Wyoming Shootout (Gun For Wells Fargo Book 2)

by G. Wayne Tilman

  They went to the office first.

  “Detective Sarah Watson, say hello to Detective Jake Bell.”

  “Oh, Jake and I know each other from headquarters while you were off licking your most recent couple of bullet wounds.”

  “How often does a Wells Fargo detective get shot?” Bell asked.

  “Almost never,” Sarah said. “But this one attracts bullets like a magnet. Especially when he’s saving his partner’s life.”

  “Was it the gunfight in San Francisco against the kidnappers?”

  “I received two holes there,” Pope confirmed.

  “I would never have guessed Cheyenne would have street crime like today,” Bell said, causing a quizzical look on Sarah’s face.

  “Three knuckleheads tried to strong arm Jake at the train depot. I’m guessing they were hanging in there to get warm. Anyway, he knocked two unconscious. Then, one pulled a long knife. By the way, Jake, you need to report it in a telegram to Chief Detective Hume.”

  “John. You seem to have left something out. Did you shoot someone else?” Sarah asked.

  “No. I just gave him a tap on the head. No big deal. It will be good enough if Jake includes it in his telegram. Just put both our names at the end, Jake,” Pope said.

  “We both really want to sit down with you and review your findings on where our boy the Taos Kid has been since he visited Cheyenne. But, first let me walk you over to the Western Hotel. We have a room booked for you. It will be direct billed to the office. You should move in and we’ll meet you for dinner at seven after Sarah closes here. There’s a good restaurant in the hotel. You can leave your shotgun here or take it to the hotel.”

  “Where’s yours?” Bell asked.

  “Hotel for my .45-70. I believe Sarah has her ten-gauge at her room,” he said looking at Sarah and getting her confirmation.

  “I’ll take it then. Boy, Sarah! You can handle the kick of a ten-gauge?”

  “In a fight, I don’t notice it. If I were just shooting it at a tin can or something, I would probably be terrified to pull the trigger,” she responded.

  They left and walked the several blocks in the light snow. Though it had been a snowy winter in Cheyenne, there was little accumulation.

  “What do you think?” Sarah asked Pope when he returned alone.

  “My initial opinion is good. He handled the thugs well. The only reason I tapped the knife wielder on the head was to keep Bell from shooting him. He already had his coat open to reach his shoulder holster. Packing a S&W like your bigger one, near as I could tell.”

  “Well, then. I approve of him already,” Sarah said. Pope just shook his head.

  Dropping her voice so nobody else in the office could hear, Sarah said “what floor is he on?”

  “Two floors down and far end of the hall from our rooms.” With her back to the other three employees and five customers, she pursed her lips in a silent kiss. She received and imperceptible eye movement on Pope’s part. She read his body language like a book. Thank God any person facing him in a gunfight could not.

  The next day, Bell spread out his sheet of sightings of either the verified or suspected Kid Taos. They were in date order. It was a wild scattering across the Western US. There seemed to be no coherent reasoning behind his travels. He did not seem to choose his stops for robberies well and often the take was little or nothing. His largest score to date was the Cheyenne Wells Fargo office. He was reported to have escaped on a gray horse in many of the reports.

  They concluded, logically, he was transporting the horse on the train. His train trip from Cheyenne to the next few close dates was highly erratic and made no sense.

  Fully two thirds of his reported sightings were due to shootings and not robberies.

  Whether Kid Taos planned it or not, he established a name as a fast gun and killer. A lot of the reports were just reports of shootings instead of crimes. Some shootings appeared to be self-defense, though the details as to whether he prompted the shootings were unclear.

  Pope carefully transferred the tabular data onto a Western US map pinned on the wall. It was his embryonic version of a murder board.

  While the first month or two of Randolph’s travel seemed just random meandering, a later pattern appeared to be evolving on the map.

  “It looks like he wintered in Round Rock, Texas,” Bell said.

  “Round Rock was where outlaw Sam Bass was killed in a gunfight with Texas Rangers five years ago,” Pope said.

  “Guess who else was there?” he asked Sarah.

