by Ralph Hayes
‘That lead has to get dug out,’ Latham told him. ‘We’re stopping at the vet down the street there.’
‘Ain’t that dangerous?’
‘We have no choice.’
At the vet’s place a few minutes later, the vet took Sloan into a back room that smelled rankly of swine and ammonia, and laid him on a table smeared with bloodstains.
‘This looks like small calibre,’ he told Sloan, with Latham watching. ‘It won’t be very deep. It should be no trouble.’ He was short, slim, and red-headed.
He gave Sloan a swig of laudanum and dug the lead out easily. Then he applied a thick bandage to the site. ‘There. You’ll have full use of that arm within a week or so. Now, if you’ll just give me your name and where this happened, I can make out a bill for you.’
Latham drew the Starr once more for the day. ‘Didn’t you know, Doc? It ain’t courtesy to ask a man’s name.’
The vet turned just in time to see the revolver aimed at him. ‘No, wait! I understand! I won’t. . . .’
‘Nothing personal, Doc,’ Latham said pleasantly, ‘but this has to be kept private. I’m sure you understand.’
The gun roared in the close confines of the room, and the vet ended up on the floor beside his exam table with a hole in his chest and a terrified look still on his lifeless face.
Two hours later Latham and Sloan were back at their headquarters outside Pawnee Junction. Dulcie had their fried chicken ready for them.
Just a few hours after Sumner had met the Bible drummer on the trail, he crossed over into the Indian Territory. Now two days later, he would spend one more night in hardship camp before riding into Pawnee Junction. He expected to be there early the following day.
He found a place to stop in a cluster of mesquite trees, where a large flat butte loomed off to the west. The site looked as if it had been recently used by other persona, and he wondered if it had been Latham and his men. He looked around for any sign of their presence, but found nothing. It had been a long day and he was tired. He picketed the stallion to a sapling and gathered some dry wood for a fire. He was out of food now, and had done no hunting for game, so would have to content himself with a cup of coffee and half a soda biscuit. He got the fire going and returned to the horse to retrieve the coffee, when he heard the metallic clicking of a gun being cocked behind him.
He swore under his breath. His fatigue had made him careless. Now he heard the soft whinny of a horse from behind a nearby rock outcropping, just before the voice directly behind him.
‘Don’t turn. Don’t breathe or you’re a dead man. Get them in the air.’
Sumner hesitated, then obeyed, raising his hands. ‘I have little to rob,’ he said, staring straight ahead. He felt a hand slide his Colt from its holster, and a heavy weight sank into his chest. But he wasn’t completely defenseless. He was wearing his dark riding jacket because of the cool air, and whenever he put that on, he added the one-shot Derringer to his belt at the back, in its special, break-away holster. There was no way, of course, that he could get to that now.
‘OK. You can turn now.’
Sumner turned to see a bearded, rough-looking man holding a Remington Army revolver on him. Sumner’s Peacemaker was tucked into his belt. Sumner remained calm and casual.
‘Take what you want. But there isn’t much.’
‘Did I tell you to talk?’ the intruder said harshly. ‘You look like a gambler, mister. Gamblers always have money stashed somewhere. You got gold coin in them saddlebags, or hid in your bedroll?’
‘I’m not a gambler,’ Sumner told him. ‘You’re wasting your time with me.’ He realized he was only being kept alive because he might lead the intruder to a cache of wealth. ‘Well. I do have a few coins.’
The other man’s face brightened. ‘Of course you do! That’s more like it, hot stuff. Where exactly is this cache?’
‘It’s not a cache,’ Sumner said, stalling for time, and feeling the Derringer heavy at his mid-back. ‘They’re in a leather poke, and I’ll have to take a look for it.’ Without asking permission, he walked the few feet to his mount, and rummaged through the near saddle-bag.
‘It’s on the other side,’ he announced. ‘Just a minute.’
Again, before the other man could object, he walked around the stallion past its head. He touched its muzzle on his way past because it was feeling the excitement in the air.
Once over there, he reached into the other saddlebag, and nodded. ‘Here it is. I think there might be several double eagles in there, and some silver.’ He showed the intruder a leather poke, and then threw it over to him, over the horse’s back.
