Dalton's Justice, page 3
Dalton shrugged, conveying that if he couldn’t go around him he’d go through him and then charged at Cleavon. With a leading shoulder he slammed into his opponent’s chest and shoved him backward.
After taking two paces, Cleavon dug in a heel and then wrapped his arms around Dalton’s chest. The two men strained for supremacy until Cleavon twisted to side while dipping down.
His efforts upended Dalton, making him fall over on to his back. Cleavon fell over with him. Then, lying on the platform, they wrestled. Dalton rolled on top of Cleavon and slammed the back of his head against the platform, but Cleavon bucked him and clambered on top of him only for Dalton to buck him.
Then, while rolling over each other, they punched and slapped and kicked in a fight that, with neither man getting the upper hand, could have gone on for a while. Then a gunshot sounded making both men freeze.
Beyond the platform all was dark. Two more shots tore out from that direction accompanied by scrambling sounds and murmurs of consternation. With both men no longer interested in continuing their fight Cleavon shoved Dalton away and Dalton didn’t resist him.
Both men drew their guns. Then Cleavon moved off toward the sound of the gunfire with Dalton running at his heels. They hurried around the corner of the station house and then stopped when confronted by the sight of Hallam and Packard cowering near the wall. Ten yards away Modesty was lying on her back, holding her bloodied side.
“It wasn’t us,” Hallam said.
“Someone shot her from over there,” Packard said, pointing away from the station.
Both men were armed, but their guns were holstered, so Dalton turned in the direction they’d indicated. The nearest building was a warehouse, its outline being hard to make out as the light from the saloon barely reached that far.
The shooter wasn’t in sight, or for that matter neither was anyone else on that side of the station. Dalton and Cleavon both aimed their guns at the warehouse, but when long moments had passed without the gunman becoming visible Dalton hurried over to Modesty.
He kneeled beside her. She was groaning, but she had pressed a hand against her wound, which Dalton reckoned was the right thing to do. He gestured at Packard and Hallam.
“Get her some help,” he said. “I’ll check things out over there.”
When neither man carried out his order, Cleavon turned to him.
“We didn’t want this to happen,” he said. “We reckoned she knew something and we just wanted answers.”
Cleavon then hurried off. When Dalton was sure that he was going to the Golden Grain saloon he murmured some reassuring words to Modesty and then ran toward the warehouse. He reached it without incident and then made his way around the walls until he found a door on the far side, but it was locked.
He moved to the front of the warehouse. Two more buildings were on his side of the main trail out of town and both looked disused while Billy Bob’s saloon was the only building on the other side of the trail.
People were now spilling out of the Golden Grain saloon and hurrying toward the station with Cleavon and Arnie at the front, so Dalton moved on. The next building lacked a roof and it had probably once been another warehouse.
A gap in the wall revealed all the corners and even with the poor light it was clear that nobody was lurking inside. He still walked around the outside before moving on to the final building, which was a stable with open doors at the front.
Light from Billy Bob’s saloon opposite lit up most of the interior, so Dalton stood beside a door. Nobody was in the part of the stable that was visible to him, so he stepped through the doorway only to walk into a man, who rushed forward from a dark part of the building and tipped him over.
Dalton went down on his back where he shook himself and then rolled and scrambled away from an anticipated follow-up assault that didn’t come. When he fetched up lying against the stable wall, the man was sprinting toward the saloon, so Dalton leaped to his feet and set off after him.
He had taken only a couple of paces when the man burst into the saloon and disappeared from view. Dalton thrust his head down and sped up, but then skidded to a halt when a gun was thrust over the batwings.
Two quick shots rang out. They were wild and probably aimed blind, but Dalton still went to one knee and aimed his gun at the doorway. After a dozen rapid heartbeats the man hadn’t made his presence known again, so Dalton moved on, this time more cautiously than before. When he reached the batwings, Billy Bob was the only person in sight.
“If you want a fight, I’ll give you one,” Dalton called, moving to the side. “If you want to live, come out now.”
He waited, but when he didn’t get a reply he again stood before the batwings.
“There’s no need for threats,” Billy Bob said, and then yawned and stretched as if nothing was amiss. “It’s just another quiet night in here.”
From Billy Bob’s attitude Dalton figured the shooter probably had a gun on him, but as Cleavon was leading a group of men toward the saloon he decided to wait for them to arrive before he faced that problem.
“Just get down when the shooting starts,” he said.
Billy Bob picked up a towel and cleaned a glass, so Dalton tried to gather clues about the shooter’s location from his studied attempt to appear unconcerned, but then dismissed the matter when hoofbeats pounded behind the saloon. With a groan he set off around the building and when he reached the far corner a rider was galloping away before he disappeared into the night.
Dalton ran to the back of the saloon and faced the darkness. When the man didn’t appear again he sloped back to the front of the saloon where around a dozen men were spreading out and turning in all directions.
“What happened?” Cleavon called.
“I found the shooter, but he escaped and rode away,” Dalton said and sighed. “I never even saw him properly.”
