by Paul Bedford
That man gazed up at him numbly, but made no effort to move.
‘Suit yourself,’ Taggart grunted, before turning to the dripping tracker. ‘Take a pull on this rope with me, huh. That’s no lightweight down there.’ As the two men took a firm grip, he beckoned at Sam Torrance. ‘Anytime you’re ready, old man.’
The marshal’s likely response was lost in the sound of hoof beats and human grunting as all involved strained on the rope. They in turn were soon overwhelmed by tremendous creaking and rending noises from the Arkansas, as all the effort got a result, albeit not one that Taggart had intended. The keelboat was dragged off the ferry all right, but the iron anchor destroyed the gunwale in the process. With the boat hitting the river side on, it immediately began to take on water.
Decker instantly recognized the danger. He had wisely remained at the front and so quickly heaved his saddle-bags onto the now visible ferry, before following on himself. Naylor, who had been shaken off his feet, gazed in bewilderment at their sudden arrival.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Decker snarled, although in truth the Double Eagles really weren’t his anymore.
Taggart watched as the boat sank below the surface. ‘Well that didn’t pan out quite the way I intended,’ he remarked. ‘But at least I’ve got my ferry back.’ The big man chuckled for the first time in two days, before moving over to release the horses from their burden.
Sam Torrance had dismounted and slowly ambled over to the crest. Glancing down at the ferry, he called out. ‘You two fellas had better get to pulling on that rope. I ain’t swimming anywhere this day.’
Russ Decker sighed resignedly. He was pragmatic enough to realize that he was played out. He had tried and lost. This time! ‘Take a hold of that cable,’ he snarled at Naylor. ‘Or I’ll kick you so hard, you’ll be wearing your ass for a hat.’
That man stared at him for a moment, before shuffling over to do as he was told. ‘Gnun,’ he nonsensically responded. The traumatic loss of his tongue seemed to have affected far more than just his speech.
The three men stood just below the crest of the banking and watched as the ferry slowly made its way towards them. With Torrance’s tacit agreement, Taggart retained the big rifle. The marshal was quite obviously at the end of his tether and neither of them was fully convinced of Raoul’s bona fides. And then of course there was the bank robber, who had more than demonstrated his belligerence.
‘Just don’t get to liking that long gun too much,’ the lawman managed.
So it was that when the ferry finally arrived, the Winchester’s temporary owner remarked to the tracker, ‘I need to keep this gun on those two pus weasels, so I’d be much obliged if you’d round up the horses.’
Remarkably, Raoul acquiesced without argument and squelched back up to the crest. What he said next stunned the other two. ‘Well that won’t take long. There’s only the one here, although I’ll allow he’s a fine looking animal.’
Despite the relentless pain in his skull, Marshal Torrance made the effort to join him. What he saw brought a grim smile to his haggard features. Sure enough, there remained only the one animal and for some incomprehensible reason it was his.
‘Well I’ll be. Only an Indian could have managed that, so there was one dogging my trail after all. He could have picked me off anytime he’d wanted, but he chose to wait and he’s the richer for it.’ The lawman shook his head in amazement, but then immediately regretted it. It seemed that there was just no accounting for the way an Indian thought!
Chapter Thirteen
There was no logical reason for it, but Raoul could feel eyes on him wherever he went. Guilt had a way of doing that to a man. His feet were sore and he wanted his boots. Yet there lay the rub. When he did recover them, he would need some time alone to transfer the thick wad of cash. And the cabin’s other bed was now occupied by a Deputy US Marshal who, although sorely injured, still possessed eyes like gimlets.
The ferry, miraculously intact, had finally returned to its rightful place on the north bank. Its owner was nursing nothing more serious than a broken nose and some pretty impressive cuts and bruises, but it would be a long time before he got over the trauma of losing such a close companion to a pair of low-life traders.
In the absence of iron shackles, Russ Decker had his hands firmly tied behind his back. He stared into the middle distance, completely ignoring those around him. His immediate future would inevitably involve hard labour in a federal prison, but such a man never stayed down for long. It was just a crying shame that he had to have been thwarted by a half-breed!
The sunken keelboat’s only survivor faced an uncertain future. Since nobody could ascertain his name and Sam Torrance was unaware of any paper out on him, Naylor was free to go, but his options were decidedly limited. Emptying bar room spittoons or begging for dimes would likely cover it.
Ben Exley had definitely experienced better outcomes to an assignment. His right hand was permanently disfigured and he had had agency dead to bury and read over. Compounding that was the presence of a federal officer, which meant that his organization was unable to claim credit for recovering the gold. The best that the Pinkertons could hope for was to charge a flat fee for the time and effort involved. All in all, he’d had a belly full of Taggart’s Crossing. It was time to be gone. He glanced curiously over at his tracker. The ’breed had been acting squirrelly all day.
