Torture Town

by William W. Johnstone

  “I left her in Springfield,” Sylvia replied with a smile as she and her brother embraced.

  “Hello, Sylvia. Though I guess, now that you are all grown up, it should be Miss Sylvia,” Gabe said.

  “Didn’t you tell me years ago that you would always be my special friend?” Sylvia said.

  “Yes, ma’am, I sure did.”

  “Am I still your special friend?”

  “Yes, ma’am, you are.”

  “Then it’s still Sylvia.”

  Gabe’s smile spread, then he called some of the cowboys over. One of the men looked after the buckboard and the team, while the other two grabbed Sylvia’s luggage.

  “Your old room is ready for you, honey,” Morgan said. “Show the men where to put your luggage.”

  “Sure,” Sylvia said. “Come along.”

  Morgan watched his daughter lead the two cowboys toward the house. “I sure am happy to have her back,” he said.

  “Yeah, I’ve missed her too,” Nate said.

  “Nate, we need to tell your pa,” Gabe said.

  “Tell me? Tell me what?” Morgan asked, concerned by the tone in Gabe’s voice. “What is it? What has happened?”

  “There is nothing that has happened yet, but some of the men want to get revenge for what the BR folks did to Jimmy,” Gabe said.

  Morgan shook his head. “No. Keep them in check. I’m afraid this whole thing is on the verge of getting completely out of hand. A feud is one thing. A war is something else.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Gabe said.

  “And I may as well tell you, we got held up on the way back,” Morgan said.

  “Held up? What do you mean? You mean you were robbed? Well, how much money did you have?”

  “It wasn’t the money they were after,” Morgan said. “They tried to take your sister. They were going to hold her for ransom.”

  “Damn! What happened?”

  “Someone . . . and I don’t have the slightest idea who it was . . . but someone who was close by saw what was going on and shot one of the men. The other two ran off, and I put the team to gallop.”

  “Well, thank heavens for whoever it was.”

  “Do you know who the road agents were?” Nate asked.

  “They said they were working for the BR,” Morgan said.

  “You mean they just came out and told you that?”

  “Not exactly, but when I accused them of being Ross men, they validated it.”

  “Do you believe them?”

  “Why would they say they were riding for him if they weren’t?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t know, could just be some outlaws who have heard what’s going on here and figure to cash in on it some way,” Gabe suggested.

  Morgan stroked his chin, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I suppose I could see someone doing that. But I hope that’s not it. I hate to see this thing get any further out of hand.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Risco, New Mexico

  It was dark by the time Matt reached the town of Risco and as Spirit and the horse he was leading plodded down the dirt street, the hollow clopping sound of their hoof falls echoing back from the darkened, false-fronted stores and houses. From the back of one of the houses a baby cried, and Matt heard the cooing sound of its mother comforting it.

  Such sounds barely registered with Matt now. He was well aware that another world existed outside his own . . . a world of husbands and wives, children and homes, schools, churches and socials, but such things were so remote from his own experience that he was unable to dredge up even a twinge of envy, or regret, for his exclusion.

  Someone saw that he was leading a horse, over which was draped a dead body, and he called out.

  “Someone’s bringin’ in a body!”

  His call was picked up by another, and then another, so that by the time Matt was one third of the way down the street he had picked up an entourage of curious men who were walking along the boardwalk, moving quickly enough to keep pace with him.

  “Who you got there, mister?” someone called.

  “Who is that?” another asked.

  “Where’s the marshal’s office?” Matt replied.

  “It’s just in front of you.”

  Even as he was answered, he saw the words, dimly illuminated in a gas-burning street lamp, on the front of a small building. The sign read CITY MARSHAL so he headed there.

  By the time he reached the marshal’s office, at least a dozen of his impromptu followers were already there, and one of them opened the door and called inside.

  “Marshal Kincaid! Marshal, you better get out here! We got a body for you!”

