No Man's Land

by William W. Johnstone

  “I’d like you to meet Tandy Beltran,” Beaumont said. “He’s the peacekeeper in this little burg.”

  “Law?”

  Beltran drank a long warm up from his coffee and sniffed. The cold had given him a runny nose. “You might say that. Swan’s law. I make certain things don’t get out of hand. When they do, I can generally end them quickly.”

  Frank looked at the grim determination of the man’s craggy face. “I got no trouble believin’ that.”

  “Good.” Beltran put down his coffee and leaned back in the flimsy chair. Frank noticed he didn’t care a bit that his back was to the door. Pretty cocky. “Now what’s all this I hear about you causing so much trouble last night. Nobody’s talked about anything else since I hit town an hour ago. What’d you say your name was?”

  “Joshua Bean.”

  Beltran shook his head. “Never heard of you. If you’re fast and mean enough to beat Big Un, then I damn sure should have heard of you.”

  Frank shrugged. “I’m not from around here.”

  “Where then?”

  “Here and there.”

  A broad smile crossed Beltran’s face under his huge mustache, but his eyes still glowed with malice. “I’m a good judge of character, Bean—or whatever your name is. I believe you’re hidin’ something behind that scruffy look and shaggy beard. If I had my way, we’d kill you now and sort all this out after you was dead—but the boss wants to meet you.”

  Frank tried not to appear too eager. “I’m just trying to mind my own business. I don’t want to make any trouble.”

  “Whatever you say, Bean. But Swan wants to see you anyhow. He says he wants to lay eyes on anyone who can best Big Un at a hand-to-hand fight.”

  “When?”

  “This afternoon. He’s been on the trail a while. And he’s got some business with Velda to take care of.” Beltran gave a leering grin. “I’ll come get you when it’s time.”

  The enforcer pushed away from the table and stood. “Be ready,” he said as he walked to the door. “I’m still trying to convince him to let me kill you.”

  “Don’t try too hard,” Frank said, returning the man’s stare. “You might bite off a bigger hunk of meat than you want to chew.”

  Beltran scoffed and disappeared into the cold. Bonner and his friend followed him out.

  “You’re crazy, you know that. You’re already dead if you meet Swan on his own terms. You said he knows you.”

  “No.” Frank shook his head. “I doubt he’ll recognize me with all the weight I’ve lost behind this beard and long hair. Besides,” he said, changing the subject, “who’s the crazy one? Sounds to me like you got a little trouble brewin’ of your own if you’re sweet on Swan’s woman.”

  “Velda can’t help it if he picked her. He moves between the women here as soon as he gets tired of them. When he runs out of choices, he goes for some more. If they don’t come on their own, he forces ’em.”

  “You really are sweet on her, aren’t you, Tyler?”

  “She’s had a rough life, Frank. It ain’t all her fault she turned out to be a whore.” Beaumont took a deep breath. “If I live through this evening, I aim to take her with me—give her a decent home.”

  “Good for you,” Frank said, hoping things turned out better for the young couple than they had for him. Then he realized what the young Ranger had said. “What do you mean if you live through this evening?”

  “It’s going to happen today,” Beaumont said. “Sometime late this afternoon, three groups of Rangers will ride in from the flint hills and level this rotten town.” He took a long yellow scarf out of his pocket. “If you live through your meeting with Swan, tie this around your neck.”

  “Yellow?” Frank took the scarf.

  “Like the Rose of Texas. It’ll let all the other Rangers know you’re on our side.”

  “Anybody else I should know about here? I’d hate to shoot one of the good guys.”

  “There’s a couple of us here. You’ll know us by our scarves.”

  “Probably better I didn’t know, just in case,” Frank said.

  “I’m serious about not meeting Swan in his own place.” The gray-haired waitress came out to clear off the other table, and the Ranger stopped talking until she left again. Even then, he spoke in quieter tones.

  “First off,” he said. “they won’t let you take a gun in to meet him. You’ll be completely defenseless.”

  “Don’t you remember Big Un? I can handle myself.”

