Tanglefoot

by Paul Lederer

  ‘One more thing, Mr Dempster – if you think that walking into the town’s saloons and trying to collect the tax is going to be hell, wait until you try dealing with the cattlemen on the outlying ranches. There are some hard men riding the range.’

  ‘I can imagine. If I had any money I’d hop back on the stage and ride it out of town.’

  ‘They’d only find someone else for the job,’ Cody told him.

  ‘I suppose, but it would no longer be my problem.’

  ‘I think,’ Cody said, eyeing him closely, ‘it will always be your problem until it’s solved one way or the other. Drop around and see me sometime. I’ll make another stab at scrambling eggs – it’s about all I know how to cook.’

  Cody walked Chad to the front door and saw him mount his horse. When the fat former marshal closed the door, Chad was still just sitting there, though the horse beneath him shuddered impatiently, wanting to move.

  So that was what Candida had been trying to tell him. Her cousin, presumably wishing to brag about Glen Walker’s cleverness, had revealed the plan in some detail, whether she had intended to or not. A sacrificial lamb was what Candida had said. It was too true – if he were sent out to enforce the new tax law, he would have to face some angry armed men. Candida had told him to just hit the trail, ride away from Las Palmas and its problems, and perhaps she was right. But, as Cody had told him, they would just find someone else to take his place and nothing would have been done to solve the political looting of the town.

  There had to be a third way, but what?

  Glen Walker was wearing an ivory-colored suit and a scarlet cravat this morning as he crossed the street, heading to the marshal’s office from his hotel room. He did not see the buckskin horse that Chad Dempster had been riding tied in front of the office, only Byron Starr’s leggy sorrel. Was Dempster late to work on his second day? It did not matter; things would be easier this way.

  Walker found Byron Starr standing next to the iron stove in the office, sipping a cup of coffee. He also thought he could smell whiskey on the deputy. That, too, was of no importance to Walker.

  ‘Did you have a busy night?’ Glen Walker asked as he took the marshal’s chair behind the scarred desk.

  ‘Not bad,’ Starr answered. ‘One fist fight in the Clipper, a man waving a gun around in the FitzRoy. I didn’t bother to arrest anyone, just told them to take it somewhere else.’

  ‘You seem to have things under control,’ Walker said, measuring the deputy with the curly hair and cold blue eyes.

  ‘I’m trying.’

  ‘Where’s our marshal this morning?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him yet. He might have dropped in while I was asleep.’

  Walker nodded and stroked his cleanly shaven chin. Without further hesitation, he asked Starr, ‘How would you like to make an extra hundred a month?’

  Starr’s eyes narrowed, whether with suspicion or avarice was difficult for Glen Walker to determine.

  ‘I don’t get you, Walker. If it’s anything illegal, you have the wrong man.’

  ‘Not that you haven’t ever done anything dirty in your time – I’ve checked up on you, Starr.’

  ‘Well, when I was younger and even dumber, I got caught up in a few small things.…’

  ‘Is that what they call a string of bank hold-ups these days?’

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ Starr said, thumping his empty tin cup down on the stove.

  ‘Not so very long ago,’ Walker said smoothly. ‘There may still be warrants out on whoever participated in those robberies. I haven’t found that out yet.’

  ‘I’m not going back to anything illegal,’ Starr said, sitting on the corner of the desk to face Glen Walker.

  ‘I’m not asking you to,’ Walker replied in that silky tone he always used when he needed to sway someone. ‘Just the opposite, as a matter of fact. I’m asking you to enforce a new law the mayor and the council just enacted. I haven’t talked to Dempster yet. Frankly I don’t think he has the kind of experience this job will take. Let me show you what I’m talking about.’

  From the inside pocket of his suit coat, Glen Walker removed a newly printed copy of the relevant ordinance. He passed it to Starr and watched as the deputy scanned it.

  ‘You want me to enforce this?’ is what Starr said after folding it and handing it back. ‘The public won’t stand for it.’

  ‘They’ll stand for it because they’ll have to.’ Walker shrugged. ‘If they don’t pay the assessed tax, they’ll be thrown in jail – by you. When they go to court, Judge Lambert will tell them that they have to pay or go right back to jail – if not the territorial prison.’

