LeRoy, U.S. Marshal

by Neil Hunter

He made sure his hammer thong was loose as he brought his gun hand close to his weapon.

  ‘Reeve, you got a hell of a low opinion of your fellow man,’ Reno said.

  ‘It’s why I reached as old as I am. An’ I aim to live a sight longer.’

  Reno couldn’t argue with the man’s logic. Dietrich might have offered a promise of further work but words were cheap and not always as genuine as they sounded. Until Dietrich actually came across with a genuine offer it was going to be wise to stay on guard. It would be too late to realize a trap was in effect when it snapped shut. Reno raised his coffee mug, speaking quietly.

  ‘Watch ’em in case Reeve has it right,’ he said.

  ‘I see them scatter guns start to point my way,’ Malloy said, ‘I cut loose on those hombres.’

  Dietrich turned to speak with Spearman. The shotgunners maintained their silent poses.

  ~*~

  LeRoy was short on time. He had to make the most of what he did have. He took a long swallow from his canteen. Splashed water over his face. He left the canteen behind as he started to crawl away from his spot, not wanting the thing dragging from his shoulder as he edged his way around the site, taking himself in a wide circle that was intended to bring him to the corral. He had to move around the cabin to reach it and he found himself counting off the minutes as he moved. It was slow work. Hot and uncomfortable and he had to move carefully so as not to raise any telltale dust that might betray his presence.

  Damned fool move, he told himself. Maybe I should have just ridden in hell for leather, shooting as I went and…

  LeRoy flattened as he saw one of the Reno bunch move. It seemed the man – Donnelly – was staring directly at him. It could only have been a short time but for LeRoy it seemed an eternity before the man looked away, head turning to stare in another direction. The Marshal felt cold sweat trickling down his face. He decided Donnelly was doing little more than observing the surrounding terrain. He hoped that was all. LeRoy waited a while longer, watching the trio of outlaws until he was satisfied they were not interested.

  He moved on, staying as flat as he could as he circled the area, finally easing his way behind the cabin. Out of sight he was able to relax but maintained his careful progress.

  He found he was faced with piles of debris that had collected behind the cabin. Abandoned piles of timber. Wooden crates, split and weathered, with spiny growths of dusty weeds. Stacks of rail ties. They gave him additional cover and he was able to close in on the corral on the far side of the cabin. The small store shed stood close by as well providing a little extra cover. Even now LeRoy moved with cautious steps as he covered the final distance to the corral. Crouched against the rear of the corral LeRoy saw that the opening to the enclosure was barred by a single length of timber. He saw that the pole was thin and weathered from long years of exposure to the extreme climate, the surface split and cracked. It was not going to take much to shatter it. That was the hope.

  He circled the corral, staying low, so that the bulk of the horses stood between him and the gathered men.

  This had better work, he thought.

  LeRoy didn’t consider himself a reckless man. Situations often called for less than safe options and this was one of them.

  If, and it was a big if, his plan worked and he scattered the horses there was going to be confusion. He was counting on the gathered men to be taken up with recapturing the horses. By the time they turned their attention on him, he would have the advantage.

  If.

  It was like the turn of the last card. The one that might gain the winning hand – or just as easily be the one that lost the game. A simple choice. In this instance it could end his life. All LeRoy could do was see it through.

  He slipped through the corral rails, crouching as he raised his rifle, aiming above the heads of the horses. They had shown little interest in his appearance up to now, simply turning their heads, then looking away.

  LeRoy fired off two shots, the sound of the Winchester loud in the silence. The bunched horses broke into motion, heads coming up, startled. LeRoy fired off another shot and the animals broke away from the sudden racket, moving away from him. There were eight horses in the corral and in their panic they sought to distance themselves from the source of the noise, crowding into the corral fence. It swayed under their combined weight and the heavy bulk of horseflesh crashing into the weathered timber had an even better result than LeRoy had anticipated, the pole corral simply collapsed and the animals pushed through. Dust kicked up by the pounding hoofs created a stinging cloud. The shrill cries of the horses added to the confusion as they streamed away from the corral.

