll not be responsible for sworn deputies takin’ to vigilante law. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  “Good. Now let’s quit all this fussin’ and have a drink like we was all on the same side.”

  Brewer smiled. “Sounds good. You all right with that, Ledger?”

  Ty nodded.

  Across the parlor in the bunk room the Kid spun the cylinder of his gun, checking the loads.

  Peppin Ranch

  George Peppin didn’t get many visitors. A half dozen armed men riding into his place had him reaching for his Winchester. As they drew closer, he recognized Dick Brewer. His wariness faded into curiosity. What was Tunstall’s foreman up to with a bunch of hired guns?He didn’t have to wait long for his answer. They drew rein at hailing distance.

  “Yo the house.”

  Peppin put up his rifle and stepped out to the porch unarmed. He waved them in.

  “Mornin’, Dick.”

  “Mornin’, George.”

  “You boys are a long way off Flying H range to be lookin’ for strays.”

  “We’re not lookin’ for strays.”

  “Somethin’ must be right important, then, to bring you boys out in force like this.”

  “We’ve got warrants for the arrest of Jesse Evans and Buckshot Roberts.”

  “My, my. What’s the charge?”

  “The murder of John Tunstall.”

  “You don’t say. Where’s Sheriff Brady?”

  “Brady’s not involved. We’re deputy US marshals. You have any idea where Evans and Roberts might be?”

  “I ain’t seen ’em if that’s what you mean. Jesse’s place is down to Seven Rivers, but you know that.”

  “We’ve been there. Evans wasn’t around.”

  “Buckshot’s got a place over toward Blazer’s Mill. That’s the best I can do to help you boys.”

  Brewer touched his hat brim. “Much obliged, George.”

  The posse wheeled away southwest. Peppin watched them go.

  Deputy US marshals. I wonder if Jimmy Dolan knows.

  Lincoln

  “I tell you, Jimmy, Brewer and them Regulators of his are still after us. I was damn lucky to spot them a comin’, or they’d have got me sure.”

  “Simmer down, Jesse. Let me think a minute. Wilson rescinded Brewer’s constable appointment. That means Mc-Sween and Chisum have decided to take the law into their own hands. Governor Axtell has asked the army to intervene. Now’s the time to call them out. I’ll ride over to Fort Stanton myself to make the request. For the time being you can lie low here.”

  A soft knock sounded at the office door.

  “Not now, Jasper, I’m busy.”

  “George Peppin is here to see you, Mr. Dolan. He says it’s important.”

  “Now what?” The desk chair groaned, announcing his decision.

  “You stay out of sight, Jesse. I’ll see what George wants.”

  Dolan stepped out to the store and closed the office door.

  “George, what can I do for you?”

  “Jimmy. More like what I can do for you. Can we go into your office?”

  Dolan glanced around. The store was empty. “No one here but Jasper. Say your piece.”

  “It sounds like Rob Widenmann deputized Dick Brewer and a bunch of Tunstall Regulators to serve murder warrants on Jesse Evans and Buckshot Roberts.”

  “So that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “I heard Brewer was lookin’ for Evans. Thanks, George. You’ve been a big help.” He reached over the counter and grabbed a handful of cigars. “Have a cigar.”

  Peppin stuffed them in his vest pocket. Dolan returned to his office.

  “You hear that?”

  Evans nodded. “Now what?”

  “We mostly stick with our plan. You hide out. I’ve got a telegram to send to clear up this US marshal business. Then we call out the army.”

  Sante Fe

  T. B. Catron read the telegram with a shake of his head. Dolan had more problems down in Lincoln than a prime herd with a case of hoof-and-mouth disease. The governor thought he had the situation under control when he returned from his trip down there. Things didn’t stay fixed for long. He’d have to tell the governor, but first he’d take care of Dolan’s problem.

  “Wiley!”

  The bird-like secretary appeared at the office door. “Sir?”

