Steel Trails of Vengeance

by Ray Tassin

  Inside, he found the single room unchanged since his last visit. A cook stove, woodbox and cabinet occupied the north end of the room. In the center a homemade table held a stack of dirty dishes and pans. Two bunks clung to the south wall, separated by an ancient chest of drawers. Danner dumped his bedroll on the empty bunk and began stuffing his clothes into empty drawers. After all the gear was put away, he unsaddled his horses and turned them into the pole corral.

  Next he sought out a shady spot along the riverbank and spent the rest of the afternoon catching a mess of channel catfish. At sundown he returned to the shack, cleaned the fish and dropped them into a skillet. Soon the savory odor filled the room and he turned his attention to beans, potatoes and cornbread. While putting the food on the table he heard a horse trot up. Moments later, McDaniel entered the shack, his usual grin missing.

  "You have a good sense of smell, Billy."

  "Huh?" Then McDaniel's mouth loosened in a grin. "Oh, you mean the grub. It was pretty good timing, I guess." He shrugged out of his vest, then hung it and his hat on a wall peg. After washing up outside, he came back into the shack and they began eating.

  Danner watched McDaniel covertly. Something worried the big Irishman, though not enough to interfere with his appetite. Halfway through the meal, McDaniel emptied his coffee cup and wiped his lips on his shirt sleeve.

  "Most of the shop, yard and section crews quit today. They told Wainright to take his railroad and go to the devil."

  "Oh?"

  "He spent all morning in the shops and yards, telling the boys how to do their jobs. He even told Pat Prothou how to repair a boiler, and Pat with thirty years' experience." McDaniel refilled his coffee cup. From around a mouthful of cornbread he said, "But the big blow up came this afternoon when he announced a new company policy. He said in the future, supervisors would check each man when he quit work for the day, to make sure no one carried off tools or parts belonging to the railroad—too much sneak thieving going on, he claimed."

  Danner took his tin plate to the garbage bucket and scraped it clean. Then he tossed the plate onto the cabinet and moved about the room, thinking of the Colonel's carefully picked crews being broken up by the bitterness of one man. New brooms sweep clean, the Colonel used to say; and Wainright seemed determined to sweep out all traces of the Colonel's team.

  Sleep didn't come easily that night for Danner and when he got up the next morning McDaniel had left for work. During the day along the riverbank he found no contentment. His nerves tingled with the need for activity.

  McDaniel came home early in the afternoon, his broad face black with indignation. He slammed into a chair breathing heavily, then jumped up and stomped around the room.

  "Wainright practically called me a thief," he exploded.

  Danner packed his pipe without looking up.

  "I had half a dozen pencils in my coat pocket when I started home tonight. Wainright saw them and said he didn't approve of my bringing railroad property home with me—half a dozen pencils."

  Clenching his pipe stem in his teeth, Danner touched a match to the bowl, then puffed the tobacco alive. In another week, nearly all of the Colonel's team would be gone. The desire to hold the team together had made the Colonel continue operating the railroad long after it had ceased to show a profit. Now, Danner was glad the Colonel was beyond knowing what was happening.

  Long after he turned in for the night, Danner tossed sleeplessly. He spent the next morning back on the riverbank and by noon was sick of the inaction. Saddling his horse, he rode along the edge of the river. Twice he found himself headed toward the Swensen place, but turned back both times. Finally he headed for Richfield, and met McDaniel about halfway home. The dejected look on Billy's face told Danner the story even before McDaniel blurted it out.

  "I quit," the big Irishman said.

  Danner slouched in his saddle, saying nothing.

  "First off this morning, Wainright hired Garr Green as his new special agent," McDaniel bristled.

  Danner couldn't believe he had heard right. In stunned silence he waited for McDaniel to go on.

  "I showed Wainright your reports on Garr's activities with the Dooleys. He—it was like rubbing salt in an open wound. He called me everything but a white man. That's when I quit."

  Danner nodded.

  "What are you going to do now?"

  "Something I should have done long ago," McDaniel said bleakly. "I'm going back to farming where I belong, if I can find a little place within my means."