  LeRoy used the moment to take down his first target. One of the men closest to the cabin, his shotgun raised swiftly as he searched for the cause of the confusion. He didn’t get the chance to use his weapon as LeRoy settled his aim and put a .44-40 slug into him. It caught the man in the side of his neck, tearing a bloody path before it emerged from the far side in an eruption of red. Before the man hit the ground LeRoy had changed position and swung his rifle towards the Reno bunch, sending a pair of slugs thudding into Reeve Donnelly’s chest as he snatched at his holstered Colt. The outlaw dropped instantly.

  LeRoy heard the crackle of hastily fired weapons through the haze of dust. He was already on the move, ducking beneath the section of the corral that still stood, and flattening himself against the side of the cabin. He could hear raised voices.

  Angry and confused.

  It was what he wanted and needed to take advantage of it before the men organized themselves.

  ~*~

  ‘Has to be that damned lawdog,’ Hank Malloy said.

  He had heard the shots. Saw the horses stampede from the corral. Had seen one of Dietrich’s men go down. The flash of red as the slug ripped through his neck. Seconds later two shots put Donnelly down, allowing him a few seconds of jerking in the dust before he died. Now Malloy snatched at his own weapon, hauling it clear from leather as he tried to pinpoint the shooter as the dust still obscured his vision.

  ‘There,’ Reno said. ‘By the side of the cabin.’

  Malloy swept his gun around, seeking a target. Only at the last second did he catch sight of the black-clad lawman.

  ‘You’re mine, lawdog,’ he said, then felt something slam into his left shoulder, a brutal punch that shattered bone and blew a gory exit hole. The impact tilted him back and he hung against the timber of the water tower, pain already engulfing his upper body, blood streaming down his arm from the crippling wound. He didn’t see Jack Reno dodge behind the tower, loosing off hasty shots at LeRoy’s distant figure before he ran…after that Malloy lost interest as he lapsed into unconsciousness…with the massive loss of blood from his wound he never woke…

  ~*~

  Dietrich had his revolver in his big hand as he turned to his remaining assistant.

  ‘By the cabin,’ he said. ‘Move before he targets us.’

  The gunman nodded, breaking to the right to circle the cabin while Dietrich took the forward move, his weapon up and ready. With his man moving around the cabin they would have the lawman trapped between them. He could see clearly now, the dust kicked up by the stampeding horse having dissipated. In the distance he could hear them still running. There was no sign of Reno himself, so Dietrich put the man out of his mind.

  This lawman was his prime concern. While he lived he was a threat and Dietrich did not like to be in such a position. The man had to be stopped – now – and for good. Dietrich had his orders, to collect and deliver the goods Reno had taken from Reverend Tamber. Before he could complete his task he had to deal with this man LeRoy.

  Dietrich figured he had allowed his man enough time.

  He dogged back the hammer and took a step towards the corner of the cabin concealing the lawman…

  ~*~

  LeRoy saw Dietrich’s man head around the far corner of the cabin and understood the ploy. They were going to pin him between the pair of them. Not an en
viable position to be in. LeRoy made his decision, leaning his rifle against the side of the cabin and drawing both revolvers. They were better suited to close quarter situations and gave him a degree of flexibility.

  He was out of Dietrich’s sight for the moment which gave him a short, clear moment. Dietrich was not going to step around the corner of the cabin and expose himself. He would wait for his man to show at LeRoy’s back and take his shot, then make his own move.

  LeRoy waited it out, figuring he had little choice. He picked up on the heavy-footed approach of Dietrich’s man. Took the hammer back on his right hand Colt and lined up on the cabin’s rear corner. He spotted the man’s shadow an instant before he came around the corner, his handgun firing as he set eyes on LeRoy’s crouching figure. The man was fast, pistol in his hand, triggering a roll of shots in LeRoy’s direction, flame and smoke spearing from the muzzle. LeRoy felt the burn as a slug tore at his side, then he was returning fire, holding his hand steady and taking that extra second to center his target. His Colt hammered out a pair of shots, close enough to almost merge into continuous sound. Dietrich’s man came to a stop as the .45 slugs pounded his chest. Shock came next, then the slackness of death as he went down on his face.

  LeRoy turned.

