Waco rode into the small mining town of Allenvale, sitting easily in the saddle of his big paint stallion and looking around with some disgust. He rode slowly and whistled a cowboy tune as he held the horse to an easy walk.
The young Ranger was riding along and doing a job which did not greatly interest or please him. It was something he would rather not be doing at all, and if left to his own devices, would have left undone.
A few weeks before, along with his slim, pallid and very able partner, Doc Leroy, Waco broke up the hold-up of a private stagecoach carrying bullion from a mine near Allenvale. It was just a routine piece of work for them, two of the gang were dead, one badly wounded and the other two making hair bridles in Yuma. Then a message was received from the owner of the mine, Frank Allenvale, requesting that the men who had saved his money be sent to Allenvale so he might reward them.
Such a request at another time might have been ignored, but the Governor of the Territory sent along a request that one of the two men responsible be sent along. Waco was still not sure whether Doc arranged the cards when they cut or not, for his nine was beaten by Doc’s jack and he rode out.
Now he was riding slowly along Allenvale’s main street and not wanting to get to his destination. He asked for no reward for doing this work, nor did Doc Leroy; they saw what they had to do and did it.
The sign over the door of a shop caught his eye as he rode past and he swung the big paint round in a circle to get down. Over his head the store sign announced to the world:
Henry D. Hawken.
You Want It, I’ve Got It.
Swinging down from the saddle of the big paint stallion, Waco tossed the reins over the hitching rail and walked into the store, halting just inside the door and looking around. The owner was almost justified in his claim, for there was almost everything a man could need on view and for sale here. Rifles were racked against one wall, a case of revolvers showed at the side of the room; there were clothes, cooking utensils, canned foods, mining implements and a vast assortment of other goods all neatly arranged.
The owner of the store was busy when Waco came in. He sat on a clear space of the counter, a small, fat, happy-looking man of indeterminate age, dressed in a collarless white shirt and black trousers. Around him were ten or more young children, all eagerly listening to him talking. Waco crossed to look in the gun case and listen to the story. At the age of those kids he’d been running wild in Texas, not being told fairy stories.
‘Well now,’ the little fat man at the counter said to his enthralled audience. ‘The beautiful princess woke up when the handsome prince kissed her. She looked up at him and said—’
The door opened and two men came in. Both wore range clothes but they were not cowhands. Waco’s experienced glance told him that. They were hard-faced, tough-looking men wearing low tied guns. One was a man Waco’s size, the other shorter and vicious-looking. Both were alike in their cold, hard eyes and arrogant, sneering ways.
The taller of the pair glanced at Waco then snapped. ‘All right, Hawken. Stop your fooling and get over there.’
‘Yeah, move it,’ the other went on. ‘We ain’t got all day. Mr. Allenvale’s down at the saloon waiting for us.’
They started forward and Waco moved to block their way, his voice gentle yet as menacing as the distant rumbling of a storm.
‘You just set back and wait, I like the story.’
The big gunman’s hand reached out for Waco’s shirt, his other fist pulling back. Then he let loose and howled, hopping on one leg, the other gripped in his hands, for Waco raked his Justin down the shinbone hard. In the same instant Waco’s right fist shot out, smashing full into the face of the man and knocking him back across the room to crash into the door.
The other man lunged forward, hand fanning down towards his hip.
‘Try it!’ Waco’s flat snapped offer was backed by the appearance of his twin Colt guns, produced with a speed many boasted of but very few attained.
The man stood fast. His friend hit the door hard and hung there; through his dazed mind came the thought that here was a man he should have steered well clear of. He put a hand up to rub his chin, then snarled:
‘You’re some handy with a gun for a cowhand.’
‘I’m not bad for a Ranger either; the name’s Waco.’
‘Waco of the Arizona Rangers,’ a freckle-faced, red-haired youngster who’d been seated away from the other children and looking bored at the story, yelled. ‘Boy, it’s really him.’
Waco holstered the guns and the two men stood fast, neither wanting to take things up with a man like Waco of the Arizona Rangers. There were others who had tried it, some of them were dead, the others never tried twice.
‘You say your boss was down at the saloon?’ Waco asked.
‘You going to arrest him, Waco?’ the red-haired yelled eagerly.
The taller gunman snarled out a curse. Waco turned his cold blue eyes on the man and warned, ‘You talk clean round kids, hombre.’
‘That kid annoys me,’ the man replied.
‘He’d be about your size I reckon,’ Waco turned his attention to the boy and smiled, ‘Should I arrest him, boy?’
Hawken’s face worked nervously; he came forward and put his hands on the shoulders of the boy and said, ‘Go on home, Johnny. Take the rest of the children with you. I’ve got some work to do.’
Reluctantly the boy called Johnny started to usher the others out. The taller gunman stepped forward and looked at Waco.
‘I’m Mr. Allenvale’s foreman.’
‘Boss gun’s more like,’ Johnny yelled and darted out of the door.
‘One day I’m going to get that kid and quirt manners into him.’
Waco looked the man up and down with disgust and replied. ‘You try it while I’m around and you’ll end up picking my Justin out of your mouth. You get what you want, then we’ll go down and see your boss.’
‘Sure, Ranger. I’m Magee, this is Talbot.’
Waco ignored the offered hands, turning to the counter. ‘Take me a box of forty-fives,’ he said. ‘Don’t reckon you stock the new Winchester shells yet?’
‘No call for them up here,’ Hawken answered. ‘Could I serve these two gents first, I keep my ammunition locked away.’
