Valley of the Gun (9781101607480) (5 page)

“Aw, hell, Ragland,” the sheriff said in disgust, “why all this stopping and starting? What is it you're finding out anyway that's so damned helpful?”

Ragland held a hand up toward him with a scorching stare.

“We've got six riders, Sheriff,” he said. “And following those six, we've one rider alone—I'm supposing that to be Ranger Burrack.”

Looking down at the mass of hoofprints in the dirt, Sheriff Hall shook his head as if not believing the scout.

“How the hell can you read that one rider is following six others in a mess of prints such as this?” he asked.

“It's not hard if I can keep you and those knotheads far enough back,” Ragland said.

“Watch your mouth, Ragland,” Hall warned.

Ragland ignored the sheriff's caution, pointing down at the tangle of prints in the dirt.

“See how this one set of prints laps over the others?” he said.

“Damn it, Ragland, of course one set is always going to overlap. That doesn't tell you nothing,” said Hall.

“Not from here,” Ragland said. “But look back between here and the posse. See how that one set of prints stays on top, forms its own trail if you stare at them close enough?”

Hall squinted and stared back along the trail toward the waiting riders. After a moment, he made out a line of ghostlike prints that stood out, faintly, unbroken above the jumble of prints beneath them.

“Jesus . . . ,” he said.

“I told you,” said Ragland. “Look long enough at the stride, you'll see this lone rider is moving at a faster gallop than the ones he's trailing.”

“Jesus . . . ,” Hall repeated, truly impressed. “I'm a lawman. How the hell do you know—?”

“Indian blood.” Ragland cut him off, patting himself on the chest.

“Horse dribble,” said Hall. But seeing the banker and the others encroach their horses a step closer, he shouted out at them, “Stay the hell back, Stone. You're messing up this man's tracking!”

Smiling to himself, Ragland turned his horse forward on the trail. But before he could go ten feet, he saw two figures rise into sight among the rocks above them.

“There we are, Sheriff,” he said, pointing up at the Ranger and the woman who stood looking down at them, the Ranger with a hand raised in a show of peace.

But Hall, looking up, taken by surprise, jerked his Colt from its holster. Sensing his panic, Hall's horse reared with him. Startled, the sheriff let his cocked Colt fly from his hand, strike the ground and fire wildly near the already spooked horse's hooves. Hall flew from his saddle, his foot twisted and stuck in the stirrup.

Ragland sat staring in disbelief as the sheriff's horse spun and bolted back toward the rest of the posse, the hapless sheriff bouncing, screaming and spinning along in the dirt beside it.

Chapter 5

By the time Sam and Mattie Rourke had led their horses down through the rocks and stepped out onto the trail, the posse had gathered at a large rock and had Sheriff Hall sitting, leaned back against it. Sam looked down the trail at the gathered posse, then back at the scout, who had waited for him and the woman.

“Ragland,” the Ranger said as his only greeting.

“Ranger,” Ragland replied. He looked at the woman.

“Mattie,” Sam said, “this is Dee Ragland, a scout I've known for some time. Ragland, this is Mattie Rourke,” he added.

Ragland touched his hat brim and said, “Ma'am.” Then he nodded toward the tracks on the trail and said to Sam, “I figure that's you on top.”

“You figured right,” said Sam. “What got into that one?” He nodded toward Sheriff Hall as the three turned and started walking along the trail toward the others.

“Beats me,” said Ragland. “I pointed you two out, and he went plumb nuts for a second.”

“A second is all it takes out here,” said Sam.

“Lucky we've got your pal Sheriff DeShay with us,” said the scout. “He can take over from here.”

“I expect he can at that,” said Sam. “Only he's no pal of mine. I met him coming through Whiskey Bend. First time I ever laid eyes on him.”

“Huh,” said Ragland. “He made it sound like you asked him to stay behind and wait for us, so we could be careful not to run upon you.” He looked at Sam. “You didn't tell him that?”

“Yes, I did, in a way,” Sam said. He decided not to say any more about it right now. With the sheriff from Goble down, it would have to be DeShay who led the posse from here. Sam's rule was to work alone; he didn't want to break it.

They walked on in silence.

“Holy Mother Luck . . . !” Mattie said quietly, seeing what a mess the horse had made of Sheriff Hall as they drew closer.

Hall's hat lay on the ground beside him, its brim ripped almost off the crown. His left boot was missing, appearing to have been pulled off when he was dragged. His right boot had been cut off his swollen foot, and his foot was propped up on a small rock, already turning the color of fruit gone bad. A white piece of ankle bone shone through broken skin. Both sides of his face were scraped and swollen; he held a wet bandanna to his broken nose. Even his hands were scraped and bloody.

“I ought to shoot that cayuse where he stands,” Hall said in a strained and broken voice.

“Hell, it weren't the horse's fault,” said the black teamster. “You spooked before he did. He was just doing what a horse does—”

“Damn it, Almond,” said Hall, cutting him off, “I know what a horse
does.”
He lowered the bandanna from his face. “Look at me now.” He gestured toward his broken foot. “I can't lead a posse the shape I'm in.”

