by Ralph Cotton
“Right,” said Paco. He looked at Huey Buckles and said, “You, Comanchero. Come on. You’re riding with me.”
Buckles grinned and asked Quintos, “Any problem if we rob something while we’re there?”
Quintos only stared blankly at him.
Buckles turned to Ceran for an answer.
“Keep your nose clean, Buckles,” Ceran warned. “Do what Paco tells you. Both of you keep an ear open for how things are coming along with the rail spur.”
Trueblood wished he was riding with Paco—anything to get out from under Ceran’s thumb. But that wasn’t going to happen. He sighed and turned to the horse he’d chosen from among Quintos’ string of spare mustangs. Without another word to anyone, he stepped up into a battered, wood-framed cavalry saddle and let out a long breath. He didn’t know how he’d ever get off of the spot he was on.
PART 2
Chapter 8
Sitting beside Kitty, who drove the big, lumbering freight wagon, Clayton Longworth had drifted off to sleep. He awakened with a start when he realized his head had fallen onto Kitty’s shoulder. “Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Longworth said, straightening quickly on the wagon seat and batting his eyes. He looked all around. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. It won’t happen again.”
“I don’t mind, Detective,” Kitty said. “You can lay your head on my shoulder any time.” She gave him a coy look and continued guiding the team of horses.
Riding beside the wagon, leading Kitty’s horse and the spare, Sam said to Longworth, “We let you sleep, hoping it would take your mind off the pain in your hand. We’ll be coming into Wild Wind in another couple of miles.”
“Obliged, Ranger,” said Longworth, holding his swollen, bandaged hand on his lap. “It helped some, but I need to stay awake. I’m still on the job. I need to keep my wits about me.”
“Why?” asked Kitty. “Don’t you trust the ranger here with your load of rocks?”
“I trust the ranger, ma’am,” Longworth offered. “But I’m paid to watch over these samples, and that’s what I’ve got to do.” As he spoke he looked up at the ranger.
“I understand,” Sam nodded.
“Anyway, I need to have my wits about me. I’ve got a lot to do when we get to town.” He nodded at the load of ore behind him in the wagon bed. “As soon as I get my hand fixed up, these samples have to be crated up and ready to ship out to the mining office.”
“Silver samples, huh?” Sam glanced back at the pile of rough, jagged-edged rock.
“Yep,” said Longworth. “Western Railways is considering buying interests in the mining companies up here. They want to know the silver is worth what it’s going to cost to build a rail spur all the way out to Wild Wind. My job is to send whatever it takes to help them make that decision.”
“That’s the detail work you were talking about?” Sam asked.
“That’s part of it, for now anyway,” said Longworth, looking embarrassed by the question. “I know it’s not gun work, but it’s my job. I do it the best I can.”
“No offence intended, Detective,” Sam said.
“None taken,” Longworth replied, staring ahead as the wagon rocked and swayed along the rocky trail. After thinking about it, he said, “I expect there will be plenty of gun work here, once the rail crew gets to town and the tinhorns and thieves follow the smell of money. But that’ll be the new sheriff’s concern, not mine.”
Looking over at the young detective, Sam said, “Sounds like gun work is your only interest.”
“It is,” the young detective said with no hesitation. “The Longworths of Virginia are known for making their living carrying a gun. My father was a town sheriff in Virginia hill country until the day he died. I have four brothers. Every one of them makes their living carrying a gun.” He paused, then said, “You could say gun work is expected of me.”
Kitty gave him a sidelong glance and said with a smile, “You certainly look strong enough and capable enough to uphold the law, Detective Longworth. Or may I call you Clayton?”
Here we go . . . , Sam thought to himself, knowing the woman had shifted her focus away from him and onto the young detective. He hoped Longworth saw what she was doing. If he didn’t, Sam told himself, he would never make it in this business. He gazed ahead at a rise of dust looming like a dark halo above the town of Wild Wind.
A half hour later, the wagon rolled into town and came to a parallel stop in front of a newly constructed building. “This is Wild Wind’s new sheriff’s office, and Western Railways’ mining offices,” Clayton Longworth said, gesturing his good hand toward the two-story clapboard frame.
