Ralph Compton Train to Durango (8 page)

“You're spoiling me,” said Molly. “Before King Fisher took me in, I was still walking around barefooted. A grown woman, with just one old dress and not a stitch of underwear to call my own. We Horrels were what better folks called trash.”

“Don't ever let me hear you refer to yourself like that again,” Silver said.

Silver waited while Molly took some dresses into a fitting room.

“They're all so nice,” she said, when she emerged. “I can't decide which one I like the most.”

“Take them all,” said Silver.

Silver paid for all the clothing that Molly had selected, and they left the store.

“You'll never have to buy me anything else,” Molly said.

“That's what you think,” said Silver. “Someday you're going to be the belle of south Texas. Now let's go to the mercantile. I need some more shells.”

There were several men in the mercantile, and they watched with interest when Silver and Molly entered. Silver wasted no time, but went immediately to the counter to make his purchase. One of the men boldly eyed Molly from head to toe, and when she blushed, he grinned and spoke.

“Ma'am, lemme introduce myself. I'm Jake Turko, and I reckon I'm more an
hombre
than the varmint you come in with.”

Molly was speechless, and before she could move, Turko had a hand on her arm. But Silver had heard. He turned, bringing a right all the way from his knees, and when his fist exploded against the big man's chin, Turko went down with a crash that shook the building. He didn't get up.

“Here, now,” the storekeeper shouted, “I'll have none of that in here.”

“Then you'd better be more watchful as to what comes in that door,” said Silver, “and you'd better drag this coyote out before he comes to. If he so much as looks at her again, I'll kill him.”

Two men, apparently Turko's companions, helped him to his feet and hustled him out the door.

“I'm sure he was drunk, or nearly so,” the storekeeper mumbled.

Silver said nothing. When he had paid for his purchase, he led Molly out of the store. “I'm sorry,” said Molly. “I didn't even look at him.”

“No fault of yours,” Silver said. “Some varmints take a drink or two, and they forget the few manners they had.”

•   •   •

A second night at the Dodge House was spent quietly. Silver, Wes, and El Lobo again stood watch by turns, but there was no disturbance. When they went to Delmonico's for breakfast, Harley Stafford and Foster Hagerman were already there. Within a few minutes, Sheriff Jack Dumery joined them.

“A quiet night,” said Dumery.

“Yes,” Silver agreed.

“Maybe something you should know, Silver,” said Dumery. “That little disagreement in the store yesterday may turn ugly. Turko fancies himself a gun-slick, and he's spreadin' the word in the saloons he aims to kill you.”

“I reckon he'll have to get in line,” Silver said.

“He was bothering me,” said Molly.

“So I heard,” Sheriff Dumery said. “Men have been killed for that. I'll try to talk some sense into him, if I can find him sober enough.”

Nothing more was said. The little Wes and El Lobo had heard had been enough. Renita and Tamara eyed Silver with respect. Dumery had only coffee and soon left. Molly looked at Silver's grim face, worry in her eyes. As had become their custom, when breakfast was over, Silver, Wes, and El Lobo were first out the door. Harley Stafford and Foster Hagerman followed, with Molly, Renita, and Tamara. Seeing a rider coming, they all waited.

“Silver,” said Sheriff Dumery, “Turko's waiting for you in front of the Dodge House. I tried to talk some sense into him.”

“Can't you arrest him?” Molly cried.

“I could,” said Dumery, “but I can't hold him.”

“Don't bother, Sheriff,” Silver said. “If he won't have it any other way, then we might as well be done with it. The rest of you wait here.”

“No,” said Molly. “He had other men with him. You can't face them all.”

“She's right,” Wes said. “We'll stay out of the line of fire, but we'll buy in if it looks like this varmint's settin' you up for somebody else to back-shoot you.”

“I'll be there too,” said Sheriff Dumery, “and I'll take care of any coyote that even looks like he's got back-shootin' on his mind.”

Turko stood well away from the Dodge House, watching them approach. Nobody else was near. Silver nodded to his companions. From here he would go on alone. From his saddle boot, Sheriff Dumery took his Winchester.

“I'm so afraid for him,” Molly said, her voice trembling.

“Don't be,” said Wes. “He's a man with the bark on.”

Silver walked on, his hands at his sides. Turko waited, his thumbs hooked under his gunbelt. His Colt, like Silver's, was tied down on his right hip. Forty feet from Turko, Silver halted.

“I have nothing against you, Turko,” Silver said. “It's not too late to resolve this without shooting.”

