Tough Justice

by Colin Bainbridge

  ‘Want me to come in with you?’ Eliot said.

  ‘Nope. I’ll deal with Dinsdale my way.’

  ‘Take it easy,’ Eliot replied. ‘Don’t go doin’ anythin’ hasty.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me.’

  Lowell glanced around. The Fashion Restaurant was a little further up the street.

  ‘Wait there,’ Lowell said. ‘This shouldn’t take too long. In fact you can order me a coffee and flapjacks.’

  ‘I’ll watch out for Marshal Fowler,’ Eliot replied.

  Lowell turned and walked through the door of the building. Inside there was a gloomy lobby not unlike Rickard’s outer office. It was no young woman sitting behind the desk but an ugly looking man with a growth of bristle lining his chin. As Lowell advanced into the room his hand dropped below the level of the desk. Lowell wasn’t taking any chances. In an instant he had whipped out his gun.

  ‘I’m lookin’ for Dinsdale,’ he said.

  ‘Mr Dinsdale ain’t here.’

  The words had a familiar ring but Lowell wasn’t going to be deterred. Ignoring the man, he strode to a door to the left of the desk. As he did so the man made a sudden move and Lowell brought his gun down on the man’s head. With a moan he sank to the floor. There was a sound of movement from behind the door. Lowell kicked at it and it flew open to reveal the cringing form of the lawyer standing by a window. Beyond him, Lowell saw movement in the street outside.

  ‘What is this?’ Dinsdale began. ‘You have no right—’ His words were choked off as Lowell grabbed him by the throat.

  ‘I want answers,’ he snapped, ‘and I don’t intend beatin’ about the bush.’

  ‘I’m not in a position to divulge. . . .’ The lawyer broke off again as a light of recognition suddenly dawned in his eyes.

  ‘If this is about the proposed sale of the Long Rail, you will have to talk to Mr Rickard.’

  ‘I intend dealin’ with Rickard. But first of all I want to know about Mossman.’

  Lowell had relaxed his hold on Dinsdale but the lawyer remained pressed against the wall.

  ‘Mossman?’ he repeated questioningly. ‘Mossman?’

  ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know who Mossman is.’

  Dinsdale quickly sensed that there was no point in dissembling. Probably most people in Granton had heard the name.

  ‘I may have acted for Mossman in the past,’ he mumbled. ‘But that was long ago.’

  ‘You’re lyin’,’ Lowell said. ‘Now don’t misunderstand me. I ain’t foolin’. I’ll give you one more chance to tell me all you know about Mossman.’

  ‘I don’t know anything. As I say, I haven’t had contact with Mossman for a long time.’

  Lowell had put his gun back in its holster. Now he withdrew it and held it in the lawyer’s face.

  ‘You wouldn’t. . . .’ he began, but got no further as Lowell drove the barrel of the gun into the lawyer’s stomach. He doubled over and would have sunk to the floor but for Lowell’s supporting arm.

  ‘Who started the fire?’ he said.

  The lawyer looked at him through glazed eyes.

  ‘Who started the fire?’ Lowell said again.

  ‘What fire?’ he managed to say. ‘I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.’

  Lowell swung his fist and the lawyer’s nose burst open like a ripened fruit. Blood poured down his face.

  ‘You know which fire. The fire that burned down part of Buckhorn. The fire that killed my wife.’

  Lowell was enraged now. As the lawyer swayed, he banged his head against the wall. Dinsdale groaned. He was gasping for breath and was close to unconsciousness. Lowell raised his gun again.

  ‘I had nothing to do with it,’ the lawyer said. ‘It was Mossman’s idea.’

  ‘Because he wanted that stage line? It was due to link with Buckhorn.’ Lowell had a sudden inspiration. ‘Who else died in that fire?’ he said.

  ‘Rogers. He had the original bid.’

  It was all becoming clear now to Lowell. ‘Where is Mossman now?’

  ‘He moved away to Shoshone Flats.’

  ‘I know that. Where in Shoshone Flats?’

  ‘Really, I don’t know. Please don’t kill me.’

