Lawman without a Gun Page 8

  ‘So what’s he doing about it?

  The deputy rubbed his shoulder where the pain had started again. Watching him, Sefton felt a sudden twinge of apprehension, guessed he was going to hear something he wouldn’t like. ‘He’s sent word to El Lobos, just over the border. In a couple o’ days there’ll be a score o’ men in Condor, ready to do whatever he says.’

  Sefton stared at him, an expression of stunned shock on his thin features. ‘Does he know what that’ll mean? It’ll start a full-scale range war in town.’

  ‘Sure it will. Kelsey and anybody stupid enough to back him will be finished and we’ll come out on top. Now be ready to fork your bronc and get the word through to Cranton, unless you want to pull out o’ the deal.’

  Hawkins thrust his face close up to the lawyer’s. The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down nervously in his throat as he backed off.

  A few moments later, Frank came and stood outside the door. ‘You finished, Sefton?’

  Getting to his feet, the lawyer gave a quick nod, a jerky movement of his head. ‘I’ve finished, Sheriff,’ he muttered. Going out, he threw a sharp glance at the man on the bunk. Inwardly, he knew Hawkins had been deadly serious. He, himself, was no gunfighter, but he could see, quite clearly, that very soon, all hell would break loose before this was finished.

  It was ten o’ clock in the morning, two days later, when the stage for Denver drew up outside the depot. Three men and two women were waiting to board it when Ivers came out of the hotel. Frank stood waiting for him on the boardwalk.

  After shaking hands, Frank said, ‘A word o’ warning, Judge. Whoever these coyotes are, they’ll never forgive you for what you did in that courtroom. They’ll want your hide. Watch yourself all the way.’

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ Ivers promised solemnly. ‘As you see, I have my own form of protection.’ He inclined his head towards the three men waiting by the stage.

  Frank watched as the judge climbed on board, then signalled to Ben Sheldon. Pulling himself up onto the boardwalk, he muttered quietly, ‘You got a worried look about you. You thinkin’ the same as I am, Frank?’

  Nodding, Frank said softly, ‘I’m thinkin’ that someone may have got word to those men in the hills.’

  ‘It couldn’t have been Hawkins. You’ve got him safely locked up. And Bellamy has been in town for the past four or five days. I can vouch for that.’

  ‘I know. But I’ve still got this gut feelin’ that someone may have slipped out o’ town to warn ’em.’

  Waiting until the stage had pulled out, leaving a slowly dissipating cloud of dust in its wake, he turned and went back into the office. Behind him, Sheldon closed the door quietly.

  ‘You’ve got somethin’ in mind, Frank?’ he asked.

  ‘Too right, I have.’ Going over to the wall, he took down one of the rifles. Handing it to Sheldon, he said, ‘I’m leavin’ you in charge o’ the prisoner, Ben. You sure you can manage that?’

  He gave an emphatic nod. ‘I may be old, Frank, but I can still handle one o’ these. I used ’em often enough in the old days.’

  ‘Good. If he starts any trouble, shoot him. It’ll save us the hassle of a trial.’

  Sheldon grinned. ‘I’ll do that,’ he promised.

  Taking his own Winchester, Frank stepped outside and thrust the rifle into the scabbard. Untying the reins, he saddled up and headed out of town. Not until he had reached the end of the street and swung left onto the dusty trail, did Sefton step out of the shadowed alleyway. Stepping across the street, the lawyer pushed open the door of the bank and went inside.

  Once clear of the town, Frank turned off the trail and headed into the wilderness, swinging east. Perhaps he was being over-cautious, he mused, but that familiar itch was back between his shoulders. It was a warning signal he had often felt and past experience had taught him never to ignore it, or his marshal’s instincts.

  The stage was still visible in the distance, shrouded in dust. He judged it would take it almost an hour to reach the buttes where he felt sure any intended attack would materialize. The route he intended to take was considerably longer, swinging around toward the east, and he knew he had to reach those buttes before the stage got there.

  Leaning low in the saddle, he pushed the stallion to its limit. Fortunately, his mount was fresh and he judged he could reach those buttes at least ten minutes before the stage was due to pass through them.

