‘Going to church,’ Marshal Whip Staines said pensively, removing the spectacles from the end of his nose—they had been positioned so that he could look over rather than through them—and poking the two sheets of paper with a gnarled forefinger. ‘Two miles to the border?’
‘That’s what the Mex said,’ Brady Anchor confirmed. ‘I was wondering if it meant anything to you?’
‘Can’t say’s it does,’ the peace officer declared sorrowfully. ‘When you get to my age, you don’t know much at all.’
‘I thought it might mean something,’ Brady said. ‘They kept making remarks about putting the money on the collection plate and being church-going folks.’
‘Longbach had that handbill about Widow Snodgrass in his pocket,’ Jeff reminded his uncle. ‘Could be they was hoorawing him for trying to get glory.’
‘Only, what your Uncle Brady said, he wasn’t in the bank,’ Staines pointed out. ‘Still, it could’ve been a private joke ’tween ’em. Anyways, it don’t mean a thing to me.’
‘What about the rest I’ve told you?’ Brady challenged.
‘You’ve got to admit it’s a mighty peculiar story,’ Staines replied.
‘Unlikely or not,’ Jefferson Trade protested, ‘it’s the living truth.’
‘I ain’t gainsaying that, young Jeff,’ the marshal countered, with the air of the aged being tolerant in the face of impulsive youth. ‘Knowing your Uncle Brady, there’s three good reasons why I believe ham.’
‘What’d they be?’ Brady inquired, showing his interest.
‘First ’n’,’ Staines replied, holding up his left forefinger. ‘Happen you’d been lying, you’d’ve come up with something a whole heap more likely than that tale you’ve just told me.’ He elevated the next finger. ‘Secondly, you come along with me too easy to have any guilty badness on your minds.’ The third finger rose and all three waggled solemnly. ‘Last ’n’ and most important, I reckon I can count on you not to take advantage by lying to a poor, wored-out old cuss like me.’
‘Gracias, Whip,’ Brady said sincerely, for the third of the marshal’s points had been most complimentary in that it implied he and his nephew were trusted.
That was what Brady had expected to happen, but he still felt pleased to see his confidence justified.
When Jeff had joined his uncle on the street, bringing the news that the ‘undertaker’ and the ‘rancher’ were both dead, Staines had requested that they should accompany him to his office. Noting the significant, if apparently casual, manner in which the marshal had held his shotgun, Jeff had sensed that something special was in the air. However, having caught his uncle’s quick nod of agreement, the red-head had not raised any objections.
Brady had been satisfied that they would receive fair treatment from the marshal and be permitted to tell their story; but had been equally aware of the very real danger if they should have refused to co-operate. A lawman of long standing, Whip Staines would not have hesitated to use his shotgun as a means of ensuring obedience to his commands. The fact that he and Brady had been on excellent terms during previous visits—or that the stocky man had on one occasion saved the marshal’s life—would not have influenced him against doing what he regarded as his duty.
On top of those considerations, Brady had known that he would benefit from going along with Staines’ instructions. After he had explained the situation and had displayed his documentary proof, he was sure that the marshal would be of the greatest assistance. It was claimed—and Brady did not doubt it—that what Whip Staines did not know about law-breakers in the south-west of Texas was hardly worth knowing.
At the marshal’s office, after the bodies had been removed to the undertaker’s shop and searched, Brady had told the full story of the Rocksprings bank robbery and its aftermath. Although Staines liked to pretend that he was in his dotage, he had listened attentively and had displayed a keen appreciation of every point made by Brady. The mystery of the visit to the hollow tree had been solved. On being searched, the ‘rancher’s’ pockets had yielded a somewhat faded wanted poster, its top edge marred by a ‘V shaped notch where it had been torn free from its securing thumbtack. The poster was offering a reward of five hundred dollars for the capture of the Spit Merton gang.
‘Why’d you reckon the sheriff sent out this feller Barnstaple’s name?’ the marshal asked, studying the two letters without replacing his spectacles. He could see much better without the artificial aids.
‘He must’ve asked them to,’ Jeff guessed.
‘Why’d he do that?’ Staines wanted to know. ‘When you gets to my age, you grow all suspicious ’n’ ornery’s why I asked. I thought he’d hired you two to hunt down them counterfeiters.’