  Beaumont gave an emphatic shake of his head. “It won’t be like it was with Big Un. No one will stand around and watch. He’s surrounded all the time by his own men—men he knows he can trust. And they have all got guns.”

  “Well, there you go then.” Frank smiled. “My problems are solved.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You said it yourself. There’ll be guns everywhere. When the time comes, I should have no trouble getting to one.”

  “I hate to be the one to break this to you, Morgan, but Beltran is fast. He’s every bit as fast as you. Besides that, you’re plumb wore out.”

  “We all meet our match someday, Tyler.” Frank sighed. “I reckon I’m long overdue.”

  “You come here to die, Frank?”

  “No, but if it’s my time, I’ll play whatever cards are dealt me. I’ve got a job to do—just like you.”

  “You must have really loved that woman.” The young Ranger grinned.

  “I did at that,” Frank said. “I did at that.”

  Chapter 35

  The sun was low on the western horizon, beneath a long glowing line of orange clouds. Frank lay on his bunk and rested, looking out the single pane of the dirty window in his little shack. He’d searched around and found enough wood out back to start a decent fire in the squat woodstove. The seal around the door was gone, and the old thing looked as if someone had dragged it outside and used it for target practice, there were so many holes in it. The wood went quickly, and he had to stoke the fire often to keep the place warm.

  He reasoned that a good fire would loosen him up for what was bound to be a hellacious battle. One way or another, Frank knew he’d have to fight—either to get to Swan or to get away after he killed him.

  It was a funny notion, but Frank didn’t mind the thought of dying as long as he didn’t have to die cold.

  Young Ranger Beaumont had gone off after noon to prepare for the planned assault. Frank figured he’d gone to meet with the other spies who were in place, and didn’t bother him. He also figured the lovesick boy was going to try and find Velda and console her after Swan was finished with her.

  The tension of waiting for Beltran kept him from getting any decent rest, and he propped up his feet and broke out the Bible again by the open stove door.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  At a quarter past five, the enforcer’s gruff voice came through a crack in the front door. Frank had heard the heavy footsteps, and was already up with his boots on.

  “You talk him into lettin’ you kill me yet?” Frank asked after he removed the chair from in front of the door and opened it a crack. He held his Colt pointed at Beltran’s belt buckle.

  “Put that away, Bean. If I was gonna kill you, you’d been dead already.” The man turned, ignoring the pistol, and walked down the street, expecting Frank to follow. He was definitely sure of himself.

  Frank slipped the gun back in its holster and followed.

  It was supper time and most of the town’s inhabitants were gathered in either the Oxblood or the Café. With everyone bunched up like that, it would be a good time for an attack. The young Ranger had done his spying job well.

  Frank listened to the laughter carrying out of the buildings lit by yellow lantern light into the darkening streets. He wondered where Tyler Beaumont had run off to. He was a good boy, solid, just like his father.

  “Stop right here, Bean,” Beltran ordered when they came up abreast of the old church. Paint peeled from the termite-e
aten wood on the sagging building, but at least it had once been painted.

  “What’s next?” Frank faced the dark man.

  “What’s next is you hand over your gun and step inside.”

  Frank pulled out the Colt.

  “Easy now,” Beltran grumbled, his hand on his own gun.

  Frank smiled. “I’m only doin’ what you asked.” He handed the Colt butt-first to the other man.

  “The knife as well.” Beltran pointed with Frank’s own gun. “You don’t go in with any kind of weapon.”

  Frank removed his bowie knife and threw it in the dirt. It hit with a thud, sticking a few feet away from the enforcer’s boot.

  “Don’t be cute,” Beltran said. “I may yet get to kill you tonight. Now step on in.”

  Inside, the old church had been gutted and turned into a dilapidated storehouse for Swan’s loot. Assorted rifles by the dozens lined one wall and a brass Gatling gun sat on a wooden tripod just inside the front door. Stacks of strongboxes containing hidden treasures—families’ life savings, cattle-drive payrolls—cluttered the rest of the former sanctuary. A half-dozen Mexican saddles trimmed in silver hung on stands in front of a door that led to another room in the back—the room that held Ephraim Swan.