  The rage suddenly died in Lowell. He glanced around the lawyer’s office. There was a safe in one corner. Seizing the flagging Dinsdale, he dragged him to it.

  ‘Open the safe,’ he said.

  Dinsdale was beyond offering any objection. He turned the combination and the safe swung open. Lowell released his hold on him and he fell to his knees. Lowell looked inside the safe. There were a number of papers and he didn’t feel like sifting through them. Instead, he gathered them all up and thrust the bundle inside his jacket. Dinsdale was making strange whimpering noises and retching. A trail of blood led from the window to the safe and gathered in two pools. Lowell looked for a moment on the battered figure of the lawyer and then strode to the door. The other man still lay on the floor, breathing shallowly. Lowell stepped over him and made for the outer door.

  As he stepped outside, the sunlight hit him like an explosion. He stood for a few moments before beginning to make his way to the Fashion Restaurant but he hadn’t gone more than a few paces when a shot rang out, whistling just past his shoulder. He assumed that it came from the lawyer’s office and turned quickly to face his attacker. The movement was enough to save him from a second bullet which tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. Instantly he flung himself to the ground and rolled to the edge of the boardwalk. Someone was screaming and people were running in different directions. Shots were being fired from several different points and he realised he was under fire from more than one gunman.

  Bullets tore up the dust in front of him. He saw a stab of flame coming from the direction of an alleyway and returned fire. At the same moment, from the corner of his eye, he saw movement to his left and swinging his gun in that direction, he loosed off a couple of shots. There was a scream and then a man toppled forward from behind a stanchion, landing in the road with a dull crash. Taking a chance, Lowell sprang to his feet and ran doubled over to the doorway of a store which offered better protection. A bullet thudded into the wall nearby and then a salvo of shots shattered the window and sent shards of glass raining down on him. As his eyes searched the street, a shot rang out from the direction of the Fashion Restaurant and he caught a glimpse of Eliot just inside the doorway.

  ‘Lowell!’ he called. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah. Can you see anything?’

  ‘No, but I think I got one of ’em.’

  Lowell grinned. Whoever the attackers were, that meant two of them were accounted for. Suddenly he realized that the gunfire had ceased. A strange silence seemed to envelope the town. It hung in the air like something palpable and then through it he heard the sound of someone running. For a moment he considered chasing him, but he couldn’t see anyone and the sounds quickly receded. The silence continued till it was broken by the sound of hoof beats. Lowell leaned out and down the street two horsemen appeared, riding hard.

  He realized what had happened. The gunnies had been surprised by Eliot’s appearance on the scene and had decided to call it a day. They were making their getaway but coming in his direction. The horses were kicking up a lot of dust but as they got close Lowell recognized Vernon by the buckskin jacket he was wearing. Even as he realized who it was there was a shot from the Fashion Restaurant and the other gunman fell backwards from his horse. Vernon strove to control his mount as it reared into the air, kicking its legs and almost falling backwards. For a few seconds he clung on, fighting hard to gain control, but the spooked horse kept bucking and he fell to the ground, narrowly avoiding the horse’s flailing hoofs. At the same moment Lowell stepped from his cover into the glare of the street. Vernon struggled to his feet and stood immobile, staring at the grimly advancing figure.

  ‘I don’t know who you are or what this is about,’ Lowell said, ‘but I’m gonna give you a fair chance.’ Vernon shrank back.
>
  ‘It was Rickard,’ he sobbed. ‘He’s the one you really want. I had no choice. I didn’t want any part of it but he made me.’

  ‘You didn’t want any part in what?’

  ‘It was Rickard. I don’t ask questions. It was Rickard’s orders. There was nothin’ I could do.’

  Lowell’s advance was inexorable. His eyes were focused on his adversary, but he was aware that people had re-emerged from shelter and were standing on the boardwalks, watching intently. There was no movement. Silence had returned and continued to hold sway, an unnatural silence thick with tension. When he was satisfied that he was at an appropriate distance, he halted and stood in his tracks. Vernon continued to move away till Lowell rapped out:

  ‘That’s far enough.’

  Vernon had stopped talking and was looking about him agitatedly. He was breathing heavily and licking his lips.