  By the time Matt dismounted, Marshal Kincaid, a tall, slender man with white hair and dark eyes, was coming toward the horse with the body.

  “Who killed ’im?” the marshal asked, lifting the head of the body for a closer examination.

  “I killed him,” Matt replied.

  “Was it a needed killin’?”

  “Doesn’t seem likely I would’ve brought him back here if I didn’t think the killing was justified, does it?” Matt asked.

  The marshal expectorated a wad of tobacco, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “No,” he agreed. “That don’t seem likely a’tall. Who is this feller?”

  “I don’t have any idea.”

  “You don’t know? You kill a man, and you don’t even know who he is?”

  “You aren’t accusing me of anything, are you, Marshal?” Matt asked pointedly.

  “Now, hold on there,” the marshal said easily. “You ain’t in no trouble. Leastwise, not with me, you ain’t. Like you said, you brung ’im in your ownself. I don’t reckon you woulda done that if you had somethin’ you wanted to hide. How come you to kill ’im?”

  “He was about to kill a man and a woman.”

  “Who was he about to kill?”

  “I don’t have any idea.

  “You didn’t ask ’em their names?”

  “I didn’t get the chance to talk to them. After I shot this man, they ran away before I could get to them.”

  “Get to them?”

  “I shot this one with a rifle, from some distance away,” Matt said. “There were two more road agents with them, all three of them wearing a hood. Like this one,” he added, pulling a hood from his pocket and showing it to the marshal. But they ran off as well.”

  “You a bounty hunter? Because if you are, I can’t be authorizin’ no bounty for somebody if I don’t even know he who is.”

  “I’ve collected a few bounties from time to time, but I wasn’t after one with this man.”

  “You’ve collected a few bounties? Damn, mister, a person doesn’t just collect a bounty from time to time. Who are you, anyway?”

  “The name is Jensen. Matt Jensen.”

  “Matt Jensen!” someone in the crowd said, speaking the name not only in awe, but also with a sense of pride in letting the others know that he recognized the name.

  “Come on in,” Marshal Kincaid invited. “I’ll need to get a statement from you for the judge. And I’ve got some coffee.”

  “All right,” Matt said, and he followed Kincaid into the office. There, another man inside, also wearing a badge, stood up as they entered.

  “Boykin, there’s a body draped over a horse outside. Take him down to Yancey’s place, will you?”

  “Marshal, the undertakin’ office is more ’n likely closed at this hour,” Boykin said.

  “Well, knock on the door until he opens up, unless you plan to just let the body stay out front all night.”

  “All right,” Boykin said.

  Marshal Kincaid stepped over to a small stove, where sat a pot. He picked up the pot, poured some coffee into a cup, and handed it to Matt.

  “Thanks,” Matt said, reaching for the coffee.

  “Matt Jensen, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve heard of you.”

  Matt didn’t rep
ly, but took a swallow of coffee.

  “And, from what I’ve heard of you,” the marshal continued, “You ain’t the kind of man who kills someone without they need killin’. But I thought you mostly stayed in Colorado.”

  “I do, mostly,” Matt said.

  “What brings you to New Mexico.”

  “Rufus Draco.”

  The marshal looked up quickly, reacting to the name. “Rufus Draco?”

  “You know him?”

  “Oh, yeah, I know him. I’ve been knowing Draco for over twenty years. I was the first one to ever put him jail. He was only fourteen or fifteen then, and if I could have put him in prison, I would’ve done it.”

  “What did he do?”

  “There was some girl he was tryin’ to spark, but she didn’t want to have anything to do with him, so he killed her pet dog. I know this will be hard for you to believe, but he didn’t just kill the dog, he carved it up into pieces, and left it on the girl’s front porch.”

  Matt thought of what Draco had done to the Lewis family, and to Michelle. “No, it’s not at all hard to believe,” he said.

  “You said you was here, lookin’ for ’im. You think he’s back in New Mexico, do you?”