“That's for damned sure,” said Arlis Fletcher with a flat smile beneath his thin mustache. “I'd say this outing is about to wind itself down.” He stood up and slapped dust from his bearskin coat. He turned with the others as Sam, the woman and Dee Ragland walked up.

Hall appeared embarrassed as he acknowledged the Ranger and shook his ragged bloody head.

“Ranger, I don't know what come over me. I never panicked like that in my life.”

“You don't owe me an explanation,” Sam said, stooping down beside him. “Looks like they're going to have to get you back to Whiskey Bend, have the doctor there set that foot.”

“I know,” said Hall, “I wish I could stay on here, but damn, this is a bad one.” He looked up at the woman standing beside Sam. “Who's your lady friend?”

Sam started to introduce Mattie to the sheriff, but before he could, Arlis Fletcher stepped close to her and eyed her up and down.

“Say, I know this one,” he said. “She was in town the day before the robbery. I saw her talking to Lightning Wade secretlike beside the mercantile store.”

The men turned their eyes to Mattie. Fletcher's hand instinctively moved closer to his holstered Colt. Sam saw Mattie's hand drift near the big knife sheathed across her belly. Noting how close Fletcher had put himself to the woman, Sam edged himself between the two and eyed the gunman up and down the same way Fletcher had just eyed Mattie.

“Show some manners, mister,” Sam said to Fletcher in a low warning tone. As he spoke, his hand slowly drew his own big Colt and held it loosely at his side.

Fletcher settled a little and took a step back, knowing that at any second the Ranger's Colt would take a hard swipe at his jaw.

“There's my manners,” said Fletcher, spreading his hands slightly. “Now ask her, see if she denies it.”

“I'm not asking her anything,” Sam said.

“Ranger,” said Hall quietly, “she was in my town, talking to a man before he took part in a bank robbery—I've got a right to ask.”

Sam started to object, but Mattie stopped him.

“It's all right, Ranger,” she said. “Sheriff, I
was
talking to Lighting Wade in your town,” she said. “I've known Wade for a long time.”

“Oh?” said Hall. “What was you talking about?”

“It wasn't about robbing the bank,” Mattie said. “You've got my word on that.”

“Your word, huh?” Fletcher said. He gave a sly, nasty grin, again looking her up and down.

“You heard her the first time,” Sam said, not liking the gunman's accusing tone. “Keep acting the way you're acting, you better have an empty shirt pocket.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Fletcher asked, backing another step as the Ranger eased forward.

Well aware of the Ranger's reputation for swinging a gun barrel, Sheriff Hall cut in, “Meaning he's fixing to knock your damned teeth out, you fool. Now shut up before I tell him to go ahead and—”

“I'd like to see him try,” said Fletcher, suddenly taking a stand, his feet spread shoulder-width apart. He threw back the bearskin coat, revealing his tied-down Colt .45.

“No, you would
not
, Fletcher,” the pain-racked sheriff barked hoarsely. “Now stand the hell down and shut the hell up.”

The gunman took the sheriff's command seriously. He withdrew another step, keeping his eyes on the Ranger's big Colt.

“Anything you say, Sheriff,” he replied, letting his shaggy coat fall over his gun.

Sam took a step back also, sensing that was the end of it.

“I still haven't heard what you and Lightning Wade were talking about, ma'am,” the injured sheriff said to Mattie, wincing in pain as he spoke.

Instead of answering, Mattie looked at the Ranger, who took the matter upon himself.

“She said it wasn't about robbing the bank, Sheriff,” he said.

“And you vouch for her, Ranger Burrack?” Hall asked.

“Here's what I vouch for,” Sam said. He raised his sombrero and showed the large lump on his head, the wide purple bruise reaching down below his hairline. “She shot me—winged me, thinking I was one of Dad Orwick's men. Her shot grazed my shoulder and I fell off a cliff. If she hadn't raised me up and taken care of me, I'd likely be dead now.” He gave Mattie a look.

“That don't make her right, Ranger,” Hall said.

“To me it does,” Sam said. “If she was with Orwick's bunch, a bullet through my head would have kept these questions from ever being asked.” He stared at the injured sheriff.

“All right, I'll go with that, if it suits you,” Hall said.

“Now, wait just one minute, Sheriff!” Kerwin Stone cut in sharply. “Shouldn't she at least be questioned?”

The sheriff gave the banker a sour expression.

“She just was, Stone,” he said. “Weren't you paying attention?” Before Stone could reply, Hall turned to Clayton DeShay and said, “Good thing you came along with us, Sheriff DeShay. It looks like you'll be leading this posse.”

“Whoa,” said DeShay in surprise. “I've got to get back to Whiskey Bend. That's my first responsibility.”

“Then why'd you come along with us to begin with?” Hall asked pointedly.

Sam watched and listened. Knowing that DeShay had used his name in joining Hall and the posse, he was curious himself as to why the sheriff of Whiskey Bend had come along. But it seemed DeShay didn't want to discuss anything.

