The Man with the Iron Badge (12 page)

“It's too quiet,” Starkweather said.

“That's not a bad thing.”

“It's been too long,” Starkweather complained. “I don't like it.”

“Look, Dockery's got to travel quietly. Lawmen have to travel quietly, that's why you see very few wearing spurs, or any kind of baubles or . . . whatever.”

“The badge is bauble enough, right?” Starkweather asked.

“Right.”

“Right,” Starkweather said. “I still don't like the quiet—”

He was interrupted by a shot, then a second.

“Okay,” Clint said, urging Eclipse into a run, “how's that?”

Starkweather tried in vain to keep up.

 

It didn't take long for Castillo to realize what a fool he'd been. Jessup wasn't coming back. He may or may not have intended to, but he wasn't.

The Mexican looked around for cover, spotted a big enough boulder, and made for it. He only hoped that when he fired the rifle, it wouldn't blow up in his hands.

If he managed to get out of this, he'd start hunting Jessup—even though he'd never really expected him to come back.

Because he knew
he
wouldn't have.

 

Dockery spotted the big man, on foot, carrying a rifle. Had to be Castillo. He dismounted, grounded his horse's reins, and crept forward. He knew the Mexican hadn't spotted him, but he was looking for cover anyway. Maybe it had finally occurred to him that Jessup was not coming back for him.

Dockery had been sitting in an office too long. He knew that because he stepped on a stone, twisted his ankle, and announced his presence to Castillo, who fired—twice.

Damn!

 

It took Castillo two shots to figure out the rifle was pulling to the left. He saw the glint of sun off the lawman's badge, watched him stagger as he fought to keep his balance. He sighted down the barrel, allowed for the pull, and squeezed the trigger . . .

 

Everything was laid out in front of Clint as he galloped up. Castillo was pointing his rifle at Dockery, who had apparently injured himself. Dockery was trying to keep his balance and get his gun out at the same time, and the big man with the rifle had a bead on him.

Clint drew and fired in one swift motion.

When the bullet struck Castillo, he had no idea where it had come from. His finger squeezed the trigger of the rifle he was holding, but the shot went wide.

At that moment Dockery regained his balance and drew his gun, but he had no need to fire. He watched as Castillo spun, dropped his rifle, and fell. Then Dockery turned and saw Clint riding down toward him.

“You okay?” Clint asked.

“I'm clumsy,” Dockery said. “Stepped on a stone, twisted my foot.”

“Bad?”

Dockery put some weight on the foot. “Not so far.”

Starkweather came riding over the hill. “Did I miss everything?”

“Pretty much,” Clint said. “Wait here, I'll check and see if he's dead.”

Clint dismounted, and handed Eclipse's reins to Starkweather. He walked down and checked on Castillo. Even though he knew his shot had gone straight and true, he turned the body over and checked. Castillo had been a big man, but even a big man will always succumb to a bullet in the heart.

He went back to Dockery and Starkweather.

“He's dead,” he said. “I guess Jessup went ahead with the horse, like we figured.”

“And he probably never intended to come back,” Dockery said.

“So he's still ahead of us,” Starkweather said.

“Hopefully,” Clint said. “He might have changed direction again.”

“Doesn't matter,” Dockery said. “I can track him.”

He stood up, then almost fell. “Ow! Damn, my ankle.”

“If you twisted it,” Starkweather said, “it's going to swell up.”

“Should we take his boot off?”

“No,” Starkweather said, “the boot will hold the swelling down. We might have to cut if off, eventually, but right now we better leave it on.”

“I can ride,” Dockery said. “That's not a problem.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “but what do we do with him?” He pointed toward Castillo's body.

“Can't take the time to bury him,” Dockery said. “Besides, we left the shovel behind. Cover him with rocks so the animals can't get to him. We'll pick his body up on the way back and take them both back to Yuma.”

“You're so sure we're going to catch him?” Starkweather asked.

“Oh yeah,” Dockery said. “We're gonna catch him, because we're not gonna stop until we do.”

“But your ankle—”

“Like you said, I'll just leave my boot on until we catch him. We better get moving.”

He started for his horse, then stopped.

“I'm gonna need help gettin' on my horse.”

Jessup bypassed several homesteads. He was alone, and there were too many people. He needed another place like the Simmons place—down on its luck, just the family. And he needed it fast. He had to have some more food, a better gun, and a better horse.

That was when he saw the lone rider.