‘Why sure,’ Waco glanced down at the small man’s hands; he always looked at a man’s hands when first meeting him. What he saw made him look harder at this small, cherubic-looking man who told fairy stories to the children. ‘Serve ahead.’
‘Take a sack of Bull Durham,’ Magee growled. ‘Pay you for it next pay day.’
With a sigh Hawken handed over a sack of tobacco and then served Talbot who also promised to give the money over on the next pay date. Then as the storekeeper went into the back room, Magee turned and opened his mouth.
‘Don’t wait for me,’ Waco said before the man could speak. ‘I’d as soon not be seen on the streets with the likes of you.’
Magee opened his mouth again, angry words rising then falling unsaid. His boss wanted to see this Ranger and would not like the idea of his being roughed up. There was also the possibility that Waco himself would not care for the roughing up and would make his objections with the same speed and handiness he’d already shown. With this in mind Magee turned and walked from the room, followed by Talbot.
Hawken returned with a box of cartridges in his hand; he handed it over and while making change for the note Waco gave him, looked at the young man.
‘I wouldn’t pay any attention to what Johnny says.’
‘Man’d say he doesn’t like Allenvale.’
‘He doesn’t.’
‘What’s eating him then?’
‘A man doesn’t talk much against Mr. Allenvale, or what happened to Pete Bren, Johnny’s father. The boy has ideas but there is no proof at all.’
‘What about?’ Waco watched the man all the time. ‘Like I say, a man doesn’t talk much in this town,’ Hawken did not meet Waco’s eyes. ‘Magee and his kind are hired to see to that.’
‘Didn’t think they’d bother you!’ Waco looked at the storekeeper’s right hand as he spoke. ‘Waal, it’s not my affair anyhow. Thanks for the shells, adios.’
The sun was dropping as Waco stepped out into the street and looked around. Like most of these small towns all the businesses were on the main street; the jail and marshal’s office lay just a little bit farther along from Hawken’s store and farther still, on the other side, was the saloon. Waco swung into the saddle of the paint and headed first to the livery barn where he made arrangements to leave the horse and his gear. He also fixed up to sleep in the spare room of the barn for he did not want to stay in a hotel.
The saloon was not crowded when Waco entered, and he could tell at a glance which of the men was Allenvale. Not that Allenvale was a big man; he stood at most five foot nine, but he was wide shouldered, hard-looking under his expensive eastern-style suit. His face was reddened by the sun, hard and arrogant, the face of a man who knew power but not friendship. He would never make men follow him through admiration but always by driving them.
At the bar he dominated the conversation and the group of lesser men who were around him, listening to their words as long as they were not opinions contrary to his own.
The other men, apart from Magee and Talbot, made a varied selection; a few townsmen, three who might be mining men from the east, a whiskey drummer and an old desert-rat prospector, the sort who made his living prospecting, trying for the big strike, the mother lode.
The others of the crowd were the usual kind of saloon loafers, but all were listening with polite attention when Allenvale spoke, laughing at his jokes and treating him with the deference Allenvale felt he deserved.
Magee saw Waco and interrupted his boss, ‘The Ranger’s here, Mr. Allenvale.’
Allenvale looked at the tall young Texan who came across the room and held out a hard, work-roughened hand. ‘Howdy son,’ he said. ‘Are you the Ranger? Where’s your partner? I told Mosehan to send you both along.’
‘Cap’n Mosehan figured one of us would do,’ Waco placed some emphasis on the first word, ‘when you wrote the Governor and asked for us to come.’
The smile died for an instant and there was an uncomfortable silence among the other men. All eyes were on this tall, wide-shouldered young Texan man who spoke back in such a manner to Mr. Allenvale.
For a moment the miner stood silent, not knowing quite what to make of this. Then he laughed and waved his hand to the bar.
‘Step up and have something. I always like to reward good work, so here,’ he took out a wallet and extracted five one hundred dollar bills without even making an impression on the pile left. ‘I reckon you and your partner will have you a time with this.’
‘Likely,’ Waco accepted the money and thrust it into his pocket. The reward was going to the widow of a Ranger killed in the line of duty, but he did not tell Allenvale that. ‘Well, thanks, adios.’
‘You’re not going, are you?’ Allenvale growled. ‘Here, Joe, a drink for the Ranger. Hell, you’ve only just arrived.’
Waco remembered that Mosehan asked him to be polite to Allenvale who was getting to be a political power in the Territory. He turned back to the bar and replied, ‘I’ll take a beer then.’
‘Beer?’ Allenvale snorted. ‘Is that the best you can do? Make it whiskey for the Ranger.’
‘Beer, mister,’ there was no friendliness in Waco’s tones. ‘I learned real young that whiskey gets a man no place in a hurry.’
Allenvale eyed the youngster, about to make some remark about his youth. There was something in Waco’s eyes which stopped the words unsaid. For once in his life Allenvale felt uneasy, knowing that here was a man with no respect for either his money or his power.
‘How come only the one of you came?’ Allenvale asked. ‘Couldn’t Mosehan spare the two of you?’
‘He couldn’t spare one of us, but the Governor asked real friendly. So Doc and me cut the cards for who came.’
‘And you won?’
‘Lost.’
Again there was that sudden silence, the other men moving slightly away from Waco as if wishing to show clearly they were not with him at all. Allenvale was angry and suddenly he wanted to show this unsmiling young man that he was the real power of this town, that he ruled here and no man could say a word to him.
‘How’d you like the town?’ he asked.