‘Could be he’s trying to save the Association from having to pay us the reward,’ Brady replied. ‘Or he could be running down something he hasn’t mentioned to us.’
‘That could be it,’ Staines admitted. ‘Come’s a real surprise to see you two’s names on that telegraph message. Wouldn’t’ve believed it, but for the descriptions fitting. I’d allus figured you was on my side of the law. Wondered if maybe it was that somebody pretending to be you. Then, I swan, there you was and mixed up in a shooting.’
‘We was mixed up in that Rocksprings robbery, too,’ Brady drawled. ‘But as victims. They lit out with our five thousand dollars.’
‘They sure don’t have it no more,’ the marshal answered. ‘Which figures’s I’d noticed ’em sitting in on that big stake game. Wasn’t none of them what I’d call big stake game players.’
‘So they got took, huh?’ Jeff growled, bristling indignation.
‘Those fellers they was playing against don’t need to take anybody, young feller,’ Staines replied, the last two words carrying a warning. ‘They could give your Uncle Brady a stiff game—’
‘And did, last time we was in here,’ Brady finished. ‘It’d have to be a straight game in your town, Whip.’
‘Obliged, Brady,’ the marshal said, showing that he was pleased with the compliment.
‘And they lost our money in it,’ Jeff complained.
‘That’s the way the stick floats,’ Staines admitted. ‘Gambling’s legal in Sanderson, so there’s no way you can get your money from the fellers who won it. Not ‘less they handed it over willing-like.’
‘We’ll just have to stand the loss,’ Brady declared and, after a moment’s thought, Jeff shrugged his assent to the decision.
‘That wanted dodger we found makes it look like it was Spit Merton and his gang,’ Staines commented, bringing the conversation back to more important matters. ‘They took it so’s there wouldn’t be anything around pointing to them.’
That’s how I saw it,’ Brady agreed.
‘Never knowed Spit Merton had that much good sense, or enough brains to pull a smart robbery,’ Staines said thoughtfully. ‘’Course, he wasn’t smart all the way along.’
‘How do you mean?’ Jeff inquired.
‘Got the big things right,’ the marshal explained. ‘But they slipped up on the small ’n’s. Like speaking each other’s names, which’d help identify ’em. Then bunching up when they left. If they’d been real smart, they’d’ve rid off separate and quiet-like in different directions. Could’ve been an hour or so afore anybody knowed what they’d done.’
‘Maybe that’s what they was intended to do,’ Jeff suggested. ‘Only they didn’t trust one another enough to be parted from the money—’
‘With a haul that big, that’s maybe be how they’d figure,’ Staines conceded. ‘Merton’s bunch had never took anywheres close to fifty thousand simoleons in their lives.’
‘They sure looked to be talking heated when Miss Cravern cut loose and scared ’em off,’ Jeff confirmed.
‘Pity she didn’t shoot straighter,’ Staines complained. ‘Or go and get help instead of trying to do it herself.’
‘She told us why she didn’t,’ Jeff objected. ‘I reckon she done right well considering.’
‘Sure,’ Staines drawled in a placating manner. ‘I reckon she acted for the best, young Jeff.’
‘How’d Spit Merton get that smart?’ Brady inquired. ‘Somebody must’ve been giving him lessons.’
‘Question being,’ Jeff went on, eyeing the aged peace officer expectantly, ‘who’d that somebody be?’
‘Just teaching Merton’s not all there is to it,’ Staines pointed out, hooking his left foot up on to the spur-scarred top of his desk. ‘This here counterfeiting—or whatever you calls it—now, it’s not a thing’s every owlhoot’d know how to do.’
‘Do you know of anybody who would know how to do it?’ Jeff asked.
‘Nobody’s comes to mind right now,’ Staines confessed. ‘They’re maybe from back East. I’ve heard tell there’s all kinds of fancy law-busting done back thatways.’
‘Some of the fancy ones’ve headed out here when the law back East got after ’em,’ Jeff reminded the old peace officer.
‘That feller’s started the town of Hell in the Palo Duro viii fetched a fair selection of ’em with him.’
