Golden Riders (4 page)

Sam gave him a questioning look.

Shaffer explained, “I recognized your sombrero,” he said with a thin smile. “I heard you were riding a black-point dun these days. Sometimes a man's horse and hat gear is easier recognized than the man himself.”

Sam only nodded and returned the thin smile.

“Pleased to meet you, Sheriff,” he said. Gesturing a nod toward the street behind him he said, “I can see you've had your hands full here.”

“Yep,” said the sheriff. “Three brothers calling themselves the Garlets rode in and tried to rob our new bank.” He aimed a narrowed glance toward the Midland Settlement Bank. “Left us with a mess, but didn't get away with any money.”

“I've been hearing their names of late,” Sam said. “I
just put them on a list I keep. Good job catching them. It saves me the trouble.”

“Obliged, Ranger Burrack,” said Schaffer. “I'd like to take credit for catching them, but I can't. The truth is they got so broken-down on mescal and cocaine beforehand, two of them rode smack into each other, the third idiot rode his horse up the hotel stairs and out the window, glass and all. . . .” He paused and nodded at the mess of broken glass, wood and curtains in the street. “You see how well that worked for him.” He shook his head. “I've got all three of them locked up. Can't make sense out of anything they say.”

Cutthroat Teddy snickered under his breath.

“That would be ole Foz doing the fancy riding,” he said. “That's one fool that shouldn't be allowed on a horse's back.”

“Shut up, Cutthroat,” Sam said.

The Sheriff looked at Bonsell, then at Sam.

“This one would be Cutthroat Teddy Bonsell, I take it?” he queried.

Cutthroat Teddy looked proud of being recognized for his growing notoriety.

“What gave me away, Sheriff?” he said, his chest a little puffed.

“It's known that you never keep your mouth shut,” the sheriff replied sharply.

Sam said to Schaffer, “Yep, that's him all right. And this one is Jake Cleary. I expect you've heard of him, too.”

Jake Cleary only looked down at his boots.

“You bet I have,” Sheriff Schaffer said. He touched
his hat brim toward the older gunman almost in a gesture of respect.

Not liking the way the two lawmen were paying more attention to the older gunman than to him, Cutthroat Teddy spoke loud enough for gathering bystanders to hear him.

“If you two lawdogs think you're cleaning up this badlands you've got another think coming—”

“Shut up, Teddy,” Cleary said, cutting him off. “Can't you see folks are on a sharp edge here?” He gave a wary look around the street at the stark, angry faces gathering in closer.

“Shutting up is wise advice; you'd best take it,” Schaffer quietly warned Bonsell. Bonsell looked all around at the faces of the townsfolk, then lowered his head. Sam looked at Schaffer.

Schaffer nodded over his shoulder toward his office door and spoke to the Ranger.

“This is a good time to get in out of the sun,” he said. “Bring your prisoners on in, Ranger Burrack. This is one robbery you'll likely want to hear about sitting down.”

With the two prisoners in a cell next to the Garlets, the Ranger and the sheriff walked back down the short hall to the sheriff's office. Schaffer closed a thick wooden door separating the jail from the office area and sat down behind his desk. The Ranger leaned against a support post in front of the big oak desk while Sheriff Dave Schaffer related the whole botched robbery attempt to him.

He took off his sombrero and glanced questioningly at the big wooden door and hesitated before speaking.

“Don't worry, Ranger,” said Schaffer, “they can't hear nothing we say back there. It's been tested.”

“It crossed my mind listening to you,” Sam said. “At some time or other, every man back there rides with Braxton Kane's Golden Gang, out of Colorado Territory—the gang I'm trying to round up and put out of business. I'd like to get them all back to Nogales at once if I can.”

“Oh . . . ?” said Schaffer. “Why's that, if you don't mind my asking.”

“I killed Braxton's brother, Cordell, just the other day,” Sam replied.

“Whoa, I see,” said Schaffer. “So, Braxton's going to be sending his whole gang after you, soon as he hears about Cordy. The more of them you get out of the way now, the better?”

“Something like that, Sheriff,” Sam said. “Once I get Braxton Kane in my sights I can cut the head off the snake, so to speak. But for now, I have to keep moving forward, taking them down one and two at a time when I can catch them.”

“I realize how it is with these big robbing gangs,” the sheriff sighed. “Gunmen drift in and out, job after job. You never know who all's riding with them and who ain't.”

“There it is, Sheriff,” Sam said. “If it's all the same with you, I'd like to take these Garlets off your hands tomorrow morning, get them out of here before Kane hears about his brother.”

“You're welcome to them, Ranger,” Schaffer said. “The truth is, I've been wondering how to keep the town from swinging a rope over a timber post.” He gave a short grin. “You'd be doing us all a favor taking them to Nogales come morning. In fact I'll ride with you, if that's suitable.”

“I welcome your company,” the Ranger said. As he finished speaking, a knock resounded on the front door and the attorney, Arthur Polks, walked in without waiting for an invitation.

