LeRoy, U.S. Marshal

by Neil Hunter

  He pushed to his feet, sleeving pale dust from his eyes and checked the area. The drifting haze cleared and LeRoy picked out the downed men, bodies splayed motionless across the slope. They had died hard and fast, expecting LeRoy would be an easy target.

  Their mistake.

  He checked each man, clearing the dropped weapons and felt better when he had done that. Only one face registered with him. Bren Halsted. LeRoy recalled seeing a handbill on the man that had been circulated by a law office from back east. Halsted had a number of suspected crimes behind him. Nothing proven. He appeared to have a good lawyer on his side. But there was no connection with Jack Reno that LeRoy knew of. Halsted’s clothes spoke of money. Expensive. Well-tailored. Quality.

  Yet Halsted was a town man. More used to city life rather than wandering the badlands. It seemed the man had signed on to side with someone who had travelled all the way to Texas to do business with Jack Reno.

  LeRoy knew he was making guesses based on what he had learned from Laura. There appeared to be logic there, based on the facts as he knew them. It forced him to wonder what Reverend Tamber had been carrying in his wagon that had generated Reno’s extreme actions. Something with value enough to kill for.

  Gold.

  Cash.

  Something with enough value that it brought about wholesale slaughter.

  Whatever it was it had LeRoy’s full attention.

  ~*~

  He reloaded, worked his way up the loose slope to check his downed horse. The chestnut was dead. LeRoy took his canteen and took a mouthful of water to get rid of the dust he’d swallowed before he took a full drink. He slid his Winchester from the saddle boot, retrieved his saddlebags, but was unable to free his possibles sack. He wet his neckerchief and wiped his face, trying to remove the clinging dust. Yards across the slope he spotted his hat and picked it up.

  He was starting to feel the effects of his tumble down the slope after his horse had gone down. Aches across his ribs and down his spine. It could have been worse, he considered. Like a bullet wound. He concentrated on his next move. To find the horses left by his attackers. They had to be somewhere close. The pair hadn’t walked to find him. It took LeRoy less than ten minutes to locate the pair of tethered animals in a shallow depression. They were standing motionless, hobbled with leather restraints. LeRoy looked them over. A sturdy gray and a sleek-coated black. The black eyed him with a silent stare, showing its big teeth. LeRoy judged it to have a defiant spirit. An animal that would need a strong hand to keep it under control. It would be a resilient ride and that appealed to him. LeRoy laid his gear down, topped his hat with water and let both animals drink. There were canteens on both saddles so he could spare the water and he hung them from the saddle horn. He stripped off the gray’s rig, unbuckled the hobbles and set the animal free. He checked out what supplies had come into his hands and selected what would be most useful to him with regards to food and extra ammunition. With that done he swung his saddlebags in place, securing them. He took off the black’s hobbles, keeping the reins in one hand as he freed the animal. The black pulled away and it took LeRoy a minute to calm it, talking all the time so it got used to his voice and it finally decided to stand.

  ‘Now you got that out of your system, let’s quit fooling around,’ LeRoy said. ‘We go some travelling to do and I need you to settle down.’ He stroked the glossy neck, feeling the ripple of muscle under his hand and when he stepped up into the saddle the black stood motionless. ‘See, that wasn’t so bad, son.’

  LeRoy cast around, eyes on the ground and it took him no more than a few minutes to pick up the tracks left by the two riders as they had ridden in. He put the black on the trail and began to retrace the incoming trail.

  ‘Well, son, looks like we’re on our way.’

  ~*~

  The tight group of men gathered around the derelict water tower at Buckmann’s Folly were in somber mood. Their horses stood listless in the corral near the cabin

  ‘You ’specting your boys back soon?’ Hank Malloy said.

  He directed his question to the man standing across from him.

  ‘Soon enough,’ Dietrich said. ‘Once they have done their work.’

  Dietrich was a humorless man. Broad and drifting towards being heavyset he stared at the world through unsympathetic eyes. A thick mustache adorned his upper lip, giving him a stern appearance. In the same mold the pair of cold-eyed men with him made no pretense at concealing their hostile stance.