‘Didn’t see much of it yet.’
‘I built it right here, so’s it’d be good and handy for me and mine. Do you know something, Ranger, this town is built on an Indian reservation.’ Allenvale looked at the other men for corroboration of the statement; they all gave their complete agreement. ‘Sure, I built it on the reservation because this was the best site for a town in miles. Anyways, the Indian Affairs Bureau said I couldn’t so I went right on ahead and did it. Yes sir, this is my town, Ranger.’
Before Waco could reply a tall, fattish, well-dressed man entered. He came to the bar and was introduced as Judge Holland, the local court official. He was just as clearly Allenvale’s man as the others. The judge was cool and distant, obviously regarding Waco as no one in particular: just a whim of Allenvale’s and therefore someone to be barely civil to. Waco regarded the judge as a pompous trouble causer who would only follow the law as long as the law followed Mr. Allenvale.
Other men came in, and the talk became general. Waco notice that although all appeared to be for Allenvale, there was a lack of warmth in their laughter. The town marshal, made a brief appearance, a tall, slim man just past middle age.
‘Ranger,’ Allenvale said, ‘come and meet our marshal, Dan Thorne.’
‘Howdy Dan.’ Waco held out a hand. ‘I heard Hondo Fog talk about you.’
Thorne’s face flushed slightly at this. He was once known as a real fast gun lawman, honest, brave and the tamer of bad towns. Now he was here in a small Arizona settlement, holding down a job that years before he would have assigned to his newest deputy.
‘Sarah Shortbow came to see me yesterday,’ he said.
The miner’s face darkened in a scowl. He turned his back on Thorne and called for a round of drinks. For a moment Thorne stood looking at Allenvale’s back, then he turned and walked out of the room. Waco watched him go, realizing that Allenvale owned more than just the town of Allenvale.
‘Say, Ranger,’ Allenvale boomed from the bar. ‘I can always use a good man or two. How’d you and your partner like to come and work for me? I’ll pay top rate.’
‘We’re hired and we like the boss,’ Waco replied.
‘Huh! Like I say I can always use good men. You the fastest with a gun?’
Waco shook his head. He was getting to like Allenvale less all the time. ‘I know three who can shade me.’
‘Who are they?’
‘My partner, Doc Leroy, is the fastest man I ever saw with a single gun. Ole Mark Counter, he can shade me with either hand.’
‘And the other?’
‘Dusty Fog. The man doesn’t live who can touch him with two guns.’
There was a rumble of assent at this, for the three men named were all well-known as being skilled exponents of the art of grab and shoot. The whiskey drummer spoke up, ‘I was in Dodge when Dusty Fog brought that Rocking H herd in. He surely made Earp and Masterson hunt their holes that time.’
‘Not in Dodge he didn’t,’ the bardog objected. ‘Weren’t neither Earp nor Masterson in Dodge when the Rocking H came in. They’d both left on business.’
There was a guffaw at this. Earp and Masterson had been called away on urgent business at other times when dangerous men came looking for them. The bardog was a Kansan and proud of the lawmen who ran his cattle towns for him.
‘Wyatt’s no slouch,’ the bardog affirmed.
‘Masterson’s better,’ another man put in.
Waco leaned back and listened to the conversation which walled up around him at this statement. It was one he’d heard many times before, in many a town from Texas north to Kansas and west to Arizona. Wherever men gathered in a bar the subject was likely to turn to gunfighters, arguments as to who was the best, the fastest and the most accurate. Every man held his own particular hero and was willing to boast that the said hero was faster than any other, better than any other. Even if there was no chance of it ever being proved one way or the other.
At last the old prospector spoke up, his cracked old voice coming in a lull. ‘You’re all forgetting the best of them all. A man who could have shaded all these so-called fast men today. He was the law in Newton and Sedalia just after the war, his name was Drango Dune.’
The others all looked at the old-timer and Allenvale laughed, then said, ‘You’re going back there some, Sam. That was in the cap and ball days. Don’t reckon any of us ever met him.’
‘I did, knowed him real well. I’ll never forget him, most unlikely cuss I ever did see. Him being so tough, didn’t look like he was but I saw him whup a railroad man twice his size. Fast, mister, he was the fastest I ever saw with that ivory handled Dragoon gun.’
‘Dragoon pistol,’ Magee snorted. ‘I never saw a man use one that amounted to anything. They’re too heavy.’
Waco thought of his very able friend, the Ysabel Kid who not only carried and swore by a Colt Dragoon but also proved time and again that Colonel Sam’s old four pound thumb-buster was a weapon to be feared in capable hands. However, the young Ranger did not say anything; he was looking at the door and saw Henry Hawken outside. The storekeeper had been about to enter when the old prospector started talking. He stopped outside, looking in at the group for a moment, then turned on his heel and walked away again.
‘What happened to Drango Dune in the end?’ a man asked.
‘He was fighting a bunch of owlhoots one night. Heard a noise on the roof above him, turned and shot down one of his deputies who’d gone up there against his orders. He broke that gang but threw in his star; wouldn’t wear it again after he dropped his own man. I don’t know where he went after that but I sure won’t never forget him and I reckon I’d still know him.’
The talk went on and after a time Waco left the bar; none of the men noticed he’d gone. He went along to the marshal’s office and opened the door. Thorne sat at the desk, head in hands. He looked up as the door opened. ‘Howdy Ranger.’
‘Howdy, I’d like to stay on here for the night if I can.’
‘Sure, make yourself at home. You et?’