  “I need to see Marshal Sherman this afternoon.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Lincoln

  Brady shoved another log in the potbellied stove and closed the door with a scrape of metallic complaint. Outside the wind howled. Spring snow swirled down the street, holding the town hostage to winter’s stubborn grip. Boots clumped the boardwalk. The sheriff glanced toward the door. Dolan’s frame filled the doorway with a chill gust.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Dolan. What can I do for you?”

  He closed the door. “More like what can I do for you, William.”

  Brady looked puzzled. Dolan crossed the office and tossed a plain envelope across the desk. Brady slit it open with a pocketknife. “It says here I’m appointed special deputy US marshal. I don’t understand.”

  “It means you’re Widenmann’s new boss. It means you have the authority to call off his dogs.”

  “What if he don’t go for that?”

  “Lock him up.”

  “On what charge?”

  “Who gives a shit?”

  “I gotta charge him with somethin’.”

  “Call it insubordination.”

  “What?”

  “Insubordination, disobeyin’ an order.”

  “I reckon I can use that. I doubt I can spell in-so-boardin-a-nation.”

  Widenmann and Ty pulled their mounts down to a trot at the east end of town. After a long day in the saddle fighting wind-driven snow, both were ready to light down. Ty cut his eyes to the marshal.

  “You goin’ to the hotel?”

  He nodded. “You?”

  “I’ll swing in at the store to say hello to Lucy.”

  A knowing look flickered across Widenmann’s eye. “No sense lettin’ them supper plans get away without you.”

  He wheeled to the rail, hiding embarrassment under wind raw-reddened cheeks. The marshal jogged on up the street to the Wortley, drew rein and stepped down. He tethered his horse and climbed the step to the boardwalk. He just about had the registration signed when the lobby door opened.

  “Widenmann, I thought that was you.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Sheriff,” he greeted Brady.

  “Not just sheriff anymore. Special dep
uty US marshal to you.”

  “What?”

  “Yup, the appointment come down from Santa Fe day before yesterday.”

  Widenmann eased around to face Brady. “Funny, Marshal Sherman never sent word he was thinkin’ about doing that.”

  “Guess he left them orders up to me.”

  “He did, did he, and what orders would those be?”

  “You’re to turn the Tunstall investigation over to me.”

  “To you? Hell that’d be like askin’ a fox to guard the henhouse.”

  “Watch your mouth, Widenmann. You’re relieved as of now.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to wire Marshal Sherman to confirm that.”

  “No need. I got the badge and the appointment letter goes with it right here.”

  “All the same, I’d like to hear it from him. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Hand over your badge.”

  “Not until I hear from Marshal Sherman.”

  “Hand it over now.”

  “I said no.”

  “Suit yourself. George!”

  Deputy George Hindman stepped through the back door to the lobby with a sawed-off shotgun leveled at Widenmann.

  Brady smiled smug. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll take your badge and your gun.”

  “On what charge?”

  “In-sah, in-so-bor, ah hell, disobeyin’ an order. If we hurry, we can get you over to the stockade at Fort Stanton before sundown.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  They had a pleasant supper and enough sparkin’ to leave them both breathless. By the time Ty started back to the hotel they were both thinking about warm weather and an evening ride into the hills. The idea had Ty thinking they’d find something more there than they did the last time.

  The lamp in the hotel lobby burned low. The clerk dozed on a stool behind the counter. He woke to Ty’s boot scrape, blinked behind smudged spectacles and fixed on him.

  “Marshal Ledger, I didn’t know if you’d be coming in. I thought maybe he’d got you too.”

  Ty wrinkled his brow. “Who’d got me too?”

  “Sheriff Brady, or Marshal Brady, I guess now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not sure I understand it all. Sheriff Brady come in this afternoon while Marshal Widenmann was checkin’ in. Brady told the marshal he’d been appointed special deputy US marshal. It sounded like that made him Marshal Widenmann’s boss. Brady told him he was takin’ over investigatin’ the Tun-stall killin’.”