Death Came Calling, page 5
‘I gotta see the boss,’ Kincaid said without preamble.
Miguel opened the door wider, saying, ‘He’s in study, Señor Kincaid.’
Kincaid pushed past the Mexican and walked straight into Jenkins’s study.
‘Josh! You ever heard of knocking?’ Jenkins said irritably.
‘Sorry, boss, but this could be important. I jus’ seen Mr Waring, handcuffed, being marched off to the sheriff’s office. Thought you should know.’
The colour visibly drained from Clint Jenkins’s face.
‘What, er, what was he arrested for?’ Jenkins asked, his voice tremulous.
‘That I don’t know, boss,’ Kincaid replied.
‘I need you to ride back to town and go into the bank.’ Jenkins stood and opened a small safe set next to his desk. ‘Here’s $500. You keep a hundred for, er, your loyalty, bank the rest and see what information you can glean from the cashiers, or that errand boy Waring has working for him. One of them must know what the hell’s goin’ on.’
‘Sure thing, boss, I’ll get back as quick as I can.’
‘You better send a man to Ambrose, let him know what’s going on,’ Clint added as an afterthought. ‘You’re a good man, Kincaid. I’ll be here waiting.’
Sheriff Cairney had decided to tackle Ambrose Lowe first. His ranch was around three miles south east of Bristow. A 50,000 acre spread dealing mainly in cattle, but with a side-line of breeding horses. He had a good reputation as a breeder, and an even better one for his beef and was known as a fair man.
What, Ray pondered, had made him join in a scheme that had two men killed and a whole family murdered?
A phrase came into his mind, he’d no idea where he’d heard it, but it rang true: money is the root of all evil.
The sun had reached its zenith in the clear blue, cloudless sky and both man and beast were beginning to feel their energy being drained out of them.
Ray reined in and dismounted. He unhooked his canteen and took a few mouthfuls of the tepid water to slake his thirst. He then removed his Stetson and poured the rest of the water into it to let his mount drink. The river was only a half hour’s ride away where he could refill the canteen and let his horse drink and wallow in the cool water.
Ray tensed. He strained his ears, turning his head from left to right and back again.
Distant hoof beats.
Scanning the horizon, he tried to pinpoint the rider but the sound was so far away it was difficult to get the direction.
Then he saw the dust cloud.
Whoever it was, was riding hell for leather. Ray figured he was running from something, or someone or maybe riding to somewhere. The only somewhere that Ray could think of was the Lazy AL, Ambrose Lowe’s spread.
‘Well, well,’ Ray said to his horse. ‘Seems to me word has got out.’
The horse whinnied in reply as if he understood every word.
Mounting up, Ray urged the animal forwards. ‘Come on boy, we got some riding to do.’
Ray reached the river in record time and he leapt from the saddle to fill the canteen and allowed his mount a few minutes to drink his fill of the cool, clear water. Then he was off again.
Meanwhile, back at the Bar CJ, Clint Jenkins decided to take matters into his own hands. He rounded up some of his boys and told them of his plan to release Waring, who was being unjustly held in the sheriff’s cells.
‘It’s important for the town,’ Jenkins said. ‘The sheriff has lost his mind, arresting our esteemed banker and chairman of the town council. He must be rescued. Any of you men who don’t want to help might not have a future on the Bar CJ – or indeed in Bristow.
‘So what do you say?’ Jenkins finished speaking and looked at the half dozen men standing before him.
There was a pause before one man said, ‘I’m in!’ This was quickly followed by murmurs of assent from the rest of the group.
‘Good, let’s saddle up and do this!’ Jenkins said. ‘There’ll be a little extra in your pay this week.’
This news was greeted with a cheer as the men ran to the corral to get their mounts. Within five minutes, the seven riders headed for Bristow.
Ray had lost sight of the distant rider, but was more certain now of his destination. There was no way Ray could either catch or beat the rider to the Lowe spread, so he just hoped he could get there and catch them by surprise.
He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. ‘Come on boy, not far to go now.’
The unknown rider had already reached the Lowe ranch house and, spurred on by the promise of a bonus, he leapt from his horse and hammered on the front door.
