Tanglefoot

by Paul Lederer

  Yes.’ Chad had practised his lie. ‘The Diablo station is in need of a new coach and stock. Something must have happened over there.’

  Starr nodded, tilted his hat down against the sun and folded his arms as the rocking stage rolled on. Ahead, through the white glare of the desert day, Chad could see that the land rose a little. On top of the knoll ahead stood a lone pine tree, strangely out of place against the rock and sand spread around it. For a moment he thought he saw a man on horseback there, moving against the shimmering distances, but when he looked again, the shadowy figure had disappeared. The desert sun can play tricks on the eye.

  Chad slowed the team for the ascent, not wanting the horses to labor too hard through the heat of the day. Beside the trail now, on either side, vast patches of nopal cactus grew. If the sketchy instructions he had received were correct, he had only two miles or so to go before he reached Diablo. He should be able to see the town from the crest of the knoll.

  They didn’t get that far before men burst from the tangle of cactus and the shooting began. The first shot rang off the ironwork of the stagecoach. Starr was instantly alert, aware of what was happening. He shouldered his rifle and shot the man dead. The bullet flung him back into the cactus, his arms flailing as he fell.

  Another bullet flew past Chad’s ear and almost simultaneously a second was fired. Chad saw a man stand from behind his screen of nopal, swivel his head in confusion, buckle up and die. Chad had not fired, nor had Starr. At least he did not think Starr had. Now his companion had his rifle sighted on a third attacker and, as the coach jolted and lurched over a large rock in the road, he triggered off. Starr cursed under his breath, believing he had missed his mark, but the bandit managed to run away in the direction of the lone pine, dragging his leg before he collapsed.

  ‘Whip those horses!’ Starr shouted out, turning on the seat to swing his gun barrel back in the direction of the raiders. Chad could not yank the whip free of its holder, but it made no difference. The horses, frightened by the gunfire, had bolted wildly, and crested the knoll at a dead run as the stage jounced, skidded, and slewed down the slope beyond, racing madly toward Diablo.

  Chad heard the sharp crack of Starr’s rifle being fired once more beside him, but he did not pause to glance back. The team was out of his control now, and he was just trying to hold the reins and keep his seat in the box. Far away against the gray blanket of the desert floor he spotted the group of tiny buildings which had to be Diablo. Chad hung on for dear life, straining at the reins, hoping the horses would soon run themselves out.

  Which they did, another mile or so on. Weary, they staggered across the flats, sweating and unsteady. In just the condition Chad had hoped not to deliver them. He touched his forehead with his gauntlet and wiped back his hair. Starr, who had been watching their backtrail, now settled back into his seat beside Chad, grinning.

  ‘Good job handling those horses,’ Starr said.

  ‘Are you kidding! They just took off. All I could do was hope to stay aboard.’

  ‘Well,’ Starr drawled as he stretched his legs and repositioned his rifle between his knees, ‘it looked pretty good to me, Chad. Hell, we got away, didn’t we?’

  ‘Who were they, Starr? Enemies of yours?’

  ‘I haven’t been around here long enough to have any enemies – or friends. No, Chad, they wanted the coach, that’s for sure.’

  ‘But how could they?’ Chad asked, perplexed.

  ‘What’s this coach really carrying?’ Byron Starr asked. After taking a deep breath, and shrugging mentally, Chad told Starr what the stage had – aboard. Starr listened, nodding thoughtfully.

  ‘They didn’t send a guard along with you? Seems careless to me.’

  ‘Glen Walker explained that doing so would only alert any outlaws,’ Chad said. Starr shook his head. He obviously remained unconvinced.

  ‘If I were you I’d have it out with this Walker when you get back to Las Palmas.’

  Chad’s face heated some. ‘You don’t understand, Glen Walker is my friend. He would never do anything to intentionally put me in harm’s way. His plan just didn’t work out, that’s all.’

  ‘All right. I didn’t mean to start trouble,’ Starr answered. ‘It’s just that it seems a strange way to go about things to me.’

  ‘I apologize too, Starr. After all, if you hadn’t happened to be along, I’d likely be buzzard bait by now.’

  ‘I always knew I was good for something,’ Byron Starr said with a chuckle. ‘Better slow the team a little more. Let’s walk them into town.’