  When she did not reply, he said “Our old friend Soapy Smith was at the gunfight. I don’t know if he was a posse man or just an eye-witness. He was not arrested, so I am thinking he was not part of Sam Bass’ gang.”

  “Small world, for so many miles of wilderness,” Sarah observed.

  Pope took a few minutes and explained their recent brush with Soapy Smith and how he got his name.

  “How did you know he was there in 1878?” Bell asked.

  “Jake, Pope just knows stuff. I don’t know how, but he does. And he’s always right, no matter how obscure or tiny the fact is. He just has a lot of stuff rolling around in his head,” Sarah explained. Pope did not see any need to elaborate on her observation.

  “Your last post was here,” Pope said, pointing to near Bowie, Texas. “He looks like he is moving up the Chisholm Trail in a northerly direction. This is the kind of thing I wanted your research to show us,” Pope said.

  “The Denver & Fort Worth Railway just opened into Bowie last year. We can connect to it and be there by tomorrow. Let’s get our trail gear. You will need to buy saddlebags, canteen, blanket and a small tarp for a bedroll. I will get food and retrieve my horse Caesar from the livery and get one for you. How about I meet you at the train depot in an hour?”

  “Sounds good, John. See you then,” Jake Bell responded and put on his coat and hat and left.

  “He’s pretty excited to be on the trail with you!” Sarah said.

  “Oh, he’s just excited to be on the trail in general. Maybe I can show him how to cut sign.”

  “I doubt it on the Chisholm Trail. Unless it’s sign of thousands of cows,” Sarah said.

  “Spoil sport. I’m heading to pick up gear and get my good-looking horse from the livery. Damn, I like old Caesar. I’ve had prettier and faster, but none who could stick to a trail in the worst situations and plow onward smiling.”

  “Well, I hope you and Caesar will be very happy together. I will sit here, Miss Efficiency, and do my thing where it’s nice and warm.”

  “You and the boys be safe. I will see you in a couple days,” he said.

  “Be careful, John. I don’t want any new partner,” Sarah said.

  “Me either, Sarah.”

  He walked out of the door without turning around. He rode off the same way. Sarah knew it was a Western characteristic. It bothered her, however.

  Pope’s saddlebags, canteen and rifle were in his wardrobe in the hotel. He grabbed them and headed to the livery stable.

  Pope stopped at the café and bought a dozen corn pones, plenty of jerky and some cheese sandwiches wrapped for the trail and some beef sandwiches for the train. He also picked up several bottles of carbonated soda water.

  He retrieved Caesar and a bag of feed to carry, though he suspected browse would be widely available.

  Bell was at the depot when Pope arrived and went with him to settle Caesar in a stock car for the trip to Bowie, Texas. They checked their bags and long guns. Pope kept the sack with the train food, bottled water and trail food with him.

  They ate lunch in their seats. Dinner would be in the dining car, as breakfast would be.

  “John, what do you think our chances of encountering Randolph on the trail or in a town?”

  “lt’s real hard to tell. We have done everything logically. The problem with Kid Taos is he’s crazy. We cannot depend on him to do what a normal person would do. Look at how he skipped around until he apparently wintere
d in Round Rock. It made no sense at all. It’s a shame, Jake. His parents seemed like fine folks. His mother told me to try not to kill her boy.”

  “Nothing like a little pressure, huh?” Jake said.

  “His father understood the son would make the call. If we come to a face down, I want you to step aside. Your shoulder holster makes sense for a detective. I wear two sometimes myself. However, a good gunsel can always outdraw a shoulder holster from a Buscadero holster on his belt.

  He could be fast, Jake. Maybe faster than me. But, let me take the lead, alright?” Pope asked. Jake knew it was more of an order than a request.

  “You are the boss. And the Gun for Wells Fargo. I will watch your back and learn.”

  “If he gets lucky and drops me, which I doubt, give him a couple barrels of buckshot in the torso,” Pope said.

  “I will do it, John. I promise. If not buckshot, certainly .44 Russian slugs.”

  “Jake, I have used a revolver in fights a lot. But, when it comes down to it, remember your pistol is what you use to fight your way to your long gun.”

