TEN

Swinging down from Anita Fillmore’s horse, Laredo had stood frowning for a minute. That was Marshal Pepper who had just entered the stable. The man was hatless, his shirt unbuttoned, his eyes wild. Behind him on the street Amos Fillmore was scurrying toward the building. Was this the time to split the money – or was it a day of reckoning?

Laredo decided to try to observe them undetected. He slipped up to the side door of the stable, tried it and felt its rusty hinges give a little under his pressure. Opening it carefully, Laredo peered in. He was able to look down the aisle between the horse stalls.

Standing square in the middle of the building, illuminated by a patch of sunlight shining through the loading-dock window, stood Florence Fillmore. There was a black leather satchel at her feet and a small silver-plated pistol in her hand. Laredo eased the rest of the way into the building, drawing his Colt from its holster.

No sooner had Laredo closed the door behind him than the bulky figure of Herb Pepper appeared in the doorway. The marshal, panting as if he had run a mile, took three steps forward and turned to face Florence accusingly.

‘You dirty two-timer!’ Herb Pepper bellowed, his chest heaving. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

Florence had prepared for this and she answered in a calm voice: ‘I had to get out of town, Herb. I can’t take any more of this. The men from the bank will be back with their questions. And I can’t spend another day under the same roof as that louse. With his eyes on me all the time! And what if he finds something out? He’ll beat the truth out of me, won’t he? He’s capable of that and more. He’s low and cunning, Herb. You don’t know him.…’

Florence’s voice broke off. The game was not going to play out the way she had planned it. Behind Herb Pepper now, she saw Amos Fillmore standing, listening, his eyes gleaming fiercely. There was a pistol in his hand.

‘I knew it!’ the banker shouted. ‘Where’s Anita?’

Pepper spun at the sound of Fillmore’s voice. Unprepared for this, he had not drawn his weapon, now he slicked his Colt from its holster and fired one wild shot at Fillmore who returned fire. A .38 slug bored through the marshal’s shoulder as the heavier boom of Pepper’s .44 racketed through the stable confines. Pepper’s shot was a wild one, but together the two shots created havoc. The horses, silently dozing or munching at their feed reared up, whickered and kicked at their paddocks in panic. Florence Fillmore waved her own small pistol frantically.

‘You’ll ruin it all, you damned fool!’ she shouted. It was unclear which of the two men she was hollering at. Laredo saw her snatch up the leather satchel and turn toward him, her dark hair flying free of its pins.

‘Not this way, lady,’ Laredo said, and she shot him.

Laredo felt the searing jolt of the small calilbre bullet as it tore through his thigh just above the kneecap. He wobbled a little on his feet, staggering to the left. As he did Florence fired a second shot which impacted into the stable wall behind Laredo. He fired back at her off-handedly and saw Florence dive, skirts flying, for the shelter of a stall partition. The horses in the occupied stalls continued to buck and whinny, tossing frenzied heads.

Above the tumult Laredo clearly heard another shot from Herb Pepper’s big bore Colt. Glancing that way he saw Amos Fillmore swat at his chest. Confusion filled the banker’s eyes as he stumbled backward, his back colliding with the stable wall. He slid to a seated position, holding his hand to his chest, blood leaking between his fingers. Florence Fillmore had seen that as well. She now resumed her cajoling.

‘Herb! I’m afraid. I’ve got the money. We can still make it out of this. All we need is two horses ….’

The sound of Laredo’s gun firing cut off her words. Pepper had spotted Laredo standing in the shadows, and crouching, the marshal had brought his sights around in that direction. Laredo’s shot missed, but it sent Herb Pepper sprawling. The fat man wriggled away on his belly, seeking shelter.

Laredo was wounded as well. Worse he was standing between two hostile guns. He moved. The rough wooden ladder leading up to the hayloft was near at hand and Laredo went that way. Climbing rapidly, his wounded leg of little use, he made his way upward. Another shot, better aimed, clipped the ladder step just beneath his foot. As he swung up and over into the loft, keeping his body low, two more shots rang out, clipping wood around him. Both of the people below were shooting at him and Laredo had no good chance of firing back unless he raised up and he was disinclined to give them a better target. He heard Florence and Pepper shouting to each other.

‘We need two horses!’ she yelled, her voice loud but far from panicked.

‘You get them. I’ll keep Laredo pinned down,’ Pepper called back.

‘I don’t …’ Florence began but did not finish. Laredo had the idea that she did not want to leave the money where it rested as she tried to catch up two horses. Laredo lay still, remaining patient. As things were now, Pepper had no target. Laredo did not wish to waste a shot on the concealed lawman. There was plenty of time when they were both mounted and tried to make their escape. Then he would have the clear targets he wanted.