Cleavon set his hands on his hips and then with a shake of the head he appeared to register that in all the chaos of the last few minutes he was ignoring his antipathy toward Dalton. He turned around and walked back toward the station while the rest of the men milled around.
Some of them went into the saloon while others moved out of town, but with Dalton figuring he’d done all he could he followed Cleavon. Only a few people had stayed at the station and they were standing around Modesty’s form that was still lying in the same place as before.
Arnie had his head bowed, giving Dalton a warning about the news that awaited him, but he still hurried up and passed Cleavon. When he joined the group, Arnie directed a glum look at him before confirming Modesty’s fate.
“She’s dead,” he said. “She probably never even saw her killer.”
Dalton turned to the warehouse where the shooter must have been standing.
“Just like Linden Redwood,” he said. Then he removed his hat and lowered his head.
Chapter Five
“Don’t blame yourself,” Sheriff Trey Adams said. “You did everything you could.”
“I know I did,” Dalton said with a sigh. “It doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”
It was the day after Modesty’s death and the sheriff had come to Logan’s Creek. He had taken over a corner of the Golden Grain saloon to interview the witnesses to the previous night’s incident.
Dalton was the first man he’d spoken to and now he had called him back. As with his first interview Trey spoke in a matter-of-fact manner that showed he was concentrating on his duty to avoid having to think about his sister.
“Packard and Hallam didn’t see the man you chased. Should I believe them?”
“I reckon so. I didn’t see anyone until I stumbled across the shooter in the stable.”
“So you’re sure they didn’t do it?”
Dalton sighed and spread his hands. “I didn’t say that. They waylaid Modesty and they didn’t want a friendly chat, but I heard three shots and when I arrived she was lying ten paces away from them. It looked as if the gunman had fired at everyone, but had hit only the nearest one.”
“They wanted to harm Modesty, so why would he shoot at them?”
Dalton shook his head. “I don’t know, but it makes more sense than Packard and Hallam shooting at Modesty and only hitting her once. Then there’s the fact that Linden Redwood was shot at night, possibly from a distance, and the man who got shot in the Hotel Bartholomew could have—”
Trey raised a hand silencing him. “Just concentrate on this incident and leave the investigating to me, as Modesty should have done.”
“I’ll do that, and hopefully the owner of Billy Bob’s saloon gave you a description of the shooter.”
Trey snorted a rueful laugh. “Billy Bob didn’t see nothing. He never has and never will. That’s why the gunman knew it was a safe place to go.”
“And why Billy Bob is still healthy.”
Trey nodded. “If you have nothing more to offer, I’ll look for the gunman’s trail, which from the direction he fled is probably back to White Plains.”
Dalton rubbed his jaw as he recalled the incident the previous night along with his conversations with Modesty and then shrugged.
“I can’t add anything other than to say your pa would have been proud of Modesty. As I said earlier, she reckoned she’d worked out who was behind the killings and that’s the young woman I’ll remember: someone who was so decent she didn’t know what was best for herself.”
“I’d prefer to have a sister who was now sweeping out this place, but I welcome your point.”
With that the two men made their goodbyes. Then Dalton headed out of the saloon. The terrible end to his task of keeping an eye on Modesty meant that Dalton walked away with a troubled heart.
The sheriff had warned him not to try to find Modesty’s killer, but he didn’t consider obeying that order for even a moment. On the other hand he was afoot and the killer had galloped away, and the mystery appeared to be centered on White Plains.
As he couldn’t pursue him straight away, he waited until Trey left town and then headed to Billy Bob’s saloon. He stood at the bar in the empty saloon room where the owner regarded him with a weary lack of interest.
“Remember me?” Dalton asked.
“I never forget a customer,” Billy Bob said. “You drank with two men at a table over there.”
“I did and I came back later after a gunman burst in and tried to shoot me. A man who never forgets a customer should remember that.”
“I didn’t see that, but it doesn’t sound as if he was a customer.”
“Perhaps he wasn’t, but he was running from me, so whatever threats he made to you will be as nothing compared to what. . . .”
Dalton didn’t get to complete his demand as Billy Bob raised a rifle from under the bar and aimed it at his chest.
“As I told you: I didn’t see that, just like I didn’t hear anything you said to those two men.”
With his hands raised to shoulder level and with Billy Bob still holding the rifle on him Dalton backed away from the bar and headed to the door. Outside he accepted he wouldn’t get answers in that saloon, but Billy Bob had given him an idea.
Billy Bob may turn a deaf ear to his customers’ activities, but while sweeping the floor a bright young woman like Modesty probably hadn’t done that. After the first body turned up, something had made her return to White Plains and she could have overheard one of the many rumors that get passed on during a night in a saloon, except in this case the story led Modesty to the truth.
In a thoughtful frame of mind he walked away. He had just moved past the corner of the building when, without warning, a blow crunched into the back of his neck. While Dalton floundered Packard stepped up to him and grabbed his arms.
Dalton struggled, but with Packard holding him securely and with Hallam appearing and grabbing him from behind he was marched to the side of the saloon and shoved back against the wall. Packard kept hold of him and Hallam moved around to face him and flexed his fists.