  Starr was concerned; he rubbed his tired eyes and asked, ‘What does Chad Dempster have to say about this?’

  ‘Old Tanglefoot?’ Walker laughed out loud. ‘Nothing, because I haven’t talked to him about it. He’s not our man, Starr, you are – for an extra hundred dollars a month.’

  ‘I’d be risking my life trying to collect this tax.’

  ‘And what do you think you’re doing every night, just wearing that badge? At least this way, it profits you.’

  Starr was visibly upset. ‘Can I think this over?’

  ‘Of course,’ Walker said, ‘but you know that if you refuse to perform your duties as a lawman, you will be discharged.’

  Starr nodded. The pressure Walker was exerting was twofold. One, he needed the money, two, Walker somehow knew about Starr’s involvement in the bank robberies down south. Starr had almost believed that the law had forgotten about him, or at least had lost interest in him, and that he was starting a new, upright life in Las Palmas. Some things in the past just can’t be left behind. They ride with you like haunting ghosts.

  ‘I’ll think things over,’ Starr said again.

  ‘Sure.’ Hat adjusted on his barbered hair, Walker nodded and made his way toward the door of the jailhouse. ‘Don’t take too long,’ he added, ‘I’m going to stop in at FitzRoy’s. Is there anything you’d like me to tell Peggy?’

  Starr just shook his head. Walker smiled and went out. Had that been some sort of veiled threat? And how did Walker even know about Peggy Kimball? Of course, the man seemed to know everything that went on in Las Palmas. Starr certainly hadn’t tried to keep it a secret. He sat down in the marshal’s wooden chair and considered his immediate future.

  He could go along with Walker on his strictly legal plan to shake down the local businessmen and find himself wealthier for it. Or he could refuse Walker, in which case Starr’s whereabouts might very well be given to the county sheriff. He could straddle his horse and ride out, deserting Las Palmas, Peggy Kimball and Chad Dempster until another horse died under him.

  Starr glanced at the brass-bound clock on the wall and made his way back toward the cot where he was sleeping until he could afford a pleasant room that he could share with Peggy, hoping for a dreamless interval in his abruptly confusing life.

  Starr was still asleep when Chad looped his reins over the hitch rail in front of the jailhouse and entered his office. He checked for prisoners and found there was none. Good. Starr was either doing his job quietly or the town had calmed down.

  Unless Starr was not trying to do his job at all, but was using his nights to frequent the FitzRoy and spark that red-headed girl with the long legs. Somehow Chad did not believe that this was so; Starr had been happy to get this job, and seemed eager to make a success of it.

  There was no one in the office, no notes on his desk, so Chad decided the best use he could make of the rest of the morning was to carry out his rounds on the street, letting people know he was still the law in Las Palmas.

  It was a peaceful morning; the high sun was bright but not as hot as it had been lately. He came upon a boy trying to climb in the candy-shop window and, later, two drunks in the alley beside the Clipper, fighting on hands and knees like a pair of dogs. He chased all of them home. Starr was right about that – if they arrested everyone for small crimes they would soon
run out of jail cells and Judge Lambert might resent having his calendar clotted up with these sorts of misdemeanors.

  For the most part Las Palmas was quiet on this morning, leaving Chad with time – too much time – to think. Why had he thought that Glen Walker was a friend, helping him out as he had? He had only done it because he was planning to put a dupe into the marshal’s office, one who would be obliged to Walker. An honest and brave man to replace the fading Ben Cody – who was probably the only honest man in town. Too honest to run this scam that Judge Lambert and Mayor Swanson had concocted, in cahoots with Walker along with the town councilmen, each of whom must be counting on receiving his cut of the tax money.

  ‘What a fool I am,’ Chad was thinking. Walker had put him up in a house that he owned, found him a meaningless job taking the Sunday stage east to Diablo when the regular driver and shotgun rider could have done it the day afterward.

  The hold-up had been a sham. There were riflemen posted near the lone pine to ambush the ambushers. That little bit of show had been performed only to convince people that Chad was the man for the job of marshal. A real gunslinger! Chad almost laughed out loud as he patrolled the back alleys of the town, finding nothing more unlawful than a pair of dogs digging through the Abbey Restaurant’s garbage.

