by Ford Fargo
“I like a man who thinks, at least on occasion. Just what were you thinkin’ about?” Jake was getting impatient with the circles this conversation was going in. If he’s figurin’ on puttin’ me in the iron-bar hotel, why don’t he get on with it?
“The prints we found appeared to be from new clodhoppers. Not like those run-down, holey wrecks you’re wearing. So we set to looking around for more evidence. And guess what, we found some. You surprised?”
“Marshal, nothin’ you could say would surprise me. Now, how ’bout you get on with it. I’ve got business elsewhere.”
“All right, all right, just hold your britches. We found a brand new shoe in some brush near the river. Had mud on the sole. Now why would anyone throw away a new piece of footwear like that? Brand spanking new, with your mark on it—but not bought from our local cobbler?”
Jake narrowed his eyes and looked intently at Marshal Gardner. His interest was now piqued. All the dancing around the barn was beginning to make sense.
“Settin’ someone up for a crime he didn’t commit comes to mind,” Jake muttered. He started chewing on his lip.
“Do you have anyone around here that’d like to get you strung up? You must have enemies by the wagonload. Bounty hunters don’t usually have a score of friends following them about, singing their praises.”
Jake didn’t say anything. His mind was awhirl with possibilities, even though no one came to mind at that moment.
“You got anything else?” Jake said, almost incoherently.
“Nope. I’ll let you know if we need to speak further on the subject.”
Jake left the marshal’s office in a thoughtful daze. Hell, I know I’ve got enemies, but none of them ever tried to get me hung for somethin’ I didn’t do. They’ve always come at me head-on. Of course, none of ’em survived. He turned down the alleyway toward the corral to saddle his horse for a ride out to the Munder spread.
* * *
When Jake rode up to the ranch house where Teresa Munder lived like a queen, he was immediately struck by the fact that nothing seemed out of place. No wind-blown trash caught in the fence around the chicken coop, no gate needing mended, no shingles needing replaced. The whole ranch looked like it was pristine. Too pristine. That much neatness bothered him, although he wasn’t sure why. As he dismounted, the front door flung open and Teresa Munder stood like a China doll in its place.
“Well, Mister Rattlesnake, since you’ve arrived without my husband in tow, I’d have to say you’ve failed in your quest.”
“No, ma’am. Rattlesnake Jake doesn’t fail. At anything. This time is no different. I don’t have your husband with me because I figure he’s a good hundred miles from here, by now. But, I do need to ask you a couple questions.”
“Questions? Like what?”
“I’m wonderin’ if you’ve ever heard of a man named Malchius Offerman.”
“Yes, I believe that’s the name he gave when he was out here asking about my husband just a few days ago. Why do you ask? Does he have something to do with whatever it is you’re not telling me?”
“It’s possible. I’m just tryin’ to piece it all together.”
“So, did my dear husband run off like a whimpering child at not getting his way? Where is he?”
“Like I said, a long way off. Can’t say exactly where, but for certain, he’s in no shape to return to your lovin’ arms.”
“Just what are you saying?”
“Don’t know any way to say it but to get right to the heart of things, ma’am. Your husband is dead.”
Teresa’s hand shot to her mouth to cover her shock. Tears began to flow and she seemed to be struggling to remain standing. Her normally rigid stance had taken on a decidedly shaky demeanor. Jake stepped forward to take her by the arm and direct her to one of the rattan chairs in the porch. Unsteadily, she eased onto the plush seat.
“H-how’d he die? Wh-where—?” Her mumbled words came haltingly.
“You really don’t want to know, ma’am. He’s dead and that’s all there is to it. You’ll have to accept the facts as they are.”
“No! I want to know why he’s dead, where he was killed, and who did it! Do you understand me, Mister Bounty Hunter?” she screamed. “You owe me the truth! Five hundred dollars worth of truth.”
“Ma’am, I’m just tryin’ to spare—”
“Now! All of it!” Her beautiful green eyes were suddenly aflame with an anger that only a grief-stricken woman completely out of control could summon forth.