Before acknowledging Polks, Sheriff Schaffer turned his eyes back to Sam long enough to say, “It's all settled then, first thing in the morning, Nogales?”

“First thing,” Sam said.

“I hope you're not planning on moving these Garlet brothers, Sheriff,” Polks cut in, as if having been there for the whole conversation.

Sam and the sheriff both looked at the rosy-faced lawyer. Polks grinned confidently, took off his stovepipe crowned hat and jerked a pencil and a thick book pad from inside it.

“Because if you'll permit me to say so . . . ,” Polks said thumbing through notes he'd begun writing down shortly after the Garlets' melee in the dirt street. “These men must not be charged with bank robbery, no indeed.” He thumbed through more pages of notes. “Even bank manager Merlyn Oates has stated that these men asked for no money, nor did they abscond with any,” he continued in an officious tone, “although there was
in fact
money there in the open safe for the taking had they chosen to do so.”

“What kind of shenanigan are you trying to pull, Polks?” Schaffer said.

“No shenanigan, Sheriff Schaffer,” Polks beamed. “You asked for my legal opinion as an officer of the court earlier, did you not?”

“I did . . . ,” said Schaffer hesitantly. “But I didn't expect you to go boring away at it full tilt.”

“I could give the matter no less than my full and earnest attention,” Polks said smugly. “If you expected otherwise from me, you were mistaken, sir. The law is not frivolous in such matters and as an officer of the court of this fine territory I am called not to treat it so.”

Here we go . . . ,
Sam said to himself, noting how much the attorney seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice.

“Of course I wanted a sound opinion from you, Polks,” Schaffer said. “But I need to hold them, charge them with something. Look at the mess they've made here. They shot up the town, tore up the hotel, broke up a desk chair.”

Polks stepped closer, consulted his pad again and flapped it shut.

“Yes, they undisputedly did all that,” he said. “And I'm certain they might well stand trial for everything from public drunkenness to indecent exposure.” He raised a finger for emphasis. “But not for bank robbery.” He paused and grinned again. “Any lawyer with half a mind can beat this case for them. God knows I would.”

“What about
attempted
bank robbery?” Schaffer asked, sounding disgusted. “We all know that's what they had in mind before they got lit up on mescal.”

“Knowing it and proving it is two different things, Sheriff,” said Polks. “Bank money was lying there, they didn't
attempt
to take it. So, there goes a bank robbery charge out the window. I'm advising you, trying to convict them will be a waste of time and money.”

“My goodness,” Schaffer said, shaking his head. “The more civilized the law gets, the less sense it makes. No wonder townsfolk like to drop a rope and watch these fools wiggle their bootheels.” He looked at the Ranger. “Have you got them wanted for bank robbery anywhere else in the territory?” he asked.

Without taking his eyes off the grinning lawyer, Sam only shook his head without commenting.

“Then I'm afraid your best bet is to charge them a fine for all the mess they made here, Sheriff,” Polks put
in. “And at that, I caution you not to fine them so high that they can't afford to pay, or you'll be stuck with them in your jail, feeding them on the taxpayer's money. How much do you think the townsfolk will like that?”

Schaffer looked at the Ranger.

“See what I mean about the law making less sense?” he said.

Sam only stood watching, listening.

“Here's something else you're not going to like much, Sheriff Dave,” said Polks. “Being the only qualified attorney in town, it is my duty to offer my services to the Garlets should you decide to try them here on any charge more than a simple—”

“Jesus, Polks!” said Schaffer, cutting him off. “Do you just sit around dreaming up this crazy, mindless—?”

“I beg your pardon, Sheriff, this is the law,” Polks cut in indignantly. “You
did
ask me for an opinion. I would be remiss if I gave this matter anything less than my best effort.”

The sheriff cooled and let out a breath. “Pay me no mind, Arthur,” he said to Polks. “I know you're quoting law, chapter and verse. But sometimes
the law
piles up on itself like rat turds in a barn loft.”

Polks said, “Fine them and get them out of town, Sheriff. That's my best advice.”

Schaffer looked back and forth between the attorney and the Ranger.

“Hunh-uh,”
he said. “I'm not turning them loose today. Not in the shape they're in. Look at them. They're all three off somewhere goosing butterflies. For their
sake and the town's, I'll hold them until they sober up enough to lift themselves into a saddle.”

“Oh, and then . . . ?” said Polks.

“Then I'll chase them out of here, like you said,” Schaffer replied grudgingly. He turned to Sam and said, “Unless you still want to take them to Nogales, Ranger Burrack. If you do they're all yours.”

“
Ranger Burrack
, did you say?” Polks queried, a look of surprise coming to his face. He quickly looked the Ranger up and down. “The Ranger Burrack I've heard so much talk about of late?”

“Most likely,” Sam said flatly, knowing he was the only Ranger named Burrack riding for the Arizona Territory Rangers.

“Sheriff, where are your manners?” Polks said to Schaffer. Then he said to the Ranger, “Please allow me to introduce myself, Ranger Burrack. I'm Arthur B. Polks, attorney-at-law.” He smiled. “No hard feelings over what I've said here, I hope.”

