Larry and Stretch 10

by Marshall Grover

  “They’re stealin’ my gold,” complained Spooky. “I seen ’em. They busted inta my storehouse and—by Hannah—they ain’t about to get away with it!”

  Chapter Nine

  Time of Crisis

  The hostage was still unconscious, but Cleave Elrigg wasn’t taking any chances. Some distance from the hotel, just before crossing the main street, he tore a strip from her gown and bound it tightly about her mouth, knotting it behind her neck. Trenton supplied a length of cord with which they secured her wrists, then lifted her and draped her over his shoulder.

  “I see Jud and the others,” he muttered. “All of ’em on the other side.”

  “All right,” said Elrigg. “Safe enough for us to cross here, I reckon.”

  At this position, it happened that they could not be seen by the guard seated at the hotel’s front entrance. Bart Darrance was on duty there. Behind him, Tom nervously asked, “Anything out there?”

  “I don’t see anything, nor hear anything,” frowned Bart, “but I have a feeling ...”

  “Whatever was makin’ that noise,” shrugged Tom, “Larry and Stretch’ll track it down for sure. And we still got the old man sitting guard on the rear door. I reckon we’re safe enough.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, frowned at the stairs. “At least we know them females are stashed away snug—and that’s a mercy.”

  Bart fidgeted uneasily.

  “I’m not superstitious, like you,” he muttered, “but I’ll be glad to shake the dust of this dead town off my boots.”

  “You and me both, pardner,” sighed Tom. “I got a hankerin’ to be long gone and far away—any place but Fortuna.”

  On the opposite side of the street, Elrigg and Trenton were spotted by the other escapees. In response to Trenton’s urgent gesture, they retreated along side alleys to the long lane that ran parallel with the street. There they reassembled.

  Vincent’s eyes widened, as he noted Trenton’s burden. His mouth was open for an excited query, when Elrigg warned him, “Keep your voice low—and that goes for all of us.”

  “All right,” grunted Morrow, “so we talk soft. Now, what the hell goes on? Ain’t that one of the women offa that stage?”

  “They’re here,” Elrigg quietly announced. “Don’t ask me how they made it, but they’re here. Probably the whole seven, and a few others.”

  “This don’t surprise me at all,” frowned Bush. “You know what I found back there in a barn? Couple fine saddle-horses. A sorrel and a pinto.”

  “It adds up,” mused Elrigg. “I never imagined it could happen, but it did. A couple of riders found them and brought them here.”

  “We found the girl and the old man in back of the hotel,” Trenton told the others. “He was hefting a Winchester ...”

  “This Winchester.” Elrigg smiled thinly and exhibited the weapon. “An extra gun for us, boys. Easy to figure out, wouldn’t you say? They’re all holed up in the hotel, probably with a guard posted at the front entrance—hefting another rifle.”

  “And you can bet they have food,” said Trenton. “All the food they need.”

  “We could search every corner of this town,” declared Elrigg, “but the fastest and surest way of getting supplies is right there on Duke’s shoulder. A hostage. Why waste time searching for food—when we can make them surrender what they have? I aim to offer them a deal. They throw out all their provisions. We let the girl go.”

  Fields ran his tongue over his underlip and stared fixedly at Trenton’s limp burden.

  “Maybe she’s getting heavy, huh?” he suggested. “You—uh—you want me to carry her?”

  Morrow swore explosively.

  “You keep your crazy paws offa her, Fields,” he growled. “She’s no use to us dead. We can’t bargain with a corpse, and that’s just what she’ll be—if you start maulin’ her.”

  “I remember her,” mumbled Fields. “She’s—the young one—and beautiful. Yeah. Mighty good-looking ...”

  “Cleave,” said Trenton, “I clobbered the old man hard enough to make him sleep awhile, but we best not waste any time.”

  “No,” frowned Elrigg. “When he rouses, he’ll surely raise the alarm. By then, we have to be in position.” He stared along the laneway. “I, noticed a store along there. It’d be directly opposite the hotel.”

  “That’d do fine,” opined Morrow. “We could keep our eye on ’em.”

  “All right,” smiled Elrigg. “Follow me.”

