by Paul Colt
“She’s saving my life,” Longstreet said.
“Lucky for me,” Cane said.
The sheriff glanced around the dingy lobby. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“My room,” Longstreet said. “There’s not much charm and even less to sit on, but it’s cozy.” He took Samantha’s arm and led the way upstairs.
The room offered a bed, dresser, spindle-back chair, and privacy.
“Miss Maples and I took a stroll by the bank on our way over here. As she says there appear to be three men, half-breed, maybe Mexican, on watch near the bank. Does that mean anything to either of you?”
Cane shrugged. “We’re investigating a forgery ring passing Texas & Pacific bonds.”
“I only recently received a dodger on that from the colonel. I tried to warn Alex Bixby over at the bank, but unfortunately I got there too late.”
“Well that’s been the story of this case,” Cane continued. “We’ve been a step or two behind these people every step of the way. They know we’re coming, though. Someone dropped a dusty gray rattler off in my room in Green River.”
“Dusty gray’s ain’t all that common. I’m surprised you’re still here.”
“Lucky shot.”
“For a fact.”
“I’m impressed once again,” Samantha said. “Sheriff, how do you propose we arrange this little fandango?”
“Well, as it stands, unless you’ve got some specific charge to make, I couldn’t arrest ’em for much more than suspicion of loitering.”
“We’ll have to smoke ’em out,” Cane said.
“How do you propose to do that?”
“I go to the bank.”
“Bait the trap, you mean,” Tubbs said.
Longstreet held up a hand. “He means we go to the bank.”
“I’m the one they know, Beau.”
“You think they aren’t on the lookout for me after Evanston?”
“What happened in Evanston?” Samantha asked.
“Long story.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Briscoe, if you’re gonna play cheese to the rats, I’m going with you. Someone’s got to look after your back.”
“Who’s going to look after your back?”
“The sheriff here, right, Sheriff?”
“I’ve just got but one deputy.” He tilted his hat back and dabbed perspiration on a shiny bald pate. “Sorry, kind of stuffy in here.”
“Cozy,” Longstreet said.
“You’ll need a couple more. Can you get them by the time the bank opens in the morning?” Cane asked.
Tubbs nodded. “I don’t like the idea of shootin’ up my main street in broad daylight. You two show up, those gents likely make it a gun play.”
“That’s where you and your deputies come in,” Cane said. “You cover ’em so you can step in if they try to make a play. Can you do that?”
“It’s still risky.”
“It is. Then again if me and Beau here walk into that bank, your main street’s likely to get shot up either way. If we outnumber ’em and hit ’em by surprise, the party could be over before any real damage gets done.”
Tubbs nodded. “All right.”
Samantha bunched her fists on her hips. “What about me?”
Longstreet smiled. “Your job is to be on the lookout for the woman.”
“You mean the woman from Evanston?”
A breath from the icehouse cooled Longstreet’s brow.
Paradise. Longstreet hung his coat on a spindle-back chair with a wobbly leg. He removed his shoulder rig and set the Colt pocket pistol on the scarred dresser. He peeled off his shirt and hung it over his coat. He opened the cracked window in hope of catching an evening breeze. The tattered calico curtains furled fresh air into the stuffy room. It cooled the dampness against his chest. A soft knock sounded at the door. Not much like Cane to come calling this time of night. He glanced at his gun, eased it out of the holster, and crossed the small room to the door. He listened. Nothing. He flattened along the wall beside the door frame, raised the pistol, grasped the knob, and jerked the door open.
“Don’t shoot,” she whispered with a throaty laugh.
“What brings you by at this hour?”
“A line of questioning I’m not satisfied with. May I come in?”
She stepped inside without waiting for an answer and closed the door with a soft click. “You can put that gun away. I assure you I mean you no harm.”
He put the pistol on the dresser and drew her close. Reflected lamplight flickered in violet eyes. He held them. “Now what is this pressing line of questioning you’ve not satisfied?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
He shrugged.
“Evanston.”
“Not much to tell.”
“This afternoon you said it was a long story.”
“I exaggerated.”
“I don’t believe you. Now out with it, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”
“Nothing but the truth?”
“We’ll see about that. The truth first.”
“You smell like lilacs.”
“What does that have to do with Evanston?”
“It’s the truth.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“At least I’m honest.”
“That remains to be seen.” She placed her fingers against his chest and gently pushed him back to sit on the bed. “Now out with it.”
“I think I saw her.”
“You think you saw her. What makes you think so?”
“We had supper.”
“You had supper.”
“We did.”
“And from that, you think this mystery woman is our perpetrator? That seems a rather ambitious conclusion. What makes you think so?”
“She disappeared rather abruptly after finding out what I was doing in Evanston.”
“And this abrupt disappearance, did it occur the next morning?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. What did you do after supper?”
“We parted company.”
“Abruptly?”
“Quite. Why is that so important?”
“Just curious.”
“Just curious.” He rose and drew her closer. “I think you’re jealous.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I promised you nothing but the truth.”
“And you believe you’ve fulfilled that promise?”