  “Hmm ... a new rule for me. Make sense, especially coming from someone who’s been there and done it.”

  “Changing the subject, these carbonated waters are good. In San Francisco, they have started putting flavored syrup in them. I don’t care much for them. Too sweet!”

  “I had one of those too. I agree completely,” Pope said.

  “When did you stop wearing your bowler or derby hat, John?” the younger detective asked.

  “I wore it the first six months. Still do in a big city. But the Stetson blends better and is much better on the trail. I understand the requirement to represent the company well by wearing dark suits. I also know it is damn tough to blend in a lot of places when you look like a banker. When I can, I wear cow puncher clothes on the trail. Better to chop wood in and camp in. Do you have any informal pants, shirt and vest with you?” Pope asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Bell said.

  “Maybe we should pick some up at Bowie. We don’t know how long we will be on the trail. I’ve been thinking about horses. If we hire a livery horse for you in Bowie, the good Lord knows where we will end up with it. Those are the circumstances of how I bought Caesar. It was cheaper to buy him than pay to ship him back to where I rented him. You should pick out a horse and saddle in Bowie. Expense it. You might have to dig into your own money if the boss does not approve the voucher, but it’s not a bad thing chasing miscreants with a horse you know you can depend on, Jake.”

  “I agree. I have to get a livery horse often even back in San Francisco. Where do you keep yours when you are in town?”

  “I keep Caesar in the livery down the street from headquarters. I recommend it. He takes good care of Caesar and can have him saddled and a bag of feed in the winter with short notice. I rely on natural browse most of the warm months unless I will be crossing desert.”

  Detective Jake Bell was absorbing the reality of Wells Fargo detective work with every sentence Pope spoke. He knew he was a good detective, but a city one. The wide-open spaces, tracking, camping and moving hundreds of miles pursuing a fugitive were all new to him. He could not wait to get started.

  They arrived in Bowie the next day. Their first move was to get a hotel to stow their gear. They then did a walk through in the small town to look for a gray horse or its fugitive rider.

  Bell spotted a gray gelding tied to the hitching post of a saloon.

  “Follow my lead,” Pope reminded him as they entered the saloon, coats open and guns ready for action. They moved to opposite corners and scanned for Randolph. There was nobody there meeting his description.

  The two official-looking young men in dark suits caught a lot of attention. The barkeep asked “You gentlemen appear to be looking for somebody. Care to share who?”

  Pope nodded to Bell to take it.

  “We are Wells Fargo detectives. We’re looking for a man named Randolph. Goes by Kid Taos. He rides a gray horse like hitched out front,” Bell said in his best policeman voice.

  “My gray is the one out front,” a tall, lanky cowboy said. He clearly was not Kid Taos. Bell nodded as Pope continued to monitor the crowd in the saloon.

  “Why don’t you boys sidle up to the bar and talk about some drinks,” the barkeep said. Pope detected an eye movement suggesting he had more to say without yelling across the saloon.

  Keeping his right hand loose and free, he walked up to the bar. Bell followed.

  “Two beers,” Pope said.

  “Your man could have been here yesterday. Medium height fellow, bow-legged and kept his hand near his gun. Looked like he wanted to use it. Drank a beer, gave dirty looks to everyone. Nobody bit. He downed his beer and left. I figure he was disappointed because he didn’t kill anybody. He had real strange eyes.”

  “Thanks for telling us. He shot down a woman. Mother of three. No reason at all. Was at the Cheyenne Wells Fargo office. Killed our manager and then a policeman as he was escaping. He’s a crazy killer with at least five other shootings to his discredit.

  Killing a woman and my friend was his big mistake. I won’t rest easy until he feels rope around his neck or my bullet enter his chest,” Pope said.

  “You are the gunfighter fella from Wells Fargo, aren’t you?” the barkeep asked.

  “He’s been known to respond to threats in the line of duty,” Bell said. The barkeep just nodded, remembering some news articles he had read.

  “Did he happen to ride a gray horse?” Bell asked.

  “Didn’t see his horse. I just wanted him out of here before bullets started flying.”