  So, he had been a fool. How did he get out of this? If he tried to do what was right, he was dead in this town. How could he refuse to enforce the hastily enacted town ordinance no matter how much it reeked of local corruption? He couldn’t, was the answer.

  As Cody had reminded him, Walker and his mob could replace him easily if he let them down.

  Chad hadn’t calculated it, as Walker undoubtedly had, but he knew there was a lot of money involved, too much to let a recalcitrant lawman stand in the way of collecting it. Five per cent of the goods and services provided daily, even in a town this size, would add up rapidly.

  No, Chad decided suddenly, he wanted no part of this, no part of Las Palmas, although he had been gradually becoming fond of the little desert community.

  Candida. The sudden thought of her caused him to stop in mid-stride as he circled back toward the jailhouse. She had urged him to go, but did she really wish for him to leave? Not that she would be left in a bad position. Her cousin, Carmalita, was destined to become quite a wealthy woman, married to an important man. The aunts would certainly take good care of Candida. What did she need Charles Dempster for, anyway?

  But he thought he had once or twice seen the kind of longing in her eyes that he felt for her. Maybe it had been only concern for his safety. But if there was a chance…?

  As of the moment he was an appointed town official with a well-paying job which would be increased greatly if he only did his duty and enforced the new law. He would not be loved in town, but he would still be respected.

  And if he just forked that buckskin horse and trailed out onto the desert, could Candida ever respect him? Could he respect himself?

  You had to give it to Glen Walker – he knew how to throw his loop around a man.

  EIGHT

  Starr was up and out of bed when Chad reached the jail again. Drinking coffee, which smelled as if it were laced with something, Starr lifted his bloodshot blue eyes as Chad entered. His smile of welcome was easy; his words were abrupt.

  ‘We have to talk, Chad.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Chad asked, noting the urgency in Starr’s voice. He hung his gunbelt on one of the row of pegs provided, and sat behind his desk.

  ‘Glen Walker came by,’ Byron Starr said. His grip seemed a little unsteady on the tin cup he held.

  ‘Oh? What did he want?’

  ‘The way he was talking, he wants you out and me in as marshal.’

  ‘Does he? Why do you think that is?’

  ‘He seems to think that you’re not able and willing to enforce this new ordinance they’ve cooked up.’

  Chad was thoughtful for a moment. ‘No,’ he told Starr, ‘I don’t think I am.’

  ‘The thing is, Chad,’ Starr said dourly, ‘I don’t believe that I am either. It’s a pure shakedown, charging people for something that their property taxes are already supposed to provide.’

  ‘That’s government for you,’ Chad said. ‘If they could figure out how to do it, they’d charge us for the air we breathe.’

  ‘Well, I don’t have to be a part of it,’ Starr said. He was growing angry. He took another sip of whatever was in his cup and shook his head. ‘The thing is, Chad – Walker has found a way of using leverage on me.’

  ‘He’s good at that,’ Chad replied. ‘Let’s have it, Starr, what’s he threatening you with?’

  ‘I have … a bit of a background, Chad,’ Starr replied. ‘Somehow Walker has found out about it. It puts me in a bad position. He’s holding that over my head.’

  ‘What was it, Starr?’ Chad asked, seriously interested.

  ‘Bank robbery. Just a stupid impulse.’ Starr sighed and drank some more of his coffee.

  ‘Was anyone hurt?’

  ‘No. But they still don’t take kindly to bank robbery. I felt real bad about it. Once I sobered up I realized I was still as broke as ever and could not go home again. That’s why I was so happy to get this job. I had determined to straighten out, and somehow make amends for my foolishness.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ Chad said. He thought that Starr was sincere. ‘Are there warrants out on you still?’

  ‘I didn’t think so; Walker does. He’s promised to look into it, which he can easily. If I leave now, he’ll probably have Wanted posters printed on me, down to a description of the horse I’m riding.’

  ‘It would put a lot of pressure on a man, knowing that might happen,’ Chad said.