“Yes. Now I have an unsatisfied question.” He took her in his arms. “Why did you tip us off to the trap?”
She patted his cheek and glanced down. “What, and waste all that while you get yourself killed?”
“Waste not, want not.”
The bank opened at nine o’clock the following morning. Cane and Longstreet started south on the boardwalk fronting the Paradise Hotel buffeted by a strong warm and dry west wind. Cane noticed the spring in his partner’s step.
“Don’t you ever get tired?”
“Tired? Me? Oh that. Sure, but I take a little snooze and next thing you know I’m good as new.”
Cane shook his head. They rounded the corner on the north side of Fourth Street and turned northeast following the run of the U.P. tracks across the street. Bootheels tapped a gallows hollow roll. Cane squinted into bright morning sun. Up the block, beyond the bank a dark figure crossed the street and paused at a shop window.
“The deck’s cut. They’re ready to deal.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Up the street, a man just crossed to this side.”
“People cross streets all the time.”
“Not this time. He’s the lookout tellin’ the others we’re comin’ this way.”
Longstreet reached inside his coat, drew his Colt, and dropped his hand to his side.
Standing in the doorway to a millinery shop, Ramon relayed Louis’s signal to Raul in the alley across the street. He listened for the footfalls t
hat would foretell their approach. Louis would be ambling down the street toward the bank. They would have them, three against two in a cross fire. It would be over in seconds and they would be gone. Escobar and his patron would be pleased.
Cane stepped off the boardwalk to the mouth of an alley, separating the elaborate front of a music hall from a tobacconist and a millinery shop. He glanced down the alley, making eye contact with one of Tubbs’s men who tossed his head up the street. They were getting close.
“Won’t be long now,” he said, unlimbering the .44 at his hip.
They passed the tobacco shop. Cane sensed the shadowy presence as they passed the next doorway. He felt for the blade sheathed behind the holstered .44. He counted his steps . . . two, three, four, movement. He spun into a crouch facing the man who stepped out of the doorway with a gun.
“Drop it!” Tubbs’s deputy ordered from the mouth of the alley.
The man turned, gun in hand.
Cane threw. The blade struck the assailant in back of the right shoulder, ruining the assassin’s aim. The shot exploded harmlessly over the deputy’s head. Longstreet grabbed the wounded gunman and disarmed him.
Across the street Sheriff Tubbs stepped out of an alley, holding a second man at the point of a sawed-off shotgun. Up the street, two more deputies had a big man in cuffs. Tubbs crossed the street with his prisoner.
“Sorry about the gunfire, Sheriff.”
“One shot, three killers in custody, and no harm done. I reckon the good people of Grand Island got what they pay law enforcement for.”
The sheriff’s men were waiting for them. The gringos must have known, but how? Escobar ground his teeth. The Di Chico brothers were professionals. They would not willingly expose him. They knew the Don’s influence reached even into the prisons for those who might betray him. Still, with these law dogs on the prowl, it would be best to catch the next train to Omaha. Perhaps the woman would have more success there.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Shady Grove
I arrived the following Saturday morning still fairly flummoxed from the prior evening’s sparking on the porch swing at Penny’s rooming house. We’d gone out for our usual Friday night supper and ended the evening enjoying each other’s company and the symphony of a summer night. In truth as things progress between us, the symphony was more accompaniment to enjoying each other. I hadn’t slept very well. Clearly our love needed something more permanent than a porch swing. I owed my wakefulness to that admission along with some physical agitation that brought me to it. Indeed we were truly in love. But what was to be done about it? I could scarcely entertain proposing marriage on the meager wages of a cub reporter at a small western daily. In the end, I’d stolen a few moments’ rest, pinning my hopes on the publisher’s acceptance of my book submission.
With all that on the mind it’s little wonder I’d forgotten it. The thought never crossed my mind until Penny left the colonel and me to our weekly visit on the veranda. He offered the empty bottle for the presumed return of a full one. I accepted the empty and steeled it away. His hand remained extended expectantly.
“Well?”
“I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.”
“You’ve forgotten.”
“I apologize. I’ve had a lot on my mind of late.”
“I’m sure you have. I don’t know which one of you is the worse for it. But what of me? Am I to suffer slings and arrows for the twining of your heartstrings?”
“It has nothing to do with . . .”
“Oh please. I’m old not addled. Fortunately for both of us, I have an alternate plan.”
I listened.
“My room is on the ground floor, northwest corner in the rear. I shall be at my window at nightfall. You should have no trouble finding it. You can deliver my weekly stipend there with no one the wiser.”
“Are you suggesting I sneak onto the grounds in the dead of night like a thief?”
“Of course not. You’re not about to steal anything and nightfall is hardly the dead of night. Think of it as an unannounced visit. You’ll merely be bringing comfort to an old soldier for the good of your book, don’t you see.”
“But what if I’m caught? What if Penny finds out? We’re to go to the moving picture show this evening. If I’m here, I could be late.”
“Robert, you’re a resourceful young fellow. Who would ever think to pin a courtship on a porch swing? I have every confidence you will work out our little arrangement.”