“No hard feelings at all,” Sam said.

“Watch him, Ranger. He's gotten as slippery as an outhouse ditch today,” the sheriff cautioned Sam with a half-joking smile.

“Shame on you, Sheriff Dave,” Polks said with an affable chuckle. “You know that I always have the matters of this town at heart.” He turned to the Ranger with a smile and tipped his hat back atop his head.

“To answer your question, Sheriff,” Sam said, getting back to the Garlets. “If you can't make a case against these three, there's no reason for me to take
them to Nogales. Turn them loose. I'll just have to wait until there is a charge that'll stick.” He gave a slight shrug. “I shouldn't have to wait long.”

“I wish I could be more help, Ranger,” said Schaffer.

“Obliged all the same,” said Sam. “This is how it goes busting up a big gang like this. I'll take Cleary and Bonsell back to the Ranger outpost. By the time I get back out here, maybe Braxton Kane will hear about his brother, and him and his pals will come calling.”

“I apologize if what I've said causes you any problems doing your job, Ranger,” Arthur Polks said.

“Don't apologize for the law,” said the Ranger. “I'm used to situations taking sudden turns and peculiarities. That's why I carry extra bullets.”

In the darkening shadows of evening, behind Eland Fehrs' First Street Saloon, Prew Garlet and a half-breed Mayan-Mexican Indian called the Bluebird stepped down from their horses and looked all around the dusty alley. Earlier, the two had heard the shooting from a distance of two miles out of town. A full hour after the shooting had stopped and no sign of his brothers had appeared along the trail, Prew and the Bluebird had led their horses down from among a rise of rocky cliffs and followed the trail toward the Midland Settlement with caution.

Now, they reined their horses to one of the hitch posts standing alongside a row of dilapidated public outhouses. The horses twitched their ears and grumbled under their breath at the terrible stench of human urine and excrement.

“Are you sure that stuff is safe here?” Prew asked the
Bluebird, nodding toward the bulge of homemade dynamite in the Bluebird's saddlebags. “If we blow up these horses, we're going to be in a tight spot here.”

The Bluebird only stared at Prew blankly as he spoke. When he saw that Prew's lips had stopped moving, he only nodded his head, his long, shiny black hair hanging from under his hat brim.

“All right, I'll take your word for it,” Prew said, not realizing that the Bluebird couldn't hear anything quieter than a clap of thunder. “Stay back here close to them. Nobody's going to let you into the saloon anyway.”

The Bluebird grunted, but continued walking alongside Prew toward a small, narrow alleyway leading alongside the First Street Saloon.

Seeing the Bluebird still beside him, Prew stopped and held a hand toward him.

“No, damn it,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “Stay here with the horses until I check things out.” He pointed down at the ground as he spoke. When he finished, the Bluebird looked all around, then nodded his head.

“Jesus,” said Prew. “You need to brush up on your
Ingles
, if you expect to make it in this business.”

The Bluebird only nodded again and watched him turn and walk away toward the rear door of the saloon. When he saw Prew step aside for two men walking out to use the outhouses, he backed away into the shadow of a building and sank onto his haunches and watched, seeing a smile crease Prew's otherwise hard and leathery face.

“Evening, gents,” Prew said as he allowed the two
men to walk past him, one of them weaving a little on his feet. The two men nodded and walked on purposefully. Prew caught the back door before it swung shut and walked inside, making a show of rebuttoning his fly as he walked across the plank floor of the crowded saloon.

At the bar, he sidled in between two drinkers who had left a sliver of space between them and summoned the bartender with raised fingers.

“Another beer and rye here,” he called out as if he'd been drinking there all evening.

“Another beer and rye coming up,” said a tall, powerfully built bartender with a pockmarked face and a tangle of thick black hair. He hooked a clean beer mug from the bar top and drew back on a tap handle in one sleek quick motion.

Watching the mug fill, Prew pulled out a gold coin and spun it on the bar top. The bartender stood the foamy beer mug in front of him and filled a shot glass with rye from a bottle, almost before the coin stopped spinning and flattened onto the bar.

“I have never knowingly participated in that practice,” the big bartender said, nodding at the coin. His wide hand scooped it up and closed around it like a thick clam.

“Could have fooled me, fast as you are,” said Prew. He gestured down at the rye bottle in the bartender's other hand. “Leave it,” he said. And before the bartender could turn and make change from a tin box under the bar, Prew asked, “What was you saying a while ago about some shooting that went on here today?”

“What part?” said the bartender, spreading his big
hands along the bar edge, his eyes checking along the line of drinkers.

Prew gave an offhanded shrug.

“Well, all of it, I reckon,” he said.

“It was the damnedest thing I ever saw,” the bartender said, “a horse flying out a window that way, the second floor? You ever see something like that?”

Good God . . . !

Prew stood staring, taken aback for a second.

“No, I can't say I have,” he finally replied. “There was three of them, I heard?”

“Yep, three,” said the bartender. “Each one as wild-eyed crazy as the other. Got blind-flying drunk and decided to rob our new bank.”