  Malloy glanced across at Reno, giving a slight shrug.

  ‘I guess sending those fellers out is just his way of making sure our back trail’s clear.’

  Reno only nodded.

  ‘Hell, Jack, Yarborough and Reed ain’t showin’ so something’s done gone wrong.’

  Dietrich said, ‘It’s good sense to check.’

  ‘Taking your man a time to look them diamonds over,’ Reno said.

  ‘There are many of them,’ Dietrich said. ‘It takes time. We would not want to make any mistakes. Too much has gone into this deal to have something go wrong.’

  ‘Hells fire we done all right our end,’ Malloy said.

  ‘Except that you have this lawman, LeRoy, following you.’

  ‘LeRoy’s been on our backs for a while. Ain’t seen him of late but there’s no other lawdog in the territory who’d stick like him,’ Reno said. ‘Not something we chose to happen.’

  ‘But it has still happened and because of that we could have more trouble.’

  ‘You think I wanted problems?’ Reno said. ‘Way it’s looking I already lost two men.’

  ‘Because they were not good enough to do their jobs.’

  ‘They was damn good men,’ Reve Donnelly said, hand slipping to grip his holstered Colt.’

  ‘Hey, let’s back off here,’ Reno said. ‘Everybody take it easy. We’re all friends here. No need to get riled.’

  An uneasy silence fell. The heat was unrelenting. The only one it seemed to have no effect on was Dietrich. His unmoving face showed no sign of sweat. He looked impervious to the stifling temperature.

  Beyond Buckmann’s Folly the dusty, sun blasted country spread wide and empty. The brief interruption that Buckmann had created left no significant changes on the land. The rails. The water tower and the cabin would all disappear in time.

  The cabin door opened and Dietrich’s diamond expert stepped outside, eyes squinting against the hot glare of the sun. He was middle-aged, pale with thinning hair and a slightly hunched his shoulders from spending so much time bent over his work bench. He made no attempt to hide his displeasure at the harsh southwest climate.

  ‘You done, Spearman?’ Dietrich said.

  Spearman mopped his sweating face.

  ‘Done? Of course I’m not done. You don’t realize how time consuming my work is. Checking every one of those stones takes time. A great deal of time. Dietrich, you know I cannot make any mistakes. Our principal will not take it lightly if he finds out he has been duped.’

  For once Dietrich’s mask slipped and he allowed a momentary scowl to cross his face. He made a dismissive gesture in Spearman’s direction.

  ‘Go and do your work then.’

  ‘Please give me some fresh coffee,’ Spearman said.

  When Spearman and his mug of coffee had returned to the shack, Reno moved away from the abandoned water tower.

  ‘Just remember we done what you asked. That satchel I delivered is untouched. Don’t make the mistake of even suggesting there’s any problem with those damn diamonds.’

  ‘Mister Reno, I assure you nothing is further from my mind. As soon as Spearman validates the authenticity of those diamonds you will receive your money and we can all be on our way.’ He poured himself fresh coffee from the pot standing by the fire. ‘My principal is a man who values honesty in business dealings. There may be more work as you have succeeded in completing this current assignment. He has plans that involve this territory and he will need men who know it. You appear to have t
he correct attributes. Believe me, Mister Reno, working for my employer could be extremely profitable. A decidedly improvement on your old ways of riding in the shadows and stealing small.’

  ‘Good to hear,’ Reno said.

  He rejoined his two partners who were standing by the old water tower. Malloy was casually rolling himself a cigarette, his nimble fingers going through the motions even as he expertly worked the tobacco into the strip of brown paper, moistened it and placed it between his lips. Reeve Donnelly helped himself to water from one of the canteens he had filled from the spring. The liquid was cool against his dry lips.

  ‘You figure this yahoo is talking straight?’ Donnelly said. ‘Maybe he’s foolin’ with us.’

  ‘Can’t see what he’d get from that,’ Reno said.

  ‘Just don’t go turnin’ your back on him and make damn sure you count that cash when he hands it over,’ Malloy said. ‘All I got to say.’