Teresa’s raging demand shoved Jake over the edge to a violation of his own rule—to never burden a lady with the seedy truth of a husband’s other life.
“All right, but you ain’t gonna like it. He was stabbed to death in a whorehouse in Dogleg City. I’m sorry, but best I can figure out is that his body was then thrown into the river, left to float to who-the-hell-knows-where. If he hasn’t already sunk to the bottom, I’d say he’s still on his little excursion. Excuse my bluntness, ma’am, but you did ask—er, demand—the truth.”
Teresa sat stunned by what she’d just heard. Unable to speak, she stared off into the distance. Jake shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Having removed his hat as he approached the porch, he now set it back on his head and turned to leave.
“No. Please don’t,” Teresa said.
“Ma’am? I got nothing more to say.”
“I’d like, uh, I mean, would you care to come inside for, uh, a cup of coffee, or—?”
“I reckon I could do that.”
“Your honesty has been like a breath of fresh air, Jake. Do you mind if I call you Jake?”
“No ma’am, you can call me anything you’d like.”
“Good. Please step inside, out of the sight of any prying eyes of the ranch-hands.”
Jake again removed his hat and followed the lady inside. He followed through the parlor, up the stairway, and down a long hallway. She didn’t even hesitate as she opened the door to a lavishly decorated bedroom. She walked to the bed, stopped, and began fiddling with something on her dress. When she turned around, he realized she’d unbuttoned the top of it, letting the garment slide from her shoulders. She didn’t skip a beat as she unsnapped a bodice, shrugging out of two petticoats, and pulled loose the ribbon that held her long hair. She took one step toward him, placing her hands on his shoulders.
“I know what people say about me, that I’m a cold, frigid woman. That’s the impression my husband had, too. But he never tried to find the truth behind the façade. I’m not that way at all.” She pulled him down to kiss her.
Jake, never a man to miss a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, began shucking his clothes like they were full of fire ants. They tumbled onto the thickest, softest mattress he’d ever laid on.
* * *
Late in the day, Jake mounted up for the ride back to town. His confusion as to what had just happened to him whirled around in his muddled, but deliriously happy, brain. Teresa stood in the open door, clad only in a long, satin robe that she held closed at the throat, and gazed after him demurely. He waved and spurred his horse to a trot. He began playing back the events of the day. First he’s accused of murder, then he was forced to tell a widow of her husband’s grisly demise, and, if that weren’t enough excitement for a simple, bounty hunting gunslinger, he was summarily summoned to the greatest pleasure he’d ever known in the arms of the widow herself.
As the sun began its final plunge toward the flat lands beyond, he mulled over the past hours. He first wondered what kind of a man Munder had been. How could he have not really known the lady he was married to? How could any man miss something that was obvious to Jake early on? From the time he first laid eyes on Teresa, he felt a lustful attraction to her; an overwhelming desire to sample what he felt must be beneath that mask of propriety she had tried so hard to wear. She’d succeeded in her subterfuge with the other citizens of Wolf Creek, but how could a woman like that fool the very man she lived with? Or did she? Jake was rapidly com
ing to the conclusion that Alexander Munder was merely a blind, thickheaded fool. Probably deserved what he got. But why? And what was his connection to Offerman, the man who Abby claimed stabbed him to death? And did Offerman’s apparent relationship with Mayor Dab Henry have anything to do with anything? Lots of questions, but damned few answers.
As he reined in behind the Wolf’s Den, he stepped down with a strange feeling. Just riding down the street made him uneasy. Something was not right. Folks appeared reluctant to step outside. His curiosity piqued, Jake eased in the back door to the saloon, taking care to look every person he passed in the eye. Quieter than usual, he leaned on the bar and asked the bartender, Mack, what the hell was going on that was making the whole town seem jumpy. Even the house gambler, Preston Vance, seemed off his game. Jake never liked Vance, he couldn’t tolerate the phony Southern charm the man exhibited, so he managed to stay away from him. Mack the bartender bent over, looked around nervously, then leaned close to say something.