Turko laughed. “There'll be shootin', bucko. You'll shoot or be shot.”

“When you're ready, then,” said Silver.

Molly tried not to watch, but she was unable to take her frightened eyes off the scene about to be played out to its deadly conclusion. Turko's hand fell first, and Molly cried out, for Silver seemed not to have moved. But suddenly Silver's Colt was in his hand, and it spoke once. An instant later, the sound of Turko's shot might have been an echo. But his weapon had not been leveled, and the lead kicked up dust at his feet. His knees buckled, and he collapsed on his back, his hat tumbling away in the early morning breeze. Silver thumbed out the empty shell casing and reloaded his weapon. Holstering it, he waited, for Molly was running to him, weeping.

“Great God,” Sheriff Dumery said, “for a federal man, he's chain lightning with a gun.”

“He's a Texan,” said Wes.

“Small wonder he and Nathan Stone were friends,” Harley said. “Silver's as sudden with a Colt as Nathan was.”

Wes, El Lobo, Renita, and Tamara joined Silver and Molly. Harley Stafford and Foster Hagerman went with Sheriff Dumery to meet the curious who had come to investigate the shooting.

“Let's get back to our rooms,” said Silver. “This will only attract more unwelcome attention.”

They remained at the Dodge House until they heard the whistle of the westbound train as it approached Dodge.

“There'll be today's newspapers from Kansas City,” Silver said. “I'm going after them.”

“Harley will bring us one at suppertime,” said Molly.

“Harley will be leaving on the westbound for the run to Colorado,” Wes said. “I'll go for the papers. We can't hide out here forever.”

“You shouldn't go alone,” said Renita. “You've already been ambushed once.”

“Maybe she's right, Wes,” Silver said. “One of us should go with you.”

“I go,” said El Lobo.

Silver said nothing, only too much aware of the relief in Molly's eyes. The westbound had gone on its way when Wes and El Lobo reached the depot. They entered Hagerman's office and found him reading one of the Kansas City newspapers.

“Silver's struck pay dirt,” Hagerman said. “Front page.”

By presidential order, soldiers bound for Indian Territory, the big black headline read. Hagerman read the story aloud.

“That'll play hell with the outlaws and renegades in Indian Territory,” said Wes, “but it may have come too late to stop them from comin' after us. This bunch of killers lookin' to salt us down don't waste any time. I won't be surprised if there's a pack of coyotes across the Cimarron, just waiting for dark.”

•   •   •

Kansas City, Missouri, April 2, 1885

Not believing his eyes, Morton Tindall read the story a second time, cursing under his breath. While the outlaws in Indian Territory generally kept up with the Kansas City newspapers, there was little chance that Illivane and his bunch would learn of this development before they rode into Dodge. Any hell-raising they did in Dodge would further underscore the need to eliminate the thieves and killers that infested the frontier. Not just in Indian Territory, but throughout the Southwest. Now Tindall faced the unwelcome task of breaking the news to the Golden Dragon's upper echelons in Denver. The only small factor in his favor was that Gandy Franks had suggested he hire a band of killers from the wilds of Indian Territory.

•   •   •

Denver, Colorado, April 2, 1885

Gandy Franks stared grimly at the telegram he had just received from Morton Tindall. He had only the bare facts, with an assurance a letter would follow. The loss of the wild bunch that inhabited Indian Territory would be a serious blow, for its thieves and killers had been employed profitably in Kansas, Missouri, Texas, Arkansas, and Louisiana. Now the Golden Dragon would be forced to import hired killers from elsewhere, at greater expense, and the increased possibility of unwelcome public attention.

•   •   •

Indian Territory, on the Cimarron, April 3, 1885

“I reckon we better pay some attention to what Tindall told us,” said Illivane. “There's three
hombres
we got to gun down, and we can't be sure of gettin' ‘em all in one visit. I'd say three of us should ride in at a time. If anything goes wrong, it'll be a hell of a lot easier for three to lose themselves, than if there's a dozen of us.”

“Yeah,” Hampton said, “but who goes first? If the first three gets their string cut, it'll be hell on the rest of us.”

“We'll cut the cards,” said Illivane. “The three drawin' the lowest cards will be ridin' to Dodge.”

Each man drew a card, dropping it faceup.

“You can all see how it is,” Illivane said. “Hampton's low, with a deuce, Lawton with a four, and Damark with a six.”

“So we ride in at night,” said Damark. “We don't know where to start lookin' for the three
hombres
we're supposed to ventilate. How long you aim for us to nose around?”

