Dalton's Justice, page 5
“I’m Linden Redwood’s son. He was the third person from Lucky Gulch to get shot. I won’t rest until I find out who did it.”
“Neither will we, but we won’t accept you two annoying our customers. They need to feel safe and distractions are bad for business.” Ercole stepped up to Cleavon. “You’re no longer welcome in my gambling hall. Leave town and don’t come back.”
Ercole turned his back on him, but Cleavon called after him.
“We will leave, but only after we’ve learned more. A killer is preying on Lucky Gulch folks, except we don’t yet know if he plans to kill anyone else or if he—”
“That’s enough!” Ercole snapped, rounding on him. “Don’t concern yourself with this matter.”
Ercole waited and when it became clear he wouldn’t get a retort he joined Norwood. They conducted a whispered conversation. Then both men nodded and Ercole headed back toward the gambling hall.
Norwood spoke quietly with Packard and Hallam. Whatever he said made them smile before Norwood walked off to his saloon.
“You’re going to be run out of town,” Packard said when Ercole and Norwood had disappeared from view.
“We thought as much,” Cleavon said.
“Except I don’t reckon you know how much running you’ll be doing.”
Packard laughed and Hallam joined him in chortling. Then while sporting smirks the other two guards led them away.
Chapter Eight
With Packard and Hallam keeping silent watch over Dalton and Cleavon, they were taken away from the gambling hall to the back of the stable. Their hands were bound and the other ends of their ropes were tied to the back of an open wagon.
When the other two captors headed away Packard and Hallam got up on the seat and drove the wagon out of town, taking a route beside the railroad and back toward White Plains. The entire operation took only a few minutes, showing that troublemakers were often dealt with in this manner.
For the first mile the wagon moved at a walking pace. Then Packard clambered into the back of the wagon and sat facing them. Then Hallam sped up, forcing Dalton and Cleavon to break into a run.
Packard shouted taunts at them, but they kept pace with the wagon and stayed upright. After a few minutes Hallam slowed the wagon to its previous pace and Packard returned to the seat.
They slapped each other’s backs and laughed. Their jovial demeanor suggested that friendly wagers had just been decided.
“I won’t ask you to see if you can talk them around,” Dalton said, turning to Cleavon. “But it sure would help.”
“They’re showing their true colors now,” Cleavon said. “Besides, they failed to get what they wanted in Logan’s Creek, too, so I guess they’ve been looking for a chance to make me suffer and I won’t give them the satisfaction.”
Dalton nodded, but a mile farther on, when Packard took the reins and Hallam moved into the back, he turned to him again, but Cleavon shook his head. Another quick journey followed, except this time Packard made it harder for them to keep their footing by snaking the wagon from side to side.
Both men avoided falling over and presently Packard slowed down and Hallam joined him. This time both men cast sly grins at their captives, promising that the tormenting wasn’t over with yet.
Dalton doubted they’d be released near White Plains as, based on how long it had taken them to get to Lucky Gulch, that journey would take around a day even if they traveled through the night. Cleavon supported his theory and offered the opinion that they would be left at the county boundary.
That was around twenty miles away so the possibility didn’t cheer Dalton, especially when the third round of torment started. Without warning Hallam trundled the wagon over the railroad tracks and then swerved back to cut over them again.
Dalton and Cleavon were equal to the challenge and avoided tripping on the tracks, but as the day wore on and the challenges kept coming they started stumbling. Before long both men had fallen over at least once and been dragged along on their fronts while their tormentors laughed at their predicament.
Cleavon tried to keep their spirits up by reporting how far away he reckoned the boundary was. By sundown he reckoned they were twenty miles out of town, but Dalton’s legs were aching so much it felt like a hundred.
They got some hope when their tormentors started pointing in various directions, presumably picking out landmarks. Then the wagon was drawn to a halt and Packard came into the back.