  ‘Hank, you’re a damn suspicious feller,’ Reno said. ‘There anyone you really trust?’

  ‘On’y you, Jack.’

  Reno managed a crooked grin at that.

  ‘You forgettin’ me?’ Donnelly said.

  Malloy gave him a slow look over as he struck a Lucifer with his thumbnail and lit his cigarette.

  ‘I ain’t ever likely to forget you, partner,’ he said.

  Donnelly considered what Malloy had said. His expression brought a slow chuckle from Reno. Donnelly looked between the pair of them and it slowly dawned they were fooling with him.

  ‘Sonofabitch,’ he said.

  ~*~

  As was often the case when the sun dropped below the horizon, so did the temperature, and LeRoy saw no gain to be had risking riding in the dark. As smart as the black was it might easily step into a hole and injure itself. He realized quickly there wasn’t going to be much moonlight and it would be an easy mistake to wander off track, so LeRoy made a cold camp in a dry wallow. He fastened the hobbles on the black’s forelegs, ignoring the testy noise it made. The last thing he needed was the animal wandering off and leaving him afoot.

  ‘Sorry, feller, no food tonight,’ he said.

  He tipped some water into his hat and let the black drink, loosened the saddle. Dragging his coat from behind the saddle LeRoy buttoned it tight, slung his blanket around his shoulders and settled down with his back to the curve of the wallow. He made sure his handguns were free in the holsters and kept his Winchester close at hand. He craved a smoke but denied himself the pleasure, aware that the smell from a lit cigar could carry a distance. It was the small things that could announce a man’s presence. Until he sighted his quarry LeRoy had no intention of giving them any advantage.

  He knew for certain there were three men left in the Reno bunch, but with the appearance of the pair of strangers he had no way of knowing how many more he might have to face. That being the case he needed to weigh up the total opposition. It was the nature of his work that changes could occur without warning. He had to adapt if and when that happened if he wanted to stay alive.

  LeRoy slept until light broke through at dawn. He woke stiff and chilled though. He walked around until his muscles warmed up, took a strip of jerky from his saddlebag and chewed on it, drinking from the cold canteen. He was aware the black was watching him and ignored the baleful glare.

  ‘Let’s go pick up those tracks,’ he said.

  LeRoy tightened the cinch, rolled his blanket and stowed it away. He slid the rifle into the scabbard and decided to lead the horse for a while as he located the double line of hoofprints. After a good half-hour he swung into the saddle and let the black have its little jig as he lowered his weight into the leather.

  ‘Hell, I know how you feel, but we all got our jobs to do.’

  The black settled into a steady lope, LeRoy scanning the way ahead, and wondering what he was going to find when he reached Buckmann’s Folly. For certain it wasn’t about to be a welcoming party. The wanton massacre of the Reverend Tamber’s group had made that obvious. Jack Reno and his bunch were maintaining their reputation for hard dealing. Having proved they were low on the list for redemption LeRoy made himself a promise to put an end to their killing ways. He had no intention of allowing any leeway and to hell with allowing any kind of exceptions. The recall he had of the dead men, women and children of Tamber’s train was enough to convince Reno and his bunch were at the end of their string.

  The sun had risen, bringing another day of heat and stinging dust. LeRoy quit trying to dust himself off. As fast as he did the dust returned, layering his clothes, his horse and doing little to ease his mood. He soaked a kerchief and wrapped it across his mouth and nose. It worked for a while but in the end the material was thick with moisture-dampened dust that was equally as bad as when it was dry. He pulled the kerchief off and threw it away. A couple of hours into the morning he climbed out of the saddle, wet his hand and wiped the black’s mouth, stroking the horse’s dust-streaked neck.

  ‘Hoss, we both need a rest out of this heat, but I can’t see anything in plain sight that’s about to offer us any comfort.’