  There was a small crowd waiting for them at the stage depot. Prominent among them was a wide, round man with a silver star on his leather vest. His shaded eyes were studying Starr and Chad with suspicion.

  As Chad halted the team and a narrow stableman came to take the reins, a small man wearing a derby hat which did not quite separate his bald dome from the fringe of red hair circling his skull above his ears, came forward, rubbing stubby hands together with apparent pleasure.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said as Chad stepped down from the coach bench, ‘I was hoping you would make it.’

  Unfortunately for Chad Dempster, his boot leather slipped on the wheel spoke he was using as a step and, as the smiling little man thrust out a hand in welcome, Chad fell to the ground hard, landing on a knee and a shoulder. The stableman laughed out loud and a few others snickered. The town marshal remained stone-faced, and the welcoming man reacted as if he had somehow caused it.

  ‘Oh, dear!’ the man in the derby exclaimed. ‘Let me help you up.’

  Tanglefoot’s face was crimson as he was assisted to his feet and dusted off. The man in the derby continued with what must have been an at least mentally-planned speech. Shaking Chad’s hand vigorously he said, ‘Welcome to Diablo. My name is Walter Pettit, the owner of the Diablo Bank. You have provided a great service to me and my depositors. Several men reported sounds of gunshots from the direction of Lone Pine, and we knew they were not those of a hunter. Did you have much trouble?’

  The coach and team were being led away, and as they cleared his line of vision, Chad caught sight of Byron Starr standing, rifle and saddle in his hands, watching expressionlessly.

  ‘There were a couple of men who wanted to stop us,’ Chad said. ‘My friend there helped out greatly.’

  The banker glanced at Starr but returned his attention quickly to Chad Dempster. ‘Well, we certainly thank you,’ the banker said. Two men had removed a heavy canvas bag secured with a lock from the coach trunk. ‘If you need anything, all you have to do is ask,’ the little man went on hurriedly. ‘Right now you must be tired and hungry. Why don’t you and your friend enjoy a meal on the bank over at the Shadyside Restaurant there – it’s right across the street.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, that would be a pleasure.’ He was going to add more, but the banker, finished with his formalities, hurried away – presumably toward the bank – with the two men carrying the bag of cash from the stagecoach. The lawman studied Chad and Starr for a minute longer, spat and followed after the banker.

  ‘Glad that’s over,’ Starr said, looking toward the restaurant. ‘I could use a free meal. I don’t know about you.’

  The two men started that way. Chad was deep in thought. Certain matters about this job seemed very peculiar. He kept his silence until the two were seated at a small square table with a red tablecloth in the corner of the neatly painted white restaurant. A trim little woman took their orders and brought honey and biscuits and a pot of coffee while they waited. Starr had removed his trail worn hat, wiped back his mop of curly dark hair and now proceeded to slather a couple of hot, yeasty biscuits with butter and honey from the beaker on the table. His eyes glowed with satisfaction.

  ‘Am I glad you stopped for me, Chad! Otherwise by now I’d probably be eating mesquite beans and digging a hole in the sand looking for water.’

  ‘Yes, well, you’re welcome,’ Chad answered. ‘You saved my bacon back there.’

>   ‘Did I?’ Starr looked surprised.

  ‘Sure. I never even drew my weapon. Didn’t you notice?’

  ‘There was too much else to look at,’ Starr said. He moved his elbows from the table as the waitress returned with their dinners. Both of them had ordered ham steaks, corn on the cob and sweet potatoes. Starr wasted no time in digging in. Chad toyed awhile with his food, cutting his ham, his mind still unsettled.

  ‘Did you hear the banker introduce himself?’ Chad asked. ‘His name is Pettit – the same name as the banker in Las Palmas. Isn’t that a little bit of coincidence?’ Starr answered around a mouthful of food:

  ‘I don’t think so. Two men with the same backgrounds and education coming West together. They’re from some banking family. It’s what they know. One tried setting up in Las Palmas, the other in Diablo. Each of them making his way – it makes perfect sense to me.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Chad grumbled, trying the corn on the cob which was dripping rich golden butter. He had another thought: ‘How many of those holdup men did you shoot, Starr?’