“We’re getting close to an old station,” he said, gesturing ahead. “Beyond that is Sheriff Adams’s territory where you’ll be safe. Return to this side and you won’t be.”
When both men nodded, he headed back to the seat. Packard and Hallam smirked at each other. Then Hallam moved the wagon off and Dalton wasn’t surprised when he sped up until he and Cleavon had to sprint to keep the rope that bound them to the wagon slack.
The station that would mark the end of their torment wasn’t in sight yet and after hours spent afoot Dalton’s every pace was labored. Cleavon was the first to lose his footing and he went down on his side, but he managed to roll and bounce back up on to his feet while still moving forward.
Dalton stumbled next and he went down on his knees before his rope yanked him forward and made him go sprawling on to his front. Then all he could do was keep his head raised as he bounced along the rough ground.
Whooping sounded from the wagon and to add to his problems Hallam swerved the wagon toward the railroad. In desperation to avoid being dragged over the tracks, Dalton tried to scramble to his feet.
He couldn’t find purchase on the ground, but as the wagon turned he went scooting along to the side. With his arms outstretched he traced out a curve on the ground before rolling over a small mound that flipped him up into the air.
He came down on one knee and with an instinctive action he pushed up and gained his feet. He found that he was now beside the wagon and seizing his chance to end his torment he bounded forward and slapped both hands down on the side.
With his weight resting on his forearms he ran along and then kicked off from the ground. He pitched forward and went tumbling into the back of the wagon where he shook himself and moved to get up, but his captors had already turned to him.
Packard stepped over the seat. In his weakened state Dalton took two attempts to stand up by which time Packard had reached him. A slap to the face knocked Dalton backward and a punch to the jaw sent him reeling.
He grabbed hold of the tailboard to stop himself tipping over the back. He managed to steady himself, but Cleavon fell over and then was being dragged along on his back. With a snarl of anger Dalton swirled around to face Packard.
He swung his bound hands at his opponent’s face, but Packard swayed back and the blow missed. With Dalton off-balance Packard jerked back his fist as he prepared to deliver a pile-driver of a punch to the jaw.
The blow never came as the wagon went rattling over the railroad tracks and the shaking made him spread his arms as he tried to keep his balance. Dalton fared even worse and he toppled over on to his back.
He tried to avoid thinking about how Cleavon was coping and thankfully the rattling was over in a moment. With a grin on his face Packard loomed up over him. Behind him Hallam had turned in his seat and while holding the reins in one hand he had aimed a gun at him with the other.
Dalton pushed away from his opponent and fetched up in the corner of the wagon where he grabbed hold of the side to steady himself. Packard followed him and then moved back as he appeared to think better of attacking him.
Then he grabbed Dalton’s leg and dragged it toward the back of the wagon. Packard’s attempt to bundle Dalton out of the wagon made Dalton twist around, but he kept his tight grip of the side.
He tried to kick out, but his tired legs didn’t obey him and his right leg went over the tailboard. Packard grabbed his left leg. He raised it until the ankle was lying on the top of the tailboard.
In that position he could easily shove Dalton over the side, but instead he released him and jerked backward. Then a gunshot ripped out followed by a second shot. Dalton figured Hallam must have grown tired of the situation and he’d expressed his anger with gunfire.
As he didn’t appear to have been the target he took advantage of his good fortune and dragged his legs back into the wagon. While still twisting around he rose up and launched a flailing punch at his opponent.
Packard was still moving backward and his fist caught him with only a glancing blow to the upper arm. With Packard being off-balance the punch made him teeter for a step and keel over.
That revealed Packard’s bloodied back. Then his opponent tumbled over the side of the wagon. Hallam winced with horror, presumably after having taken a shot at Dalton and accidentally hitting his partner instead.
Before Hallam could gather his wits Dalton took long steps toward the seat and lunged for him. At the last moment Hallam registered the danger he was in and flinched away, but he wasn’t quick enough and Dalton batted his gun hand away.