  ‘All right,’ Lowell rapped. ‘I’ve heard enough. The time for talk is over. Now, go for your gun.’

  Vernon looked about him one more time, as if appealing to the spectators to do something and come to his rescue. He was met with a blank wall of indifference. Then he turned towards Lowell. He had begun to shake and beads of sweat ran down his cheeks.

  ‘You’ve got this wrong,’ he bleated.

  Suddenly, his hand dropped towards his holster. The movement was quick and his gun was in his hand in an instant. Before he could squeeze the trigger, however, Lowell’s gun had spoken and Vernon reeled backwards as a bullet tore into his chest. He raised his gun again but Lowell’s second bullet had already ripped through his throat. Gurgling and coughing, he sank to the ground, twitching. Lowell placed his gun back in its holster and turned away from the dying man. The silence, shattered by the explosion of gunfire, was broken now by the murmur of voices and the movement of people. Lowell felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Eliot.

  ‘I reckon we’d better get out of here,’ he said. ‘I figure we ain’t gonna get much sympathy from the marshal.’

  Quickly they made their way to their horses and swung into leather. A crowd had gathered beside Vernon’s lifeless body and a few of them began to move in their direction. Eliot paused for just a moment.

  ‘It’s a pity about those flapjacks,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe another time,’ Lowell replied.

  Spurring their horses, they turned away from the scene of activity and began to ride down the street. Lowell glanced over his shoulder, looking for the marshal, but there was no sign of him. They gathered speed and in a matter of minutes had left the town behind them and were clear.

  They carried on riding till they were confident that they were safe from pursuit, when they drew to a halt.

  ‘Well,’ Eliot said. ‘What happened back there? I heard the shootin’ but I didn’t realize at first that it was you they were shootin’ at.’

  ‘The man I shot,’ Lowell replied. ‘I don’t know who he is, but I had a spot of trouble with him before. The way I figure it, he was hired to kill me.’

  ‘Who would do that?’

  ‘The same person tried to get me killed last time. I figured it was Rickard but now I’m not so sure.’

  ‘You ain’t thinkin’ it might have been Mossman? Did you find out anythin’, by the way?’

  ‘Yes. It was Mossman started that fire. That’s one reason why I figure he might be behind it all. You see, I was marshal at that time. I was pretty much involved in the campaign to get the stage-line to run to Buckhorn.’

  ‘Would that be enough to account for it though? Especially after this amount of time’s gone by.’

  ‘That’s the bit I don’t understand,’ Lowell replied. ‘Assumin’ Mossman is the really the one who wants me dead, why has he waited till now?’

  ‘You’re sure it was Mossman who started the fire?’

  ‘I’m sure. I should have realized it before now. Guess I didn’t like to think about it.’

  Eliot seemed to weigh up what Lowell had said, and then he suddenly gave a loud whistle.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Hell, it’s obvious!’

  Lowell responded with a puzzled look. ‘What’s obvious?’ he said.

  ‘I know this is maybe painful for you, but did many people die in that fire?’

  ‘A few,’ Lowell replied.

  ‘Were they all accounted for? I mean, were they all identified?’

  Lowell’s face was drawn. ‘Not all,’ he answered.

  ‘And you were right there, fightin’ the fire?’

  Lowell seemed to make a conscious effort to reply. ‘Yes. I got burned myself.’ He hesitated. ‘Tryin’ to rescue Ella,’ he concluded.

  ‘Then there’s your answer. Mossman must have assumed that you died too. He thought you were one of the victims. It’s taken him till now to realize that you survived. Hell, you’ve been livin’ like a hermit in that damned old ghost town. We only saw you in Granton when you came in from time to time for supplies. He’s probably not the only one to have made the same assumption.’

  Lowell was silent for a few moments and when he looked at Eliot his expression had changed. It was still grim but there was a dawning light of understanding in it.

  ‘Somethin’ must have happened to make Mossman realize he was wrong, that you didn’t perish in the fire,’ Eliot continued. ‘It doesn’t matter what. Maybe somebody he knows recognized you and word filtered back. Whatever it was, he figured you were a danger. He wasn’t to know how much you knew or whether or not you suspected him, but once he realized you were alive, his security was ended. He wants you dead, this time for sure.’