  Like so many locks in that abandoned town, the lock of the store’s rear door had long since ceased to function correctly. The escapees easily forced entry. Morrow hustled through to the front of the building and found that the windows facing the street were almost devoid of glass. There were no shades and the moonlight was shafting in so that visibility was clear. There was an eight-foot long counter, a stool, an empty barrel and a great many shelves, all empty. Here, to all intents and purposes, was the perfect site for a temporary stake-out. He stared across to the facade of the hotel, then quietly called to the others.

  Elrigg led them in. As Trenton lowered Sarah Ann to the floor, she roused and began struggling. He muttered a curse, leaned over her and struck her face with the flat of his hand.

  “Stay quiet!” he breathed.

  “Amie, Wes and Fields,” drawled Elrigg, “take up your positions at the right side window. Duke and I will stay left of the door. Jud, get our hostage on her feet and stay by the counter.”

  The ’breed jerked Sarah Ann upright and stood with his back to the counter, his left arm crooked about her throat. Rightaway, he discovered that her gag had became loose. As he began re-tying the knot, she gasped a challenge. Elrigg whirled and glowered at her.

  “Not a word out of you!” he snapped. “The next sound you make will be your last. Is that clear?” She nodded slowly. “Very well. I don’t mind explaining our intentions for your benefit. You recognize us, of course?” She nodded again. “Naturally,” he chuckled. “Once seen, never forgotten. And may I say your surprise is no greater than mine? When we left you and your family at that dried-out waterhole, I certainly never expected to see you again.”

  “All quiet over there,” reported Morrow, over his shoulder.

  “Temporarily, anyway,” grinned Trenton.

  “It’s all very simple, young lady,” drawled Elrigg. “I propose to offer your friends a fair exchange. They can have you back, alive and healthy, provided they surrender their provisions, weapons and ammunition.”

  “Cleave,” called Trenton, “how long do we wait?”

  “Keep your guns pointed at the hotel’s front windows,” ordered Elrigg. “As soon as the old man revives, he’s bound to start a ruckus—which we’ll surely hear. Then we’ll fire a volley through those windows.”

  ~*~

  In the cellar, Larry was demanding a fuller explanation from the highly-indignant Spooky McGraw.

  “Six strangers stealin’ your cached gold? What six strangers, Spooky? Where’d you see ’em? You recall what they look like?”

  “Real mean-lookin’ hombres,” growled Spooky. “Bad medicine, you betcha life. I was in the mesquite ...” He gestured to nowhere in particular, “back there a ways. They near spotted me, only I was too smart for ’em. They ...”

  “What kinda horses?” Stretch urgently enquired.

  “Think, Spooky,” frowned Larry. “Did you get a clear look at their horses.”

  “Big animals,” blinked Spooky. “They wasn’t saddle-hosses, no siree. No saddles.”

  “Them jailbirds!” breathed Stretch.

  “Well, dab-nab their ornery hides,” complained Spooky, “one of ’em fell into my extry-special hideout—where I got all my gold cached. And I don’t mean dust. No siree. Nuggets. The real pure stuff. You know what they did? Three more of ’em snuck into that shaft and, when they come up again, they was totin’ near all of it—all the gold I been diggin’ for this many-a-year.”

  “And then what?” prodded Larry.

  “I
didn’t wait to see,” shrugged Spooky. “Just hightailed it through the brush and down another shaft—and under Main Street to here. Figured to grab me some of this dynamite, rig me some fuses and go after ’em. They got guns, but guns don’t skeer me. No siree. Couple sticks of dynamite’ll blow ’em to tarnation.”

  “They’re here, runt,” scowled Stretch. “Nobody ought never argue agin your hunches. You figured the storm’d blow ’em all the way to Fortuna, and you were dead right.”

  “Maybe they’ve quit town already,” growled Larry, “and maybe not. We’ll have to warn the others.” He got to his feet, nodded to the ladder. “You first, Spooky. You know this trick ladder.”

  “It ain’t a trick ladder,” Spooky protested. “All you gotta remember is every third rung is loose.” He squinted, scratched his head. “Every third—or every fourth? I ain’t sure ...”

  “Start climbin’,” sighed Larry.