The gun flew from Hallam’s hand. The blow appeared to help Hallam shake off his shock as he released the reins and with both hands he made to grab Dalton’s throat. Dalton didn’t try to stop him and he wrapped his bound hands around Hallam’s throat.
They both strained, but with Dalton having the height advantage and Hallam sitting in a twisted position on the seat he soon pushed Hallam backward. Then, in a sudden movement, Hallam slipped and landed on his back on the edge of the seat with half of his body dangling over the side.
He dragged Dalton down with him and Dalton ended up lying doubled over the back of the seat, but then Hallam’s grip came loose and he fell from view. In a deft movement Dalton swept up the reins and stepped over the back of the seat.
Then he set about slowing the wagon to give Cleavon a respite. When he raised himself and turned Cleavon was still being dragged along, but Hallam was lying on the ground, his still and hunched over body suggesting he’d fallen awkwardly.
With it looking as if he had already gotten the upper hand Dalton stopped the wagon and jumped down. He joined Cleavon, who was lying on his side and taking deep breaths.
“Going over the tracks wasn’t as bad as I feared,” he said between pained gasps. “Not that I ever want to do it again.”
“You won’t, but I’m tempted to repay our tormentors in kind,” Dalton said.
Cleavon sat up and flexed his arms and legs before pointing at Hallam.
“There’s no need. Hallam hit the ground headfirst. He won’t get back up again.”
“Then we sure got lucky,” Dalton said. “As you probably saw, before that Hallam accidentally shot Packard.”
Cleavon shook his head. “I’d gone sliding out to the side of the wagon and I could see him. He didn’t fire.”
Dalton and Cleavon then turned on the spot, but nobody else was in sight.
“If he didn’t shoot, who did?” Dalton said.
“The man who shot Modesty in Logan’s Creek must have taken his second chance to get Packard and Hallam.”
“Then it’s strange that he didn’t try to kill us, too. Either way, it changes nothing.” Dalton turned to Cleavon and received an affirmative grunt. “We’ll still get him.”
Chapter Nine
“What are we going to do now?” Cleavon asked when Dalton stirred on the back of the wagon the next morning.
Dalton stretched and yawned before standing up and facing toward Lucky Gulch.
“I don’t know, but this time we need a better plan than just walking into Lucky Gulch and seeing what happens.”
Cleavon nodded. Then both men became silent as they turned their thoughts to their next action. The previous night they had confirmed that Cleavon had been right about them being helped by a mystery savior.
Packard had been shot in the back and Hallam had a fully loaded gun. Both men were dead. As they hadn’t seen the shooter, they had claimed their guns and taken refuge in the back of the wagon.
As it turned out the gunman didn’t come for them and they had ended up resting there through the night. Best of all, their success in surviving an assault by Cleavon’s former associates had proved to Dalton that he had been right to put aside his misgivings about Cleavon. The relaxed way Cleavon had spoken to him since suggested he was of the same mind.
“We know what’ll happen if we’re seen in Lucky Gulch again,” Cleavon said after a while. “On the other hand, Packard and Hallam were following orders, but whose orders were they?”
“They treated us roughly as a warning so I’m not sure it matters, but what’s on your mind?”
Cleavon rubbed his jaw as he appeared to choose his words carefully.
“Ercole only said we were to be run out of town, but Norwood spoke to them afterward. If they hadn’t been killed we wouldn’t have survived being dragged here.”
“Norwood could have told them to make sure we never came back, but revenge for our treatment isn’t as important as getting justice for Linden and Modesty. Ercole is most likely to be behind their deaths.”
“Because several people banded together to kill his father, and now he’s having them and people with a family connection to that incident killed?”
“I reckon so.”
Cleavon shrugged, not appearing convinced, but they still climbed into the seat. Dalton took the reins and turned the wagon toward Lucky Gulch.