“Hell, you'll have to be the judge of that,” Illivane said. “Don't foller one another like sheep. Split up, damn it. Visit the saloons and cafes, and keep an eye on the depot. Stone, the
hombre
with the dog, used to work for the railroad. Pay for a round of drinks, if you have to, go watch the train come in, and don't drink nothin' stronger than beer. There's a chance you might force one of these varmints into what looks like a fair fight, and if you do, just be sure you ain't blinded with booze.”

Hampton laughed. “You seem to of forgot that Tindall said these three are just plain hell on wheels with a gun. You want a fair fight, then you ride in and draw agin ‘em. I ain't about to.”

“Me, neither,” said Lawton.

“Not me, either,” Damark said. “Some things I won't do for money, and gettin' gunned down in a fair fight is one of ‘em.”

“When you come back—if you come back—you'd all better have somethin' to your credit,” said Illivane. “You don't, then maybe we'll be splittin' that money nine ways, instead of twelve.”

They all eyed each other with distrust as they waited for darkness to fall.

Dodge City, Kansas, April 1, 1885

Upon their arrival in Dodge, Hampton, Lawton, and Damark had split up. Now it was two o'clock in the morning, and by prior agreement, they came together in the shadow of the water tank, beside the tracks.

“We flat ain't gonna learn a lot in the saloons,” Hampton said. “I lost twenty dollars at the poker table, and all I heard was that this Silver
hombre
was in a gunfight over a woman.”

“That's what I heard,” said Lawton, “and the varmint he gunned down was Jake Turko. Turko was almighty good with a pistol. Had five notches on his gun.”

“Yeah,” Damark said, “and I reckon we can learn from that. Turko pulled iron first, and then Silver bored him clean, with just one shot. I'd say we got some bushwhackin' to do.”

“I'd say you're right,” said Hampton, “but when and how? Nobody seems to know why Silver, Elfego, and Stone are holed up at the Dodge House, but they are, and they all got a woman with ‘em.”

“They're takin' all their meals at Delmonico's,” Damark said, “and the three of ‘em take turns standin' watch after dark outside the Dodge House. Should be one of ‘em out there right now. Hell, if three of us can't bushwhack one hombre, then we better hang up our guns and take up somethin' less dangerous. Like sod bustin'. Come on.”

There was only the usual bracket lamp outside the main entrance to the Dodge House, and there was no sign of life in the surrounding shadows. The three bushwhackers crept up from behind the Dodge House, having left their horses a good distance away.

“Damn a man that don't roll himself a quirly,” said Hampton. “One draw, and we'd get some idea as to where he is.”

“You don't shut your mouth,” Damark hissed, “you'll know where he is.”

“Let him talk,” said Lawton. “The
hombre
needs somethin' to shoot at, so's we got us a muzzle flash target.”

“We're downwind and within rifle range,” Damark said. “I got a couple of stones, and when I throw ‘em, he'll shoot if he's the least bit jumpy. Get ready.”

In the shadows of the Dodge House, Wes Stone waited, his Winchester cocked. Empty had growled softly, his warning that someone was out there. Then, seeming loud in the stillness, there was a soft thump, as if somebody had kicked a stone—or thrown one. But Empty ignored the sound, growling softly. The sound came again, from another direction, and again Empty ignored it. The hound growled again, louder this time, and Wes answered as he so often had.

“Get them, Empty,” he said quietly.

In an instant, Empty was gone, and the next sound Wes heard was a screech from the darkness.

“A damn wolf's got me,” Hampton bawled. “Shoot him.”

But there was no shooting, only another cry of pain, and then the thumping of running feet. Finally there was rustling of grass and leaves. Empty had returned.

“
Bueno
, Empty,” said Wes softly. “Let the varmints come after us in daylight, if they got the sand.”

“
Sí
,” El Lobo said, from the darkness.

Silver laughed. “We couldn't help hearin' him sing out. That means they're here.”

“It means we'll have to be damn careful every time we step out the door,” said Wes. “With Empty's help, we can stop them in the dark, but we'll be fair game in daylight.”

•   •   •

In silence, the three would-be bushwhackers returned to their horses.

“So much for that,” Damark growled. “You squalled loud enough to wake the dead.”

“You'd beller too, damn it, if somethin' was chawin' your leg off,” said Hampton with a snarl.

“Just Stone's dog,” Lawton said. “That means we'll have trouble bushwhackin' them in the dark.”

Damark laughed. “So we got to face three gun-throwers because we been buffaloed by a damn dog.”