  He spotted them on his right some forty minutes later. They provided the only cover for miles around, rising out of the flat ground like grotesque monoliths. Throwing a swift glance behind him, he immediately picked out the dust cloud thrown up by the approaching stage.

  Evidently, the driver had heard about the recent hold-ups and was pushing the horses as fast as he dared across the rutted ground. A sweeping survey of the terrain all around showed it to be empty. Either those outlaws did not intend to make any attack, or they were already in place.

  Turning his mount, he swung right, heading for the nearest butte. He reached it a few minutes later and slid from the saddle on the run. Now he was completely hidden from the trail. Running forward, he reached the base of the bluff and commenced working his way along it. Within minutes, he came upon a place where he was able to climb.

  It was a steep and dangerous ascent, made more difficult by sharp edges of stone thrusting from the rockface like stiff fingers. Finally, however, he reached the top. From there he could clearly see the stage less than half a mile away.

  Then, glancing down, he made out the figure of a man crouched behind an outcrop of stone. There was a rifle in the man’s hands, the barrel resting on the rocks in front of him. Dropping to his knees, Frank crawled forward, lying flat on his stomach, pushing the Winchester in front of him.

  The stage had just entered the gap between the buttes when the three riders appeared on the far side of the trail. Swinging their mounts behind the stage, they raced them forward, firing as they came. At the same time, the man below Frank thrust himself to his feet, aiming at the stage.

  Levelling the Winchester, Frank called loudly. ‘Drop it, friend, or you’re a dead man.’

  The man whirled swiftly. Even though taken completely off guard, he was a seasoned gunfighter. Within a second, he had lifted the Winchester, aiming swiftly. Twin shots rang out almost simultaneously. Frank heard the vicious hum of the slug passing within an inch of his head.

  Down below him, the gunslinger had fallen back against the wall of rock. He tried desperately to bring up the gun for a second shot but there was little life left in him. Falling to his knees, he bent forward, the rifle dropping from his hands.

  He hung there for a moment; then dropped, his body turning over twice before he hit the ground.

  On the trail, Ivers and the men with him were giving a good account of themselves. One of the riders reeled in the saddle as a bullet took him in the right arm. For a moment, it seemed he would fall but somehow he righted himself. Hooking his injured arm through the reins, he drew his other Colt.

  Almost directly below him, Frank saw one of the attackers suddenly swerve towards the edge of the trail, trying to race his mount past the stage. Intuitively, Frank knew what the gunman intended.

  It was the same tactic they must have employed when they had held up the previous stage. If they could kill the driver, there was a good chance the stage would career off the trail and smash into the rising column of the nearby butte.

  Swinging the Winchester, scarcely pausing to take deliberate aim, he squeezed the trigger twice. The first shot missed, passing over the rider’s head. The second, however, must have hit a vital part for the man threw up his arms and seemed to be reaching for the sky as his Colt flew from his hand.

  His arched body slid over his mount’s rump and hung there, one foot tangled in the stirrup. With no hold on the reins, his mount raced headlong down the trail, dragging him with it.

  As if realizing they had bitten off more than they had bargained for, the remaining two r
iders wheeled their mounts and fled back along the way they had come. Sucking in a gust of air, Frank made his way slowly down the side of the butte to where the stallion stood waiting. Once in the saddle, he made his way to where the stage had halted less than half a mile away.

  The door opened as he approached and Ivers climbed out. There was a grim smile on the judge’s lips as he came forward. ‘Guess you were right, Frank,’ he said solemnly.

  Nodding, Frank pointed behind them. ‘There was another o’ the critters lying in wait among the rocks yonder. Reckon he didn’t aim on me showin’ up.’

  ‘He’s dead?’ It was more of a statement than a question on Ivers’ part.

  Frank nodded. He walked with Ivers a little way along the trail to where the body of the dead outlaw lay in the dirt. Turning him over with his boot, he said, ‘You got any idea who this might be, Sam?’

  Ivers studied the dead man closely, then straightened. ‘I know him,’ he said finally. ‘A gunhawk by the name o’ Hap Forrester. His picture is plastered on wanted posters clear from here to the border. Last I heard of him he’d teamed up with a killer called Ed Cranton.’