“Law and commerce under the same roof,” Sam said.
“There’s nothing unusual about that. Is there, Ranger?” Longworth asked.
“No,” Sam said, “nothing new about it at all.”
“Allow me, ma’am,” said Longworth, pulling the brake handle back for Kitty with his good hand.
“Well, thank you, Clayton,” Kitty said. “It’s good to find a gentleman of manners.” She shot Sam a flat look as she spoke.
As soon as Longworth set the brake, he stepped down from the wagon seat, his bandaged left hand cradled against his chest. “Well, Ranger Burrack, aside from these unfortunate circumstances, it’s been good to meet you.”
“Likewise, Detective Longworth,” Sam said, touching the brim of his sombrero. He swung down from his saddle, rifle in hand. Seeing that the detective was having a hard time keeping the pain in his hand from showing on his face, he said, “Why don’t you go on and get your hand looked after? I’ll make myself at home here.”
“My hand will have to wait long enough for me to show you both inside, Ranger,” Longworth said, well-mannered to a fault. “Anyway, the doctor’s office is just next door.” He nodded toward a smaller building only a few yards away along a plank boardwalk.
“Ahem,” said Kitty, attempting to draw Longworth’s attention to her as she stood up from the seat. “May a lady get a hand? Or, did I speak too soon about gentlemen and manners?” Again she gave Sam a look.
“Why, certainly you may have a hand, ma’am,” said Longworth. He reached up with his good hand and assisted her down from the wagon.
Sam watched as he spun the reins around an iron hitch rail out in front of the new building.
“After you, ma’am,” Longworth said, gesturing Kitty ahead of him to the door of the sheriff’s office. To Sam he said, “Wild Wind doesn’t have a sheriff right now. But Western Railways will be sponsoring an election for one before long.”
“Sponsoring an election?” Sam asked, as the two walked inside ahead of him.
“Yes,” said Longworth, not catching any skepticism in the ranger’s words. “Western Railways is good about that sort of thing. They believe in helping the community they do business in any way they can.”
“For now, I suppose Ed Ray Richards is still handling matters of the law here?” Sam asked.
“That’s right,” said Longworth. He stopped and gestured through an open door toward a row of three cells along the rear wall. In one cell, two pairs of eyes stared out through the shadows. “The cell on the right doesn’t yet have a lock on it yet.”
Kitty eyed the cells with a look of disgust. “You’re not putting me into one of those cages,” she said.
“No, I’m not,” said Sam. “That’ll be up to Ed Ray when he gets here.”
“Hey, lady!” a voice chuckled from the only cell in use. “You can come in here with us, if you’re scared of being alone.”
“Shut up back there,” said Longworth. To Kitty he said, “Pay them no mind, ma’am. They’re the Cullen brothers. They’re here awaiting a territory judge.” He raised his voice for the two prisoners’ benefit. “They’ll most likely be off to prison soon enough.”
Kitty gave Longworth a look of desperation. “Can you do something to help me, Detective? I don’t belong in a cell.”
Longworth shook his head apologetically. “Ma’am, this i
s the ranger’s call.” He looked at Sam. “I’ll be getting on over to the doctor now. As soon as Ed Ray sees the wagon out front, he’ll be heading this way.”
“You do that,” Sam replied. “We’ll be fine here till he arrives.”
“Tell Ed Ray to bring us some damn food,” one of the Cullen brothers heckled from the cell.
“And some damn whiskey,” the other brother said with a chuckle.
As Longworth turned and left, closing the door behind him, Kitty looked up at the ranger and said, “Sam, please don’t put me back there in a cell.”
It was her first attempt at calling him by his first name. He ignored it. “I’m not putting you in a cell,” Sam said. “I’m not even going to hold you here any longer than it takes for Ed Ray to get here. It’s up to him what he does with you.”
“But you could tell him that what I did was in self-defense,” she said, grasping his forearm.
“I’ll tell him what I saw,” Sam replied. “Ed Ray will have to take it from there and do what he thinks best.”