It was Lowe himself who opened it, a derringer in his hand.
‘What the hell do you want?’ Lowe demanded.
‘Mr Jenkins got word from town. The sheriff arrested Mr Waring and he’s in jail.’
‘What?’ Lowe uncocked the derringer and put it back in his pocket
‘Mr Jenkins thought you should know, sir,’ the man added.
‘That damn sheriff!’ Lowe grated. ‘He’s gotta go!’
Lowe handed the rider a ten dollar bill. ‘You reckon the sheriff is on his way here?’
‘I don’t rightly know. I guess you’d know better than me.’
‘There’s another $20 in it if you stay here. I’ll get some of the men ready – just in case.’
‘Sure thing, I ain’t got nothin’ better to do, an’ that darn sheriff is a mite too bossy for my likin’.’
‘Good man. Corral your mount, there’s feed and water in there,’ Lowe said.
The rider tipped his Stetson and walked his horse across the courtyard to the corral and led him in.
Lowe sent out a piercing whistle that immediately had four men running from the bunk house.
‘Get your weapons and spread out, we might have a mad sheriff on his way here an’ he’s likely to do anything, so be prepared. He’s already arrested the town council’s chairman on some trumped-up charge. There’s $20 in it for each of you. Now, spread out and keep me covered if’n he does come here.’
The men grunted in unison.
‘There’s one of Jenkins’s men here too, so don’t mistake him for an enemy, OK?’
‘Name’s Ralph,’ the rider spoke up. ‘Where’d you want me, Mr Lowe?’
‘Spread out from the barn, across the stables and down to the bunk house. That way we got crossfire, if we need it. But, whatever happens, don’t shoot until I give the command. You all got that?’
Again, the men grunted.
‘Right, let’s get ready.’ Lowe went back into the ranch house. He discarded the derringer and put on his gun-rig, checked the Colt was loaded, then placed a Winchester rifle by the door, where he could easily reach it, if need be.
When he was about a half mile from the ranch house, Ray reined in once more.
It occurred to him that, if Lowe had been warned, or informed, of Waring’s arrest, there might well be a welcoming committee.
Ray scanned the terrain, looking for the best way to approach the ranch. If there was a trap set for him, it would be around the courtyard, the obvious way to reach the ranch house.
Ray decided to circle the ranch and approach the rear of the ranch house – they wouldn’t be expecting that.
Slowly, Ray walked his horse in a semi-circle until he was at the rear of the ranch house. He dismounted and ground tethered his horse on a patch of lush grass. The horse whinnied in appreciation as Ray took the scattergun out of the scabbard and silently approached the house.
He was within ten feet when he saw movement at one of the windows. Ray stood stock still, waiting to see what would happen.
Nothing did.
The figure moved away from the window and Ray dashed to the side of the building and cautiously peered through that same window.
Inside he could see one half of the kitchen and a woman at the far end preparing vegetables. At the rear of the kitchen, he could see a door that led into the hallway. Ray took a deep breath and tried the rear door. It wasn’t locked.
He slowly twisted the handle, hoping it didn’t creak, until he was able to slide through the small gap. Walking almost on tiptoe, he crossed the floor to the hallway door and slid inside.
The hallway was empty, but Ray saw the Winchester leaning on the wall by the side of the front door.
There were two doors leading off the hallway. Ray decided to try the left hand side one first. He took out his Colt and silently cocked the hammer. Opening the door quickly, he found it was a living room, crammed with ornaments and two large overstuffed leather armchairs, but no Ambrose Lowe.
Turning to the other door, he did exactly the same, opening the door with a rush.
Ambrose Lowe almost jumped out of his skin. He stood, meaning to go for his own gun, but Ray said, ‘Go for that gun and you’re a dead man!’
‘How dare you—’ Lowe began.
‘I am arresting you as an accessory to murder and attempted fraud, Lowe. You got anything to say, save it for the circuit judge.’
‘That’s preposterous,’ Lowe said, sounding even more pompous than usual.
