“How in blazes—where—what …?”
“Something ailing you, Mr. Klemper?” Junior politely enquired. “You look like you’re seeing a ghost.”
“That …” Mole swallowed a lump in his throat, “that’s the—entire—Harnsey gang!”
“Sure enough,” nodded Junior. “How come you’re so all-fired surprised? Didn’t that freight train crew report on the hold-up?”
“They reported the hold-up,” scowled Mole. He fidgeted uncomfortably, traded glances with Klemper. “But we didn’t believe—I mean—it all sounded kind of far-fetched …”
“What you mean,” chided Junior, “is you didn’t want to believe it. Well, I don’t see as you have any choice now.” He jerked a thumb to indicate the horses toting Harnsey and his dead and wounded cohorts. “Here they are—all eight of ’em. Be obliged if you’d arrange burial of the dead ’uns right here in Winfield. The others I’ll be herding back to Amarillo. Oughtn’t be any argument about that. You already saw the extradition papers.”
Klemper was trembling with rage and frustration, when Larry unhurriedly ambled his mount to the law office hitchrack. Coldly, he eyed the newspaperman.
“I guess,” he drawled, “you’re just itchin’ to put out another special edition—all about how Ranger Tatum jumped the Harnsey gang and gave ’em their come-uppance. Can’t hardly wait, huh Klemper?” The locals were hovering closer—-quite a crowd of them. He raised his voice. “Unless a newspaper prints the truth, it ain’t worth a plugged cent.”
“I don’t need to be lectured by you,” snapped Klemper, “about the ethics of journalism.”
“Sure,” grinned Larry. “You know your trade. But, just to make sure you tell it right, us Texans’ll hang around and read your special edition.”
Five days later, Burch Tatum Junior returned to Amarillo in triumph, accompanied by his six prisoners and the two drifters. Copies of the Clarion had preceded them to Texas, so Colonel Tatum wasn't taken by surprise. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of his son, or doubtful, or disappointed. The prospect of disowning Junior had appealed to him. Now, incredible though it seemed, his handsome, tangle-footed son had become a hero—a credit to the Texas Rangers.
Discreetly, Larry and Stretch remained in the background. It was typical of them that, with the big adventure nearing its conclusion, they shrank from the limelight and sought no praise. This was the way they wanted it. The honor of Texas would be better served if credit for this victory rested solely on Junior.
Toward the close of that day, they were obliged to answer a summons. Colonel Tatum wished to interview them at Ranger headquarters. Bathed and barbered and exuding a strong aroma of bay rum, they presented themselves for the Colonel’s critical inspection. As a rule, they rarely showed respect for senior lawmen. Colonel Tatum, of course, was an exception. A Texan. A hero of the Civil War. They entered his office bareheaded and greeted him with careful courtesy. He studied them intently, the while he gnawed on a cigar.
“Had a long talk with my son,” he growled. “Quite a mixed up report he gave me.” He tapped a pile of newspapers on the desktop. “Lot of things about this case don’t add up right. The guard of that freight train, for instance. Feller name of Homer Peck. Settlers’ National Banking Company hails him as some kind of a hero. Denver and Rio Grande Railroad has promoted him.”
“Well,” shrugged Larry, “I guess the bank was glad to get its money back, and you got to admit it sure was a smart move—I mean, the guard stashing all that cash in his pockets …”
“That’s the part,” frowned the Colonel, “that gives me a dubious feeling. Everybody assumes Peck was acting in the best interests of the railroad and the bankers. Well, maybe he was.” He pursed his lips. “I’m not so sure. Still, it makes no difference. Peck ends up a hero.”
“And so does Junior,” grinned Stretch.
His grin faded fast, because Burch Tatum Senior was scowling.
“My son a hero?” Sparks flew from his cigar. “That’s something else I’m dubious about.”
“We’ve told everything we know,” Larry pointed out.
“To the newspapers and to officers under my command,” nodded the Colonel. He folded his arms, eyed them challengingly. “Now tell it to me!”
“Well,” frowned Larry, “just what d’you want to know?”
“I want the truth,” said the Colonel. “And I’m warning you, Valentine, I’m familiar with your reputation. I guess Texas is proud of the saltiest trouble-shooters that ever rode out of the Lone Star State, and I’m not denying you’ve earned your reputation the hard way. Even so, every lawman west of the Mississippi knows the score—knows you’re just full of tricks.”
“Colonel, suh, we’d never lie to you,” Stretch virtuously assured him.
“Don’t,” advised the Colonel. “I’m in no mood for any smart-aleck back-talk. Tell me just one lie, and I’ll know it! Try to fool me, and I’ll give you exactly thirty minutes to get out of town—and only twenty-four hours to get the hell out of Texas! Is that clear?”
“Why, sure,” nodded Larry. “Ask anything you want, Colonel, and we’ll tell you nothin’ but the truth.”
“First question,” growled the Colonel. “The Harnsey gang stopped the freight train carrying the bank cash. You and Emerson and some rancher’s daughter were at the mercy of Harnsey’s men. You were unarmed and helpless—until my son created a diversion. At least that’s what he calls it. He created a diversion, and he claims he sent the whole gang running for cover. Now …’’ He eyed them steadily and fired his question, “just how did Junior do that?”
It seemed a fair question, and Larry was ready with a straight answer.
“He came ridin’ out of a stock truck, Colonel, and …”
“Riding out of a truck?” blinked the Colonel.
“Sure enough,” nodded Larry. “He was ridin’ a bull—a big one. Stud bull, you know?”
“And, come to think of it,” frowned Stretch, “he was ridin’ it back to front.”
Colonel Tatum made a choking sound, clenched his fists and half-closed his eyes. His face reddened. Huskily, with his voice shaking, he declared,
“You have exactly twenty-four hours to get out of Texas!”
LARRY AND STRETCH 12: COLORADO PURSUIT
By Marshall Grover
First Published by The Cleveland Publishing Pty Ltd
Copyright © Cleveland Publishing Co. Pty Ltd, New South Wales, Australia
First Smashwords Edition: November 2017
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Series Editor: Lesley Bridges
Text © Piccadilly Publishing
Published by Arrangement with The Cleveland Publishing Pty Ltd.
About the Author
Leonard Frank Meares (February 13, 1921 - February 4, 1993)
Sydney born Len Meares aka Marshall Grover, published around 750 novels, mostly westerns. His best-known works feature Texas trouble-shooters Larry and Stretch. Before starting to write, Meares served in the Royal Australian Air Force, worked in the Department of Immigration and sold shoes. In the mid-1950s he bought a typewriter to write radio and film scripts. Inspired by the success of local paperback westerns, he wrote Trouble Town, which was published by the Cleveland Publishing Company in 1955.
His tenth yarn, Drift! (1956), introduced Larry Valentine and Stretch Emerson. In 1960, he created a brief but memorable series of westerns set in and around the town of Bleak Creek. Four years later came The Night McLennan Died, the first of more than 70 wes
terns (sometimes called oaters) to feature cavalryman-turned-manhunter Big Jim Rand.
More on Marshall Grover
The Larry and Stretch Series by Marshall Grover
Drift!
Arizona Wild-Cat
Ride Wild to Glory
Nomads from Texas
Ride Out Shooting
Texans Walk Proud
Never Prod a Texan
The Fast Right Hand
Close In For Showdown
Texas Gun Ghost
Lone Star Valiant
Colorado Pursuit
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