Yancey’s face was bleak as he stared at Lang Huckabee in the banker’s office.
“You’re an accident going somewhere to happen, Huckabee.”
“I was trying to help,” the Winchester man snapped. “I thought Cato might need a hand while you were back here going over my brother’s books. How was I to know my horse would slip and raise such a dust cloud?”
“You need to take a sight more care, for one thing. For another—stay right out of it. You pushed Johnny and me into helping you on this, so let us manage it our way.” Huckabee flushed and glanced towards the angry Cato who was still slapping dust from his clothing after their long ride back from the hills.
“Well, we could’ve stayed in the hills till Lindeen showed again,” the drummer said sullenly. “He would’ve had to come back that way to get to town.”
“We don’t know that,” Cato growled. “There might be a dozen ways he can get back to town. But I would’ve picked up his trail and found out where he was going if you hadn’t come along.”
“All right—I’m sorry. My intentions were of the best.” He flicked his gaze from Yancey to Cato and back to Yancey. “Uh—I asked you fellers to help me recover that rifle; that’s all I’m interested in.” He paused and gestured to the open books on his brother’s desk. “I don’t care about the money—or the state of the bank’s books. And I wish you wouldn’t, either.”
Both Enforcers merely held his gaze in silence. He shifted uncomfortably.
“Look, I didn’t realize Mel might be mixed up in something crooked. I don’t want you to give him a hard time. He’s a family man; has a wife and kids. Do what you like about Lindeen—he’s just another crooked lawman. But I want you to leave my brother alone.”
“Can’t do that, Huckabee,” Yancey told him quietly.
“You brought us into this deal and part of it is the robbery of that money. There seems to be evidence that your brother and Lindeen have worked some sort of land racket, and have falsified papers and deeds. That’s a crime against the State of Texas and Johnny and I are sworn to uphold the law in Texas. We operate on a pretty loose kind of commission, but, like I told your brother, we’ve got the governor behind us. It appears your brother conspired to defraud the State and that means Dukes. If we find there’s a case to answer, we got to act on it.”
“No, goddamn it,” Huckabee said, slamming a fist onto the desk. “That’s not why I brought you in. I don’t want to make any trouble for Mel. I just want that gun back before I lose my job. Leave his books alone. That’s nothing to do with why I brought you here.”
“But you did bring us here and I’ve already found certain discrepancies that someone has to explain. We can’t just ignore them, Huckabee.”
The Winchester man made a weary gesture. “Hell, Bannerman, can’t you just leave it be? Concentrate on getting my rifle back. That’s all I want. It’s all you need to do to square away with me.”
Yancey sighed: “I guess it’s just your usual blundering interference that’s brought all this about, Huckabee. You came up with the theory in the first place that the robbery was a deliberate set-up …”
“But that was only to get you interested .”
“Well, it’s backfired on you, mister. Sorry. But if I find proof that your brother and Lindeen have been involved in a land-fraud, they’ll both have to answer for it.” Lang Huckabee clamped his lips tightly together, glared at both men then stormed out of the office. Cato shook his head.
“Like you said: an accident goin’ someplace to happen.”
“This time he’s not only happened to us, but to his brother and Lindeen as well. My guess is they won’t take any too kindly to it, either.”
~*~
Will this journey never end? thought Kate Dukes as she clung to the wildly-bucking stage after it had hit a particularly deep rut in the trail. She was flung roughly across the seat forcing the Ranger in the stage to help her upright again. A second Ranger was riding on top with the driver and the shotgun guard.
The whole journey had been a disaster, Kate thought, straightening her hat and re-tying the ribbon bow beneath her chin. First the trestle bridge had been cut across the Brazos Canyon—that was something that was beyond anyone’s control, she admitted, the landslide being categorized as an ‘act of God’. But the rest of it had been man-made confusion.