‘Not for a spell.’ Waco looked round the small office. ‘Come on across to the Bren place, they won’t be closed yet.’
‘Bren, I’ve heard that name before.’
‘Not around town you won’t have. The widow runs it now. Her husband met with an accident out at his mine.’ Thorne looked straight at Waco. ‘An accident.’
‘Why sure, except that now Allenvale owns the mine.’ Thorne looked at Waco, his face working, then at last he said, ‘I investigated the accident. It was an accident from all I could find. Who talked?
‘The boy mentioned he didn’t like Allenvale. It’s none of my worry, I’ll be riding back to Tucson come morning.’
~*~
Waco led the big paint stallion from the livery barn out on to the street and looked around for a moment. He did not like this town of Allenvale; there was an unhealthy look about it, like a town living in fear. The people here hated and feared Allenvale yet accepted him as their lord and master.
Two men rode into town; Waco watched them without interest, not knowing or caring who they were. He might have made a guess at one of them, the tall, handsome and expensively dressed young man afork the magnificent palomino gelding. From his dress, the costly, silver decorated saddle and the arrogant look about him Waco guessed this was Dinty Allenvale, son of the miner. The boy was not at the saloon the previous night, but Waco had heard some mention of him.
Dinty Allenvale it was, and in a vile mood. Even at this early hour he was more than half drunk. The gunman who rode at his side was not sober either, for they had been hitting the bottle on the way into town.
Stopping his horse Allenvale pointed ahead to where a pretty, black haired, dark-skinned girl was walking towards the saloon. She passed Hawken and Johnny Bren, greeted them, and carried on along the sidewalk. Allenvale reached down, unstrapped the rope from his saddlehorn and headed for the girl, riding fast. His rope built up into a noose and shot out to drop over the girl’s head and tighten round her neck. The horse lunged by and the girl was jerked viciously from her feet. She hit the ground hard, her limbs jerking once, then lay still.
Waco came forward fast; Allenvale was off his horse and bending over the girl, looking down at her. From the way her head was bent over Waco knew she was dead, her neck broken. Allenvale looked up truculently. Waco was moving in fast, seeing faces at windows watching him, and that Hawken had shoved Johnny Bren into the store before coming forward.
‘She’s dead,’ Waco said softly.
‘So what?’ Allenvale sniffed. ‘Who the hell—’
‘I’m a Ranger. Hand over your gun. I’m arresting you for murder.’
‘Hear him, Kenny boy, just hear the man,’ Allenvale sniggered. ‘He said that real nice—!’
Waco’s fist shot out, smashing into Allenvale’s sneering face and knocking the young man down. At the same moment the gunman started to draw, his gun coming out of leather as Waco turned. There was the crash of a shot from the gun which came into Waco’s right hand; the gunman jerked up in his saddle, his gun falling from his hand. The horse bucked and the man slid down to hit the ground hard and lay still.
Holstering his smoking gun Waco dragged Allenvale to his feet and half pushing, half carrying the dandified young man brought him to the jail. Thorne came to his feet as the door of his office burst open and a figure was thrown in, crashing to his knees by the desk.
‘What the hell, Ranger?’
‘I’m arresting him for murdering a girl out in the street there,’ Waco answered. ‘Open the cell door.’
‘But that’s Dinty Allenvale.’
‘So?’
‘He’s Allenvale’s boy.’
‘Mister, I don’t care if he’s Robert E. Lee. He killed a girl out there and I’m holding him for murder.’
‘Which girl?’ Thorne asked, his face working.
‘Dark haired girl,’ Waco replied. ‘Are you opening the cells or do I?’
‘You stop him, Thorne, do you hear me, stop him!’ Dinty Allenvale yelled. ‘Tell him to let me loose.’
‘I can’t let you lock him up, Ranger,’ Thorne said. The keys are in the door,’ Waco replied. ‘The only way you can stop me is to kill me.’
Thorne stood back, watching the young Texan drag Dinty Allenvale to his feet and shove him into a cell, then lock the door and pocket the key. Then when Waco came back into the office said:
‘If I was you I’d be long gone from this town by the time Allenvale hears about this. He won’t set back and leave his son in jail.’
‘He will. Who was the girl?’
‘You say she was dark haired?’
‘Sure, looked like she might have some Indian blood in her.’
‘Sarah Shortbow, she’s half Apache. Is she dead?’
‘Got her a broken neck,’ Waco answered. ‘I killed the man who was with Allenvale. Then I brought him in.’
‘You think you’ll get him to trial?’
‘Why sure,’ Waco answered. ‘It was murder. I never thought to hear Dan Thorne talking like this.’
‘Didn’t huh?’ Thorne looked at Waco. ‘Hondo Fog told you about me: how I cleaned up the bad towns. Sure I did, then one night I heard Clay Allison was coming to town looking for me. I got to thinking about it and I got scared. I sweated it out all night. Next day I lit out of town and didn’t come back for a week. Then I learned it was all a joke, Allison was nowhere near. It finished me as a lawman. Other towns heard of me and I drifted on, then Allenvale took me on here. I knew that I was working for him and I took on just the same. Son, I was scared then, I’ve been scared ever since. That’s why I want no part of this now.’
‘You’ve got no part of it. I’ve taken the prisoner and I’m holding him here. You can’t do a thing about it.’
‘Do you think you can keep him for trial, or even get witnesses to come out and talk against Allenvale, in this town?’
‘Mebbe.’
‘Go out there in the street and try.’