 

They rode hard, but as someone had said earlier, they could only go as fast as their slowest horse.

“Clint,” Dockery said, reining his horse in, “you better go on. That horse of yours is beggin' to run.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “If I catch up to Jessup, I'll take him.”

“Dead or alive, I don't care.”

“But Clint's the only one without a badge,” Starkweather said. “If he kills him—”

“I'll testify that I deputized him—in fact, that I deputized both of you. Your badge is no good here.” He looked at Clint. “Go!”

“I'm going.”

As Clint rode off, Starkweather asked Dockery, “How's your ankle?”

“It feels like it's on fire,” Dockery said. “I think I'm gonna need a doctor.”

“Is there a town we could stop in?” Starkweather asked.

“We could veer off and go to—No,” he said, changing his mind. “We've got to keep going.”

“Clint and I could keep going, as soon as we take you to a doctor,” Starkweather said. “Your ankle might be broken.”

“Damn it!” Dockery swore. “It feels like it's filled with broken glass.”

“We should have had this talk before Clint took off,” Starkweather said. “Look, I'll take you to the nearest town and then I'll try to catch up with him.”

“With that horse of his? You'd never catch him. Look, Pixly is just a few miles east of here. It's a stupid name, but they have a doctor. I can get myself there. You go after Clint.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Dockery said. “I'll feel a lot better once I know Jessup's not running free anymore.”

Starkweather could see how much Dockery was sweating, and it wasn't from the weather or exertion.

“Okay,” he said. “You head over there and see the doctor. When we're done, we'll come there and get you.”

“That's good,” Dockery said. “Thanks, Dan.”

“Sure, Sheriff.”

The two men started off in separate directions.

Clint knew when he saw the house that this would be Jessup's choice. An isolated house with no sign of working hands. He'd already passed up a couple of ranches that were just too busy.

Jessup's tracks led right to it. Clint just hoped he could get down there in time.

Jessup only had to knock on the door. When the man answered, Jessup clubbed him with his gun and forced his way in. The man's wife turned from the stove and screamed, putting her hands to her face. She was younger and prettier than the Simmons woman. Castillo would be upset that he'd missed this.

“Shut up!” he told her, stepping over her fallen husband. “Is there anyone else here?”

“N-no,” the frightened woman said.

“Don't lie to me. You got any kids?”

“No, no . . . no children. We don't have any.”

“That's good. What's that on the stove?”

“Beef stew.”

Jessup's eyes lit up. He could kill them later.

“I picked the right place after all,” he said. “Dish me up some of that stew right now! You got any bread?”

She nodded. “Fresh baked this morning.”

She looked over at her husband. “Don't worry about him. He'll wake up sooner or later—sooner if he's got a hard head.”

Jessup sat down and smiled. “Let's eat.”

 

Having left Eclipse far enough behind that he wouldn't be seen, Clint approached the house carefully. He ducked down and moved up to one of the two windows in front. When he peered in, he could see a man seated at a table with a woman putting a plate of food in front of him. They could have been a husband and wife if it weren't for the prison grays the man was wearing, and the man's body that was on the floor.

He watched long enough—examined as much of the house as he could from his vantage point—to determine that there was nobody else there.

Jessup had made a huge mistake. He was sitting with his back to the door. He had also put the gun down on the table so he could eat. The bad thing was he had made the woman sit across from him. If Clint kicked in the door, there was a good chance he'd get the jump on Jessup, but the escaped prisoner might grab the gun and point it at the woman. Then there would be a standoff.

He decided to keep watching. If the woman got up to go to the stove, he could make his move.

He wondered if the man on the floor was dead.

 

“Damn,” Jessup said, “this is good, woman. I been eating prison gruel for five years.”

“Y-you're an escaped prisoner? From Yuma?”

“That's right,” Jessup said, “and there's two things I've missed in those five years—good food and the smell of a pretty woman.”

“Oh God,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Don't worry, honey,” he said, “it ain't gonna hurt. I'm sure what you been needin' out here is a real man.” He looked over his shoulder at her husband, who had started stirring.

“What is he, about six feet?”

“What? Oh, yes . . .”

“Good,” Jessup said, “then I might find some clothes to fit me.”

“Please,” she said, “we have no money. Take what you need—clothes, gun, a horse—and leave us alone.”

“Honey,” he said, “the way you cook and the way you smell, I should take you with me. Well, I guess that'll depend on what kind of ride you give me.”