“What did you tell Sheriff Adams about us?” Packard said in his ear.
Dalton stood tall and snorted. “I told him you chased after Modesty and caught her. Then she got shot. I figure that if that story had concerned him you’d now be under arrest.”
The two men both shrugged. Then Hallam stepped up closer to him.
“He called you back later,” he said. “Was he checking that he could believe our story?”
His perceptive question made Dalton smile. “It’s no surprise that he’d want to check up on two wastes of skin like you.”
His taunt earned him a thump in the stomach, and when he stopped groaning and straightened up Hallam rolled his shoulders as he prepared to hit him again.
“Answer the question,” Packard said.
“He asked if he could trust you, and I said I didn’t reckon you’d killed Modesty, but I have to wonder whether you’re worried because you saw the shooter clearly, after all.”
“Forget this matter and leave town, Dalton. There’s nothing for you here and no need to talk to the sheriff about us again.”
“I’ve got no reason to see him, but I’m sure that two men who threaten people in alleyways will soon attract his attention again.”
His second taunt got him another thump and as he doubled over he was released, letting him fall to his knees. When he got back up Packard and Hallam were walking toward the front of the saloon.
Dalton stumbled after them and checked that they were going inside. Then while rubbing his stomach he resumed his journey to the Golden Grain saloon. When he’d gotten his breath back he carried out his earlier plan and asked customers about Modesty, about tales that had been told concerning the recent killings in White Plains and about any suspicious characters that had visited the saloon.
His questions got him plenty of stories about Modesty’s lack of interest in her work, but nothing that even hinted at the reason why she’d become interested in her brother’s investigation. By mid evening, when he’d run out of enthusiasm, Arnie offered him Modesty’s room as well as her old job.
Dalton accepted the former and rejected the latter. Lost for the best way to proceed now that his idea had failed, he sloped off up the stairs to the room. With his head lowered he pushed open the door.
He took a step inside, but then sensed that something was amiss and flinched upright. Before he could work out what was wrong a hand was slapped over his mouth from behind and an arm was wrapped around his neck.
“Don’t struggle,” a man whispered in his ear as he was pulled backward to stand beside the door. Dalton didn’t recognize the voice.
Modesty’s possessions had been strewn about, but his captor kicked the door closed, plunging the room into darkness. When Dalton didn’t try to fight back the hand was removed from his mouth.
“Who are you?” Dalton asked.
“No names, but you have nothing to fear from me.” The man loosened his grip around Dalton’s neck. “I’m not like those varmints who attacked you outside Billy Bob’s saloon.”
“I’d like to believe you, but this situation is the same as that one.”
The man snorted. “It’s different, but it’s the same as a situation that happened recently in this room involving me and Modesty Adams until, that is, I accepted she was an impressive young lady.”
Dalton nodded when he pieced together what the man had meant.
“You’re the reason Modesty went to White Plains?”
“I am and I need to know what she told you while you escorted her back here.”
Dalton shrugged. “She was tight-lipped so we talked only briefly, but I reckon she’d found out something.”
The man sighed and relaxed the arm that had been constraining Dalton so he could move away if he wanted to.
“I was sure she took after her father, otherwise I wouldn’t have deputized her.”
“Deputized?” Dalton spluttered.
“I’m U.S. Marshal Smith. In truth I couldn’t do it officially, but she knew I trusted her instincts and abilities to find things out.”
“About what?”
“I’ve been clearing up the loose ends from the Schneider Braun investigation. I’ve kept my involvement a secret and I’d hoped Modesty could help me, but my investigation cost the young woman her life.”
Dalton edged a few inches away from Smith, although he stayed facing forward.
“It’s good to know she got involved for a reason, but I’ve not kept anything from you. She didn’t tell me what she’d done, although I guess she proved there was something to find, and if she could do it so can someone else.”
“I agree,” Smith said, his low tone giving Dalton an ominous warning about what he was going to be asked to do.
“Does that mean you reckon I can help you like Modesty did?”
Smith laughed. “No. I can tell you’re nothing like her, but I need you to do something.”
Dalton laughed to show he wasn’t concerned, although he felt a twinge of irritation that the marshal thought him less able than Modesty had been.
“Go on.”
“Tell Sheriff Adams his sister was following my orders when she kept secret the fact that she was working for me and that he needs to leave me alone to complete my mission. Make sure he knows I will get justice for Modesty.”
“So you reckon this Schneider Braun killed Modesty?”
“I’ve given you the message.” Smith tightened his grip around Dalton’s neck for emphasis. “Relay it and tell nobody else about me or what we’ve discussed.”
“I’ll do that.”
Smith murmured his thanks and then shoved Dalton forward so strongly he stumbled forward before toppling over. As Dalton got up, the door opened and by the time he’d turned around it had shut behind the marshal.
Dalton faced the door and set his hands on his hips.
“So that’s two lawmen who reckon I should stay out of this,” he said to himself. “I guess that shows they don’t know me.”
Chapter Six
“The train is still in the station,” Trey said when Dalton had given him Marshal Smith’s message. He withdrew a few bills from his top drawer. “Be on it.”