  Spooky hustled to the ladder and, with speed and agility that belied his years, began a brisk ascent to the kitchen. Larry followed, but not as briskly, bearing in mind that every third—or fourth—rung was loose. Atop the opening, they waited for Stretch. When the taller Texan pulled himself from the aperture and replaced the trapdoor, they quit the kitchen and advanced into the lobby, where Larry calmly announced:

  “Here he is, amigos. Say howdy to the Texas Gun Ghost.”

  “That’s him?” blinked Tom.

  “Name of Spooky McGraw,” drawled Larry. “Just as human as you or me—and twice as fractious.”

  “Well, consarn him,” scowled Tom, “I got a mind to bust his fool nose ...!”

  “I already apologized,” frowned Spooky, “for skeerin’ them females. And I ted you good, didn’t I? And I coulda put a bullet clear through your gizzard when you first hit Fortuna, but I didn’t. Least you could do is say ‘thank ya kindly’—’stead of cussin’ me.”

  “What I want to know,” said Bart, “is how in blazes did he plant that chow in here without anybody spotting him?”

  “That was plumb easy,” shrugged Spooky. “I let General Lee wander out front, and ...”

  “Who,” prodded Stretch, “is General Lee?”

  “My burro!” Spooky frowned at him as though he had asked a foolish question. “Who else?”

  “All right,” grinned Bart. “So you left your burro out front ...”

  “And all females is curious,” finished Spooky. “I knew they’d sashay to the door and peek out at the General, and this give me plenty time to tote up a box of stuff from the cellar.” He grinned a smug grin.

  “Sneakin’ old jackrabbit ...!” fumed Tom.

  “We oughtn’t be cussin’ him, Tom,” chided Larry. “We ought to be thankin’ him.”

  “For what?” demanded Tom.

  “For warnin’ us,” said Larry. He sauntered to the entrance, glanced out at the street. “The Elrigg bunch is somewheres close by. Spooky spotted ’em. They looted his cache.”

  “Hell!’ gasped Tom. “They must’ve got lost in the storm, and ...”

  “Just like Larry figured,” nodded Bart. “They didn’t have time to clear the Big Amarillo—even riding our horses. Larry, where do you suppose they are now?”

  “I wouldn’t stake my life that they’re gone,” muttered Larry. “They’ve found gold in Fortuna, but maybe that ain’t enough to satisfy ’em.”

  “Six hungry jailbirds—yeah,” grunted Bart. “They’ve likely eaten all the food they stole off us—and now they need more.”

  “Spooky,” frowned Larry, “do you have provisions cached all over Fortuna?”

  “Nope.” The little man shook his head. “Only in the cellar of this here hotel.” He chuckled wheezily. “I always did hanker to live in a fancy hotel. That’s why I moved into the old El Dorado House.”

  “All right,” said Larry. “One of us better go tell Mr. Newbold the score. And we’ll have to let the women know.”

  He turned to voice an order to Stretch, but the words never came. All eyes had turned to the rear passageway, from whence came the sound of stumbling, dragging footsteps. Theodore lurched into view with his shoulders sagging and his head bloody, his hands raised in a pleading gesture.

  “They—took her ...!” he groaned. “Sarah Ann—she’s gone ...!”

  He collided with a chair. It overturned with a crash, as he flopped to his knees. Upstairs, they heard the shrill wail of Harriet Newbold and the deeper, booming voice of her mother. The sound had obviously awakened them. They came hustling down the stairs calling anxious queries, as Larry righted the chair and helped Theodore into it.

  “Let up on that caterwaulin’!” he sourly ordered the women. “Just this once, give your man a chance to speak.” He dropped a hand to Theodore’s trembling shoulder. “All right, friend. Tell it fast.”

  “She was—at the well,” panted Theodore. “I happened to glance in that direction—and thought I saw somebody—right behind her ...”

  “My child!” groaned Lavinia. “What has become of her ...?”

  “I remember I—I was about to call out,” gasped Theodore, “when I was struck down. There—must have been two of them ...”

  “Two of the six,” said Larry, between his teeth. “The same sidewinders that left you to die in the desert.”

  “They’ve got Sarah Ann!” fumed Bart. He whirled and made to move out into the street. “Damn ’em to hell—I’ll ...!”

  “Get away from that doorway!” snapped Larry.

  He dived at the enraged shotgunner, buffeting him so heavily that the impact drove both of them to the right side of the doorway. Almost simultaneously, the guns barked from across the street and the surviving glass of the front windows was shattered. Bullets whined through the lobby like angry hornets, to the accompaniment of startled screams from the women.