Peering down through a crack in the flooring he saw Florence make a dash toward a wary-looking gray horse. She managed to catch its bridle, and started to lead it out of the stall. Laredo decided to put a stop to it. He fired a bullet which went nowhere near her, but was close enough, loud enough to cause the gray horse to rear again, throwing Florence aside.

‘What are you doing!’ Pepper shouted. He was now giving thought to the possibility that the townspeople might rush to the stable to see what was happening. Even the town marshal would have difficulty explaining the wounded man in the loft, the dead or dying banker, the mad woman trying desperately to catch up two mounts.

‘I’ve got one!’ Laredo heard Florence shout, and looking down he saw that she did indeed have the bridle of another horse, a sturdy-looking roan which was either extremely docile or deaf. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Florence urged. ‘We can find another horse on the way!’

Pepper considered only briefly. The woman was right. The time to go was now; the method was unimportant. He peered around the corner of the stall where he had hidden himself and looked directly up at where Laredo lay.

‘Lead it this way,’ Pepper called. ‘We’ll use the horse for a shield until we hit the door.’

‘Get the money!’ Florence yelled back. The roan was now giving her a bit of a fight, tossing its head wildly. ‘The satchel, Herb! Get it!’

The black satchel was below in the aisle not ten feet along from where Laredo had gone to his belly. Easing forward along the rough planks of the loft floor, Laredo squeezed in behind a sheltering bale of hay. No sooner had he crawled there than Pepper burst from hiding, firing three wildly aimed shots toward the position Laredo had just quit.

Gunsmoke rolled through the stable, burning Laredo’s nostrils, bringing tears to his eyes. Pepper made his move, darting towards the satchel as Florence tried to hold the jittery roan. The marshal’s face was glowing as he reached the satchel and stooped to pick it up.

Laredo kicked the bale of hay beside him with both feet and it slid off the edge of the loft, falling directly on Pepper’s head. The marshal cursed, stumbled back and fired again into the stable ceiling. Laredo answered with a round from his own Colt. The .44 bucked in his hand and Laredo watched the impact of the slug punch Pepper backward. He fell over the split hay bale and lay still, arms out-flung.

Laredo hobbled toward the ladder and dragged himself down to the stable floor. Pepper lay still. A small, rattling sound emerged from Amos Fillmore’s lips. Florence was gone. He could hear the roan’s hoofs pounding along the alley beyond the building. Sucking in heavy breaths Laredo walked toward the double doors at the front of the stable, dragging his injured leg behind him. Amos Fillmore watched his progress, but that was all the life that remained in the mortally-wounded banker’s body.

‘Laredo!’

Laredo spun that way as the woman’s voice sounded. It was Dusty Donegall, her red hair in wild disarray, her blue eyes wide with fear. She stood stock-still for a moment and then rushed to Laredo, throwing her arms around him, murmuring small wordless sounds. Dusty’s eyes then fell on Amos Fillmore who still sat against the wall of the stable, life quickly leaving his body, and she remembered the task she had started out on with high expectations of the pleasure it would bring the banker.

Dusty went to her knee beside Fillmore who remained still, his useless pistol on his lap, and said to him, ‘She’s all right, Mr Fillmore. Anita is all right now. She’s at my house.’

Fillmore was unable to speak, but his eyes brightened for a moment at her words. He reached for Dusty’s hand, but death stopped his movement. Dusty looked up to Laredo with tearful disappointment. He said:

‘He heard you, Dusty, he understood.’

‘Then …’ Dusty rose, smoothing out her skirt. In the middle of the gesture her eyes widened and fixed on a point beyond Laredo’s shoulder and he spun, or rather tried to spin. His wounded leg buckled under him, and as he reached for his pistol, Florence Fillmore triggered off a shot from her little pistol.

Laredo felt a stabbing pain like a red hot poker thrust through his chest below the collarbone and he staggered back, aware enough to curse himself for his carelessness. He should have known that the woman would never ride off leaving the stolen bank money behind. Laredo thought that, thought he heard a second shot echo through the stable, and then he heard no more, saw no more as he tumbled headlong into the silent black vortex that had opened beneath his feet.

The lilting voice caused Laredo to pry open his eyes. Someone was singing, and he doubted that it was an angel simply because he doubted that he would have been assigned to the pearly gates after the life he had lived, but if she was no angel, Dusty Donegall was the next best thing.

He could see her from his bed. She stood beyond the doorway, her back to him, singing in Gaelic. Laredo understood none of the words; he didn’t need to or care to. Her voice was pleasant and comforting no matter the song. He closed his eyes again and drifted back into the cobwebbed world he had been inhabiting for most of the last two days.

It was already dusk when Laredo opened again opened his eyes. Dusty sat in a wooden chair facing him. Back-lighted by the deep crimson glow in the window behind her he could not see her face, but with her hands folded on her lap, her patient watching was soothing.

‘I been giving you much trouble?’ Laredo asked and Dusty jumped a bit, startled by his voice.