  “I know he is in New Mexico, and I have reason to believe that he might be here.”

  “What?” Marshal Kincaid said in surprise. “Do you mean here in Risco?”

  “I’ve heard that he might be.”

  Marshal Kincaid shook his head. “No, sir, he ain’t here, and I can tell you that for a fact. If he was here, I woulda seen him.”

  “What if he is here, but he doesn’t want to be seen? Is that possible?”

  “Well, sir, I reckon it is possible,” Kincaid said. “But it sure don’t seem likely. What makes you think he might be here?”

  “I’ve heard that he is trying to put together some sort of operation that is supposed to make a lot of money.”

  Marshal Kincaid laughed. “Well, hell, that right there ought to prove that he ain’t here. There ain’t no lot of money to be made in Risco, ’cause there ain’t no lot of money in Risco.”

  “You said you wanted a statement about the body I brought in?”

  “Yes. Can you write?”

  “Yes, I can write.”

  “There’s pen and paper on the desk. Just write in your own words what happened, then sign it. That’s all I’ll need for the judge.”

  “All right,” Matt agreed.

  Sitting at the desk, Matt wrote, in only one paragraph, what had happened.

  I saw three armed and masked men stop a buckboard. A man and woman were in the buckboard and, under gunpoint, one of the three armed and masked men was forcing the woman from the buckboard. I shot him, and the other two ran away. I don’t know who the man and woman were, as they also ran away.

  Matt signed the paper and handed it to the marshal. “If you don’t need me anymore, I’m going down to the saloon to have a beer.”

  “Go ahead. You’re finished here,” Marshal Kincaid said.

  Under the soft, golden light of three gleaming chandeliers, the atmosphere in the Belly Up Saloon was quite congenial. Half a dozen men stood at one end of the bar, engaged in friendly conversation, while at the other end, the barkeep stayed busy cleaning glasses. Most of the tables were filled with cowboys and storekeepers laughing over exchanged stories, or flirting with one of the several bar girls whose presence added to the agreeable atmosphere.

  The saloon was nearly full, but it was relatively quiet. The girls were moving from table to table, smiling and flirting with the men, sometimes taking off a customer’s hat and running their fingers through his hair.

  At a table at the rear of the saloon, Kris Dagan sat with his back to the wall, playing a game of solitaire. Dagan was a little shorter than average, a particularly ugly man with stringy, brown hair, dark, beady eyes, a narrow mouth, and a nose that was shaped somewhat like a hawk’s beak.

  A few minutes earlier Dagan had been one of the many who had followed Matt up the street when he arrived with the dead body, belly down over a horse. What separated Dagan from the rest of the onlookers was that he knew who the dead man was. It was Poke Gillespie. Dagan knew Gillespie, and he knew that he was involved in something with Tully Cates over in Thirty Four Corners . . . something that Gillespie said was going to make him a lot of money. Well, Gillespie was dead now, and that meant that if whatever he was involved in with Cates was still going on, they might need someone to take Gillespie’s place, especially if there was a lot of money to be made.

  Dagan smiled, and dealt the cards out for a new game. He would have to go over to Thirty Four Corners and look up Cates. It could turn into a very profitable trip.

  When Matt went downstairs from his hotel room the next morning, he saw Marshal Kincaid standing at the check-in desk.

  “Mr. Jensen,” Marshal Kincaid said with a touch of thumb and forefinger to the brim of his hat.

  “Marshal. Are you here to see me? Something wrong with the statement I wrote out for you?”

  “No, the statement is fine,” Marshal Kincaid said. “Have you ever heard of a man named Poke Gillespie?”

  “Poke Gillespie? No, I can’t say as I have. Should I have?”

  “The only reason I asked is because that’s the name of the man that you killed.”

  “Like I said, I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Well, he’s worth five hundred dollars, but if you want it, you’re going to have to stay around for a couple of days until I get the authorization.”

  Matt smiled. “I can always stay a few more days for five hundred dollars,” he said.