  “Down!” yelled Larry. “Everybody—hit the floor!” Stretch sidestepped, lunging at the seated Theodore. For the second time, the chair overturned. The old man fell on his back with Stretch sprawling atop him, shielding him with his own body. Spooky scampered energetically to the reception desk and, as nimbly as any raw youth, vaulted over to fall behind it. Lavinia was already prone because, with impeccable timing, she had swooned. Elmira and Harriet were on their knees beside her.

  Without raising his head, old Spooky remarked:

  “By Hannah—the old town is sure comin’ alive!”

  “Stretch,” growled Larry, “drag the old man into the kitchen, then come up front. We’ll stake out the windows and give these skunks some of the same.”

  “Runt,” grinned Stretch, “you never had a better notion.”

  “Wait,” frowned Bart.

  “Now what?” demanded Tom.

  “They’ve stopped shooting,” Bart pointed out.

  Larry sat with his back to the front wall, his right hand gun-filled, his ears cocked. The silence seemed thick with tension, following on so deafening a burst of gunfire.

  A moment passed, then another, and then the Newbold sisters heard that familiar, much-feared voice, arrogant and assured, calling to them from across the street. On the night air, every word was carried to the listeners with chilling clarity.

  “You people over there! This is Cleave Elrigg ...!”

  “Well,” grunted Tom, “that clinches it.”

  “Hush up,” growled Larry. “I want to hear him out.”

  “We have a hostage!” called Elrigg. “Very young, and quite healthy—temporarily, at least.”

  “That coyote!” breathed Bart.

  “We’re willing to release her—unharmed,” Elrigg continued, “subject to certain conditions. You will abide by my terms. If you refuse to co-operate, I give you my solemn word this girl will never see tomorrow’s sunrise.” He paused to let them digest this dark threat. Then, “Do you hear me?” he demanded. “Answer me!”

  “Answer ’em, runt,” urged Stretch.

  “No,” said Larry. “When I get close enough to talk to this jasper—I’ll talk with a
Colt. Tom—you answer him.”

  “We hear you, Elrigg!” yelled Tom. “This is Shackley—him that was drivin’ the stage!”

  “You found provisions!” shouted Elrigg. “Don’t try to deny it!”

  “All right, all right!” called Tom. “We’ve been eatin’ regular, but no thanks to you. What about it?”

  “I’m willing to spare your lives,” offered Elrigg, “and the girl’s as well, provided you surrender whatever food you found here.”

  “And the hardware!” bellowed Morrow.

  “Every gun,” called Elrigg. “'Every round of ammunition—and all your supplies. I give you exactly fifteen minutes to throw it into the street.” He traded complacent grins with his cohorts, consulted the gold watch taken from Theodore Newbold. “Driver! Your timepiece wasn’t worth stealing! Do you still have it?”

  Tom produced his battered silver watch.

  “Yeah! I’m lookin’ at it!”

  “Fifteen minutes,” Elrigg repeated. “No wrangling. No arguments. I want your answer—immediately!”

  “Damn ’em to hell ...!” Tom called anxiously to Larry. “What do I tell ’em? They got us over a barrel!”

  “You must give them what they want!” pleaded Harriet. “They’ll kill her—my baby sister ...!”

  She began sobbing brokenly, while her father wriggled free of Stretch, rolled over and added his plea.

  “Mr. Valentine—I implore you ...!”

  “All right,” growled Larry. “You don’t have to beg from me.”

  “It grieves me,” muttered Stretch, “to miss out on a shootin’ fight with them coyotes—but we gotta think of the little lady.”

  “Trouble is,” fretted Tom, “can we trust ’em?”

  “You don’t have to trust ’em!” offered Spooky. He raised his head above the desk, addressed himself to Larry. “Fifteen minutes they’re givin’ you—and that’s time enough.”

  “Time enough for what?” demanded Larry.

  “I’ll tell you,” promised Spooky, “But, first, you better pretend you’re gonna do like they want.”

  “Elrigg ...” yelled Tom.

  “Hold it a minute!” snapped Larry. *He stared across at the runty prospector. “Spooky—d’you mean you can show us how to get the drop on ’em?”