  Danner recalled Lona's statement about the Jensen farm being up for sale. Now he mentioned it to McDaniel, whose eyes brightened for a moment, then faded.

  "I remember some talk about it," McDaniel said. "It's a real fine place. And Jensen planted a wheat crop last fall just before he died that'll be ready for harvesting soon. But the heirs live in Kansas City and want cash. I couldn't raise anywhere near the amount they would want, unless—" and his eyes shone again as he hesitated, "unless you'd be interested in coming in with me as a partner. You're out of a job, same as me and—"

  Danner shook his head. "That's a little out of my line. But I'll ride over with you to look at the place. There's still enough daylight left."

  The Jensen place extended in a flat expanse south of the river, which separated it from the Swensen farm on the north. The boundary fence barely could be called one—with the posts rotting at ground level and the wires broken or sagging in many places. But the wheat field they rode through now, promised a bountiful return from the approaching harvest.

  Then they broke clear of the grain field and neared the house. Though solidly built, the four-room frame dwelling stood starkly in need of paint and repairing. Even the front door sagged open. Inside, Danner moved about inspecting the frugal collection of furnishings, then checked the small but well-built barn. It, too, needed a lot of fixing up.

  Eagerness shone from the eyes of McDaniel. Squatting, he scooped up a handful of loose soil and reverently allowed it to trickle through his fingers.

  He worshiped the soil just as the Swensens did, Danner thought. He knew a moment of humbleness then and his decision came easier.

  "Billy," he began, trying to appear offhand, "if I loaned you half the money you need to buy this place, couldn't you just about pay it back with the proceeds from the wheat crops this year and next?"

  McDaniel straightened up, the joy plain on his heavy face.

  "I think so, Jeff. And I could pay you a good rate of interest!"

  Danner waved aside the offer and turned to his horse. "It'll be getting dark soon," he said. "Let's stop by the Swensens and see if Lona will feed us something besides fish. Then we can ride into Richfield tomorrow and buy this place."

  "I won't forget this, Jeff," Billy faltered, the moistness in his eyes embarrassing Danner. Quickly, Danner mounted and spurred to the north.

  They forded the river half a mile from the Swensen farm. Riding up to the layout, Danner knew the same keen sense of pleasure he always experienced when viewing the neat buildings and surroundings. Olie Swensen might be the most ornery mule in the territory, but he also was the most industrious. Dismounting by the corral, Danner looped the reins to an upright just as Olie came from the barn with an armload of hay which he dropped to a pile on the ground. Olie stared at him for a moment, then vanished inside without a word. McDaniel came up then, and hitched his mount to the corral.

  "I'll tell Olie the good news," he said, opening the gate.

  Danner nodded. "I'll be inside with Lona."

  She met him at the steps, apparently in a pleasant frame of mind. A faded calico dress failed to detract from her wholesome beauty. The long golden hair hung slightly awry and she fussed some of the loose strands into place.

  "I've missed you," she said simply and Danner cast aside all doubts about his welcome here. He bent to kiss her lightly on the lips, then followed her inside.

  In a rough country where harsh living was accepted as the standard, the Swensen parlo
r provided a striking contrast. The furnishings were inexpensive, the curtains and rugs homemade. But the artful arrangement gave the room a colorful and homey appeal.

  "What brought you out this way?" Lona asked. "I thought the railroad kept you busy during the week."

  "I'm spending a few days with Billy since— since I quit the railroad."

  Her face showed a sharp astonishment and her hand came up to the brooch always hanging at her throat. Disbelief held her speechless.

  With a grin, Danner put his arm around her shoulders and moved her to the couch facing the open fireplace. Finally, Lona shook her head.

  "I just can't believe it," she said. "Why did you do it? I hope it wasn't just to please me."

  "No," Danner shook his head. "I kept having words with the new management and finally decided I no longer belonged—after he refused to press charges against the Dooleys."

  "But what will you do now?"

  She would ask that, Danner thought wryly, casting about for a suitable answer. He was still searching when he heard the door open and McDaniel's heavy voice boom out.

  "Did you tell her about the farm?"