“Well,” she said, “thanks for not putting me in a cell, at least.” She stepped back and sat down on the end of a wooden bench attached to the wall. “Suppose I can get a cup of coffee? Or is that asking too much?” She nodded toward a battered coffeepot sitting atop a potbellied woodstove in the corner.
Sam stepped over to the stove, picked up a coffee mug, inspected it and filled it with hot coffee. “This looks strong enough to float a pistol.”
“That’s how I like it,” Kitty said, taking the mug and cupping it between her hands.
Sam saw a look in her eyes that alerted him, and he took a step back. “Don’t even think of doing anything with that coffee besides drinking it.”
“Jesus, Ranger,” Kitty replied, “I’ve never seen a man so suspicious in my life. I wasn’t thinking about throwing it on you.”
“Good,” said Sam, but he’d seen the look on her face change again. It told him he’d been right. She’d thought about throwing the hot coffee on him and making a dash for the door. Now she’d abandoned the idea, seeing that he was on to her.
Kitty blew on the coffee, sipped it, then set the mug on the bench beside her. “You’re right,” she said. “It is a little too stout for my taste.”
“I thought it might be,” the ranger said. He retrieved her mug and pitched the coffee into a waste bucket. He set the cup down on a table and started to turn when he heard five rapid blasts of gunfire coming from the direction of the cantina.
“Damn. Somebody’s bell got rung!” one of the prisoners called out from the cell.
Sam’s eyes went to Kitty.
“Go!” she said, seeing that would be his natural response. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right here—I promise!” she said quickly. “You trust me to not—”
Her words stopped abruptly as she saw one handcuff go around her wrist and the other snap around the arm of the bench.
“Damn it to hell,” she said under her breath, watching the ranger go out the door.
A dark chuckle came from the cell. “Ain’t he just the berries, that ranger pal of yours?” said a voice.
“Shut up, idiot,” Kitty snapped back at the Cullen brothers, who stood at the bars, staring out at her.
The brothers gave each other looks of feigned shock. “Damn, Cadden!” said Price Cullen. “Did you hear what she called you?” He looked stunned. “An idiot, of all things.”
“She didn’t call me that, brother,” said Cadden Cullen. “She was talking to you.” He turned his eyes from his brother and stared out at Kitty. “If a woman called me that, she’d be bound to have a spanking coming first chance I got.”
“Would she sure enough?” said Price Cullen.
“Oh, indeed, she would,” said Cadden, a dark, wistful look coming to his eyes. “A bare-handed spanking on her warm, naked buttocks,” he cooed. “I’d make sure she felt every—”
“You should live so long, you drooling idiot,” Kitty snapped.
“Whoa!” said Price in a shocked tone. “Now she’s upped it from a regular idiot to a droo—”
“I heard her,” said Cadden. He stared coldly at Kitty and said, “You’ve got a dirty mouth toward the only two people who can bust you out of here.”
Kitty looked back at the cell and eyed them up and down with distaste. “Yeah, right, you two hand-pumping fools,” she said with scorn.
“Whoa!” Price repeated. “She was talking to you that time, Cadden.”
“Oh yeah, she’s got a spanking coming for sure,” Cadden said.
Kitty took a deep breath and collected herself. “Do either of you idiots know who you’re talking to? Who I ride with?”
The brothers looked at each other. “Why no, I expect we do not,” said Price with a bemused smile. “Why don’t you just tell us?”
Chapter 9
The ranger ran the length of the dirt street to the Belleza Grande Cantina. Then he came to a halt, his Colt in one hand, his rifle in the other, watching Ed Ray Richards stagger out onto the boardwalk. “I’ve got . . . it under control . . . ,” Richards said, blood spilling from his lips, his hands pressed to three bleeding wounds on his chest.
No sooner had the wounded man spoken than another gunshot exploded inside the cantina. The bullet struck the townsman in his back and hurled him forward. He staggered off the boardwalk and into the street. Sam crouched and moved forward. Along the street, townsfolk who’d ventured out to investigate the gunshots now took cover inside shops and open doorways.
Hearing someone run up behind him, Sam gave a quick look over his shoulder and saw Clayton Longworth coming to halt at the end of his run from the doctor’s office.
