The Vengeance Seeker 4

by Will C. Knott

Rose pulled to a halt on the other side of Reno. “Hot water,” she said with relief, “and a nice steaming bath.” Then she looked at Reno. “And a chance to eat someone else’s cooking for a change.” Reno had made her do all the cooking for them and she hadn’t liked it.

  “That’ll be a relief for sure,” said Wes. “For all of us.”

  Rose didn’t like that crack, but Reno was relieved when she did not snipe back at Wes. Their constant bickering had been getting on his nerves.

  Wes looked at Reno. “That town is as good a place as any for us to split up, Reno.”

  “We’d better wait for Tom.”

  Wes sent a quick dart of tobacco juice from the corner of his mouth. “Hell! Tom ain’t comin’ back. And you know that.”

  “No, I don’t, Wes,” Reno said reasonably.

  “Well, goddamnit, I ain’t going on with you no longer. I’m taking my share and splitting. That lawman is still on our trail. I can feel it.”

  “We’ll talk on it later, Wes. After we’ve both had a chance to rest up and cool off.”

  “Now, look here, I’ll—”

  He was stopped by Reno’s smile. It was a thin, humorless smile, and Reno’s eyes had a chill in them that communicated instantly to Wes the fact that Reno had had enough of this particular discussion.

  Reno turned in his saddle and urged his horse on ahead, anxious to keep a good distance ahead of them both.

  It was still light when they rode into Lawson. Still riding ahead of Rose and Wes, Reno pulled his horse up to the Lawson Hotel’s hitch rail. As he got ready to dismount, a huge, bearded individual stepped out of the hotel’s saloon. A dusty star was pinned to his buttonless vest.

  The big sheriff paused when he saw Reno. “Looks like you made it, Reno.”

  “Maybe,” said Reno, swinging off his mount. “Will you be in your office later on?”

  “Sure, Reno.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  The sheriff nodded and walked off down the street. Reno looked around at Rose and Wes, pulling in beside him.

  “Hotel’s expensive,” he said as they dismounted. “But it’s the only one in town that don’t have more grey backs than beds. Wes, take care of the horses.” He looked at Rose. “Rose, you can stay in a separate room or you can bunk with me.”

  “With you, Reno,” she said quickly, flashing a smile at him. Her face was streaked with sweat and grime, her lips dry and cracked and her long dark hair hung in lank snarls across her shoulders.

  Reno smiled gamely and said, “That’s swell, Rose.”

  He flung the four heavy saddlebags over his shoulder and led the way into the hotel.

  An hour later, bathed, barbered, and well fed, Reno left Rose with Wes in the hotel dining room and went in search of Sheriff Pete Barnum. The big man was waiting for Reno in his office as he had promised. When Reno entered, Barnum reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and hauled into view a sorely depleted bottle of brandy and two shot glasses.

  Reno sat down while Barnum poured, after which they took up their glasses, saluted and gulped down the contents in one quick dip of their heads. Barnum grinned as he slapped his empty shot glass down.

  “You cleaned the bank out, I hear.”

  “The bank was nothing,” Reno replied. “And it had just about what you figured it would.”

  Barnum smiled expansively. “Anything for a friend.”

  “Did you know that Wolf Caulder was the marshal at Green River?”

  The man shrugged. “Sure, I knew. Visited with him when I went through the place.” He grinned. “While I was casing it.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “Hell, I figured since you knew him, he’d just look the other way. For old time’s sake.”

  “I had to wound him. But he’s probably on my trail right now.”

  Barnum’s bushy eyebrows shot up. His beard, dark brown overall, was shaded from chocolate to rusty red. And from behind all that hair peered two narrow slits of bright blue. On more than one occasion Reno had broken up a town with this bear of a man at his side.

  “You blaming me for that, Reno?”

  “I ain’t blaming you for anything, Pete. I’m just telling you what happened is all.” He reached back for the thick wallet he had carried with him from the hotel. “Here’s your cut.”

  Reno counted out twenty one-hundred dollar bills, then paused and looked at Barnum. “That’s what we agreed on. Right?”