  “Do you have any idea where he might have been heading when he left here?” Pope asked.

  “One of the boys said he was going out towards the road to Wichita Falls. It’s northwest.”

  “About what time of day was this?” Bell asked.

  The barkeep stopped and thought a minute and said “Late in the day. Maybe four o’clock. Takes a good five hours riding the average horse without running from a posse or something.”

  “Anywhere he could get a room along the way, or would he have to camp?” Bell asked.

  “Only burg of any size would be Henrietta. He could not make it there until several hours after dark. I’d say he slept in the dirt under a tree.”

  “Thanks for your help. Jake, I think we should give up those rooms, get you a horse and ride all night. Maybe we can catch up with him in Wichita Falls. Otherwise, I bet he crosses the Red River into Oklahoma and Indian Territory.”

  The nearest livery had a cowpony for sale. It was a pretty little black and white pinto. The livery owner said it had heart and endurance. Bell bought it and a used saddle, tack and saddlebags for a fair price. They loaded their gear on their horses, checked out of the rooms they never slept in and hit the trail.

  Pope took out his Dietz police lantern and was glad to see Bell had one also. The road was wide and well-marked, so they did not use the lanterns but once.

  The two detectives hit some storms and did not reach Wichita Falls until midnight. They found a livery for their horses and two rooms in the downtown area. Despite waxed canvas dusters, they were soaked to the skin from the hard rain. Both had changes. Pope changed to cow puncher clothes. Bell put on a suit until he could get to a store and buy a trail outfit. They had a breakfast sufficient to make up for missing dinner.

  While Bell went shopping, Pope went to the sheriff’s office and the town marshal’s office looking for word on Randolph. Nobody in law enforcement had any useful information. He reckoned any worthwhile bits might come from a saloon.

  As soon as Bell got back looking less like a young banker and more like a Texas Ranger, they hit the saloons.

  “Want to split up?” Bell asked.

  “No, we should stay together. He could be in a crowd and start shooting before we see him. We have a better chance of taking him down together,” Pope said.

  He was not at nor was there any inform
ation on him from any of the saloons. They tried liveries and hotels. Nothing there, either.

  “He must have gone past here and directly to Lawton. So, we have to head there next,” Pope said.

  They officially decided they had lost him by Lawton, in the Indian Territory. They turned south and sought the quickest train home, their horses in stock cars.

  “Is it always this frustrating?” Bell asked Pope.

  “More than we’d like to admit. When you are a city detective or even a county deputy investigating a crime, you are not traveling a thousand miles. It’s the nature of what we do though. We, or somebody, will get this gunsel. I’d like for us to put the nippers on him just because he killed one of us and robbed a Wells Fargo office. But, either way, he’ll get his due. I am confident of it. In the meantime, we keep plugging along as logical as we can and doing our job.”

  “Do you think we will ever have regional detectives?”

  “We have a few now. One day, maybe real soon, Sarah will become a full-time manager. If so, Hume has said I can base wherever she is.” Pope’s response answered a question he and others had about the pair. They were truly partners in all respects as he suspected.

  They stopped at a depot along the train trip back to Cheyenne and telegraphed Hume.

  They were due in Cheyenne by noon the next day.

  They got an immediate response from the chief detective in San Francisco.

  “Kid Taos shot two Denver today. Stop. Headed Cheyenne. Stop. Return Apprehend. Stop. Hume”

  It was a quick stop and the conductor was calling “All Aboard.” Pope told the telegraph operator to send a return with two words “Warn Sarah.”

  He jumped on the train in the nick of time, as it began to slowly move away from the platform.

  “Jake, he’s going back to Cheyenne and gonna rob the office again!” Pope exclaimed.

  “Why would he rob it again?” Bell asked.

  “I guess it was his big haul of money. It’s hard to tell when you are dealing with a crazy person. I am convinced he has major mental problems. I sent Sarah a warning just now. I just hope he’s riding and we can beat him there. We are due in at noon tomorrow. If he rides all the way through, he might get there tonight. What I really hope is Sarah advises our friend the chief deputy and he or some of his deputies stake out the office.”