Porch swing! How could he possibly know about that? Curious as I might be, I dared not ask.
“I’ll be along.”
“There’s a good lad. Now where were we?”
I consulted my notes. What would I tell Penny?
“Cane and Longstreet had managed to foil the ambush at the bank in Grand Island.”
“That’s right. My telegram dispatching them to Omaha arrived at the conclusion of that episode.”
Omaha
Escobar sat on a bench in a back corner of the depot smoking a cigarillo behind a newspaper. The distant sound of the eastbound train whistle told him he had another two hours to wait for his westbound connection. Had he known, he wouldn’t have bothered to come to Omaha in the first place. A note and a telegram greeted him at the hotel registration desk. The note was from the woman. Her attempt at cashing a bond ran into difficulty. The banker insisted on redeeming the bond before issuing a letter of credit. She rightly suspected a trap and left word he should meet her in San Francisco. She could think on her feet. The telegram from Don Victor, sent through his intermediary, instructed him to leave the Union Pacific line and relocate operations south along the Texas & Pacific, a move that should put enough distance between them and their pursuers to allow them to complete the client contract. Don Victor was El Anillo Patron for a reason.
Outside beyond the platform the engine coughed to the shriek of brakes and whistle. Escobar glanced out a streaked window behind his paper, watching the river of humanity disembark from the train. Something told him his vigilance would be rewarded. It was. The big one made the pair of detectives stand out in the crowd. He shook his head. They should have died in Grand Island. Each man carried a small traveling bag. They crossed the platform and disappeared from sight headed for town. They would find nothing. He would be long gone before the detectives realized they’d lost the trail yet again. Still they had too much good fortune. The crooked one had escaped him twice now. That man owed him a debt that must be collected before it became a stain on his professional reputation. Before this ended he would collect from both of them.
He folded the paper, reminded he must wire the Don. The Di Chico brothers were loyal soldados. The Don would wish they should have adequate legal representation. They would soon be released for lack of evidence.
Escobar did not notice the last passenger to exit the last car. A raven-haired beauty in widow’s weeds she wore a feathered hat and lace veil concealing her features. She followed the two detectives up the street at a distance.
Sheriff Tony Bassett was a long-legged country boy with half-lidded eyes, a droopy mustache, rumpled appearance, and unruffled demeanor.
“Colonel wired you’d be along.” He shook hands with Longstreet and Cane. “Glad to have the two of you here. We don’t get much call on counterfeit bonds in these parts. Hell, I’m not sure I’d know one if it was to bite me.”
“That’s the sinister beauty of them bonds,” Cane said. “You don’t feel the bite until you try to redeem one. By then you got a bad case of their poison.”
“So far we done pretty good on that score here. I informed my banks directly after receiving the colonel’s dodger, we ain’t got but two in town. Sure enough she showed up at Nebraska First. Orville Mather, he’s the cashier over there, he talked to her real nice. Tried to stall her by takin’ a few days to collect the thing before he was to cash it. She got a little skittery, took her bond, and left. Mr. Mather notified me right off. I figured she might try Bank of Omaha next. I got a
deputy watchin’ the bank.”
“It sounds like you’ve done all the right things, Sheriff,” Longstreet said.
“It surely has worked out for the best so far.”
“It will, once we capture the woman and whoever she’s workin’ with.”
“That would be icing on the cake. Either way them bankers is grateful for me savin’ ’em from what coulda been a passel of trouble. Grateful bankers is a good thing when a sheriff is runnin’ for reelection.”
Longstreet caught Cane’s eye with a half smile. “All right, Sheriff Bassett, let’s go meet these grateful bankers of yours.”
“Please call me Tony. Where’d you like to start?”
“The one you have under surveillance, Bank of Omaha. You can call me Beau and this cantankerous character here is Briscoe.”
Notions they called it. Mostly it consisted of sewing things. About all Samantha knew of such things was which end of the needle you shouldn’t poke yourself with. Being a woman, she attracted no attention pretending to examine the merchandise at the front of the store with a good view of the sheriff’s office across the street. Longstreet and Cane had gone there from the depot. Likely this was the source of the information that brought them to Omaha. It wasn’t long before they reemerged with a gangly gaited companion she took for the sheriff. The sheriff led them up the street. She watched them, replacing a spool of thread in the display case. Between the sheriff’s gait and Cane’s awkward frame they made a sight reminiscent of a broken-down swayback horse. She chuckled. A trio sure to strike mortal fear in the heart of any self-respecting desperado. She left the store and followed them up the street, keeping a discreet distance.
They crossed into the next block and paused in front of a building on the corner. The sign read Bank of Omaha. The sheriff nodded across the street with a wave to a man seated on a bench in front of a cigar store. If they’re watching the bank, they expected something. She’d seen enough. Time to check into the hotel and wire developments to Kingsley.
Bassett led the way across the lobby to a large polished desk in the back corner. The desk provided an imposing barrier to protect a mousy little man with a starched collar.
“Afternoon, Wilford.”
“Afternoon, Sheriff. Does this visit suggest we have something afoot on the bond fraud?”