‘I got all the proof I need,’ the sheriff replied. ‘Take off that gun belt. Now this is what we’re gonna do. We’re leaving by the front door, and my gun will be in your back all the way to the stable, so you better tell whoever is out there to hold their fire. Then we’re gonna ride into town, where you can join Waring in jail.’
Clint Jenkins and his men rode in to Bristow and stopped outside the sheriff’s office.
Jenkins dismounted and walked straight into the office.
Otis Culver leapt to his feet. ‘Mr Jenkins, sir, what can I do for you?’
‘You can release Curtis Waring for a start,’ Jenkins grated.
‘I don’t think I can do that, sir,’ Otis replied, wishing the sheriff was with him.
‘I’m not askin’, Jenkins said, ‘I’m ordering you to release him!’
‘Sheriff Cairney told me he’s been arrested an’ not to let anyone see him,’ Otis protested.
‘You either let him go or we’ll bust him out,’ Jenkins threatened, and took out his pistol.
‘Whoa, there ain’t no need for gunplay. I’m not takin’ responsibility for your actions,’ Otis said and tossed the keys to the cell to Jenkins.
Jenkins passed the keys to one of his men and turned to Otis. ‘You’ll do well here, son,’ he said. ‘The sheriff won’t be around for much longer. As soon as we get a council meeting organized, he’ll be given the sack. Which means we’ll be lookin’ for a new sheriff. You get my drift?’
Otis did, and he didn’t like it one bit, but said nothing.
At that point, Waring came huffing and puffing from the cells, brushing the sleeves of his jacket as if he was bug infested.
‘Thank God for some sanity around here,’ he said.
‘The situation has been made clear to the deputy here. I think we understand one another,’ Jenkins said. ‘We need to have a council meeting, the sooner the better.’
‘Where’s Ambrose?’ Waring asked.
‘I sent a man to him— to inform him of certain events and I’m sure he’s taking, er, appropriate steps to remedy our predicament.’ Jenkins nodded towards the deputy and Waring understood.
‘Let’s get to the bank,’ Waring said. ‘I need to take control.’
‘First we gotta tie up young Otis here, don’t want folks thinking he collaborated in freeing you,’ Clint said.
‘Good idea,’ was all Waring said.
Having secured Otis to the sheriff’s chair, the men headed for the bank.
The Slim brothers had reached the large town of Rochester, just south of Northfield, and here they decided to rest up awhile.
‘Plenty of saloons for drinkin’ and gamblin’ and some fine looking fillies, I’ll wager. Bound to be some greenhorns we can take,’ Burt said.
‘Let’s find a rooming house and get rid of this trail dust. A bath in a hot tub an’ a shave, then we hit the saloons.’ Chad smiled at his brother.
‘Amen to that,’ Burt said.
After asking around for a cheap rooming house, they were given directions to Ma Boyle’s, at the east end of town, but not too far from the centre.
Ma Boyle was a formidable character, a tall woman, maybe just on six feet, and almost as wide as she was tall.
Dark hair tied up in a bun topped the square-jawed woman with a ferocious gaze.
‘You got a room?’ Burt asked.
‘Sure, got a couple. How long you stayin’?’
‘A few days.’
‘Two dollars a night, dinner included, sort your own breakfast out. Bath’s extra and you sure both need one o’ them. No women, no boozin’. No high jinks at all. I lock up at midnight an’ I don’t open agen till dawn. Got that?’
‘Yes, ma’am. One room, two beds, and a bath each, if you please.’ Chad said, feeling a little intimidated by the huge woman.
‘Makes no odds whether it’s two to a room or you have a room each. Two dollars a person, bath’s another dollar, in advance.’ Ma Boyle folded her arms across her ample bosom.
‘OK,’ Burt said. ‘Three nights, a room each, that’s $12, and two more for the bath.’ He peeled off $14 and handed it over.
Ma Boyle shoved the money down her dress top. Burt thought, that’s a safer place than any bank!
‘Top o’ the stairs, first and second door on the right. I’ll holler when the tub’s ready.’ She walked off without further comment.
Ray kept his Colt firmly pressed against Ambrose Lowe’s spine as they opened the front door.
‘You tell your men to hold their fire; you’re one small click away from death,’ Ray said as he pushed Lowe forward.