“It’ll take us a few hours to get there,” Cleavon said. “Hopefully on the way we’ll come up with a plan.”
Dalton nodded and with that they moved on. Both men kept an eye out for the mystery shooter from the previous night, but when they’d ridden for thirty minutes Dalton accepted they probably wouldn’t come across him and raised the question they hadn’t discussed yet.
“If we’re wrong and our savior wasn’t the man we’re after, who else could he be?”
“Someone who’d been tormented like that before, a friendly but secretive passerby. . . .” Cleavon shrugged. “In short, I have no idea.”
“Neither have I,” Dalton said, although he reckoned the most likely possibility was the one he couldn’t mention of it being Marshal Smith.
They rode beside the tracks for another hour, by which time Dalton reckoned he had a plan, but before he could voice it Cleavon spoke up.
“You’re right that the distance from Lucky Gulch is key,” Cleavon said, his level tone showing he’d rehearsed his statement. “The killer has to get people to leave town. I reckon that means it’s someone who’s there now.”
“I agree,” Dalton said, letting Cleavon have his say before offering his own opinion.
“So we should repay that person in kind. We sneak in at night, kidnap him and take him away for questioning. If he won’t talk, we’ll take him to Sheriff Adams and he can get answers out of him.”
Dalton turned in the seat to Cleavon and smiled as he failed to hide his surprise, although by now he should have been used to his colleague having the same ideas as he’d had.
“That’s what I thought. Confronting Ercole Braun in his domain would attract attention, but we’ll have a better chance if we just jump him.”
“That’s right, although I reckon we should kidnap Norwood Jubb.”
Dalton shrugged. “If his saloon is always as empty as it was yesterday he’ll be an easier target, but I can’t see no reason to think he’s behind everything.”
Cleavon frowned and opened and closed his mouth several times before replying with an apologetic tone.
“It’s just a hunch I have.”
Dalton laughed. He had been prepared to argue against whatever explanation Cleavon came up with, but he liked his honest answer.
“As we’ve agreed about everything else so far, I won’t argue against that.” Dalton waited until Cleavon smiled and then winked. “If you’re wrong, we can come back for Ercole later.”
“And if I’m wrong, I’m sure Norwood will have a story to tell that’ll help to explain what’s been going on.”
Dalton agreed with that, so they discussed how they could kidnap him. By the time the town first appeared ahead they had only decided that they should wait until it was dark. Packard and Hallam had brought water and rations with them, so for the rest of the day they rested up in the gulch just outside town.
They didn’t discuss their plans again and at nightfall they left the wagon and made their way into town. Nobody was outside and lively noises were coming from the gambling hall, which they gave a wide berth.
As they’d expected when they checked through the saloon window few customers were inside. Norwood wasn’t there, so they headed around the building until they came across a side door.
Cautiously they slipped inside. They found themselves in a corridor with an open doorway to one side that led behind the bar and two other closed doors on the other side. With Dalton leading they edged up to a doorway and when he confirmed that nobody was facing in their direction they hurried past it and then on to the next door.
This turned out to be a storeroom, but they slipped inside when they espied several items that might prove useful for their kidnapping. Then, with a sack and rope in hand, they moved on to the final door.
Again Dalton took the lead and edged the door open for a fraction. The room beyond appeared to be an office, so he nodded to Cleavon and then shoved the door fully open. Chairs and then a desk became visible and to Dalton’s surprise Norwood was sitting at the desk and facing the door.
Dalton flinched back, but not before Norwood had snapped up his arm to aim a gun at the doorway, his quick response suggesting he’d been waiting for someone to come in. Scraping sounded as Norwood stood up and then footfalls clumped.
Dalton gestured at Cleavon, warning him to be prepared, but Norwood moved away. Creaking sounded as he appeared to open another door and when Dalton edged forward a door in the far corner of the office was closing.
“He sure was spooked,” Dalton said and slipped into the office. “He must have been expecting to be the next victim.”