  ‘If I stay here and do what they want it’ll put me opposite the direction I was trying to go, Chad. It’ll put me in with a gang of thieves again. And who knows if Walker would ever let me off the hook now that he has that power over me.’

  ‘It’s hell, isn’t it? Him making you pay for trying to go straight.’

  Starr had walked to the iron stove and poured himself another half-cup of coffee. When he had seated himself again in the chair behind the desk, he lifted those blurred eyes and said, ‘Walker’s gone to talk to Peggy Kimball at FitzRoy’s.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Chad asked in amazement.

  ‘If I had to guess,’ Starr answered, ‘I’d say he’s going to tell her that they had decided to make me marshal – and at a hundred dollars more a month. That would be sure to make her happy. I’d be making enough to take her out of the saloon, find a little house for us. Then what do I do, Chad? Go over and tell her I’m just going to quit and make a run for the desert? It would crush the girl and make me out to be the lowest scoundrel she’s ever met.’

  Chad thought for a minute. ‘I think you’re probably right. It’s the sort of maneuver Glen Walker would pull if he thought he needed to keep the pressure on you.’

  Starr said fiercely, ‘I ought to just shoot the man and have done with it.’

  ‘You know that wouldn’t solve anything,’ Chad said lightly. ‘Then I’d just have to try to arrest you and bring you in here. Judge Lambert would be sure to sentence you to hang. Peggy’s hopes would still be crushed – and someone else would still be out collecting taxes.’

  ‘Deacon Forge most likely. Say, Chad, have you seen him around anywhere?’

  ‘No,’ Chad had to tell him. Which was odd, since they knew that Forge frequented the gambling tables at the Clipper saloon. ‘It could be that he owes some people too much money to risk showing his face in town. He as much as told us that.’ Chad hesitated and added: ‘Although I might have seen him yesterday – I just couldn’t be sure.’ Starr’s eyebrows lifted questioningly. ‘Someone took a shot at me on my way back to the adobe,’ Chad told him.

  ‘Maybe it was Domino Jones,’ Starr said. ‘I haven’t seen that brute around town either.’ Starr exhaled heavily. ‘Either one of them wouldn’t mind gunning both of us d
own.’

  ‘I guess not,’ Chad answered. ‘We sure have managed to get ourselves in a fix, Starr. And it didn’t take us much time at all.’

  ‘No. The question is, Chad: is there any way out of it for us?’

  Chad continued to ponder Starr’s question as the weary deputy again staggered off to sleep on his cot for a few hours before eight o’clock rolled around. A wise man once said that there was always a way. Or maybe the man was a fool. Chad could not see a path out. He wished he had a more intimate knowledge of the town’s inner workings. Of course he had not – that was precisely why he had been hired. He thought that he wouldn’t mind talking to Ben Cody again.

  That was because he had the faintest glimmering of a thought. Nothing firm, but a vague idea of how he and Starr might get out of this fix alive. He put his boots up on the desk and leaned back in Cody’s chair. And pondered.

  And pondered.

  It was too soon to mention his idea to Starr, so the tortured deputy would just have to wade through his present dismal feeling for a while longer. The sun heeled over and slowly sank. The shadows stretched out from the fronts of the buildings along the street. The men and ladies of the night would be awake and stretching. Chad glanced at the brass clock and, feeling a little guilty about it, went to rouse Starr for his night shift.

  Before he left the office, Chad took a rifle from the rack. He had the feeling that he’d be better off carrying one from now on. Walking to the stable, his eyes studying the streets, he claimed his buckskin horse and swung into the saddle.

  ‘They ever pay you for these horses?’ Chad asked the stableman.

  ‘Yes, sir, Marshal. Mr Walker took care of that.’

  ‘Walker? He seems to have a pretty good grip on the town’s purse strings, doesn’t he?’

  The man shrugged his scrawny shoulders. It made no difference to him, obviously, so long as he was paid.

  Chad kneed the horse and made his way toward the pueblo, taking a slightly different route from the one he had ridden the night before. He wouldn’t care to get ambushed again. After putting his horse away he washed off at the pump, then went in. He could smell something cooking; somehow he had not been hungry all day, now he was.