  Starr held up a hand for patience while he swallowed again and drank a little coffee.

  ‘I think I may have gotten two of them,’ Starr said after a minute’s reflection.

  ‘That was my guess,’ Chad replied. ‘But I saw at least four of them go down, and I remember hearing other rifles opening up on them.’

  ‘You know,’ Starr said after dabbing at his mouth with his napkin, ‘I believe you’re right about that. It was pretty hot and heavy up there, but it seems to me that there were other guns firing. What can you make of that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Chad told Starr. ‘I can’t make anything of it at all – but something about this is all wrong, and it makes me think that something in Las Palmas is wrong as well.’

  ‘Well,’ Starr said, stuffing another biscuit into his mouth, ‘my advice is not to question things when they’re going right for you.’

  Undoubtedly he was right about that, Chad Dempster thought as they finished their meal and told the waitress to charge it to the Diablo bank, as per Pettit’s instructions, but it still gnawed at Chad as they emerged into the heated, cloudless day.

  They walked slowly toward the stable beside the way station, where a team of fresh horses was waiting for Chad. The scrawny stablehand approached him shyly and handed him an envelope.

  ‘What’s this?’ Chad asked. Turning over the heavy manila envelope with its embossed ‘Bank of Diablo’ in one corner, Chad frowned.

  ‘I dunno,’ the stablehand answered uncaringly. ‘Maybe a reward or something. I don’t open other folks’ mail.’

  ‘What is it?’ Starr asked as Chad opened the envelope and scanned its contents.

  ‘A letter of commendation,’ Chad said with a wry smile. ‘It seems I have performed my task bravely and without regard to my personal safety.’ He crumpled the envelope and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

  ‘Ah, a hero!’ Starr said lightly. ‘Don’t throw that away, Chad. You said you hadn’t yet found steady work in Las Palmas – you’d be surprised how seriously people take a recommendation like that.

  ‘I suppose,’ Chad said glumly, ‘but I don’t deserve it, you know? I was driving in a panic half the way.’

  ‘Who’s to know that – or to care? As long as it’s down on paper, some folks will take anything seriously.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Chad hesitated. ‘What about you, Starr? What are you going to do now?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Starr said honestly. ‘Right now I have a saddle but no horse. I have a full belly, but no idea where my next meal is coming from. I have no place to go but those I’ve already been – none of which worked out for me. I don’t know. I suppose I’ll look around here and see if I can find some kind of work.’

  Chad nodded, feelingly. ‘How about this, Starr? Do you want to ride back to Las Palmas with me?’

  ‘I can’t see that my prospects are any better there,’ Starr said. Then his expression cheered, and he reached for the handhold to clamber up into the box, ‘But why not? I’ve nowhere else to go. And at least I’ll be traveling with a man of reputation.’

  THREE

  It was late afternoon when the coach and team driven by Chad Dempster rolled into Las Palmas. Carmalita jabbed a finger into the dozing Glen Walker’s ribs as she stood at the window watching. ‘Get up. You have to see this,’ she said.

  Glen Walker sat up grumpily. Carmalita, who was usually content to spend most of her day in bed herself, seldom bothered him when he was asleep. ‘What is it?’ he asked, frowning as he swung his legs to the side of the bed.

  ‘He is back, the Tangleman.’

  ‘Tanglef … Mr Charles Proctor Dempster.’

  ‘Your protégé. How do you say that in English?’

  ‘Dupe,’ Walker muttered, still half-asleep. He walked heavily to the window and peered out past the curtains. It was Dempster driving the stage, certainly but who was the man with him? He seemed vaguely familiar, but Walker was sure he was not from Las Palmas. Where had he come from?

  ‘Oh, I did not tell you that my cousin, Candida, arrived this morning. While you were sleeping,’ Carmalita said at his elbow.

  ‘Your cousin? How many cousins do you have?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Carmalita shrugged. ‘Many. We are an affectionate family. She is going to stay with her aunts.’

  ‘You mean over at the place where Tangle … Mr Dempster is staying?’

  ‘Yes, those are her aunts, my aunts – you know that.’