  "Farm?" Lona sat upright, her eyes wide now.

  "Yeh," McDaniel said. "Jeff and I are pooling our money tomorrow to buy the Jensen place."

  "Jeff," Lona cried, and she threw herself against him, her arms around his neck. He tried to stand up but she clung tightly. Then she kissed him fully on the mouth. From the corner of his eye, Danner saw McDaniel come up, protesting.

  "You maybe misunderstood me, Miss Lona."

  Jeff—"

  But Lona wasn't listening. She buried her face against Danner's chest, weeping happily. For the usually serene Lona to make such a display, even in private, would have astonished Danner. But in front of McDaniel and her father, the affection overwhelmed Danner to the point of speechlessness.

  McDaniel's stricken eyes appealed to Danner, but Danner could only lift his shoulders in silent resignation.

  None of this was lost on Olie, despite the early evening gloom settling in the room. Olie lighted a lamp, then stood staring suspiciously from McDaniel to Danner and back again. Lamplight glistened on his bald head, yet seemed to shadow his narrowed eyes.

  Lona wiped her eyes and smiled up at Danner. Somehow Danner didn't care about the misunderstanding now.

  "You must be hungry," she said, beaming. "Supper is about ready. Will you—"

  "With pleasure," Danner asserted. "Three days of fish, cooked by me, is enough for any man."

  Lona fled to the kitchen.

  McDaniel came around the couch then. "I'm sorry, Jeff. I didn't mean for it to sound the way it did."

  "It doesn't matter," Danner shrugged. "It made her happy, so that's the way we'll leave it. And besides, there's still one thing I'd like to clear up before I leave this territory. If I have a legitimate reason for staying around I can move about with less attention." As an afterthought, he added, "And maybe Lona is right. Maybe I'll like farming well enough to settle down to it permanently."

  Olie bristled up, his eyes darting from one to the other. "Just what is it you two are up to?" he demanded. "Are you buying that Jensen place, or not? I'll not have you making a fool out of my girl."

  "It's nothing like that," McDaniel protested, with a wave of his arms. "It's—"

  "Forget it, Olie," Danner interrupted. "Billy and I will buy the Jensen place tomorrow just like we said." Then Danner moved out into the night to avoid a clash with the grumpy little Swede.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The purchase of the Jensen farm took less than an hour. Another fifteen minutes were used to buy a team of mules and a wagon. McDaniel drove the wagon toward the general store. Danner rode on the seat beside him. Full of plans, McDaniel had seldom stopped talking all morning.

  "We'll need quite a few tools, some paint, plenty of barbed wire—"

  "You get it," Danner interrupted, amused by the enthusiasm of his friend and now partner. "Just drop me off at the barbershop and I'll join you in an hour or so."

  McDaniel nodded, then slowed the wagon in front of the hotel. Danner dropped to the street and waved him on. Thursday was a slow day in Richfield so Danner didn't have to wait for the barbershop bathtub. He soaked for twenty minutes, then dried off and dressed. A scraping sound reached him as he buckled on his gun belt. Puzzled, he grew wary without knowing why.

  Rays of light leaked in through cracks in the partition separating the washroom from the front of the barbershop. Danner moved over to the partition and peered through one of the cracks. A chill gripped him.

  Obviously waiting for him in the barbershop, stood Ears and Sam Dooley and their cousin Garr Green, all wearing expectant grins. Ears stood nearest to the door into the washroom, while Garr leaned against the front barber chair, behind which cringed the barber. The most dangerous one of the three, Sam Dooley, lounged against the bare wall to the left of and behind his brother. Strangely, all three seemed to be unarmed. Danner searched for telltale bulges under their shirts, but found none. He thought it over quickly, and decided to play the situation with safety.

  A door behind Danner led to the alley out back. Silently he moved over to the door, easing it open. The litter of years lay scattered everywhere and a sour smell added to the unpleasantness of the alley. With great care Danner picked his way along the back of the building to the rear entrance of the hotel next door. Through the narrow hallway and across the lobby he went, then out to the main street and back toward the front of the barbershop. The trio stood much as they were when he had left the washroom. Only now, Sam Dooley was the nearest to Danner.