Waco went into the street. The crowd who had gathered round the body of the girl, parted and let him through. He looked at them; people who had been looking through windows or from their doors and had seen what happened. ‘Who saw what happened?’ he asked.
There was silence now, faces turning from his eyes, then slowly the crowd broke up. Waco’s cold voice halted them. They turned, not meeting his contemptuous gaze. ‘Some of you saw what happened and know what happened. I’m holding Allenvale for trial. If he gets off through lack of witnesses, don’t any one of you ever leave this town again. If you do I’ll see to it that every lawman in the territory knows what happened and if you as much as spit on the sidewalk you’ll wind up in jail.’
‘You can’t talk to us like that,’ a man growled.
‘I’m doing it. I’m talking to you like a pack of cur dogs. You’re all hawgscared that Allenvale won’t let you live here anymore if his son comes up for trial. I’m going to see he gets tried, even if I have to stand alone.’
The crowd scattered, only Hawken and a grizzled old-timer staying with the body. Neither of them looked at the Ranger or spoke as he turned and walked back to the jail.
‘I told you,’ Thorne said as Waco came in. ‘Nobody in this whole town’s going against Allenvale. The Judge won’t even let it come to trial. He’ll say the girl was just a half-breed chippy—’
‘Sure, she’s an Indian,’ Waco agreed, then he remembered something Allenvale had said the previous night. ‘Is this town built on an Indian reservation?’
‘Two miles inside the boundary line. I remember there was some trouble over it at first—’
‘I’ve got to send a message,’ Waco turned on his heel. ‘I’m holding you responsible for keeping my prisoner. If he’s gone when I get back I’ll hold you for trial.’
There were sullen glares for Waco as he walked through the streets, making for the post office. He ignored them, for a small matter like personal popularity never gave him the slightest worry. He entered the post office and taking a telegraph message form wrote on it.
‘I can’t send this, Ranger,’ the owner of the office gasped as he read what was on the form. ‘Mr. Allenvale would have my job.’
‘And I’ll have it if you don’t,’ Waco answered. ‘There was a postmaster in another town refused to send a message for a territorial Ranger, and he was within a fortnight of retiring on pension. Mister, they fired him out without a dime. You’ve got your choice, do you send it, or do I?’
‘Do you understand Morse code?’ the man asked and Waco nodded. ‘I may as well send it then. But I want protection.’
‘Mister, you’ll get it,’ Waco agreed, but he stayed to make sure the message was sent correctly.
On his way back to the jail Waco called in at Hawken’s store. The fat man was behind the counter, his face showing worry as Waco came up.
‘Doc and I took the girl to the undertaker’s,’ Hawken said.
‘You see what happened?’
‘I see it, me and half the town. I thought this might happen, or something like it. You see, Sarah was going to have a baby. It didn’t show yet. Young Allenvale was the father.’
Waco stood silent for a moment, then asked, ‘I need witnesses, how about it?’
‘You won’t get any in this town.’
‘I figgered on one and I don’t want to have to call young Johnny.’
Hawken was silent for a time, then he looked at Waco. ‘This place is my home. I can’t go against Allenvale and stop on here, you know that.’
‘I didn’t think that would stop you.’
Waco turned and walked out of the store. Hawken watched the young Ranger go and thought of the emphasis placed on the last word. Either that shrewd young man knew something or he was a remarkable guesser.
~*~
Allenvale and eight of his men came into town shortly after noon, thundered along the main street and halted in front of the jail. ‘Thorne!’ Allenvale roared. ‘Thorne, come on out here.’
Dan Thorne stepped out of the office. Waco picked up a shotgun from the rack, broke it, and thrust in two shells, then snapped the breech closed and followed. He halted on the porch and waited for Allenvale to say something.
‘You’ve got my boy in jail, Thorne, I want him out and fast.’
‘He’s my prisoner, the marshal hasn’t a thing to do with it,’ Waco replied. ‘I’m holding your son on a charge of murder.’
‘Murder?’ Allenvale snarled. ‘Why she was nothing but a half-breed chippy and it was an accident what happened out there. My boy wasn’t doing anything wrong. She’s only a damned Indian. I’ll send Judge Holland along to see you.’
‘That won’t get your boy loose. Like you said, the girl is an Indian and this is an Injun reservation we’re standing on.’
Allenvale scowled, not understanding the significance of the statement just made. ‘Do you think you can pull this?’
‘I already have.’
‘One man against the town. Who’ll help you?’
‘My partner and every other Ranger.’ Waco watched the men.
‘How’re you going to send for them?’
‘I already have. I sent off a telegraph message and if any of your men lay a hand on the man who sent it I’ll kill them.’
‘We’re eight to one,’ Allenvale answered.
‘Sure, if that’s the way you want it, cut loose your dawgs, and let’s hear them howl.’
The gunmen tensed. They saw the shotgun on the young man’s arm and knew that he would empty both barrels before they got him. Some of their number were going to be killed, and killed in a messy manner, if they started. Allenvale knew the same thing but where some of his men might not know they would be hit he knew that he was the Ranger’s first mark. He would get the first barrel of that shotgun into him.
‘No shooting, boys,’ he warned. ‘Let’s go down to the saloon and talk with the Judge. He’ll soon straighten this out.’
Waco pulled the money Allenvale had given him from his pocket, screwing it up and throwing it up at the man. ‘I was fixing to give this to the widow of one of our boys. I don’t think she’d want it.’