  ‘Well, I guess that just leaves two of ’em on the loose and one of ’em picked up a slug in his arm. Somehow, I have the feelin’ there’ll be at least two men in Condor who won’t be very pleased to hear about this.’

  Going back to the waiting stage, Ivers climbed on board, closing the door. Leaning out of the window, he said, ‘Somehow, I doubt if this is over yet, Frank. If Bellamy is the brains behind this outfit, he won’t stop now. There’s too much at stake for him. Either he’ll become the biggest man in this part o’ the territory, or we’ll have him swingin’ from a rope.’

  There was a knowing smile on his bluff features as he added, ‘Just one more thing, Frank. Take some advice from an old man. You’re a proud man and I know how that affair in Dodge affected you, but don’t let that girl in town slip through your fingers. If you do, you’re more foolish than I think.’

  Turning his head, he called, ‘Take her on her way, driver.’

  With a crack of the whip, the driver urged the horses forward. Frank sat his mount in the middle of the track and watched until the stage was just a fading dot in the sun-hazed distance, then swung the stallion and headed back for the town.

  Immediately he rode into town, Frank knew something was wrong. There was a knot of people outside the sheriff’s office and, as he swung down from the saddle, Dr Pearson came out, his face grim.

  Seeing Frank, he pushed his way through the crowd and walked over.

  ‘What’s happened, Doc?’ Frank asked anxiously.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s bad news, Frank. Hawkins has gone. Seems someone came in and busted him out o’ the jail.’

  ‘And Sheldon? I left him here with a rifle to watch the prisoner.’

  ‘He’s in a pretty bad way, I’m afraid. Either Hawkins, or whoever broke him out, hit him over the head with a gunbutt. I’ve done what I can for him but he’s still unconscious. If he lives, it’ll be a miracle at his age.’

  Clamping his lips into a tight light, Frank stepped into the office. Someone had lifted the old man and placed him on the table. His eyes were closed and there was a bandage around his skull.

  Barely able to control his anger, Frank stared round at the folk standing at the door. ‘When I find out who did this, I’ll personally see to it that they hang,’ he grated viciously. ‘Any o’ you folk see anythin’?’

  One of the men near the front of the crowd said, ‘I did see Josh Sefton go into the office just after you rode out, Sheriff. But it weren’t him who did this. That lawyer was only inside for a couple o’ minutes and Ben was all right when he left. I saw the old man standing outside on the boardwalk after Sefton came out. He had a Winchester in his hands.’

  Staring grimly at the old man on the table, Frank said, ‘You reckon he can stay at your place, Doc? If he does come round, there are some questions I want to ask him.’

  Nodding, the doctor turned to the men in the doorway. ‘Two o’ you men carry Ben to my surgery. Be careful with him.’

  Once this had been done, Frank turned to the doctor. ‘This is all my fault, Doc. I should’ve realized he was too old to guard Hawkins, but he claimed he knew how to handle a Winchester.’

  ‘This wasn’t something you could’ve foreseen, Frank.’ Pearson laid a hand on his arm. Changing the subject, he asked, ‘What happened with the stage? I guessed you were goin’ to keep an eye on it when you rode out o’ town.’

  With an effort, Frank forced himself to think coherently. ‘Like I figured, those outlaws were determined the judge shouldn’t get to Denver alive and spill what he knows about this town. Four of ’em attacked it at the buttes. I got two of ’em and another collected a slug in his arm.’

  Pearson nodded. ‘You want this information kept secret?’

  Frank pondered that for a moment; then shook his head. ‘Nope. I want everyone to know, particularly Bellamy and Sefton. Somehow, I don’t think this news is goin’ to sit well with either of ’em.’

  ‘Then you figure they’re both in cahoots with these outlaws?’

  ‘I’m sure of it and, somehow, I aim to prove it.’ He meant to say something more but at that moment, Anne and her father pushed their way through the crowd. There was an anxious expression on their faces.

  ‘We were on our way into town and heard something o’ what happened here,’ Everley said. ‘Was that Old Ben they just took into the surgery?’

  ‘That’s right. I left him to keep watch on Hawkins but it seems somebody wanted that killer free. Ben got slugged with a gunbutt. Doc here reckons his chances aren’t too good.’