“It wasn't your leg he was rippin' apart,” said Hampton. “I can feel the blood runnin' down in my boot. Fine pair of
hombres
you are. One of you could of shot the varmint.”

“Use your head for somethin' besides a hat rack,” Lawton said. “One shot at the dog, and Stone would of cut down on us, shootin' at the muzzle flash. Better a dog bite than a slug in your gizzard.”

“We'll find us some cover within range, and gun them down when they leave there in daylight,” said Damark. “We'll be laughed out of town, if word gets out that the three of us was scared off by a dog.”

“You varmints do whatever you want,” Hampton said. “Come daylight, I aim to find a doc and have him patch up my leg.”

“No,” Lawton said. “Stone knows one of us got bloodied. All he's gotta do is talk to the local sawbones, and the law will be lookin' for you.”

“Come on,” said Damark. “We'll find a creek, wash the wound, and bandage it with a bandanna, until we can do better.”

•   •   •

At the Dodge House, Silver and El Lobo had returned to their rooms. Although Wes tried to talk her out of it, Renita insisted on remaining outside with him.

“Thank God for Empty,” Renita said. “At least they can't get close enough to ambush you in the dark.”

“No,” said Wes, “but if they can't come after us in the dark, it'll be all the more of a risk in daylight. They'll come gunning for Silver, Palo, and me while Molly, Tamara, and you are with us.”

“So let them come,” Renita said. “Molly, Tamara, and me have guns.”

“They'll be out of range, using Winchesters,” said Wes. “All we have in our favor is that they'll be gunning mostly for Silver, Palo, and me.”

Renita said no more, but when they went up the street to Delmonico's for breakfast, Silver, Wes, and El Lobo each carried a Winchester. Heads turned when they entered the cafe. Sheriff Dumery was there, and when they were seated, he brought his coffee cup and joined them for breakfast.

“Expecting trouble?” Dumery asked, his eyes on the Winchesters.

“We are,” said Silver. “It showed up early this morning.”

“I didn't hear any shots,” Dumery said.

“My dog got to one of them before they could figure out where I was,” said Wes. “By the time he sampled a leg or two, they just all changed their minds and vamoosed.”

Sheriff Dumery laughed. “Nothin' like a good dog to keep varmints away. Last night, I noticed three new
hombres
in town, but they was just havin' some drinks and losin' money at poker. They hung around till the saloons closed, and I didn't see ‘em again.”

“If they're still here tonight, one of them will be limping,” Wes said.

•   •   •

Indian Territory, on the Cimarron, April 5, 1885

Illivane and his comrades were hunkered around their breakfast fire when they saw the riders coming, riding in from the east. The fifteen reined up, and the lead rider raised his hand, for he recognized Illivane and some of his men.

“Hardesty,” said Illivane, “you and your boys step down and have some coffee.”

“Ain't got time,” Hardesty said. “You and your bunch better saddle up and ride along with us.”

“For what reason?” Illivane asked.

“You can see for yourself,” said Hardesty. “I got something for you tor read.”

Standing in his stirrups, the outlaw wrestled a much folded page of a newspaper from his back pocket. He passed it to Illivane, and when he unfolded it, all the outlaws crowded around, trying to see. The big black headline was sufficient to get their attention, but it was impossible for them all to read at the same time. Swiftly, Illivane read the entire story aloud. When he had finished, there was a shocked silence. Illivane finally spoke.

“Where you
hombres
goin'?”

“New Mexico,” said Hardesty. “Maybe Arizona.”

“Maybe you're bein' a mite hasty,” Illivane said. “This could be a trick. You seen any soldiers?”

“No,” said Hardesty, “but I seen it in the St. Louis and New Orleans papers, so it'll be in all the others. The territory won't never be the same.”

“Hell, they ain't gonna keep soldiers here forever,” Illivane said. “When they're gone, ever'thing will be just like it was.”

“Don't you believe it,” said Hardesty. “There's been talk about this for a long time. I reckon it'll cost a bundle. Folks will raise hell if they don't see some results after the federals have spent so much money.”

The bunch rode on, Hardesty's companions having said nothing.

“Damn,” Giddings said, “we're ruint.”

“Maybe not,” said Illivane. “We'll wait and see. We got some money to earn before we do anything else.”

They eyed one another grimly, uncertainly.