  Dug in his heels and pushed himself forward, knowing that Dietrich would show himself any second. He ran forward, moving at a fast pace that took him clear of the corner of the cabin, and launched himself in a headlong dive, that took him past Dietrich in a blur of movement. As he landed, hitting the ground on his left shoulder, he twisted his body round and slid across the dirt on his back, both pistols seeking Dietrich.

  Dietrich hauled himself to a stop, dragging himself round to face the lawman, his weapon seeking the target he wanted.

  He was seconds too slow.

  LeRoy triggered both weapons, took the hammers back and fired again instinctively. The pair of Colts crackled harshly, spouting flame as LeRoy hit Dietrich with as many slugs as he could. The man staggered back, his own weapon discharging its only shot at the ground. Multiple wounds to his torso blossomed with bright blood as the heavy slugs pounded home. With the last bullet from his left hand pistol LeRoy aimed and placed the .45 slug between Dietrich’s eyes and the man toppled backwards, bloody chunks bursting from his shattered skull.

  LeRoy pushed to his feet, feeling the aftermath of his headlong dive. It might have worked but he knew he was going to suffer aches and pains for some time. He could feel the spreading patch of blood down his left side where he had caught the shot from Dietrich’s man. The wound stung badly but at least he was still able to move about.

  What the hell, he decided, it was all down to doing his job. Law and order every time.

  He put away one of his pistols and reloaded from his cartridge belt. He hadn’t forgotten the man inside the cabin. The man inspecting the diamonds. For all he knew the feller could be waiting with a loaded pistol himself.

  ‘You in the cabin. Show yourself. Marshal Alvin LeRoy. I got a loaded Colt here and I will use it if you give me cause.’

  He heard a scuffle of sound. The cabin door opened on dry hinges as the hunched figure of Spearman stepped out, arms raised. He looked terrified, eyes wide as he took in the bodies sprawled on the ground.

  ‘I am not armed,’ he said.

  ‘Do I take your word for that, mister, ‘cause right now my ability to trust is kind of wore out?’

  Spearman nodded vigorously.

  ‘Down on your knees then. Hands deep in your pockets. Just in case you decide to do something heroic.’

  Spearman did as he was ordered. His gaze fixed on the muzzle of LeRoy’s pistol.

  ‘I do not like guns,’ he said. ‘Especially when they’re pointing at me.’

  ‘Hell, mister, should I care about your feelings? Way I’m feeling right now I could put you down and walk away.’

  ‘But all I’ve done is inspect those diamonds. Is that a crime?’

  ‘Because of those diamonds a bunch of innocent folk are dead. Men, women and kids. Slaughtered just so you miserable bastards could get your hands on a bagful of jewels.’

  ‘I had nothing to do with that. Damnit, man, you cannot hold me responsible. If those people died they must have been in the way of…’

  LeRoy moved with such speed Spearman had no chance to react. The Colt in LeRoy’s hand slammed down across the side of the man’s face with a vicious crack, sending him to the ground where he lay stunned. Blood welled from the ragged gash the blow had opened.

  He turned and scanned the area beyond the site. There was no sign of Jack Reno. He had gone. For now. LeRoy didn’t fool himself into believing Reno had vanished for good. He would go looking for a horse before he returned to the cabin. He wasn’t about to give up any prize waiting for him.

  Crossing to the side of the cabin LeRoy retrieved his rifle. He made his way to the coffee pot hung over the cook fire and helped himself to a tin cup of the brew. The hot liquid settled in his empty stomach, reminding LeRoy he hadn’t eaten for some time. Searching the outlaws’ possibles he found a side of bacon and a small fry pan. Using his knife he cut off thick slices, dropped them in the pan and set it over the flames. He fed fresh wood in on the fire, bent over and dragged Hank Malloy’s still body aside then sat back against the water tower, downing a second cup of coffee while the bacon cooked.

  As long as Reno was still around, LeRoy’s manhunt was not over. If the man caught up one of the scattered horses he would gain some advantage. The outlaw would be riding a horse without saddle or reins, no food or water, but LeRoy figured he would still have his handgun. In Reno’s hand a .45 was a deadly weapon. The man had a steady hand and used a pistol with ease and accuracy. One way or another he would return to the cabin.

  When the bacon had fried LeRoy sliced it with his knife, spearing it from the pan. He ate steadily, taking more coffee from the pot, managing to eased the hunger in his stomach.