There was red rage in Allenvale’s eyes as he watched the money fall to the street. Without a word he turned his horse and rode down the street followed by his men. Waco turned to walk back into the office when he heard a yell from Thorne and was pushed aside. At the same instant a shot sounded and he came whirling round.
One of the men at the rear of Allenvale’s party had drawn a gun, brought his horse round and shot. Only the push given him by Thorne saved Waco’s life. The marshal was down holding his leg and the gunman tried to line his gun afresh.
Waco dived forward, off the sidewalk, landing on the ground and firing the shotgun. At the first roar the man rocked backwards, clean out of his saddle. The other men turned in their saddles to look but none of them made a move; they just rode on towards the saloon.
Coming to his feet Waco vaulted back on to the sidewalk and helped Thorne into the office again. The man was hit in the leg and Waco started to do what he could.
‘I couldn’t let them gun you like that, boy,’ Thorne said. ‘Reckon I’ve worn a law badge too long.’
‘I’m real pleased you have,’ Waco answered. He spun round with his gun coming out of leather as the door opened.
‘Easy there, boy.’ It was the grizzled old man who’d helped Hawken with the girl’s body. ‘You’re too fast with your gun to suit me. I ain’t had so much work since the mine caved in. Let’s have a look at that leg.’
Thorne lay back in the chair and looked at the door which led to the cells. ‘That lousy spoiled rat. He’ll never forget that punch you gave him, even if that’s all he gets for killing the girl.’
‘He’ll get more than that,’ Waco promised. ‘There’s been a big shake-up at the capital. The Governor cleaned house, got rid of all the crooked bunch and brought in good, straight men. He won’t stand for any play like this. Did you see what happened to the girl, Doc?’
‘No, I ain’t even sure I’d talk if I had seen it. The other folks aren’t going to talk either. Allenvale has them all buffaloed.’
Waco looked down at Thorne’s wounded leg and smiled. ‘Not everybody. Who’s this coming along now?’
The door of the jail opened and Judge Holland came in, followed by three other influential men of the town.
‘I have come to order the release of the prisoner,’ Holland said pompously. ‘Let him out, young man.’
‘Nope.’
‘As judge of—’ Holland began.
‘This town doesn’t come into it at all, Judge. I’m holding Allenvale for the murder of an Injun on the reservation.’
Holland knew what Waco meant right straight off. His face went even more red and he snapped. ‘You mean you are holding him on a—’
‘On a Federal charge, Judge. You can’t do a thing about it. Just like I told your boss.’
‘I don’t like your tones, Ranger,’ Holland yelped like a scalded cat. ‘I am not without friends at the capital and I will get in touch with them.’
Waco grinned bleakly. ‘If you all meaning Senator Flinworthy, he’s gone. The good Senator is in Europe taking a long vacation for the good of his health. I don’t reckon he’ll be back for quite a spell.’
The Judge’s face showed how well Waco’s random shot hit home. ‘Meaning?’
‘Was some talk of investigating certain mining leases that the Senator got all involved in,’ Waco explained. ‘What were you saying, Judge?’
Holland turned on his heel and stamped out of the office, followed by the other men. Thorne and the doctor looked with renewed respect at the young Texan, seeing that here was more than just a brave, foolhardy young man with a brace of fast guns to back his play. Here was as smart a man as Allenvale was likely to run across, a man who was unafraid and willing to back any play he made to the limit.
‘What was all that about?’ Thorne asked.
‘Killing an Injun in the reservation is a Federal offence, not local. I’ve sent and asked Judge Carmody to come for the trial. He’s a good man, be likely to strap on a gun himself and help me if I need it.’
Before the doctor was finished bandaging up Thorne’s leg, a fresh sign of Allenvale’s plans showed. Several men from around the town came in and formed a sullen looking group, then one of them spoke.
‘We want you to turn Dinty Allenvale loose. You’ve no witnesses.’
‘There’s one,’ Waco corrected. ‘I saw it all and I’m not scared to say so.’
‘You bunch turn my guts,’ Thorne growled. There was a change in the man, his face looked stronger, more determined now. ‘Look at you, a girl is murdered and not one of you dare stand up for the law. Allenvale’s men have you scared that bad. It’s not loyalty to Allenvale that makes you act like this. Every one of you hates his guts, him and his men. You Sloane,’ he pointed to a man. ‘Allenvale’s men owe you for leatherwork, they owe Sands there for clothing. You just let them walk all over you and never say a word against them. You’re yellow, all of you.’
‘Never saw you stand up to Allenvale much, neither?’ a man answered, sullen anger showing on his face.
‘That’s right, you never did. Things might have been different if I had stood up and done my duty.’
The doctor snorted angrily. He eyed the men with cold, hard and contemptuous eyes. ‘Dan here couldn’t do anything when he knew you bunch wouldn’t stand by him. He saved the Ranger’s life. He’s right about you too. Any man who is a man come down to my place in a couple of hours. Now get out of here, fast.’
~*~
Hawken and Johnny Bren were pitching horseshoes at the back of the store when Magee and Talbot came up. The two gunmen looked around. There was no one in sight so they came in close and Magee said:
‘Hawken, you saw Kenny kill that gal, didn’t you?’
‘It wasn’t Kenny, it was Dinty Allenvale,’ Johnny yelled. Magee turned and slapped his hand hard across the youngster’s face, spinning him round and knocking him to the ground.
‘You stinking, no good rat.’