“Jake, Ira told me to tell you there’s a fella upstairs wants to have words with you.”
“Who is it, Mack?”
“Gambler from the Lucky Break, Samuel Jones.”
Jake scowled. “What the hell does he want?”
Mack was getting shakier by the minute.
“I don’t know, Jake,” he said. “Ever’body’s been talkin’ about him, though, since that duel yesterday. I mean hell, we have gunfights all the time, but most folks around here have never seen no fancy by-the-rules duel before.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. This was damned shady. First Ira Breedlove puts him on the gambler’s scent, now that proposed quarry had shown up at Ira’s place wanting to meet.
“He armed?” Jake demanded.
“I’d say so. But I doubt Ira’d send you into a trap.” Mack looked around furtively. “Fact is,” he whispered, “Ira said to tell you somethin’—‘you’re welcome,’ he said.”
So that was it. Ira wanted this fancy duelist dead—the saloon owner had as much as said he’d prefer Jake to just shoot first and find out if the jasper was wanted or not afterwards. It seemed that waiting for replies to Jake’s telegrams about reward dodgers was too long a process for Ira. And now he had somehow arranged to hand-deliver him—but Jake doubted the gambler would put his neck on the block like a lamb to the slaughter.
“Your boss has never gone out of his way to be so helpful to me before, Mack. Why today?”
“I dunno, Jake.”
“I ought to make you walk into that room ahead of me, Mack. That way, if this gambler shoots, you’ll get something extra for helpin’ set me up.”
“I-I’m sorry, Jake. I don’t know what’s goin’ on, and I don’t wanna know.”
Jake checked his Colt and slowly ascended the stairs. He looked back over his shoulder and asked Mack what room the man was in.
Mack held up three fingers.
When Jake reached room #3, he listened for a second before knocking. He stood aside as he did so.
“Come on in, Jake.”
Jake opened the door cautiously, pushing it wide so he could see the man on the overstuffed chair clearly. He didn’t seem to have a gun in his hand. In fact, a holster and revolver were wrapped up with a cartridge belt lay on the table next to him. Jake went in. He still didn’t recognize the man.
“They told me downstairs you wanted to have a chat,” Jake said.
“I do, indeed. Have a seat. And don’t be so suspicious. I’m not packing any hideout Derringers this evening.” The man held out his hand. Jake shook it, but was, as yet, unconvinced there was no danger. Jones smiled. “No dueling pistols, either,” he said.
“What’s this all about?”
“I’d like to fill you in on a few things before we get down to business.”
Jake nodded.
“Do you remember me?”
“Of course. You’re a gambler for Dab Henry. Samuel Jones. I’ve seen you around. Mack said you plugged a man named Hébert this afternoon. But I don’t see what any of that has to do with me.”
“It has everything to do with you, my friend.”
“I’m all ears. Enlighten me,” Jake said.
“Do you know a man named Malchius Offerman?”
“Uh-huh. Whiskey drummer. Fact is, I’ve been lookin’ for him, and I keep missin’ him somehow.”
“He’s looking for you, too. And he doesn’t intend to miss you.”
“Damn,” Jake said. “Abby must’ve blabbed to him that I was on his scent.”
Samuel Jones shook his head. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, or how Abby’s involved, but this time you’re the prey. Offerman has been on your scent, for some time. He came to Wolf Creek specifically to kill you.”
“Kill me? I told you, I never met the man.”
“Yes, but you met his brother. He’d been in on a bank robbery in Austin where some teller were shot. You tracked him down to St. Joe and killed him for the bounty—Offerman said his name was Clyde.”
Jake’s eyes lit in recognition. “Yeah. Clyde Offerman in St. Joe. One of them tellers was the mayor’s son, and the whole town pitched in for the reward. That’s why the name sounded so damn familiar—I just never would’ve connected him with a whiskey drummer. I remember the wily bastard somehow got behind me and started throwin’ lead. Got me in the leg before I was able to bring him down. Hated havin’ to kill him, but it was him or me. Unfortunately, the reward was cut in half because I brought back a body instead of a candidate for a necktie party. The town was lookin’ forward to havin’ its revenge and figured I stole it from them. His brother!”