‘That’s more like it, Dandy.’ He momentarily pulled the string on the poke to look inside, dropping the level of the revolver at the same time. He frowned. ‘Hey. There ain’t no gold in here.’
When he looked back up, he was staring into the muzzle of the Derringer, over the mount’s back.
‘Surprise!’ Sumner said soberly.
‘Jesus!’
‘Drop the gun,’ Sumner ordered him.
The bearded fellow hesitated. Then he threw the revolver on to the ground. ‘Who the hell carries a Derringer as a back-up piece? Who are you, mister?’
‘Turn your back to me.’
‘Don’t kill me. I’m just a poor out-of-work trail bum.’ He turned to face away from Sumner.
Sumner came back around the horse and walked over to the would-be thief. He picked the American Army up from the ground and stuffed it into his belt. Then went around to face the other man. He pulled his Peacemaker from the fellow’s belt, and holstered both it and the Derringer.
‘You wondered who carries back-up iron. I’m Wesley Sumner, and it’s how I travel. I also carry a Winchester repeater and an American Arms eight-gauge in saddle scabbards, as you can see. Sometimes I have a Dardick hidden in the bedroll. I like to be prepared for flea-brains like you.’
‘Damn!’ the fellow muttered. Then: ‘Wait a minute – Sumner. Ain’t I heard that name before?’
‘You were going to kill me, weren’t you? After you cleaned me out.’
‘Oh, Jesus.’ Quietly. ‘Certainty Sumner. I heard about you when I was in Laramie a year ago.’
‘Is that why you’re down here, you maggot? Because you’re running from something in Wyoming territory?’
‘You put your gun away. Are you going to kill me?’
‘Do you have a bounty on you?’
He shook his head violently. ‘Hell, no. If you’ll spare me, I can put you on to a couple of boys that do.’
‘I’ll bet.’ Sumner grunted out. ‘Take that big neckerchief off.’
‘Huh?’
‘You heard me. And get over against that mesquite.’
In the next few minutes Sumner had tied the drifter to the tree with his own bandanna and gunbelt.
‘What do you want from me? You don’t have to tie me up.’
‘Consider yourself very lucky,’ Sumner advised him. He went and kicked the fire out, which had already guttered low. Then he went over to his mount and cinched up a saddle strap.
‘Hey. You’re not leaving, are you?’
‘I’d already decided to move on, before you pulled your little stunt. There’s no wood to make a decent fire here, and no water. I’ll spend most of the night on board the stallion. I don’t seem to need much sleep lately.’ He was talking more to himself than the tied-up man.
‘Well, wait! You can’t just ride off and leave me tied up here! Take me in to the nearest town and turn me over to the law. At least I’ll survive a little time behind bars. You leave me here, I might never get free of this. Some varmint could come and chew my leg off. Or I could succumb to thirst, and the elements.’
Sumner let a half-smile touch his face. ‘Too bad you didn’t consider all that before you came in here. If you’d caught me in a bad mood, you’d be dead by now.’
‘I get that. And I’m much obliged. But I got to look for my cousin. He disappeared from Pawnee Ju
nction a few days ago and ain’t been seen since.’
Sumner had been about to get on his mount. Now he turned back to the other man. ‘Pawnee Junction?’
‘He was drinking with this other fellow at the local saloon. They say he was an odd-looking bird with one ear. After a while they left together and my cousin never come back. I figure he’s up north of here in Suggsville, where there’s an ex-girlfriend. That’s where I was headed when I – saw you.’
Sumner frowned slightly. ‘He was with a man with one ear?’ Provost had given Sumner a brief description of the three men who had his daughter.
‘That’s what I was told. Do you know him?’
Sumner made a sound in his throat. ‘Weeks,’ he muttered. That confirmed it. They were there. He looked over at the tied-up thief. ‘Uh, no. Never heard of him.’
He mounted his horse with the knowledge that an impending confrontation with Latham and his men was a certainty. It was just a matter of finding them when he got there.
‘You see what I mean, though?’ the other man pleaded. ‘I got important business to take care of.’
Sumner wheeled the stallion to face the failed thief. ‘You’ll get free eventually. And when you do, a word of advice. Find another profession to pursue from here out. You’re not very good at this.’