  “I thought you might.”

  “Say, where’s the best place to get breakfast?”

  “Well, that depends,” the marshal answered.

  “Depends on what?”

  “It depends on how hungry you are. If you are wantin’ fancy food, you might try Delmonico’s. But if you are really hungry, you can’t beat Billy Frank’s Eats.”

  “I’m really hungry.”

  “Then Billy Frank’s is the place for you. Come outside, I’ll show you where it is.”

  “Better yet, why don’t you have breakfast with me, my treat?” Matt invited. He smiled. “I’m five hundred dollars richer this morning than I was when I went to bed last night.”

  Marshal Kincaid smiled. “I know the day is still young, but it’s the best offer I’ve had so far.”

  “Hello, Marshal,” someone called out to them as Matt and the marshal stepped inside the restaurant.

  “Hello, Billy Frank.”

  “Brought me a new customer this morning, did you, Marshal?”

  “Actually, he brought me,” Marshal Kincaid said. “I’m his guest.”

  “Well, you know where your table is,” Billy Frank said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  By now, word had spread around town that the man who’d arrived with a body belly down on a horse the night before was none other than Matt Jensen, and his name was whispered from customer to customer as Matt and Marshal Kincaid moved to a table in the back corner. Because the table was in the corner, both Matt and Marshal Kincaid were able to have their backs against a wall.

  “How did you find out who Gillespie was?” Matt asked.

  “Someone in town recognized him,” Marshal Kincaid said. “Then I started looking through all my dodgers and found one on him. The description matches perfectly.”

  “Well, I’m glad someone recognized him.”

  “Here is something else you might be interested in,” Marshal Kincaid said. “When I went through everything I have on him, I saw that one of his known associates is Rufus Draco.”

  “Draco? I wonder if Draco was one of the other two men?”

  “Could be.”

  “Damn. If he was, it’s too bad I shot Gillespie instead of him.”

  “If you knew who the two people in the buckboard were, the man and woman, it might help in your search,” Marshal Kincaid suggested.
/>
  “When the left, they were heading west,” Matt said. “What is the next town west of Loter Mesa?”

  “Thirty Four Corners.”

  “Then that is my next stop.”

  Billy Frank approached the table then, with a small tablet in his hand.

  “All right, gents, what will it be?” he asked.

  “Bacon, two eggs over easy, and biscuits,” Marshal Kincaid said.

  “And you, sir?”

  “Do you have pancakes?”

  Billy smiled, and nodded. “I have the best in New Mexico,” he said, proudly.

  “Good, I’ll take half a dozen pancakes,” Matt said.

  “All right, coffee with that?” Billy asked as he started to leave the table.

  “Yes, but wait, I’m not through. I’ll also want three or four pieces of bacon, about the same number of sausage patties, and a large piece of fried ham.”

  “My, that’s quite an appetite,” Billy said.

  “It’s been awhile. I haven’t eaten since last night.”

  Billy chuckled. “You haven’t eaten since last night,” he said. “That’s a good one.” Again, he started to turn, but Matt still wasn’t finished.

  “Better bring me a couple of eggs, over easy, and some fried potatoes. Oh, and do you have any gravy?”

  “Gravy? You want gravy over your pancakes?”

  Matt chuckled. “No, I want gravy over biscuits.”

  “Yes, sir, of course, you’ll be wanting biscuits.”

  Billy remained at the table for several more seconds.

  “What is it?” Matt asked. “What are you waiting on?”

  “I wasn’t sure you were through with your order,” Billy said.

  “No, I think that’ll do it,” Matt said. “But you might check with me from time to time to see if I need anything else.”

  “Check with you, indeed,” Billy said as he walked away.

  Marshal Kincaid laughed. “Are you really going to eat all of that, or are you just putting Billy Frank on?”

  “I think I can eat it all,” Matt said with a chuckle. “But I confess that I was sort of enjoying laying it on for him.”