‘No. Not much. Though you do talk in your sleep some.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yes, but don’t ask me to repeat what you were saying.’

‘I won’t.’ Laredo tried to hitch himself up into a sitting position but found his shoulder and leg both uncooperative.

‘You’ll be hurting for quite some time,’ Dusty said. She rose to her feet, came to the bed and propped an extra pillow under his shoulders. She turned then to light the bedside lantern.

‘Jake Royle will be mad,’ Laredo said. ‘He thinks I get myself shot up occasionally just so that I can take some time off the job.’

‘It’s not much of a job if it takes that for you to be able to relax a little now and then,’ Dusty commented. She returned to her chair, refolded her hands and leaned forward slightly, watching Laredo.

‘It’s a good enough job,’ Laredo said around a yawn. ‘What happened back in the stable, Dusty? Mrs. Fillmore had me.’

‘Amos Fillmore’s pistol was still on his lap. When Florence lined up for a second shot I took the gun and shot her dead.’

‘That’s twice you’ve pulled me out,’ Laredo said. ‘You’re kind of handy to have around.’

‘You bet I am,’ she said with pride. Then, ‘I’m sorry that I killed Florence Fillmore, Laredo. I know what she did, but still I wish it hadn’t been me.’

‘You probably saved a lot of other people some grief,’ Laredo considered. ‘Is everything all right at the bank now? I mean, they did get all of their money back, didn’t they?’ he asked.

‘Most of it, Tad Becket says. Some of the money was missing. They figure that Earl Weathers spent some of it for supplies: food, whiskey and such.’

‘Sure,’ Laredo answered. ‘Did Anita go back home yet?’

‘Bill wouldn’t let her go at first. And it was a good thing he didn’t,’ Dusty said with animation. ‘Do you know what he found when he went out there?’

‘Yes,’ Laredo said, ‘I do.’

‘Anita was staying over at the Crater House while she healed. Mostly because her feet were cut up, you know? When she started feeling better the first thing she wanted to do was go riding. She was pleased to find that the black pony was already in town – oh, by the way, Bill found your chestnut horse out at the Fillmore place and he brought it back to town and put it up at the Long Trail. So I guess you’ll owe Wink Rollins some money when you’re up and about again. I took your horse for a ride with Anita, I hope you don’t mind. I had Mrs Tompkins – you don’t know her – sit with you while I was gone. Wink said he’ll trust you for the money, realizes now that you weren’t after his gold tooth. But he wasn’t so sure that Florence Fillmore wouldn’t have taken it given the chance, the way she was … I’m talking a lot, am I not?’

‘You are.’

‘I’ve always done that when … I think it’s when I get nervous, Laredo. I think that’s what does it.’

He nodded, fixed his eyes on hers and said thoughtfully, ‘Maybe if we both put our minds to it we can find a way to keep you from getting so nervous.’

That seemed to make Dusty even more nervous. She went on, though not so rapid-fire as previously.

‘I don’t think you should keep on in your line of work, Laredo, do you? I mean you are tempting fate. We should just write that Jake Royle a letter and tell him you’ve had enough.’ Dusty became more eager, telling him, ‘I really do have a lot of money, Laredo. People used to think that I did, but then they saw the way I lived – the way I wanted to live – and they decided that it was untrue. But I have it. I could buy a house, buy land for a fine ranch.’

‘And I could sit on the porch all day in my rocker?’ Laredo asked with an ironic smile.

‘I don’t think anyone could keep you down,’ Dusty said quickly. ‘But I just … wanted you to know, Laredo.’

The woman was cornering him, or trying to and Laredo knew it. Luckily at that moment there was a knock on the door and Bill Thatcher swaggered in, looking none the worse for wear. There was a marshal’s badge pinned to his leather vest.

‘Re-enlisted, I see,’ Laredo said and Bill reddened a little.

‘Yes, well, there’s no one else around to take care of business with Pepper gone. I told the town council that I’d take the job for a little while. See how it fits now that I don’t have Herb Pepper over me.’

‘You’ll do fine,’ Laredo said, meaning it. ‘How’s Anita?’

‘Now that she’s over the shock of everything, she seems fine. She’s scrubbed that house from top to bottom.’ Bill frowned. ‘I’m afraid it all may be just busy-work, though. I don’t think she’ll ever be comfortable in that house again, Laredo. I’ve sort of had my eye on a little cottage not far from Dusty’s.…’ He reddened again and Laredo said:

‘Congratulations.’

‘It will be good for the two women, having each other nearby, don’t you think?’

‘It will – if she’s going to stay here,’ Laredo said, turning his eyes toward Dusty who shifted uncertainly in her chair.

‘Why wouldn’t she?’ Bill asked in puzzlement. ‘Where are you going, Dusty?’

It was Laredo who answered. ‘I don’t think we’ve quite decided that, Bill. When we make up our minds, you’ll be the first to know.’