Gunsmith #361 : The Letter of the Law (9781101553657) (11 page)

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Authors: J. R. Roberts

BOOK: Gunsmith #361 : The Letter of the Law (9781101553657)
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They stopped at a café and ate breakfast with the saddlebag of $30,000 on the floor between them. They both had steak and eggs, and Clint paid the bill from his own pocket.
“Don't you think the bank owes us a breakfast?” Kelly asked. “After all, we got some of their money back.”
“That's okay,” Clint said. “I can afford breakfast. Come on, we don't have a bank manager to return the money to, so we'll give it to the mayor.”
“What if he keeps it?”
“That's not our problem,” Clint said. “As long as we retrieve it and return it, I don't care what happens to it.”
They left the café and walked to the City Hall.
 
Clint and Kelly were shown into the mayor's office by a middle-aged secretary.
“Ah, gentlemen,” the mayor said, “I have the badges for you.” He spread about half a dozen badges across his desk. Kelly picked one up and gave it to Clint.
“Thanks,” Clint said, putting the badge in his shirt pocket. “Mayor, we'd like to know how much money was taken from the bank.”
“A hundred and twenty thousand dollars was taken from the bank. That's the number I got.”
Clint dropped the saddlebags on the mayor's desk.
“What's this?”
“Thirty thousand.”
“What?”
The mayor opened the saddlebags and took out the bank packets.
“You got some of it back already?” he asked. “I put the badges on the right men obviously.”
Clint let Kelly tell the mayor about Little Jim's involvement with the robbery, and what happened at his saloon.
“So he's dead in the saloon right now?” the mayor asked.
“That's right,” Kelly said. “I need somebody to go and get him and take him to the undertaker's office.”
“I can get somebody to do that,” the mayor assured him. “What are you going to do?”
“Clint and I are going to follow Jim's trail and hope it leads us to the rest of the bank robbers.”
“I want you to know,” the mayor said, “that as long as you bring the rest of the money back, I don't care how you bring Garver and them back.”
“Are you sayin' dead or alive?” Kelly asked.
“That's what I'm saying, gents,” the mayor said. “Dead or alive.”
 
When they left the mayor's office, they went right to the livery for their horses.
“It's obvious we're looking for Garver,” Clint said while they were saddling their mounts. “I don't think we need to ask any more questions.”
“Too bad we couldn't find out from Jim who else was involved.”
“We didn't have much choice in that,” Clint said. “We'll find out when we catch up to them.”
They walked the horses outside.
“What do you think about the mayor sayin' he wanted Garver and his men dead or alive?”
“I think he's looking to avoid trying them, and he wants us to do his job for him. But I'd prefer to bring them in alive.”
“And what about the boys at the ranch?” Kelly asked. “I've got all these badges in my saddlebags now.”
“Let's see what direction Jim's trail takes us in,” Clint said.
“Can we pick it up here?” Kelly asked.
“No,” Clint said. “His horse is still behind his saloon. We'll pick it up there.”
THIRTY
They went back to the saloon and went around to the rear, where Little Jim's horse was standing.
“Just give me a minute,” Clint said, dismounting, “then we'll take this animal to the livery and go.”
Clint went over to the horse, checked all four hooves for identifying marks, and then looked at the dirt in the alley.
“Okay,” he said, “I've got it.”
“Got what?”
“The tracks,” Clint said. “I'll be able to pick them out and follow them.”
Clint mounted up, then grabbed the reins of Little Jim's horse. They took the animal to the livery so it could be cared for, then went back to the saloon to pick up the tracks.
“Which way are they headin'?” Kelly asked.
“These tracks head south,” Clint said.
“The direction of the ranch,” Kelly said. “If we get that far, we can pick up the boys and deputize them.”
“We'll have to see,” Clint said. “I expect to follow these tracks to a camp. We'll have to see where the others went from there.”
They rode through town, Clint following as well as he could, but when they got to the street, there were just too many tracks there.
“Let's go south of town and see if we can pick him up there.”
 
South of town, Clint was able to pick up Little Jim's tracks again. Within a few hours, they found where Jim had camped the night before.
“That took a lot of nerve,” Kelly said, “camping this close to town.”
“That's because Garver knew there was no posse after them.”
“Well,” Kelly said, “when we get to the ranch, there will be a posse.”
“Let's see if these other tracks head that way,” Clint said.
“How many?”
“Three,” Clint said, “just what we expected.”
Clint dismounted and walked the cold campsite. He saw Little Jim's tracks trail off toward town. The other three tracks led off to the south. If they kept going that way, they would, eventually, come very near to Billy Dixon's ranch.
“Okay,” Clint said, mounting up, “We'll follow and hope they don't veer off, or split up. If they split up, we may have to split up, too.”
“I'm followin' you,” Kelly said. “I may be wearin' the badge, but you're the leader.”
“There's no leader,” Clint said. “Let's just follow these tracks and see what happens.”
 