  "Waiting for me, boys?" The sound of his voice brought immediate reactions from the three. Both Sam and Green came erect from their leaning positions, swiveling around with surprise. Ears Dooley whirled with a look of panic that swiftly changed to savage joy. Too late, Danner realized why.

  From the seat of the second barber chair Ears scooped up a double-barreled twelve-gauge shotgun. The twin holes in the ends of the shortened barrels gaped menacingly at him.

  "You're hipped, Danner," Ears gloated. Then he spat out a vicious string of curses which Danner endured silently, grinding his teeth in fury at his own blunder. He should have figured something like this. The noise had been deliberate, to draw his eye to the crack in the partition. The lack of visible guns also was for his benefit, to lure him out of the tub room without a gun in his hand. His precaution of circling around had only heightened the sweetness of the triumph now so plain on the grinning faces. Green spat on the floor near Danner's boots, knowing Danner could do nothing about it. Ears Dooley ceased his bitter cursing then.

  "Do you want to beg a little before I scatter you all over the walls, Danner?" Ears taunted. His entire body seemed to twitch with repressed emotion. "How was it when you killed our brothers, Danner? Did they beg, huh? Course, we know better, because they were shot in the back."

  Then Ears broke off to laugh insanely. Still faking a calm he didn't feel, Danner took a single step closer to Sam Dooley but kept his gaze on Ears.

  "You don't really think I killed your brothers, do you?"

  "That's it, Danner," Ears squealed with delight. "Try to talk me out of it—go on—beg some more."

  Sweat popped out on Danner's shoulders, running down his back. He needed two more steps. Sam Dooley stood a little to Danner's left, maybe six feet away, while Ears was about nine feet away and straight back.

  "You'll earn yourself a hangman's noose, Ears," he stalled, venturing another step closer to Sam.

  "A medal, you mean!" The crazy giggle came again. "And who would arrest me, even if the people around here wanted me arrested? Old Man Brant?"

  "Now look—" Danner began and suddenly leaped to his left at Sam Dooley, trying to put the chunky body between himself and the muzzle of the shotgun. Surprise washed across Sam's rotund face as the deafening blast of the shotgun shook the room. A single pellet grazed Danner's ribs, but the main force struck Sam Dool
ey in the back, driving him into Danner's arms. A grunt of anguish came from Sam, then his eyes glazed over and he began to slump. While he still had the protection of Sam's body, Danner reached for his Colts and brought his gun-sights up to the level of Ears Dooley's chest. But as he squeezed the trigger he seemed to see first Lona, then Melinda, standing behind Ears, censure plain on their faces. He moved the sights up and over. The heavy slug caught the last of the Dooley brothers in the right shoulder. Hurled backward and around, Ears crashed to the floor with a cry.

  Danner whirled on Garr Green, but Green leaned against the barber chair for support, white with fear. Holstering his gun, Danner moved swiftly to the sobbing Ears Dooley, who sat up now, clutching his shoulder with his left hand.

  He should have killed Ears, Danner thought, as a matter of self-protection. After Ears recovered he likely would lay out on the trail somewhere and shoot him in the back. A mass of people crowded around the front door of the barbershop, but none came in until Tom Wainright forced his way through. Wainright stared at Sam Dooley, then at Ears, his eyes plainly showing disbelief. Gradually the disbelief gave way to wrath and he moved closer to Danner.

  "You murdered them," Wainright blazed. "I wouldn't prosecute, so you set yourself up as judge, jury and executioner."

  "That's right," Green charged, regaining some of his bluster now. "He come in with a shotgun and cut down on us for no reason at all—got Sam in the back—and both of them were unarmed. They—" His face paled again under a fixed stare from Danner. His gaze wavered and fell away.

  "What about it, Danner?" Wainright snapped. "What is your alibi this time?"

  "Get yourself a badge and maybe I'll answer your questions," Danner retorted. "Meanwhile, you might listen to the barber there, not this scum." He flicked his hand at Garr Green. Then he started toward the crowd of people blocking the doorway, aiming directly at Wainright.