“Pardon me, Sheriff Hall,” he said quickly. “Of course I'll lead your posse. I wasn't expecting to be asked, is all.”

“I don't like this one bit,” Stone cut in again.

“Then you tell us what the hell you do like, banker,” Hall said in a heated tone. “You want to lead this posse yourself, go right ahead on.”

“What about this man?” Stone said, pointing a thick soft finger at Sam. “He's a duly sworn—”

“I don't lead posses,” Sam said, cutting him off. “I'm riding on ahead. If you want my opinion, you go back to your bank, Mr. Stone. Let this posse and me plan on how to take down Orwick and his men—bring your money back.”

“Nothing suits me more than getting back to my office, Ranger,” Stone said. “But I need assurances that the money is coming back.”

“If I can get within gunshot of it, it'll come back,” Sam said matter-of-factly.

Arlis Fletcher chuffed aloud, not attempting to hide his contempt for the Ranger's words.

“If bold talk is all it takes, I'd say you've got Orwick and his gang whipped already,” he said.

Sam ignored the brash gunfighter.

“Go home, Mr. Stone,” Sam told the banker. “I won't lead the posse, but I'll work with it any way I can.” He looked at Mattie and nodded toward their horses standing behind them.

“Then by thunder,” said Stone, “I will stay out here, lead them myself!”

“No, you won't,” Hall said in a heated voice. “I'm the sheriff, and I'll say who leads the posse.” He looked at DeShay. “It's up to you,
Sheriff.
You rode along to help . . . Well, it's time to help.” He gestured toward the others. “Tell them what you want done.”

Surprisingly, DeShay turned to Sam.

“What's your take on it, Ranger?” he asked. “You've been on their trail longest.”

Sam nodded and looked at Ragland.

“I know you saw where the gang split up a ways back,” he said. “I've got a hunch that's where Orwick and some top hands cut away there. The other men rode up this trail and robbed the mine payroll.”

“The mine payroll!” Stone cut in. “What on earth brought you to this speculation?”

“I heard gunfire from up the trail earlier, and this trail ends at the mines,” Sam said. “There's no other reason for them to go up there.”

“For God's sake,” Stone said, “my bank's money is on the line and all you can come up with are wild hunches?”

“Damn it, Stone!” Hall growled, staring up at him. “Let everybody alone—let them do their jobs.”

“Ragland here showed us where they split up,” DeShay said to Sam and Ragland, considering things. “What you're saying makes sense.”

Sam nodded and said, “If it's true, you can bet that wherever Orwick went, the bank money went with him.”

Sheriff Hall shook his head and chastised himself.

“I should have figured that out myself,” he said under his breath.

“Like I said, it's only a
hunch,
Sheriff,”
Sam repeated for Hall's sake. He gave Kerwin Stone a cold look, then turned his eyes back to DeShay and Ragland. “But it's the best we've got right now.”

“I agree,” DeShay said. “What's our best move from here, Ranger?”

“Ragland here is the best tracker among us,” Sam said. “It might be wise for you and your men to ride back where the ones split off, let Ragland keep you on their trail. Whoever is up this mine trail has heard enough gunfire that they've broken up and gone down the hillsides every direction.”

DeShay picked up on the Ranger's line of thought.

“So, Dad and his top men already planned to circle below these hills and meet up with these others down on the trail to Ol' Mex.”

“There it is,” Sam said. “It's a hunch, but it's the only thing that makes sense to me.” He looked at Ragland. “I've tracked my bunch this far. You ride back and get this posse onto the others' trail. Maybe we can squeeze them in between us and get this thing done.”

“I'll put us right up their shirttails,” Ragland said to DeShay. “You've got my word.”

“I know you will,” DeShay said. “I've already seen your work.” He looked at Arlis Fletcher and said, “I figure if you're not as quick with your gun as you are with your mouth, you'd already be dead. Can you take orders from me?”

“Why, yes, sir, Mr.
Sheriff of Whiskey Bend
,” Fletcher said, belligerent and defiant to a flaw.

DeShay ignored his sarcasm and looked Morgan Almond up and down.

“Will you be sticking with me?” he asked.

“I come along to catch these thieves,” Almond said. “It ain't in me to leave a job unfinished.” He jiggled a battered Spencer rifle hanging in his hand. “I hit most what I aim at, rifle or six-shooter.” He patted a big six-shooter holstered on his right hip.

DeShay nodded. In a no-nonsense tone he said to Almond, Fletcher and Ragland, “It'll only be the four of us. I don't want anybody else.”

The three nodded.

Sam looked at two townsmen who had remained a few feet back from the others.

“Do you two men mind escorting Sheriff Hall and Mr. Stone back to Whiskey Bend? Somebody's got to do it,” he said.

DeShay realized his mistake, turning the two men down in front of the others, yet he could tell they'd both had their fill of this manhunt.

“I was just getting ready to ask you both to do that,” he said to the two. He shot the Ranger a glance of thanks.

The two men looked at each other as if a prayer had been answered.