The concentrated fury and hate in the voice brought Magee round, for he could hardly recognize the tones of the storekeeper. Nor could he reconcile the hard, cold-eyed look on the face of the small, fattish man. With a snarl of anger Magee swung his fist at Hawken’s head.
For one so slow-looking Hawken acted fast. His head moved, the fist hissing over his shoulder. Then his own fist smashed like a mule-kick right into Magee’s stomach, doubling the big gunman over. Hawken’s other fist came up, timed just right to catch Magee’s jaw as it swung forwards and down. The gunman reared erect and went straight over, landing with legs waving.
Too late Talbot realized what was happening and started to go for his gun. Hawken came in, kicking him scientifically in the stomach and bringing him doubled up, retching violently, to his knees. Hawken closed in, his knee driving up to catch Talbot in the face, smashing him erect and over on to his back.
Magee was on his knees now, fumbling to get his gun out. Hawken went for the big man, catching the gun hand and forcing it up his back. Magee howled as the numbing pain bit into him, then he was spun round and Hawken swung a right with the full weight of his body behind it. The fist caught Magee at the side of the head, knocking the gunman flat again.
‘Uncle Henry!’ There was open admiration in Johnny’s face now as he looked at Hawken’s two victims. ‘Where did you learn to fight like that? ’
Hawken turned his attention to the boy, shaking his head slowly as if to clear it. His face looked suddenly old as he patted the boy on the shoulder, ‘You go on home now, Johnny. Go along, boy.’
For a moment Johnny stood there, then turned and hurried off home. Hawken turned and walked back into his store, looking round. This small town had been his home, but he knew it never could be again unless he was willing to rake up his past and do something he did not want to do.
Going into the back room, his small, neat and tidy home, he reached under the bed and pulled out a trunk, opening it.
~*~
In the saloon Allenvale looked at his men. The Judge was there, looking pale and worried. Allenvale was in a rage and most of it fell on Holland’s head for his inability to release Dinty Allenvale. More than that, Holland refused to take any further interest or part in the matter.
‘Two of you boys get out there and warn this bunch that we’ll fire every house in town if my boy isn’t turned loose,’ Allenvale ordered.
‘I think that is hasty and ill-advised, Mr. Allenvale,’ Holland put in. ‘You should wait and see the judge from Tucson.’
‘A Federal judge?’ Allenvale snorted. ‘I’ll get a long way with him.’
Magee and Talbot limped in, the others all looked at them. ‘What happened?’ one asked, for they knew the two had been sent to handle Henry Hawken.
‘That Ranger was there, Hawken held a gun on us while he worked us over,’ Magee answered. ‘They’re working together.’
‘We’ll handle Hawken after we’ve got my boy out,’ Allenvale answered. ‘Get going two of you, make sure the folks know what I’m fixing to do.’
When the word went out, another deputation gathered in the marshal’s office. The men were all scared-looking although none of them was willing to try open violence to get young Allenvale free. They told Waco the threat Allenvale gave them and waited for his reaction.
‘He stays in jail,’ Waco told them, looking at the men. ‘One of you go along to the saloon and tell Allenvale that if he is in town in one hour, I’m going to arrest him for intimidating witnesses.’
With that the deputation had to be content; they doubted if the Ranger would carry out the threat or if he did would not live to see night fall. One of them took the word to the saloon; the rest of them headed for the doctor’s house where a meeting was being held.
The store was silent and unoccupied when Mrs. Bren came in. She went to the rear door, knocked and entered, stopping to look down at the thing which Hawken was holding. Her face was pale, for she was one of the few who knew the secret of Henry D. Hawken. ‘What are you going to do, Henry?’ she asked.
‘Help that Ranger.’
‘You know what that will mean?’ Her face showed worry, for she liked and respected the small storekeeper.
‘I know. A man can only take so much and I’ve taken all I mean to. I couldn’t look myself in the face again if I let that boy get killed without my helping him. You go to the meeting at the doctor’s house and see if you can shake some guts into the men of the town.’
The door of the room was thrown open and a frightened looking woman came in. ‘Becky,’ she gasped. ‘It’s Johnny. I saw him going along the street with your Ballard; he told my Annie he was going to help the Ranger fight Allenvale.’ Hawken straightened up, his eyes blazing, and snapped, ‘Get to that meeting and tell them all about that. See if it makes men out of them.’
‘What about you?’
‘The Ranger needs help even more now.’
~*~
Waco looked at the clock on the office wall and came to his feet. He checked the loads of the matched guns and then started for the door. Thorne levered himself up from the chair, putting weight on his injured leg carefully.
‘Where’s you going?’ Waco asked as the man picked up the shotgun from off his desk.
‘With you. This is my town, I reckon I should help maintain the law in it.’
‘You can’t do it,’ Waco answered.
‘Don’t you trust me, or want me along?’ There was hurt in Thorne’s voice.
‘Couldn’t think of any man I’d rather have along with me,’ Waco replied. ‘If you allow your leg will stand it.’
‘I’ve got me a Clay Allison crutch,’ Thorne replied, resting his weight on the shotgun and by holding at the muzzle used it as a walking cane. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Why sure,’ Waco agreed. ‘It’s a nice day to get killed.’
‘You as scared as I am?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
In the saloon Allenvale swallowed his drink and looked at the clock. ‘The hour is up,’ he said, grinning at the men. ‘Where’s that Ranger?’
‘Coming, him and Thorne,’ one of the men said, from the window. ‘Want for me to drop them from here?’
‘No, let them come.’