“What's that?” Wycliffe asked. “Down there?”
“It's a ranch.”
“Whose?”
Garver squinted, looked around to make sure they were where he thought they were.
“Oh,” he said, then, “that's Billy Dixon's ranch.”
“Dixon? The hero of Adobe Walls?”
“That was a while ago,” Garver said. “Now he's just the postmaster in town.”
“Think he'll be there?” Wycliffe asked.
Garver knew he'd already shot Dixon down in the street, so he said, “I doubt it.”
“That corral's full of horses,” Wycliffe said. “We could use some fresh mounts.”
“You got a point,” Garver said. “Okay, we go down and gets some mounts. From what I know of Dixon's ranch, there are only a few hands.”
“What do we do with them?” Stanford asked.
“We kill them,” Garver said. “Anybody got a problem with that?”
“I don't,” Stanford said.
“Me neither,” Wycliffe said. “But I got another question.”
“What?” Garver said.
“Can you break a wild horse?”
“Why?”
“Those are wild mustangs,” Wycliffe said, “but we're lucky. I can break 'em.”
“Gotta be a few horses down there we can ride,” Stanford said.
“Only one way to find out,” Garver said.
“We kill 'em first thing?” Stanford asked, touching his rifle.
“Leave your rifle,” Garver said. “We'll talk first, and shoot later.”
THIRTY-ONE
Garver, Wycliffe, and Stanford rode down to the Dixon ranch. As they approached, the mustangs in the corral began to shift around nervously.
“You're right about those mustangs,” Garver said. “They're wild.”
“Might be some more horses in the barn,” Wycliffe said.
“We'll take a look,” Garver said. “First let's be sure how many men are here.”
“There's one, comin' out of the barn,” Stanford said.
“He'll be yours,” Garver said, “but only when I say. Got it?”
“I got it,” Stanford said.
“Here's mine,” Wycliffe said.
A man wearing chaps came out from behind the corral.
“Good,” Garver said.
The door to the bunkhouse opened and another man came out.
“That's three.”
And they quickly determined there were no others.
 
Ed was behind the corral, looking the mustangs over, trying to decide which ones he should break first, when they got nervous. That was when he heard some men riding in. He came around the corral and saw them riding toward the house. He didn't have a gun on him.
 
When Bob heard the horses ride in, he came out of the barn to see what was happening. He had left his rifle inside.
 
Charlie came out of the bunkhouse to see who the riders were. He had thought to strap on his gun before he came out.
That was why he was the first to die.
 
“Okay, boys,” Garver said. “Take your man.”
Garber drew and shot down Charlie before the man could react.
 
Wycliffe turned his horse and very deliberately drew his gun and shot the man in the chaps.
The bullet struck Ed in the chest, punched all the air from his lungs even before he realized he'd been shot.
Stanford turned his horse, but his man—Bob—had turned and run back into the barn.
Stanford, unaware that Bob had a rifle in the barn, rode up to the open door of the barn, his rifle held lazily in his hand.
From inside, Bob waited for the man to appear, and when he did, he shot him.
The shot hit Stanford in the hip and knocked him off his horse.
 
Garver and Wycliffe turned and saw Stanford get shot from his saddle.
“Idiot,” Garver said.
“I'll go around the back,” Wycliffe said, and gigged his horse into motion.
Garver waited for Wycliffe to get around to the back, then rode his horse over to the barn and dismounted outside.
Stanford was lying on his side in the dirt, groaning.
“How bad, Stanford?” Garver called.
“It hurts,” Stanford said.
Garver shook his head and shot Stanford in the back.
“Doesn't hurt anymore,” he said.
 
Wycliffe rode around back and dismounted. Like most barns, there was space between the boards and he was able to peer inside. He saw a man with a rifle keeping his eyes on the front door.
He looked around, saw a regular-size door in the back, and moved to it.
 
“Hey, in the barn!” Garver said. “All we want is some horses.”
“Corral's full of 'em,” Bob said.
“Yeah, well, we'd like something that's already broke and ready to ride,” Garver called. “Like what you got in there.”
“I'll send 'em out.”
“Good idea,” Garver said.
“You want'em saddled?”
“That's real nice of you, but we got our own saddles. Just send the horses out.”
“How many?”
“Two will do.”
Garver waited, gun drawn, and when he heard the sounds of the horses' hooves, he stepped out of hiding.
 
Wycliffe heard Garver and the man talking, waited for his chance.
The man inside got a couple of horses out of their stalls, aimed them at the front door, and slapped them on the rump.
That was when Wycliffe stepped through the door.
 
Both Garver and Wycliffe came in shooting. The bullets struck Bob from the back and the front. He did a little dance as the bullets struck him, then he fell to the ground, dead.
 
Garver approached the body, looked down, and nudged it with his boot.
“Dead?” Wycliffe asked.
“He is.”
“How's Stanford?”
“Dead.”
“Stupid,” Wycliffe said, holstering his gun.
They looked around, saw there were three more horses in the barn. They wouldn't have to go out and chase the other two down.
“Let's bring in our horses and saddle two of these up,” Garver said.
“What about the bodies?” Wycliffe asked.
“What about them?”
“We don't want anybody passin' by to see them,” Wycliffe said.
“You're right,” Garver said. “Let's bring all four of them in here before we do anything else.”
They went outside to collect the bodies and stack them up.
THIRTY-TWO
The trail of the three horses led Clint and Wycliffe to Billy Dixon's ranch.
They reined their horses in.
“Damn it,” Kelly said. “They rode right into the ranch.”
“Looking for fresh horses, probably,” Clint said.
“And trouble,” Kelly said. “The boys ain't gunmen, Clint.”
“We better go in quiet,” Clint said. “I see tracks going in, but none coming out.”
They rode over to a stand of trees and tied their horses off. Actually, Clint just dropped Eclipse's reins to the ground, knowing the Darley wouldn't move unless he really had to.
“What do you see?” Clint asked.
“We should be able to see somebody,” Kelly said. “Ed was gonna look for mustangs to break. He should be at the corral.”
“Maybe he's on the other side.”
“Somebody would probably be in the barn.”
“Okay, then,” Clint said. “Let's hope we just can't see them.”
They started for the house on foot.
 
Billy Dixon sat up and caught his breath at the pain the move caused. He was wrapped tightly, and stitched up, but he couldn't just lie there. Not with Clint and Kelly and who knew who else out looking for the men who shot him.

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