  The man nodded greedily.

  “Well, here’s an extra five hundred for casing the bank that good.” Reno counted slowly, using fifties this time, watching Barnum’s eyes light with each bill he placed down. “And here’s another five hundred to take care of Wolf Caulder—if he gets this far.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You heard me,” Reno said, continuing to count.

  Pete shrugged and gathered up the bills. He folded them into a roll and snapped a thick rubber band around it. “That’s real generous, Reno. You pretty sure Wolf Caulder’s going to show up here?”

  Reno told Pete about the two miners.

  “I sent Tom Gibson back to check on what happened,” Reno said, finishing up, “and I’m waiting here for him. But I don’t expect much. Tom’s just a kid. And you know Caulder. He’s a good tracker.”

  Barnum shook his head. “Caulder ain’t no tracker. He’s a devil. And I sure as hell don’t envy those two miners.” Then the big man shrugged. “But I’m the law in this here flea’s nest. If Caulder shows, I’ll just have to clap him in one of those cells in there and throw away the key. When you leaving for Canada?”

  “I got some business here first. Soon’s I get that taken care of, I’ll head for the border. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of days—maybe three on the outside.”

  “That woman. She your wife?”

  “Hell!” Reno exploded, as he got up and stalked out of the sheriff’s office.

  Returning to the hotel, Reno met Rose in the lobby and went upstairs with her, leaving Wes to find himself a poker game in the saloon next door. A couple of hours later Reno came back down and entered the saloon himself. It was called The Drover’s Hall. Wes was at a table in the rear with three others and a very small stack of chips on the table in front of him, an expression of glum dismay on his beet-red face.

  He saw Reno coming, but did not bother to look up or acknowledge his presence in any way.

  He had been sullen at supper; and it was obvious to Reno that Wes was still determined to have them split up in Lawson—with half of what was left of the sixty thousand in his saddlebags when he rode out.

  As Reno pulled up a chair to watch, Wes slapped his hand down. The gambler across from him raked in the pile of chips while Wes watched him with smoldering eyes.

  Abruptly, Wes turned to Reno. “You going to let me have any money?”

  “Sure, Wes. How much you need?”

  Wes got crafty all of a sudden. “Five hundred.”

  “No problem, Wes.” Reno took out his wallet and handed Wes five bills, then smiled. “You worked for it. And there’s more where that came from.”

  Wes looked with sudden gratitude at Reno, then spun around to catch the attention of the barkeep. “More chips!” he called to the man.

  Reno smiled and leaned back to watch the game.

  Well past midnight, after Wes chased a pair of aces with a brace of jacks and then slumped face down on the table, Reno helped Wes out of the saloon and up to his hotel room. He called Rose over from their room to undress the barely conscious man and tuck him in, then went back to the saloon.

  The gambler—during the game Reno had heard the man referred to as Tex Randall—was still at the table, in the act of counting his pile of chips. He looked up with a frown when Reno sat down opposite him.

  In a deceptively casual movement Reno drew his Colt and laid it down on the table, the muzzle facing the gambler. The saloon was almost empty by this time and its quiet was accentuated by the sound of Reno�
�s revolver being cocked. The gambler’s face had gone ashen. Reno reached swiftly across the table, grabbed the man’s shirtfront and pulled him out of his seat and up onto the table, spilling his neat pile of chips. With his other hand Reno reached inside the man’s jacket and pulled his derringer from its silk holster.

  Then Reno let the man sag back into his chair as he stuck the small pistol into his belt. “Now we can talk,” Reno said as he holstered his own six-gun.

  But before Reno began, he looked back at the bar and beckoned to a stocky fellow nursing a beer. The man hesitated, but when Reno waved a second time, he dragged his stein off the bar and lumbered warily over to the table.

  “Sit down, mister,” said Reno, indicating the chair to his right.

  The fellow sat, flashing a quizzical look in Randall’s direction.

  Reno looked at the gambler then and smiled. “I want what you took from my friend,” he told Randall quietly.

  The gambler’s face darkened. “That’s robbery. I won it fair. You saw.”