Judge Holland glanced nervously at Allenvale. Shooting down an unimportant has-been town marshal was one thing; murdering a member of the Arizona Rangers was something entirely different. There would be repercussions which would not be quietened by any amount of bribery or political influence.
‘I’m needed at my chambers,’ he said pompously, reaching for his hat.
‘Sit down, Holland,’ Allenvale snapped. ‘You’ve done real well out of me in your time. Now you’re running out when there’s some real dirty work to be done. Boys, fan out, let them in, then take them.’
The gunmen fanned out. Allenvale stood at the bar, watching the batwing doors. All heard the thumping of heels as the two men mounted the sidewalk and came towards the doors.
Then at the side of the room a window broke and a rifle cracked, the bullet sending splinters from the bar by Allenvale’s side. Every eye turned towards the window but saw nothing, for the recoil of the Ballard rifle had knocked little Johnny Bren over and out of sight.
The batwings opened and Waco came in, flanked by Thorne, who leaned against the wall and lifted the shotgun across his arm.
‘All right, Allenvale,’ Waco’s voice was flat and even. ‘I’m arresting you for intimidating witnesses. Hand your gun over.’
The miner grinned. ‘You’ll have to take it, won’t he, boys?’
‘Then I’ll take it,’ Waco warned. ‘If any man draws I’ll give it you, right through the stomach. You know there isn’t one of your hired killers fast enough to stop me.’
‘Mebbe, mebbe not. I’ll take my chance on that. These seven boys can take you. Get set boys; it’s time we showed this mouthy button who runs this town.’
‘Yellow as they make ’em!’
The voice came from the side door, all eyes turned that way. Henry Hawken stood there; yet it was a different Henry Hawken from the man who mildly allowed the gunmen to take goods and never pay for them. He was hard-faced now and at his right side, butt forward, was an ivory butted Colt Dragoon gun, in a well-cared-for holster of a kind they knew too well. A gunfighter’s rig.
‘What did you say?’ Allenvale snarled, looking at the small man.
‘I said you were yellow. Those guns there are your guts, take them away and you’d be nothing at all. You’re worse than that boy of yours. He killed that girl because she was going to have his child.’
‘You’re a liar!’
Allenvale’s hand went under his coat as he spoke. Hawken’s right hand twisted palm out, lifting the old Dragoon gun from leather in a fast-done cavalry twist draw which brought it into line. The roar of the Dragoon shattered the air. Allenvale reared back on his heels, then went down, his gun falling from his hand.
‘Get ’em!’ Magee yelled, clawing at his gun.
Three guns roared, throwing lead at the gunmen. Waco’s left hand fanned off shots so fast they sounded like the rolling of a drum. Then, as three of the hired gunmen joined Magee on the floor, the saloon windows and doors were crowded with armed men.
Waco stood, his gun lined and he snapped, ‘Drop them.’
The remaining gunmen let their guns fall to the floor and the townsmen came crowding in. ‘What do we do with them, Ranger?’ one asked.
‘See they pay all they owe you, then let them go,’ Thorne replied. ‘I’m obliged to you for arresting Dinty Allenvale, Ranger. I’ll take care of things now.’
‘That’s the way it should be,’ Waco agreed.
The townsmen were gathering round now, looking down at Allenvale’s body, then they realized who had done the shooting.
‘Good old Henry,’ one man yelled. ‘He got Allenvale. Did you see him shoot?’
The question was to Waco, but Hawken spoke before the Texan could reply. ‘I was just lucky, I’ve never used a gun much. Bought this one from a man who came into the store one day.’
The townsmen accepted this but Waco knew different. Henry Hawken might have bought the gun from a passing stranger, but he would not have been able to buy a gunbelt which fitted him so well.
‘Surely good for you Allenvale wasn’t fast with a gun and couldn’t get it out from under his coat,’ Waco remarked to Hawken. ‘Don’t ever try a fool trick like that again.’
The crowd looked at the Ranger, then Thorne set them to clearing the bodies out of the saloon. When the crowd was gone Hawken turned to Waco.
‘You know, don’t you?’
‘I can guess. I’ve been riding with gun strapped to my side since I was thirteen. Got to know the signs. You’ve never worn a glove on your right hand, you’ve kept in practice with that gun and the belt’s well cared for. I reckon I guessed when you didn’t come into the saloon last night. Come on, we’d best go and take young Johnny to his mother.’
~*~
Three days later Waco sat his paint stallion outside the store again. He looked down at Hawken, then ahead to where his partner, Doc Leroy, Judge Carmody and a Federal Marshal were escorting young Allenvale into Tucson for trial.
‘Thanks again, Waco,’ Hawken said.
‘For what?’
‘Helping me cover up who I am. Drango Dune made a lot of enemies and I don’t want to have to wear a gun again.’ A little girl came from the shop. ‘Uncle Henry, you never finished that story for us.’
Hawken smiled. Once more he was the cherubic little fat man who mildly served in a store. ‘I never did. Run on in there and I’ll come and finish it.’ He waited until the girl went back, then turned his attention to Waco again. ‘Drango Dune died the day he killed his friend. I kept the gun and belt and practiced with them because I knew that sooner or later we’d have a showdown with Allenvale. But Drango Dune is dead and gone.’
‘May he rest in peace,’ Waco answered. ‘I’d like to hear the end of that story myself. I almost wish I could wait. Adios.’
Hawken watched the young Ranger riding off after the other party and for a moment his face was serious. Then turning he walked towards the door of his store. Drango Dune was dead and gone, Henry Hawken had a fairy story to tell the children.