•   •   •

In Dodge, Hampton, Lawton, and Damark had watched from a distance as their quarry had entered Delmonico's for breakfast. The trio then crept down an alley until they were behind a vacant building. Its doors and windows had been boarded up, but vandals had ripped away enough of the barrier to get in through one of the windows. Inside, Hampton, Lawton, and Damark climbed the rickety stairs that led to a second floor. Once there, they found an open door leading to a balcony facing the street.

“Perfect,” Damark said.

“But not a damn bit of cover, except that rail,” said Hampton. “When they went into that cafe, all three of ‘em had Winchesters.”

“We got to make first shots count,” Lawton said. “We miss just one of ‘em, and we'll have to run for it. We get trapped up here, and no amount of cover will be enough.”

“The sheriff's in there,” said Hampton. “I don't like that. He comes out with them, and that's an extra gun.”

“Forget about the sheriff,' Damark said. “He'll be lookin' for a hidin' place, once we gun down them three
hombres
with Winchesters.”

“I hope nobody finds our horses in that alley,” said Hampton. “My leg's sore as hell, and I ain't in no shape for runnin'.”

“Then get in position with that Winchester, and don't miss,” Lawton said.

“I'll take Stone,” said Hampton. “I owe him somethin' for that damn bitin' dog.”

“Let me have the Indian,” Damark said. “I ain't never liked the varmints.”

“That leaves Silver for me, then,” said Lawton.

The three of them hunkered down behind the rail, their Winchesters ready and their eyes on the cafe's entrance.

•   •   •

Inside Delmonico's, Sheriff Dumery had finished his breakfast.

“I'll go out and mosey around a while,” Dumery said. “Maybe I'll spot some
hombre
that's walkin' with a limp.”

A few minutes later, Silver, Wes, and El Lobo shoved back their chairs.

“You ladies stay put,” said Silver. “We're goin' out first, and if it's safe, one of us will open the door for you.”

Empty was not allowed in the cafe, but the establishment had agreed to feed him outside on the boardwalk. Wes always returned the empty pan to the kitchen, and with that in mind, he was first out the door. Silver and El Lobo were a step behind. Wes leaned over to retrieve the empty pan, and a slug thunked into the wall behind him. The roar of a distant Winchester seemed loud in the early morning stillness. Wes rolled off the boardwalk, cocking his Winchester. Silver and El Lobo went belly-down as slugs smashed into the heavy door where they had been standing. Like Wes, they had their Winchesters ready when they rolled off into the dusty street. Powder smoke still hung over the balcony from where the shots had come, and the trio in the street laid down a withering return fire.

“Damn you, Hampton,” Lawton snarled, as a slug ripped off his hat.

Damark was already past the door, pounding toward the stairs. Hampton and Lawton wasted no time following him.

“Coyotes run,” El Lobo cried.

Silver, Wes, and El Lobo were off and running—not toward the vacant building itself, but toward the alley that ran behind it. They were in time to see Hampton, Lawton, and Damark emerge from the open window and run for their horses. The pursuers drew their Colts, for they were within range. The outlaws were mounting their horses when a slug struck Hampton in the thigh. His boot slipped out of the stirrup, and spooked, his horse trotted away.

“I'm hit,” Hampton cried, struggling to his knees. “Don't leave me.”

But his pleas were ignored. Lawton and Damark, their heads down, were madly spurring their horses. The firing from behind them had ceased, and they quickly discovered the reason. Two slugs slammed into the ground ahead of them, and their horses reared. Forty yards away, Sheriff Dumery had stepped out into the alley, a Colt steady in his hand.

“Drop those weapons,” Dumery ordered, “and then get down. Do it slow.”

El Lobo had caught up Hampton's horse, and after the outlaw had been disarmed, Wes helped him mount. El Lobo led the horse.

“Damn good piece of work,” Sheriff Dumery said, as Silver and his companions strode along behind the wounded outlaw. “Let's lead these varmints to the jail. I won't be a bit surprised if we find ‘em looking back at us from some wanted posters.”

“Palo and Silver can go with you,” said Wes. “I'd better get back to Delmonico's. Our ladies won't know if we're alive or dead.”

“By all means,” Silver said. “Escort them back to the Dodge House and remain there with them. There may be more of these coyotes around.”

Sheriff Dumery, Silver, and El Lobo remained with the three captives, while Wes lost no time getting back to Delmonico's. Several men stood outside on the boardwalk, but there was no sign of Molly, Renita, and Tamara. Wes opened the door and found them still inside, silent and scared.

“Come on,” said Wes. “None of us were hurt, and we took some prisoners. Silver and Palo are with Sheriff Dumery.”