  ‘Is it true that the stage was attacked again?’ Anne asked. Her gaze never left his face.

  ‘It’s true.’ It was Pearson who spoke. ‘Frank trailed it. He killed two o’ those varmints and a third was wounded. I reckon we might have seen the last o’ that gang.’

  If only I could be sure of that, Frank thought. His instincts, however, told him that this was not the end of it. Very soon, Bellamy would realize that events were going against him but knowing what kind of man the banker was, he felt sure the man still had an ace up his sleeve.

  Easing the Colts in their holsters, he said with a trace of steel in his tone, ‘I think I’ll walk along and have a word with Bellamy. It’s somethin’ I should’ve done some time ago.’

  CHAPTER VII

  ROGUES IN CAHOOTS

  The bank was almost deserted when Frank entered. Two customers stood at the counter. Both glanced round quickly, then one of them said something to the teller and hurried out, brushing past Frank without looking in his direction. Going up to the grille, Frank said roughly, ‘I want a word with Curt Bellamy.’

  The small, balding man glanced apprehensively in the direction of the office at the rear. ‘I’m afraid Mr Bellamy is with an important customer at present, Sheriff. If you’d care to wait for a while, I’ll—’

  ‘This is law business,’ Frank said curtly. Moving quickly before the teller could make any movement or protest, Frank walked around the end of the counter, pushed open the gate and reached the office door before the clerk could do anything to prevent him.

  Without bothering to knock, he thrust the door open and went in. Bellamy was seated behind the polished desk, leaning back in his plush chair, a cigar in his mouth. Sefton sat in the other chair facing him. Both men spun round quickly and Frank was quick to notice how the obviously heated conversation stopped immediately.

  ‘What’s the meanin’ of this?’ Bellamy blustered, jerking upright in his seat. A deep red flush stained his florid features. ‘You can’t just bust your way into my office and—’

  ‘I can, and I just did,’ Frank said ominously. Somehow, he managed to keep his anger under control. He could guess what the two men had been discussing, but he knew that, at the moment, he’d get nothing out of either of them about their deliberations.

  ‘Now see her
e.’ Bellamy got swiftly to his feet, leaning forward with his knuckles on the desk. ‘This is my bank. I’m the manager here and frankly, I don’t give a damn that Judge Ivers gave you the job o’ sheriff. Believe me, it ain’t a position you’re goin’to hold for long.’

  ‘No?’ Frank knew he was trying to rile him into doing something foolish. ‘And who’s goin’ to say any different?’

  ‘The Town Committee.’ Bellamy was still struggling to control himself. ‘By law, the sheriff is elected by all o’ their members and I don’t recall your election bein’ put to the vote.’

  Through his teeth, Frank said tautly, ‘From what I remember, Hawkins wasn’t elected by them either, just on your say-so. Now just sit back down in that chair and listen to what I have to say. Your little plan to kill Ivers didn’t happen and two o’ your friends in the hills were killed today tryin’ to hit the stage.’

  He saw the gust of expression which flashed briefly across the banker’s broad, fleshy features. It was gone within seconds but it was evident to Frank that this news had come as a distinct shock to him.

  Swinging on the lawyer, Frank said thinly, ‘Somehow, I get the feelin’ you’re in this as deep as your friend here. And if Ben Sheldon dies, there’s goin’ to be a charge o’ murder pinned on someone. From what I know, most folk liked Old Ben. If they should get the idea that the two o’ you were behind that attack on him, I wouldn’t give much for your chances. In this case, I figure I might even condone a lynch mob.’

  The lawyer stiffened abruptly in his seat. ‘If you think I had anythin’ to do with that, you’re mistaken.’

  ‘But you did go to my office just after I rode out o’ town. I got plenty o’ witnesses to that.

  Swallowing nervously, the lawyer spluttered, ‘Sure I went there. I got a right to speak with my client. Ben was all right when I left, I—’

  ‘Keep your mouth shut, Joshua.’ Bellamy leaned forward over his desk, stubbing out the cigar in the ashtray in front of him. ‘This jumped-up sheriff ain’t got anythin’ on either of us. He’s just fishin’ around in the dark, knowin’ he’s getting’ nowhere. Ain’t that right – Sheriff?’