‘Hold your fire, men. I got a pistol to my back,’ Lowe shouted.
‘Tell them all to show themselves, hands held high, an’ toss those weapons on the ground,’ Ray demanded.
‘You heard the man, come on out with your hands held high,’ Lowe repeated.
One by one, the men came out from their hiding places. The clatter of rifles and pistols hitting the dirt was music to Ray’s ears. All the men had their hands up.
‘Now, one of you men saddle up Lowe’s horse, and be quick about it,’ Ray shouted.
One of the men ambled over to the stables.
‘Bring the horse to the front door here and tether it. You walk back to the others,’ Ray commanded. ‘And no funny business. I’d as soon shoot him here as see him hang.’
‘Now you an’ me are gonna stand right here,’ Ray said. He then put two fingers in his mouth and gave a loud whistle. A minute later, Ray’s horse came walking round the side of the house and stopped at the front door.
Ray took out a pair of handcuffs. ‘Hands together at the front. Now!’ Ray pressed the gun in harder.
Slipping the handcuffs on, Ray relaxed slightly and pushed Lowe towards his disinterested horse. Reaching out with his left hand, Ray took down a short rope and waited for Lowe’s horse to arrive.
Five minutes later, one of the men led Lowe’s horse to the front of the ranch house.
‘Now step back,’ Ray ordered the man.
Then he slipped the rope between Lowe’s handcuffed hands and looped it over the pommel of his horse. The other end he tied firmly to the reins of Lowe’s horse.
‘Right, mount up,’ Ray ordered. ‘An’ remember, I got this here Colt just itchin’ to see some action!’
Lowe clambered aboard his horse and at the same time, Ray mounted his own.
‘Don’t any of you boys get any ideas of following or trying to bushwhack. I got no argument with you and I sure don’t wanna kill any of you.’ Ray stared at each of the men in turn.
Pulling Lowe’s horse closer to his own, he dug his heels into his mount and they set off for Bristow.
Ray felt most vulnerable at this point. His back was to the ranch hands so, twisting his head, he kept an eye on them, waiting to see if any of them made a move.
They got around fifty yards from the ranch hands when Ray saw a sudden movement. One of the men bent double and made a grab for his weapon.
As the man stood, his gun arm extended, Ray loosed off a shot and got lucky. From a moving mount and a gut-reaction shot, he saw the man fly back as the slug caught him full in the chest. He landed on his back some three feet from where he’d stood, raising a small cloud of dust.
‘Goddamn! That wasn’t even one of my men! That was Jenkins’s hand,’ Lowe said.
Ray ignored Lowe and dug his heels in, urging both horses into a canter. The sooner he was clear of this place the better.
The booming voice of Ma Boyle reverberated throughout the rooming house, ‘Tubs are ready in the shack out back.’
‘Jeez! You’d have to be stone deaf not to hear that,’ Chad remarked.
‘Or dead,’ Burt added and both men laughed.
Grabbing fresh clothes, they headed for the tub shack. On the way, Ma Boyle handed each man a towel and a bar of rock hard soap.
‘Hang the towels in the shack when you’ve done with them,’ she ordered.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ the brothers uttered in unison, Chad giving Burt a wink and sly grin when Ma Boyle returned to the kitchen.
After they’d bathed, shaved and dressed in fresh duds, they were ready for whatever the night might bring. They were about to leave when Ma Boyle bellowed again.
‘Supper’s ready. Now!’
Almost sheepishly for hard cases like Chad and Burt, they turned tail and headed for the kitchen.
‘Stew, dumplin’s and bread,’ Ma Boyle said. ‘Coffee’s on the stove, you can get that yourselves. Eat,’ she commanded.
The brothers sat at the table as she placed two steaming bowls of stew with dumplings floating on top in front of them. It was then that the brothers realized how hungry they were.
There were two other people in the kitchen. A young boy, maybe eighteen or nineteen, and a dude dressed like a gambler with a pencil moustache. He wore a frock coat, white shirt with ruffles down the front, a gold coloured waistcoat and a bootlace tie. The brothers had seen his type many times.
Both men nodded a howdy as they ate. But no one spoke.