Then he rode off with the bound man staring after him.
At the house just outside Pawnee Junction, Duke Latham had gathered Ira Sloan and Weeks in the wide parlour with him. He was sitting in an armchair, and Weeks and Sloan were slouched on a long brown sofa. On a small table between them sat a tall bottle of unopened rye whiskey. Dulcie was in an adjacent room putting on a dress that Latham had just bought for her.
‘There was a lot of shooting that day,’ Sloan was saying. ‘I know it couldn’t be avoided. But it will draw a lot of attention to that bank.’
‘What’s the difference?’ Latham said. ‘There’s only a half-dozen federal marshals to cover this whole damn territory.’
‘But you never know when one will ride by,’ Weeks offered. He watched Latham’s face to see how his comment was received. Latham was still irritated with him about bringing a man from town to the house, the fellow who was buried behind the barn.
Latham gave him a narrow look. ‘If you’re afraid of US marshals, Weeks, why don’t you ride on down to Mexico? Nobody here will miss you.’
Weeks looked embarrassed. ‘I’m just saying.’
‘If a lawman ever shows up here,’ Sloan offered, ‘we’ll shoot the sonofabitch and bury him beside your friend out back.’ He grinned at Latham.
‘How’s that wound healing?’ Latham asked him.
Sloan moved his right arm around. ‘It’s fine. In another week I won’t even remember it happened.’
‘Because I’m going to need you healthy in about that time,’ Latham added.
They both studied his lean face.
‘That’s why I was gone yesterday. I found another bank.’
‘Jesus,’ Weeks muttered.
Sloan frowned. ‘You’re thinking of taking another one so soon?’
‘Now you’re beginning to sound like Weeks,’ Latham said soberly. ‘Look. I don’t plan to make this rat-hole our permanent residence. I figure on cleaning out everything available within a hundred miles and then eventually moving on. We’ll talk about that later. But for now, I figure the sooner we get done what we came here for, the farther ahead of the law we’ll stay.’
‘So where is this second bank?’ Sloan asked him.
‘There’s a little town west of here called Old Fort. Used to be a cavalry post. There’s a real bank there, one that’s been there a decade or more. It’s twice the size of the one in Lone Butte, and holds pay for ranch hands’ salary for miles around. The take on any Friday should be three or four times what we got the first time out.’
‘Let me go this time!’ Weeks cried out. ‘You know how good I am with this Wells Fargo, Duke! I’m tired of being nursemaid to that kid in there! I’ll make you glad you took me.’
‘You’re not as smart as Ira,’ Latham said flatly. ‘You’re unpredictable. I never know what you’ll do next.’
‘No, no! I’ll make you proud of me! Just give me a chance to show you this time. It will give Sloan some extra time to heal.’
‘I don’t need extra time,’ Sloan grinned at him. He looked over at Latham. ‘We might need a third gun if we do that bank, though. They might even have an armed guard. Maybe for just one time we could leave her alone here. Lock the doors. The windows are nailed shut. Even if she got out, where would she go? We’d find her before she got a mile away.’
Latham glanced at him. ‘I don’t think you understand her importance to me. It’s not just that she’s Provost’s little girl. She’s kind of grown on me. In fact. . . .’
But before he could finish, the door to the adjacent room opened, and Dulcie came into the room.
All three men turned – and just stared. She was wearing a frilly white dress that Latham had purchased in town. It was narrow-waisted with a flare at the hips, and it showed plenty of Dulcie’s cleavage.
Suddenly she gave the appearance of a very mature, beautiful woman. Her auburn hair was down on her shoulders.
Her black eye was turning yellowish.
‘Good Jesus!’ Weeks whispered.
Sloan just sat there, staring, a frown of surprise on his square face.
‘What do you think, boys?’ Latham grinned. ‘Don’t she fill that dress out? I knew she’d do something special to it.’
Sloan’s look of surprise turned to one of sombreness. He had looked at her as a kid until that moment, but a beautiful woman in the house was quite a different thing. A thing that could be a portent of bad luck, both for her, and for them.
‘Now can I go take it off?’ Dulcie said to Latham quietly.