  “That’s right,” Reno said. “I saw you and your partner here fleece my friend.”

  Reno looked then at Randall’s burly accomplice. He was a florid-faced, slack-jawed individual whose watery eyes now flickered unhappily back to the gambler. “What’s your name, mister?” Reno asked.

  “Milt.”

  “How long you been working with this four-flusher, Milt?”

  “Now, listen here,” Randall blustered. “You ain’t got no proof at all that Milt was a plant during that game!”

  Randall had a sleek, well-manicured look with a thin trace of a mustache. But the mustache needed trimming and the sleek look did not stand up to closer scrutiny. His black, well-tailored jacket was shiny now and frayed at the cuffs and lapels. The gambler had fallen on hard times, which explained his presence here in Lawson.

  “Proof?” Reno said to Randall. “I’m telling you what I saw. Milt watched my partner’s hand. His thumbs were hooked into his cartridge belt. His right thumb did all the work, changing positions after every deal. Depending on which cartridge his thumb lit on, you could tell what Wes was holding.”

  Reno smiled at Milt. “The first cartridge was an ace, the second king, and so on. Not very complicated, Milt. Seems to me you could have varied it some—or didn’t you figure Wes and me was very bright?”

  When Reno saw the dismay on their faces, he leaned back in his chair and smiled coldly at the gambler.

  “All of it,” he said quietly to Randall. “I want all of it back.”

  With trembling hands Randall pushed the chips across the table toward Reno. Reno pulled them closer and began stacking them quickly. When he had finished his count, he looked back at Randall and smiled.

  “That’s fine,” he said leaning suddenly forward and speaking quietly. “Now maybe we can get down to some serious talk. I have a deal you might be interested in—providing you can show more savvy than you been showing up to now. You interested?”

  The two men looked at each other in mild astonishment, then leaned forward to listen to what Reno had in mind.

  Reno stood by the window and looked down at the street’s sun baked surface. His lean face was impassive, his thick black hair combed out now so that it hung neatly about his shoulders. Rose and he had just finished dressing themselves and he was enjoying the feel of the silk shirt against his body—the only extravagance he had allowed himself these past four days.

  There was little traffic on the street. At ten in the morning that would not be surprising, even in a prosperous cow town, which this wasn’t. But Lawson would show even less traffic as the day wore on. Not until nightfall did this town’s business pick up and not until dawn did it go dormant again. Lawson was a real hellhole, but one that seemed to be sorely needed in this grim north country. The few cattlemen and nesters who still survived in this area steered as clear of this town as they could, leaving it for the occasional bank robber or gambler on the dodge. With the end of the trail towns, Lawson and other towns like this one had become almost a necessity. At least for men of Reno’s stamp.

  Reno turned from the window to look at Rose. She was humming to herself as she finished combing out her long auburn hair. She had made the bed and was sitting on it while she combed. Catching his glance, she misunderstood completely and pouted seductively.

  “You’ve had enough for now,” she told him.

  He nodded and looked away just as someone rapped on the door. “That’ll be the boys, Rose. Open it.”

  Rose hastily placed her brush down and pulled open the door. With almost comic furtiveness Milt and Randall sidled into the room as Rose closed the door firmly behind them.

  Reno smiled and walked over to them as Randall took out his bulging wallet. Rose watched carefully as the gambler counted out the money onto the bedspread. She had been on hand during last night’s entire game and had kept all of Wes’s losses, which—as usual—had been considerable.

  “... three thousand four hundred, three thousand five hundred, three thousand six hundred—and fifty ... four, five, six.” Randall straightened and looked up at Rose, who nodded quickly to Reno.

  Reno had brought over a saddlebag while Randall counted. “This makes close to fifteen thousand he’s dropped in all,” said Reno as he stuffed the bills into the saddlebag. “You’re doing fine, boys—but you’d better go for all of it tonight, before he catches wise.”

  Randall nodded nervously, then glanced at Rose, a question in his eyes.