‘Cap’n Fog went in and closed Hell down, back in the early seventies,’ Brady pointed out. ‘Most of the folks got caught by the law, after they’d come away. And, if there’d been a counterfeiter among them, he’d’ve made his play long afore now.’
‘Seems likely,’ Staines said. ‘Anyways, it’d take real brains ’n’ figuring to make a deal like this work out.’
‘So who’d you reckon it might be?’ Brady asked bluntly.
‘Consarn and blast it, that’s a hard question for a poor, dee-crepit ole cuss like me,’ Staines protested. ‘Ain’t nobody comes to mind. Not recent-like, anyways.’
‘How’s about not so recent?’ Jeff prompted.
‘There was a feller called Thinking Fernelley who’d’ve maybe been slick enough to have pulled a deal like it,’ Staines replied.
‘Was a feller?’ Brady repeated.
‘Word had it him and three more long riders was made wolf bait down in Mexico, maybe three years back,’ Staines elaborated. ‘They was fixing to pull a big steal, but something went wrong and the Guardia Rurales got them all.’
‘Couldn’t’ve been him, then,’ Jeff declared. ‘The Rurales don’t make too many mistakes.’
‘Not often enough to count on it happening,’ Staines conceded. ‘But the Thinker was the one for planning and figuring. They do say he was always trying to work out ways of making robbing banks ’n’ things safer.’
‘I’ve never heard of him,’ Brady said thoughtfully.
‘That don’t surprise me’ Staines answered. ‘He was never caught, nor as much as described by a witness.’
While Brady and Jeff were very interested in what they had just heard, they knew better than to question the marshal regarding his sources of information. No peace officer who was worth his salt would divulge such details, even to men he believed to be trustworthy.
‘Yes, sir,’ Staines drawled, after a brief pause. ‘Smart figuring and careful planning. So why did whoever’s behind it have to use cheap help like Spit Merton?’
‘They couldn’t get nobody who was better,’ Jeff offered, displaying his usual tendency to produce an obvious solution.
‘That’s reasonable,’ conceded Staines dryly. ‘Only I’d’ve thought that fellers that well organized could’ve been more choosey in their pickings.’
‘If they have only recently come from the East,’ Brady put in, ‘they might not’ve known how to get to meet anybody better.’
They mightn’t’ve,’ agreed the marshal, then slapped a hand against his thigh in what appeared to be exasperation. ‘Well I swan! If I wasn’t clear forgetting about that jasper who done made wolf bait of the owlhoot on the street.’
‘Day you forget anything” Brady told him with a grin, ‘is the day I start voting Republican.’
‘I’ve knowed some right nice fellers’s voted Republican,’ Staines countered. ‘Least-wise, I think they was nice fellers. Most of ’em got hanged. You reckon it could’ve been that Barnstaple jasper who done it?’
‘If it had, he’d’ve stayed around to see if the owlhoot talked,’ Brady answered. ‘Nope. I’m thinking the same way’s you.’
‘What way’d that be?’ the marshal challenged.
‘He was the feller from the counterfeiters who Merton’s bunch had come to meet,’ Brady replied. ‘Saw Rupe Ostringer on the run and you along the street, figured he’d get caught and might talk. So made sure he didn’t and couldn’t.’
‘It’s possible,’ Staines admitted. ‘Anyways, I told my deputies to go look and ask around. They just might catch the jasper.’
‘Are you fixing to hold us, Whip?’ Brady asked.
‘It’s my bounden duty to do just that,’ Staines pointed out. ‘At least until I’ve checked with Edwards County about your story. But, if I know Minter, it’d be a long week afore he’d get off his butt end and reply. Don’t reckon, your business being so urgent ’n’ all, you’d want to stay hereabouts for that long.’
‘According to Mr. Barnstaple,’ Jeff drawled, ‘it is mighty urgent that we get them counterfeiters found.’
‘I know what he means,’ Staines admitted, shaking his head sorrowfully. ‘Sooner they’re brought in the better. Damned if I’ll feel happy about taking paper money from now on, until I knowed that they’ve been catched.’
‘Gracias, Whip,’ Brady said and looked around as the front door opened.
‘No luck, Whip,’ announced the tall, lean deputy who entered. ‘Can’t find anybody who recalls seeing the feller’s did the shooting.’