‘There’s nothing holding us here, Raoul,’ he remarked. ‘So unless you figure on riding barefoot, you’d best get your boots. We’re leaving.’
That man stared back for a moment as though about to say something. Instead, Raoul finally turned and padded over to the cabin. His mind was turning summersaults in an effort to find an answer for his particular problem . . . but kept coming up short. As he entered the cabin, he was immediately aware of the marshal’s eyes on him. God damn the son of a bitch, he thought to himself, Doesn’t he ever sleep?’
Ignoring the law-dog, Raoul went straight to the other bed where the wounded Pinkerton had lain. His heart beat faster as he reached under and then steadied with relief as his searching hand settled on the leather boots. Retrieving them, he turned to leave. So far, so good.
‘Nice paid of boots you got there, son,’ the lawman abruptly remarked. It was the first time he had spoken to the tracker.
Raoul’s heart raced. ‘What does he know? Has he already found the cash?’ Desperately, he attempted to maintain a normal demeanour. ‘Why thanks, marshal,’ he responded softly. ‘I’ve had them for years. They fit like a glove.’ With that, he made no attempt to put them on, but instead walked briskly to the door and out into the open.
What he found outside made his heart sink. Exley and the others were already mounted and just waiting on him. The massive ferryman was casually watching their departure, before making a start on some repairs to the ferry. With nothing else to do, Torrance’s tightly bound prisoner was also idly observing events. Consequently all eyes were on the sweating tracker.
Raoul took a deep breath to steady himself and nonchalantly came to a halt. Dipping his toes into the left boot, he effortlessly pulled it on and then reached for the other. This time, as his foot slipped in, it quickly reached an obstruction. Curling his toes up, the man steeled himself for the inevitable pain and kicked down heavily against the ground. The thick wad of notes contracted only so far. Unable to conceal a grimace, he found that his heel was quite unable to settle in the rear of the boot.
‘My foot must have swollen in the river,’ he remarked by way of explanation. ‘And these damned boots always were too tight anyway.’ Hobbling towards his horse, he added, ‘Happen they’ll sort themselves out once I’m mounted.’
Exley stared at him askance, but remained silent. All he really wanted to do was return to Wichita and wash his hands of the whole business.
‘That’s a mighty bad limp you got there, fella,’ Marshal Torrance remarked casually. ‘How’s about you shuck off that fancy boot.’
As Raoul
froze, the lawman glanced meaningfully over at Taggart who cottoned on immediately. Everybody heard the distinctive sound of the big Winchester’s lever action.
‘Like I said,’ Torrance continued. ‘Lose the footwear.’
‘What’s the meaning of this,’ demanded Exley, but nobody was listening. All eyes were riveted on his employee.
Very briefly, Raoul considered mounting up and making a break for it, but a bullet in the back held little appeal. His shoulders dropped in resignation and then he gratefully eased off the boot.
Torrance shuffled over to join him. ‘Pick it up and give it to me,’ he demanded.
With the boot in his hands, he up-ended and then shook it. A cold smile crossed his features as a pile of ‘twenties’ appeared at his feet. ‘Look’s like you thought to do a little private business,’ he quipped.
What happened next took everyone by surprise, with the exception of Russ Decker, of course. ‘Like hell, he is,’ the outlaw spat out. ‘He works for me. We made a deal.’ He directed his next comments at Raoul. ‘You stupid bastard. All you had to do was keep the cash hidden, but you couldn’t even get that right!’
The Pinkerton tracker stared in stunned horror at his accuser and then it abruptly dawned on him what was happening. Turning to Ben Exley, he protested, ‘Can’t you see what he’s trying to do. Yeah, I pocketed a few bills, but I’ve nothing to do with this low-life.’
Exley studied his employee closely as he began to put two and two together to make six. Chiefly, he recalled how Raoul had remained in the cabin whilst Decker had fled on the ferry. That suddenly smacked of connivance rather than self-preservation. And then there was the fact that he had been getting a little too big for his boots lately. Someone less serious might have seen the funny side of that thought, but as it was he merely replied, ‘Nothing can alter the fact that you’ve betrayed my trust. I’m not sure whether you’re in league with this man or not, but this is a federal matter, so it’s out of my hands. I’ll leave it to you, marshal.’
Torrance displayed no hesitation. ‘Drop your weapons and get over by the prisoner. You’re under arrest. Way I see it, you’ve gone bad, but it’ll be up to the judge to decide.’
As the tracker shuffled dejectedly over to join Decker, the outlaw couldn’t restrain a chuckle. Things were starting to look up already!