  Beltran stopped just inside the church and pulled the door shut. It was cool inside and Frank guessed they didn’t even try to heat the large room. “Stand there by the wall so I can search you.”

  “You’ve gotta be joking.”

  “Nope,” Beltran sneered. “It’s my job to keep the man safe. I still think killin’ you is the best way to do that, but he’s determined to meet you. Says he’s gonna offer you a job if you’re as good as everyone says you are.”

  Beltran pushed him against the wall and ran a rough hand up and down both legs and up his sides. Frank winced as the hands crossed his wounds and tender scars, but gritted his teeth so the man didn’t notice he was hurting.

  “Satisfied?” Frank said after the search was over.

  “Just barely,” the dark man said. “Now, let’s get moving. I don’t want to keep the boss waiting.”

  * * *

  Frank was disappointed to find not Ephraim Swan, but Velda sitting on a long cushioned sofa in the back room. She wore a flimsy silk gown that showed more of her than Frank really wanted to see, and he immediately felt sorry for Tyler Beaumont. She smiled widely, twirling her brunette hair with a finger.

  “He’ll be right back,” she said. “He had to take care of some business. It’s good to see you, Joshua.” She licked her lips and gave Frank a sly smile that made him feel as naked as she was. “You look down. Shoulda taken Suzette up on her offer.”

  Beltran scoffed at that. “Suzette and this skinny runt?”

  “Hey, Tandy, you didn’t see this fella,” Velda grinned. “It got Suzette all in a lather, I’m tellin’ you. It was her idea.”

  The door creaked open and Swan walked in. His wool shirt was untucked, and leather suspenders hung loose from the buttons on his britches. His gun belt hung on a wooden peg on the wall behind Velda.

  Frank clenched his teeth when he saw the man, and tried not to think of Dixie. He saw her ring on the leather string around Swan’s thick neck, and kept his eyes on the ground.

  Swan was used to a certain amount of deference, and made no mention of the fact that Frank didn’t look him in the eye.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Bean,” he said, slapping Velda on the rump so she’d slide over. He flopped down beside her and rested his hand where he’d swatted her. “I’ve gotta say, you’re not what I pictured for a man who beat my giant.”

  “I reckon I was lucky,” Frank said. He kept his voice low and slouched to add to his disguise.

  Swan shook his head. “Lucky twice. First with Big Un, then with Hal. Hal was no Clay Bonner, but he wasn’t slow either.” The outlaw leader looked at Frank and shook his head. “No, I don’t believe in that kind of luck.” He leaned forward. “Have we met before somewhere?”

  Frank shook his head. “Not that I know of.” Swan was working his brain, trying to place his face. Frank needed to change the subject. “Your man here says you might have a job for me.”

  Swan nodded slowly, rubbing his face. His white eyebrow knotted and relaxed as he thought. “I might. Beltran wants me to kill you. Says there’s no way I can ever trust you.” He motioned Frank closer with a curled finger. He whispered, although his enforcer was only a few feet away and could hear every word. Swan’s eyes glowed as if he’d been drinking. “I don’t think that’s what it is, though. You know what I think? I think the man’s afraid you might muscle him out of his job.”

  “Horse shit!” Beltran spit. “This two-bit scarecrow couldn’t whip me if I was drunk and asleep!”

  “We’ll see,” Swan said. “But first we have to see if he’s trustworthy.” He suddenly leaned back again beside a stoic Velda. “Can you take orders, Bean?”

  “Sure. I suppose it depends on the orders. If you want me to kill Beltran, I’d be happy to.”

  The dark man stiffened and Swan chuckled. Velda giggled until Beltran gave her a cold stare.

  “I like your style. If it was up to me, I’d hire you right now.” He swatted the girl on the rump again. This time hard enough to make her flinch and bring tears to her eyes. “Hell, what am I thinking? It is up to me. You’re hired, Bean.”

  “That’s it?” Frank stood and blinked in disbelief. This was all too easy.

  Swan pursed his lips and sighed. “Not quite. You do need to have a little test to check the measure of your loyalty.” He nodded at Beltran, who disappeared through the door behind him without another word. “Do you want to work for me, Bean?”