‘That’s better’n having dozens of ’em who all saw a different feller doing it,’ Staines drawled. ‘Call in at the Golden Eagle and see if them three met anybody, Slim. And find out where they was bedding down.’
‘Yo!’ answered the deputy and departed.
‘What’re you and young Jeff fixing to do, Brady?’ the marshal inquired, as the door was closed behind his assistant.
‘Stay around town tonight,’ Brady decided. ‘See what we can learn. Then, comes morning, I reckon we’ll drift on up to the headwaters of the Big Turkey.’
‘Say “hello” to Mona for me,’ the marshal requested. ‘And don’t you pair go whomping up a storm like you did last time you was here. I’m too old for such goings on.’
‘So’re we,’ Brady grinned, thinking of the wild and hectic party they had thrown at the Golden Eagle during their last visit to Sanderson, It had served its purpose in helping to bring into the open a badly wanted bunch of criminals. ‘See you around, Whip.’
‘I’ll be hereabouts, happen the Good Lord spares me a while longer,’ the marshal promised, sounding as if he did not expect that would happen. ‘I ain’t getting any younger.’
‘Nor older, I’ll swear,’ Jeff told his uncle, after they had quit the office. ‘He’ll go on forever. And I hope I’m as spry when I get half his age. Do you reckon Mona’ll be able to tell us anything?’
‘There’s not much goes on among owlhoots that she doesn’t get to hear about,’ Brady replied. ‘And she’ll be sure to know if some fancy Eastern outfit has moved into the South-West’
‘Thing is,’ Jeff drawled, eyeing Brady in a speculative manner, ‘will she tell us, happen she knows?’
‘I reckon she might,’ Brady declared. ‘Was she to be asked the right way, that is.’
Collecting their horses from the Golden Eagle’s hitching rail, Brady and Jeff made the animals comfortable in loose stalls at the livery barn. Then they carried their gear to the hotel and engaged a room for the night. After washing, shaving and generally tidying their appearances, they ate a meal and returned to the saloon.
Although the evening did not come anywhere near to being as hectic as the one to which the marshal had referred, Brady and Jeff had a good time. They did not, however, learn anything that might help them to locate the counterfeiters.
Despite their careful questioning, they could not find anything to suggest what had brought Merton and his companions to Sanderson. The owlhoots had spent all their time at the Golden Eagle Saloon, joining the big stake poker game on their arrival. None of them had displayed the slightest indication that they were expecting, or looking for, somebody. When Ostringer and the ‘rancher’ had started to lose heavily, they had quit and turned their attentions to a different form of relaxation. The two saloon girls with whom they had taken up were responsible for the disappearance of the remainder of their cuts of the loot.
A disturbing element developed while Brady and Jeff were gathering the negative information. Four men entered the bar-room at around ten o’clock. Hard-eyed, unshaven, each with a gun hanging low in a tied-down holster, they started to display considerable—if overt—interest in the red-head and his uncle. Their scrutiny had not gone unobserved.
Ever the one for direct action, Jeff desired to go over and make inquiries as to the quartet’s motives. Shrewder and cooler-headed, Brady restrained his nephew. If the red-head had done so, there might—probably would—have been trouble. That was something which Brady wished to avoid.
Leaving the saloon shortly after midnight, Brady and Jeff strolled along the deserted sidewalk in the general direction of the hotel.
‘Don’t want to worry you none, Uncle Brady,’ the redhead remarked, after a swift peek over his shoulder. ‘But that shifty-eyed cuss and his amigo’ve just come out and’re following us.’
‘Could be they’re looking for their sidekicks,’ Brady replied, for two of the four had left half an hour earlier and had not returned. ‘If so, they’ll soon enough find ’em. One’s at the far end of that general store and the other’s behind the barber’s shop across from him.’
‘I’d say they was fixing to get us boxed in,’ Jeff commented. ‘Be best if we got us some moving and fighting room.’
‘Be best,’ Brady confirmed.
Acting unconcerned and giving no hint that they were aware of the other men’s presence, Brady and Jeff stepped from the sidewalk. On reaching the centre of the street, they kept to it instead of going across.
‘Could make ’em suspicious,’ Jeff pointed out.