  ‘I remember,’ Walker said, sitting down on the bed. He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. He didn’t like extra people clogging up his plans. Though, what difference could Carmalita’s cousin possibly make? Now, the man traveling with Dempster.…

  ‘Tell me again, what you told me last night,’ Carmalita urged, sitting beside him on the bed. She was only half-dressed and very appealingly so.

  ‘What did I tell you?’

  ‘When you were drunk, you explained the plan to me so that I would understand it all.’

  Glen Walker glanced at her, his eyes lingering on her full, lovely figure. ‘Did I really tell you all?’

  ‘I don’t know if it was all. I sometimes think that you think I am stupid,’ Carmalita said with a pout on her full lips.

  ‘Not at all, my darling. I think you are quite clever in your way. But this is all my business.’

  ‘Tell me again,’ she pleaded.

  ‘Get me a glass of water; my mouth is bone dry.’ When she returned with a glass of water from the pitcher on the counter, he told her. ‘I’ll tell you again, but you are sworn not to say a word.’

  ‘I am sworn never,’ Carmalita answered. ‘What is good for you is good for me, too, right?’

  ‘That’s right – and you’d better not forget that,’ Walker said. ‘All right,’ he began, handing the glass back to her. ‘I arranged for Dempster to drive the stage to Diablo. No one was supposed to know about the money transfer. But I did, of course, and Domino Jones found out.’

  ‘How did he find out?’ Carmalita asked. Walker only smiled.

  ‘He found out, let’s leave it at that. Knowing what was likely to happen, I sent Skinny Jim and a few of the boys out to watch for Domino’s crew, and if they saw them trying anything, to make sure they didn’t succeed.’

  ‘To ambush them if they tried to ambush Tangle … Mr Dempster.’

  ‘That’s right, and apparently it worked. Now Dempster is a hero to the folks in Diablo and a hero to Sam Pettit at the bank. He fought off a gang of outlaws and took the money through.’

  ‘I can’t see how that works for you,’ Carmalita said.

  ‘No? I’ll tell you, then. When Las Palmas needs a new town marshal, I mean to propose Mr Charles Dempster for the office.’

  ‘We still have Marshal Cody,’ Carmalita objected.

  ‘For now,’ Walker replied. ‘We have to strike while the memory of Dempster’s heroics is fres
h in the minds of the citizens. It shouldn’t be any problem to get him appointed with Sam Pettit behind him.’

  ‘There is still Marshal Cody,’ Carmalita reminded him again.

  ‘Ah, that is the way of life – here today, gone tomorrow.’

  ‘You mean to persuade him to leave Las Palmas?’ Carmalita asked, her wide dark eyes perplexed.

  ‘That’s it,’ Walker said. ‘I am going to convince him that he should leave.’

  Carmalita rose from the bed, her swaying hips magnetic to Walker’s eyes. She bent low to look out of the window again. Her expression had grown puzzled as she turned toward him once more. ‘I do not see what we profit from having this Charles Proctor Dempster as town marshal.’

  ‘You don’t?’ Walker smiled, lay back on the bed with his hands behind his head. With half-closed eyes, he asked, ‘How many businesses are there in Las Palmas?’

  ‘How many?’ Carmalita’s eyebrows drew together. ‘Of what kind?’

  ‘Of all kinds.’

  ‘All kinds? Maybe fifty, a hundred. I don’t know.’

  ‘How much money do you think they pull in in a month?’

  ‘Altogether, it must be a lot – I don’t know.’

  ‘I do. And for too long they’ve been thriving, with free law enforcement to protect them. From here on out they are going to pay five per cent of their profit to us. It’s not enough to make them cause an uproar, but five per cent from every business in town, especially the big saloons, will add up to quite a sum. Anyway,’ he shrugged, ‘all they have to do is jack up their prices a little to cover the cost.’

  ‘You are a devious man, Glen Walker,’ Carmalita said as she lay down to snuggle against him. ‘You always said that you would make us rich.’ She sat up abruptly, bracing herself on one arm. ‘But will Domino Jones stand for it?’

  ‘He may not even ever know. He’s not smart, you know. He and the other old-time bandits still only know how to operate in one way – pull your gun and demand a man’s money. We’re going to make our fortune the new way, the most profitable way. They call it politics. I should be able to convince the mayor and town council that times have changed and we need to do this to protect the town from thieves.’