  Lowell slowly nodded. ‘I reckon you’re right,’ he said. ‘It adds up.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out the papers he had removed.

  ‘There might be more answers here,’ he said. ‘I took them from Dinsdale’s safe. I figure there could be enough to put him and Rickard behind bars, but maybe there’s somethin’ about Mossman too.’

  They sat their horses for a time, mulling things over but not saying much. Finally Eliot turned to Lowell.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s ride. We can talk things over later.’

  After they got back to the Long Rail, Lowell took the first opportunity that presented itself to look through the papers, but he was disappointed. So far as he could make out, they were mostly legal documents referring to a variety of matters not connected with either Rickard or Mossman. Fuller had given him the use of his study, and he sat up into the early hours. He was about to call it a day when he heard the soft tread of feet and looked up to see Lorna standing in the doorway.

  ‘I hope I didn’t startle you,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I saw the lamplight and wondered how you were getting on.’

  Lowell was taken by surprise. He hadn’t expected anyone else to still be awake, least of all Lorna. He felt flustered and unsure of his ground.

  ‘My uncle used to keep things from me, but not anymore,’ she said. ‘To be honest, I would have had to be stupid not to know what was going on.’

  Lowell didn’t question how much she knew. That was between her and Fuller. She came into the room and sat beside him. She was still dressed in her normal attire, and Lowell wondered if she had been awake all night. He felt disturbed by her proximity.

  ‘I’ve been lookin’ through these papers, but they don’t make much sense to me,’ he said. ‘I think I’m out of my depth. I don’t understand legal language. I’m not even sure what I’m lookin’ for.’

  She looked at the pile of papers littering the desk. ‘Would you mind if I take a look?’ she said.

  ‘No. You’re welcome.’

  She leaned over and sifted through them, lifting one and then another to give it a quick glance. He glanced at her face in profile and breathed in the fragrance of her perfume.

  ‘I tell you what,’ she said. ‘You must be exhausted. Why don’t you get some rest while I take more time to examine them?’

  He didn’t want to leave her but at the same time he
appreciated the excuse to do so. After everything that he had been through, it was true he was feeling tired and what she said made sense.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?’ he said.

  ‘I wouldn’t have offered if I did,’ she replied. She smiled and placed a hand on his arm.

  ‘Go on. You’ll have to be back in the saddle soon. Get some rest while you can. I can’t sleep anyway. Maybe I’ll have more luck than you.’

  Lowell reluctantly got to his feet and made his way to the door where he turned back to take a final look at her sitting in the lamplight.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I sure appreciate your help.’

  He turned and left her, making his way through the darkness outside back to the bunkhouse.

  Rickard didn’t shed any tears either over Vernon’s demise or over what had happened to Dinsdale. The stolen papers, however, were a different matter. He didn’t know exactly what papers had been taken or what was in them, but he was astute enough to know they might contain incriminating material. Some people had seen Lowell ride off in the company of Eliot and he had it on good report that Eliot’s horse was carrying a Long Rail brand. This only confirmed what his gunslicks had told him following the Buckhorn incident; that they had followed the sign of two men in the general direction of the Long Rail. He was pretty sure that Lowell had somehow ended up there. There was only one logical conclusion. He could no longer delay his assault on the Long Rail. In a way things had turned out quite well. He now had the opportunity to deal with both Fuller and Lowell together. At the same time, he would be carrying out Mossman’s instructions and so have nothing further to fear from that quarter. He was still puzzled to know what Mossman had against Lowell, but it didn’t much matter now.

  He sat at his desk thinking these things over before eventually getting to his feet and walking to the window. For a few minutes he stood looking out over the main street. It was quiet enough now, but he had a sudden vision of how it might be if Lowell were to show up again. Maybe Vernon’s fate would be his next time, or even worse. After all, Lowell had already paid one visit to his sanctum. Turning away from the window, he walked across the room and out the door. His secretary looked up at his appearance. He regarded her for a few moments. She was very attractive. She didn’t do much. Maybe it was time to make better use of her attributes. That was something to think about, but for the moment he had other concerns.