  “Don’t worry. She’ll be ready,” said Reno. “We’ve been rehearsing. By the time Wes gets that hand, he should be pretty far gone.” He glanced at Rose. “You’ll see to that too, won’t you, Rose?”

  “Leave it to me, Reno,” she said lightly. But he could tell she was nervous as well.

  Reno passed both men two hundred dollars each. This was not all they had agreed to as their cut. They would get their final payoff tomorrow morning before Reno moved out. Randall and Milt took the money without a word, nodded goodbye to Rose and quickly slipped out of the room.

  As Rose closed the door behind them, she turned to Reno. “Do you want me to go in to Wes now?”

  Reno nodded. “Keep him happy. Like you been doing.”

  She made a face, then turned and slipped out the door. Reno went to the door after her. He looked out and watched her move down the hallway, rap softly on Wes’s door, then let herself in.

  As soon as she closed the door behind her, he went back for his hat, then left his room and started down the stairs.

  He found Pete Barnum in Ma Jimson’s, sipping a cup of coffee at a table close to the window. The sheriff pushed out a chair for Reno and as Reno sat down, he waved at Ma for a cup of coffee.

  “I’ll be moving out tomorrow,” Reno told the sheriff.

  Barnum set down his coffee and wiped his beard, his bright blue eyes narrowing as he watched Reno’s face. “Alone?”

  Reno shrugged. “That depends on how things turn out.”

  Barnum smiled. “I’d like to know what you got cooking, Reno.”

  Ma Jimson brought Reno his coffee. “No you wouldn’t.”

  “Looks to me like the only one in town who don’t know what’s going on at that table every night is Wes Tomlin—and I got a idea he’ll be getting wise pretty damn soon.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe, hell.” Barnum grinned. “You’re priming him.”

  Reno shrugged and leaned back. “You just let me handle this my way, Pete.”

  The big man finished his coffee. “Hell, I ain’t planning on interfering none. I’m just curious is all. That’s an awful lot of money crossing that table, and those two hustlers ain’t all that good.”

  Reno grinned as he looked up from his plate. “They’re good enough, Pete.”

  The man sat back and looked closely at Reno. “You still think Caulder is on your tail?”

  “Looks like it. Gibson should have shown up by now. The fact he ain’t means Caulder’s stopped him,
most likely.”

  “You’re cutting it pretty close, ain’t you?”

  “I’m counting on the law, sheriff,” Reno said, finishing his coffee and standing up. “Just keep him here. Hell, kill him if you have to. I ain’t letting anyone keep me from that spread in Canada. Not even Wolf Caulder.” Reno tugged his hat down more securely and headed for the door. “Just one more thing, Pete,” he said, pausing. “I was looking for you to keep an eye out for me. I’ve left my saddlebags in my room.”

  “Anyone you’re worried about in particular?”

  “Sure. Anyone in this here town who knows how much I’ve been shelling out for Wes.”

  “Sure you can trust me?”

  Reno smiled. “I figure you know just how far you’d have to go to shake me if you tried anything like that...”

  Barnum smiled grimly. “Clear to hell, I reckon.”

  Reno nodded and stepped outside of the restaurant and paused for a moment on the sagging boardwalk. He meant what he had just told Pete Barnum. He would hound clear to hell anyone who tried to take from him what he had been working for all this time. And that meant he wasn’t going to share it either. Not with Wes Tomlin, nor with those two gamblers—and, sure as hell, not with Rose Compton.

  He thought of the saddlebags then, unguarded for the moment in his room, and started quickly across the street toward the hotel.

  It was well past sundown when Reno, looking down from his window, saw the crowd of horses and some buckboards drawn up in front of the Drover’s Hall. The big game had already commenced then. He left the window, slapped on his hat, and left the room.

  A few moments later, he pushed through the batwings and paused, letting the batwings ease shut behind him. The game was in progress at the usual table in the back of the saloon. He walked over to the long bar, glanced into the mirror, caught Rose’s eye, then looked away at the barkeep.

  “Whiskey,” he told him.

  As the barkeep slapped the glass down and poured his drink, Reno asked, “How’s it going?”