  “I do,” Frank said, judging the distance he would have to cover to get at Swan’s gun now that Beltran was out of the room. He wondered if Velda would be a friend or an enemy when he made his move. Another man he could have trampled underfoot, but this woman looked to be just another in a long line of Swan’s victims.

  Frank took a half step toward the gun belt before the door flew open and Beltran dragged in a tightly bound Tyler Beaumont.

  The young Ranger had been beaten severely. Large black and blue circles puffed out under swollen eyes. Dried blood crusted below his nose and cracked lips. A rawhide gag ran between his teeth and around his head. His hat was missing, and his shirt was torn almost completely off his body. His hands were tied behind his back, and one boot was gone.

  Frank could see he struggled to remain conscious, to look death in the face when it came to him. Someone had sold him out. Beaumont’s eyes widened when he saw Velda sitting on the couch beside Swan, and he hung his head.

  “How well do you know Johnny Nugget?” Swan lit a cigar and waved the match at the wounded pile of flesh.

  Frank steeled his emotions and shrugged. “Never saw him before I rode into town. He seemed like a good enough old boy. What did he do to make you mad at him?”

  “You’re a bad judge of character in this case, Bean. I been told that Nugget here is more than meets the eye.”

  “How’s that?” Frank cast a quick glance at Beltran. The man grinned at Beaumont cruelly. Beaumont’s wounds were at least an hour old, and Frank knew this was the man that had given them to him. You just made my list, he thought to himself.

  “I hear the little bastard is a Texas Ranger,” Swan spit, leaning back so he could snatch the pistol out of the holster on the wall behind him. “He’s here to spy on us. All of us.”

  Velda hid her face, and Frank couldn’t tell how she felt about the circumstances. One thing was sure, Tyler was young. If he was sleeping with her, he’d likely let something slip. Maybe the fool girl had thought it would get her some advantage to play the rat and tell the Ranger’s secret.

  Swan’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits as he studied Frank’s reaction. “We can’t have that goin’ on around here. Can we, Bean?”

  Frank sighed. He knew what was coming and tried to form a quick plan of a
ction. “No,” he said. “I reckon we can’t have that.”

  “Glad you feel that way.” Swan grabbed the pistol by the barrel and handed it to Frank. “Go ahead and shoot him then. It’ll take care of two problems at once. I can see if you follow orders and I’ll be rid of the stinkin’ lawman to boot.”

  Frank took the pistol. He pointed it at the Ranger’s belly, then cocked it.

  Tyler looked up at him, his swollen eyes wide and bloodshot. His mouth worked back and forth around the stiff gag, but he said nothing. He nodded almost imperceptibly to Frank, then looked at Velda and closed his eye—resigned to his fate.

  “You want him to die quick or suffer?” Frank said, looking over his shoulder at Swan. There was a glint of regret in Velda’s brown eyes.

  The outlaw chuckled. “I do like your style. No, I just want him dead.”

  “Don’t!” Velda screamed.

  Swan and Beltran both laughed.

  Without another pause, Frank pointed the pistol at Ranger Beaumont’s head and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 36

  Frank was almost positive the gun would be empty, but when the hammer snapped and nothing happened to the boy’s head, he let out an audible sigh of relief.

  As careful as Swan was not to let anyone in with a weapon, it didn’t make any sense to him to give anyone a loaded gun just to test their mettle. If Frank would have followed his inclination instead of his instincts and turned the gun on the outlaw, there was no question that Beltran would have blown a hole in him as quick as he could pull the trigger.

  “Good for you, Bean. You passed.” The outlaw gave Velda another resounding swat on the thigh. “You, on the other hand, seem to care a lot more about this damn spy than you do about me.”

  The girl shook her head. “That ain’t true. I just didn’t want his brains splattered all over the pillows.” Velda regained some of her steel, but Frank could still make out a look of pity in her eye when she snuck a glance at Beaumont.

  Swan blew a smoke ring with his cigar. “We’ll see about that,” he said. He waved his hand at Beltran. “Get him out of here.”