  He went through the abandoned possibles sacks and found what he was looking for. A couple of shirts. He put one aside, then cut the other into strips. LeRoy removed his own shirt, inspecting the wound in his side. A four inch gash where the bullet had creased his flesh. He wadded up a piece of shirt and walked across to the spring. He soaked the shirt and sluiced the wound, gasping at the raw pain it produced. When he was satisfied the gash was as clean as he could get it he returned to the water tower, wadded a fresh piece of materials and pressed it over the gash. He had to knot strips of the shirt until he had enough to turn around his lean body, holding the padded cloth in place. It took a while to manage, but eventually he was satisfied. The makeshift bandage was going to have to do until he could have the wound looked at professionally. He put on the shirt he’d located and found it was a comfortable fit.

  From the supplies he found in the saddlebags LeRoy found ammunition the same caliber as his own weapons. He sat down and reloaded his pistols and topped up his Winchester. He found a bundle of cheap cigars in one pouch and lit one. He sat back, working on his next move. It was simple enough. He had to take a walk back to where he had left his horse.

  There was something he needed to do before that. On his feet LeRoy moved around the area and collected all the discarded weapons. Rifles and pistols. He checked each body in case there were any concealed arms as well. Satisfied he had them all he carried them across to the pool and dropped them into the water. He cut off a couple of lengths from one of the saddle ropes on one of the saddles and used them to tie Spearman’s wrists and ankles, sitting the man down against the cabin wall. Spearman had recovered enough to make a protest but LeRoy ignored his feeble threats.

  ‘Save your energy, feller. We got a long ride ahead of use once I settle with Reno. Just think about that.’

  LeRoy drained his coffee, picked up his rifle and headed out across country to pick up his horse. He had only been walking for five minutes when his side began to throb with pain. He had been expecting it but it still caught him unaware. He changed his
rifle to his other arm, pressing his hand to the bandaged wound and was relieved that there was no blood soaking through.

  He scanned the landscape. Saw no movement. Reno would still be out there. Maybe even belly-down and watching him right now. Or he might have picked up one of the scattered horses and ridden away. That thought faded almost immediately. If Jack Reno was still close, which was likely, he wasn’t going to walk away. Buckmann’s Folly meant water and just as important money and diamonds. Reno wasn’t about to give up on any of those things.

  LeRoy’s feelings warned him that Reno would be coming back.

  It took him twenty minutes to get back to the black. The horse made impatient snorts at his appearance. LeRoy jammed the Winchester into the sheath, removed the hobbles and freed the reins.

  ‘Quit the grumbling,’ he said. ‘At least you’ve had a better day than me.’

  He took to the saddle, turning the black around and headed back to Buckmann’s Folly. Approaching the place LeRoy checked out the area. The comparative flatness of the Texas landscape made it hard to hide anything. LeRoy saw no movement save the slight sway of the scant brush, stirred by the restless wind. In the far distance he spotted the twisting shape of a dust-devil, watched it dance back and forth until it vanished in the heat haze.

  LeRoy dismounted, tying the black to a bracing-strut on the water tower while he checked out Spearman. The man, one side of his face streaked with dried blood from where LeRoy hit him was glaring with unrestrained hostility but kept his mouth closed tightly.

  LeRoy took a long, slow look around. He saw no fresh boot prints that might indicate Reno had already made his way back. Even so he made a thorough inspection. Caution was uppermost in his mind. Allowing his concentration to slip was tantamount to begging for a bullet in the back, and Alvin LeRoy had been surviving for too long to let that happen.

  Stepping by Spearman, LeRoy pushed open the cabin door and stepped inside for the first time. Dusty windows allowed a degree of sunlight through. The interior was basic, but larger than he had realized. A double bunk against one wall. Cast-iron cook stove. A number of wooden chairs and a table. Cupboards on the wall. Everything held a layer of dust save for the table top where a black velvet cloth had been spread. LeRoy saw a large leather pouch, open at the neck. Sunlight reflected off the mass of multi-faceted diamonds lying in view. There were more of the gems spread across the velvet cloth. LeRoy had no idea of the value of the hoard but from the amount on view he guessed it had to be extremely high.