Jake’s expression went from recognition to surprise and finally to a seething rage, all in the time it might take a man to blink. He pushed himself up from the chair.
“I’ll be damned,” Jake said. “This whiskey peddler killed that Laird fella and framed me for it. And just in case that didn’t work, he killed Teresa Munder’s husband for apparently no good reason—but really it was on the gamble she’d hire me to go lookin’ when he never came home, and the trail would lead me to Offerman. I don’t understand why he’d do that part, though.”
It seemed Samuel Jones wasn’t through with him. Not by a damned sight.
“Hold on, Jake, there’s more. Sit down and hear me out.”
Jake took a minute to decide whether to listen or to go after Offerman without delay. But, after a moment, he did return to the seat he’d just vacated. “Give,” he said.
“Offerman’s got himself three hired guns signed on to help him take you down. Maybe more, by now. I’d wager that’s why he killed that blowhard Munder—so you’d come straight to him, not realizing he’d rounded up enough killers to make it a trap.”
Jake stared hard at the gambler. “How the hell do you know so much about all this, anyways?”
Samuel Jones smiled. “The duel. It got Offerman’s attention, and he approached me this morning offering to buy my gun. To help kill you. In fact, he’s waiting for me to join him at the Lucky Break now, and we’re supposed to wait for you to show up.”
“And you decided instead to come tell me the whole story? What’s in it for you?”
Jones stared back. “I asked if you remembered me, earlier. I didn’t mean, do you know who I am—of course you do, we’ve both been in this town long enough for that. I meant, do you remember me from the barricades. When the Kiowa attacked Wolf Creek.”
Jake cocked his head. “I recall you was there, sure.”
“So you don’t remember. Well, I do, and I won’t forget.”
“You lost me, amigo.”
“We were at the barricade,” the gambler explained. “A Kiowa brave got the better of me—he seemed to just drop out of the sky—and he was about to dash my brains out with a tomahawk. Then you tackled him, and stuck him with that Arkansas toothpick of yours.”
Jake grunted. “Sounds kinda familiar. But I believe I killed a bunch of Injuns that day, it all kinda runs together.”
“Maybe you did,” Jones said. “But that was the only one who was a hair’s breadth from killing me. I am a man of honor, Jake. In fact, my honor is the only thing I really have managed to hold onto in this life. And I never forget a debt like that.”
Jake nodded. “Well, if you say so. Makes sense to me, believe it or not. So I’m much obliged, and you can consider us even. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m fixin’ to go kill me a drummer.”
“A man’d be foolish to call Offerman out without someone to watch his back,” Samuel Jones said.
“Is that an offer?” Jake asked, hesitant.
“A debt this big is not canceled just because you say it is—and a simple warning won’t do. You saved my life, now I’m standing with you and backing your play.”
Jake had never felt the need for someone to watch out for him, but if what Jones claimed was true, he was facing odds of four-to-one at best. It might be worth it to make certain he didn’t ride past Teresa Munder’s ranch in an undertaker’s coach with a bullet in his back. He rubbed his stubbly chin and broke into a wry grin, both at the thought of seeing Teresa again, as well as having an extra gun as he went up against a cold-blooded murderer. He suddenly reached a hand across to Samuel Jones.
“Mister Jones, you’ve got yourself a deal. When do you want to start this soiree?”
“Now seems as good a time as any.”
Jake laughed heartily. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “It’s gonna break old Ira’s heart to see us walk out of here together!”
“Why’s that?”
“Because he wanted me to kill you. I’m not sure why. I think it was just to annoy your boss.”
The gambler shook his head. “This is a hell of a town.”
* * *
It was dusk when they arrived at the Lucky Break. Piano music and laughter rolled out over the batwing doors. Malchius Offerman’s horse was at the hitching post. Rattlesnake Jake paused before he stepped up onto the boardwalk.