He frowned. ‘Hell, no. Come on out in the centre of the room, kitten. I want the boys to get a good look at you.’
‘Let me go change,’ she protested softly.
Latham frowned with impatience. ‘Do you want me to start on you?’
Her mouth went a little dry. ‘No.’
‘Then you do what I tell you. Whenever I tell you, and whatever it is. Get to hell out here where we can see you.’
Sloan shot Latham a sombre look. He didn’t like any of this. If it had been up to him he would have taken Dulcie out back and put a bullet in her head.
Dulcie reluctantly came to the middle of the room and stood there motionless.
‘Now turn completely around,’ Latham ordered her.
She hesitated, then turned a complete circle, showing herself off to them.
‘I like it,’ Latham grinned.
‘Good Jesus!’ Weeks repeated. ‘You really got yourself something there, Duke.’
‘You touch her,’ Latham said pleasantly, ‘and I’ll fill your gullet with lead.’
Weeks looked suddenly sober. ‘We all know who she belongs to, Duke. Ira and me would never touch her.’
‘I’m not concerned about Ira,’ Latham retorted. He looked back at beautiful Dulcie. ‘You do me proud, kitten. Do you know why I bought you that dress?’
‘You wanted to show me off,’ she said without looking at him.
‘Well, that, too. But don’t you see how that dress might be used?’
‘I don’t want to guess.’
‘Why, that’s a wedding dress!’ Latham grinned.
All three of the others turned to him with shock on their faces.
‘What the hell!’ Sloan muttered.
‘Good Jesus!’ Weeks repeated again.
Dulcie was staring at Latham as if he must have gone mad. ‘What are you saying, Duke?’
‘Why, isn’t it clear as cloud peaks under sheet lightning? I’m going to marry you, sweetheart!’
Dulcie’s eyes widened and her cheeks began burning. ‘Marry me? Marry me? Why, I wouldn’t marry you if my life depended on it!’
The outburst had come o
ut without her really knowing it was going to. But it was the real Dulcie expressing itself. Latham grew a deep frown, and rose from the chair. When he walked over to Dulcie she backed up a step and winced slightly.
‘Your life does depend on it,’ he growled at her. He grabbed her and pulled her curves tight against him. He hesitated a moment as the physical touching aroused him. Then he spoke to her in a hard, ominous voice. ‘Get this into your head, Dulcie girl. You’re mine now. You always will be. In a few days now, you’ll be coming to my bed. Every night. And because your daddy would hate it, I’m going to make it all legitimate. And to make you understand that this is it: you won’t ever be returning to Nebraska. You’ll be with me wherever I go. My legal wife. I’m going to look up a justice of the peace in the next couple days, and you’ll marry me wearing this dress.’
Dulcie struggled fiercely to get out of his grasp. He finally released her, but immediately slapped her across her face.
She gasped, and her eyes became damp.
‘The next time you struggle to get away from me,’ he grated out. ‘I’ll beat you till you can’t stand.’
‘Let me go change,’ she blurted out, her voice breaking.
‘Sure. And be careful of the dress. I want you to look like an ice-cream sundae when we do it.’
Dulcie turned and left the room, her cheek inflamed from the slap. Latham grinned at Sloan, then went and sat down on his chair again. ‘Is she something? It’s like finding a sack of double eagles. I like it. I get my payback to Provost, and this for a bonus.’
‘You got yourself something there,’ Weeks said more quietly.
Sloan took a deep breath in. ‘Duke, are you sure this is what you want?’
Latham frowned slightly. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
‘I’m happy to satisfy my needs with a saloon girl now and then,’ Sloan replied. ‘You have your little party, you put your pants back on, you leave. And you don’t have to be bothered with them till the next time.’
‘So?’ Latham responded.
‘So you’re carving out something very different for yourself. You’re not the husband type, Duke. You’ve never tied yourself to any one woman. She’ll be here twenty-four hours a day. When you get up, when you eat, when you want some privacy with us. If we move on from here, we have to cart her along with us. And she’s a sweet little piece, I admit that. But she’s the enemy, Duke. She’s Provost’s daughter. She will never have any affection for you. She may try to murder you in your sleep. She might try to murder all of us. You’ll be sleeping with the enemy.’