“I’ve got you covered, Ranger,” Longworth said, half crouching, his Colt in hand. The ranger saw the swollen, injured left hand hanging limp at the detective’s side. The doctor had been unwrapping the wounded hand when the shots rang out. The young detective had wasted no time running toward the sound of trouble, Sam noted to himself as he motioned him toward the other side of the cantina. Sam moved forward.
“Watch the door to the alley,” Sam said over his shoulder.
“Got it,” Longworth said, hurrying away in a crouch, his attention never leaving the doors of the cantina.
The ranger hurried up and stopped beside the open doorway as another gunshot exploded and a bullet whistled past him, out along the empty street.
“I’ll kill any son of a bitch that comes through the door!” a drunken voice called out from the bar. “I’m going to hang anyway!”
“Who’s in there?” Sam asked, buying time, looking for a way to get control of the situation. “Why are you going to hang?”
“Harry Ginpole,” said the drunken voice. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m Arizona Ranger Samuel Burrack,” Sam called inside. He recognized the name Harry Ginpole. It was another of Silva Ceran’s gang of thieves. Peeping around the door frame, Sam saw the half-naked body of Ramona, the young whore, lying lifeless in a pool of blood. Oh no . . . He pictured her smiling face from only a few days earlier. “Is the woman dead, Ginpole?”
“Oh yeah, she’s dead, Ranger,” said the drunken gunman. “One bullet straight through the noggin. Damn shame, though. I didn’t mean to kill her. I wasn’t even shooting at her. She just got in the way.”
He was talking instead of firing. Good . . .
“What about Ed Ray Richards?” Sam asked. “Did you mean to kill him?”
“Yes and no,” said Ginpole. “He pulled a gun and started asking me questions like he was some kind of damn lawman. So I shot him once, you know, just to shut him up and back him down.”
“Yes, I understand,” Sam said, looking back and forth along the floor of the cantina.
“But he still wouldn’t shut up, and he wouldn’t back down. Instead he shot me in the gut. So I shot him some more,” said Ginpole, “until the damn fool finally turned and walked away. He dropped his gun on the floor.”
“Then you sh
ot him in the back,” Sam said.
“Yeah, that’s right,” said the drunken outlaw. “I wish I hadn’t done that.” He paused again, then said, “Anyway, he’s dead, and so is this little dove. I feel bad about her.”
Looking in, Sam could see the gun hanging in the big man’s hand. His other gripped his bloody lower belly.
“There’s a doctor here, Ginpole,” Sam said. “Come on out. We’ll get you patched up.”
“Uh-uh,” said Ginpole. “Patched up for what? So I can get my neck stretched? I’m not coming out there. I’m going to stand here and drink till I’m bled out. I ain’t swinging in front of a crowd, letting them see me soil my britches, the way ole Hadden Cooper did in Leadville.”
“You might not hang, Ginpole,” Sam said. “You might go to prison. Learn to make leather goods.”
“Wouldn’t that be fun,” the wounded gunman said with sarcasm.
Sam straightened up. He’d heard a total of six shots, so he knew now was his chance. He stepped warily inside the cantina. The gunman stood sweating, staring at him from the bar. Did he manage to reload? Sam wondered. He raised a cautious hand toward him.
“Easy, Ginpole,” he said. He slowly stepped forward across the floor, toward Ramona’s body. “I’ve got to see if this girl is alive. I can’t let her bleed out just because you want to.”
“I told you, I shot her in the head, Ranger,” Ginpole said. “Damn. You as stupid as Richards was?”
“I’ve got to check,” Sam said quietly. But as he stooped slightly and saw both the entrance and exit wound on the girl’s head, he let out a sigh and stood back up.
“I told you,” said Ginpole. “Now get out ’fore I put this last bullet in your gullet.”
Last bullet? Sam didn’t think so. He ignored the threat, knowing that he had the man now. He held his big Colt cocked and half raised toward him. He’d counted six shots, and Ginpole hadn’t reloaded. If he had, he wouldn’t have mentioned the last bullet. He was holding an empty gun and trying to bluff his way along. That was all right. For now Sam wanted to learn whatever he could about the man Ginpole rode with.