‘That’s their hard luck,’ Brady answered, keeping the men ahead under observation. ‘Why should we make it easy for them?’
‘Thing’s too easy, they do say, it’s not half the fun,’ Jeff admitted and made another rapid examination over his left shoulder. ‘Anyways, they’re coming out after us.’
‘I’d say they’re fixing to let us get half way along the store afore they make their play,’ Brady assessed. ‘Which way do you want to go, nephew?’
‘Being on the right, I’ll go that way,’ Jeff decided. ‘This’s no time for anything fancy like crossing each other. Give the word when you’re set to go.’
Ambling onwards, looking relaxed and unsuspecting—but alert for any contingency—Brady and Jeff watched the nearer end of the store drawing closer. They could make out the glint of something metallic in the hand of the man at the right. Glancing to the left, Brady could detect similar proof that the fourth jasper was also armed.
From behind came unmistakable evidence that the first pair were moving nearer.
A low click, then another, sounded from Brady’s and Jeff’s rear. They did not need to waste time in wondering what the noises portended.
‘Now!’ Brady hissed, so that the word would reach only his nephew’s ears.
Almost as soon as his uncle spoke, Jeff flung himself to the right and his off hand flew under the jacket. While his order was just leaving his lips, Brady was propelling his stocky figure in the opposite direction and his left hand whisked towards the concealed Thunderer.
Two shots roared out!
Brady and Jeff missed death by inches!
Clearly the two men bringing up the rear had decided that all was far from well. Becoming aware that their intended victims were suspicious, they had concluded to make their play before reaching the appointed spot. Although they would have preferred to allow the two Texans to get nearer to their companions, they had drawn their guns and started shooting.
Brady’s and Jeff’s sudden evasive actions had taken the pair by surprise.
Seeing that their companions had opened the betting earlier than expected, and had failed to make good their openers, the third and fourth men sprang from their places of concealment.
Drawing his Thunderer, Brady flung it upwards in a double-handed hold that was fast and allowed for careful aimed firing. He touched off two shots at the man ahead of him, ripping home the bullets while the other was still trying to line on him, Spun around, the man fired a shot which ended in the wall of the building across the street. Then he dropped his revolver and fell, yelling in agony, to the ground.
Hurling himself downwards in a rolling dive, Jeff watched the man lunge out of the barber’s alley and throw lead at him. The bullet missed, due to his continued momentum, but he felt the dirt it kicked up pattering against his body. Elevating his Peacemaker, he let fly and it spat a deep-throated reply. Through the swirl of powder smoke, Jeff saw a hole appear just above the man’s eyes. Blood was already oozing out as he toppled backwards from the red-head’s range of vision.
Having dealt with his first attacker, Brady kept his Thunderer ready at shoulder level and made a rapid pivoting turn. Looking along the stubby barrel, he found that the man who had seemed to be the leader of the quartet was taking aim at Jeff. Twice more, controlling the sharp recoil between the shots, Brady manipulated the trigger. The muzzle-blasts glowed redly in the darkness. Sending the shot intended for Jeff harmlessly into the air, the man made an almost graceful pirouette before discarding his weapon and collapsing face downwards on the wheel-rutted street.
Spinning on his heel, the last of the quartet fled hurriedly into the blackness. Doubting if he would return, or make any further attempt to resume hostilities, Brady and Jeff let him go unmolested.
Rising, Jeff joined his uncle in a cautious approach to the moaning man who had been Brady’s first target.
‘What was you after?’ Brady demanded, as the man stared panic-stricken at them. ‘You might’s well tell us. Marshal Staines will get it out of you one way or another.’
‘It’s not me’s needs worry about the marshal,’ the wounded man answered. ‘There ain’t no price on my head.’
‘You figure there is on our’n?’ Jeff asked.
‘So the big feller we met on the way into town telled us,’ replied the man. ‘He said Edwards County was offering a thousand dollars on each of you and we concluded to collect it.’
‘How’d he know about that?’ Jeff demanded.
‘Allowed he’d seen a wanted poster in town here,’ the man explained. ‘But he didn’t reckon he could take the two of you.’
‘If that’s what he said, he was lying,’ Brady commented quietly.
According to Whip Staines, he had only received the telegraph message. The wanted posters had not yet arrived.