  LeRoy took to walking again, part to ease the black’s burden and part to stretch the kinks out of his legs. Sometime later he spotted a patch of green and figured if there was greenery there had to be water in the area. He led the horse towards the small oasis. It turned out to be a clutch of brush and a few straggly cottonwoods. He saw the gleam of moisture in amongst the green. A small fissure issuing a flow of water. It came from somewhere under the ground and over time had created a pool and a runoff. As always happened, the moisture generated plant life. It was never going to be any more than it was but as far as LeRoy was concerned, in this parched area it was a veritable Eden. He didn’t have to point the way. The black made straight for the pool and thrust its muzzle in, drinking deeply. LeRoy moved to where the seep emerged from the earth, dropping to his knees and thrust both hands into the cool liquid. He sluiced his face and neck, threw his hat to the ground and used cupped hands to drench his hair. He bent over and drank. The water was surprisingly cool where it bubbled from the fissure and was the sweetest LeRoy had ever tasted. He drank his fill, then sat back against one of the trees and rested for a time. Later he went to where the black was munching on some of the grass that grew around the pool, took out his gear so he could clean his guns. The ride had coated them with dust and LeRoy spent as much time as was needed to clean and lubricate them from the small can of gun-oil he carried with him. Only when he was satisfied with their condition did he sit back and work out his situation.

  By his gauging he couldn’t be more than a couple of hours from Buckmann’s Folly. The abandoned railhead site had to be close now. He reckoned he could reach it by early afternoon and found himself hoping that whatever business had drawn Reno and his bunch to the place would have kept him there.

  There was the possibility Reno had concluded his deal and had moved on. Yet there was also the chance he might still be negotiating his transaction. Whatever he had taken from Reverend Tamber’s wagon seemed to be the catalyst for his actions. If Reno was making a delivery he had to depend on the other party showing up. The moment he registered that thought LeRoy reminded himself that it was more than likely the other party had already arrived. The pair of gunmen who had made the abortive attempt on his life had not been Reno’s men. Which suggested Reno’s contacts had already shown their faces.

  LeRoy’s timing was close. He reached the final stretch after a good couple of hours’ riding. Aware he was getting close LeRoy dismounted, choosing a deep depression in the terrain and hobbled the black, ignoring the baleful stare he got from the animal, and took his Winchester, knife in a belt scabbard and the smallest canteen. On foot he was less likely to be seen but he didn’t discount the possibility of scouts scanning the area.

  He took his time, spending much of it down on the dusty, scrub-dotted ground, working his way in towards his destination. He crawled forward feeling the dust work its way into his clothing and reca
lled the cool water of the place he had last camped. Recall did nothing to offer him anything in the way of comfort and he had to push the image out of his mind.

  Flat down, with scrubby bushes his only concealment he was able to see Buckmann’s Folly.

  The water tower and the cabin. The smaller tool shed next to it. The sagging corral holding a number of horses standing motionless in the shimmering heat.

  And six men.

  Jack Reno. Reeve Donnelly. Hank Malloy.

  They were standing around a fire over which a coffee pot hung from a metal hook.

  A little way off were three more men. All strangers to LeRoy. Solid, better dressed than Reno and his bunch. They were all well-armed. Two of them carrying handguns in high-ride belt holsters and stubby double-barreled shotguns. The third man, standing slightly off from them was a confident, bull-chested individual with a hard face and a way of holding himself that told LeRoy he was the top dog. The man in charge and with no more than that LeRoy understood this was a man to be watched close.

  The door to the cabin opened and a figure stepped into view. A skinny, stoop-shouldered man with a pale complexion that told LeRoy this one spent most of his time at a desk, away from sunlight. He watched this newcomer join the boss man and speak to him. They were too far away for LeRoy to hear what they were saying. Whatever news the pale man had to deliver seemed to please the boss man. Once he had received the news the man broke into action, his arms waving as he delivered instructions.

  LeRoy realized he had arrived at a crucial moment and knew if he was about to make a move, this was the time.

  ~*~

  ‘I figure the count has been finished,’ Malloy said. ‘Time maybe we get paid.’

  Donnelly said, ‘Keep your eyes on those scatter-gun fellers. I reckon this could be the time we get paid. Only thing I don’t know is if it’ll be in cash money or lead shot…’