The train had reversed from the shattered trestle bridge and all had gone well for a few miles. Then the caboose had jumped a curve and fallen off the track. Fortunately, the train guard had been forward playing cards with the crew in the luggage van at the time. But it jammed itself against a rocky wall of the gorge they were passing through and the train simply couldn’t proceed until the caboose had been manhandled out of the way. Every male passenger—and a score of females, too—had rallied with levers and whatever strength they had, pushing and jostling and heaving until the caboose was sent crashing over the gorge.
That had cost four hours.
In Clebourne, there were repairs being made to the spur track and though these were hastily done and the track laid temporarily in place again, the delay cost another three hours. Then word came up from Hillsboro: The track was completely out because of a derailed freight train: escaped Indians from a nearby reservation were blamed but Kate didn’t care who was responsible; the fact was, the track was out.
And so they had to be loaded into old stage coaches used on the backwoods’ runs, to a point where they could be transshipped aboard a train through Waco and on to Austin. But there would be a delay while they waited for a train to come up the line from the state capital. It was bringing a special car to transfer a shipment of gold from a spur track town called Marlow back to Austin.
Kate already knew Hillsboro to be a good imitation of a town at the end of the world and she was not looking forward to stopping there while the train labored up from Austin, the gold brought in from Marlow, the van hitched on, and, eventually pulled out again, Austin-bound.
She was sure she would be black and blue by that time: in fact, she was sure she was black and blue already.
The only thing that made it at all bearable was the knowledge that she would see Yancey and her father at the end of the nightmare journey. Trying to comfort herself with this thought, Kate attempted to get some sleep as the stage clattered and banged and rocked its way through the night.
~*~
Chet Lindeen was just returning from his evening rounds when he saw the two drunken men coming across the ill-lit street towards him near his law office.
They were swaying and clinging to each other, and singing raucously. It was just the kind of thing he needed. He was feeling mean and there had been nothing for him to vent his spleen on during his rounds; for once, the town was quiet.
But these two offered a fine opportunity. As they drew closer, he saw that they were a couple of cowboys in from one of the outlying ranches, likely looking for their horses or maybe they felt like a girl or more booze. Whatever they wanted, they were going to have to get past him first.
Lindeen stepped off the walk and into the street to meet the cowpokes. He braced his legs and stopped in front of them, lifting his left arm and spreading his hand against the nearest man’s chest. The man’s companion stumbled, almost fell, and brought up short. They stood there, swaying, using each other for support.
“What the hell’s all this racket?” Lindeen growled. He shoved the nearest man and they both staggered around, trying to stay on their feet. “Decent folk are tryin’ to sleep an’ here’re you two wakin’ up the whole damn’ town.”
“J—j—j—jus’—sssssssssssssing—in’,” slurred one man.
“Yuh—” agreed the second as he threw his head back and opened his mouth to start caterwauling again.
Lindeen slammed a fist into his belly. The man gagged as his knees buckled and he fell to the dust, writhing, almost dragging the other man down with him. He fought for balance then lurched away from Lindeen, blinking.
“H—h—h—h—heyyyyy!” He stumbled forward, waving a hand loosely. “You hhhhhhit my—mmmmmmy—parrrrrd.”
“An’ I’m about to hit you,” growled Lindeen, stepping forward.
The man straightened and swung away by pure instinct, stumbling so much that he had to put down his hands to keep from falling on his face. But he pushed upright and tried to stagger off.
Lindeen caught him easily and grabbed the man by the shoulder, spinning him around. The momentum was too much for the cowboy and he fell over backwards. The sheriff growled and stepped forward to stomp on him. The cowboy was acting by instinct and his right hand dragged feebly at his six-gun. It was half-way out of leather when Lindeen’s boot caught him in the ribs. Something cracked dully and the cowboy screamed, letting his gun fall, and clasping at his ribs. Lindeen kicked him in the head and knocked him unconscious.
Panting a little, the sheriff picked up the Colt and rammed it into his belt before hauling the unconscious man along the street by his shirt collar. He stopped by the other cowpoke, who was sitting up, retching. Lindeen nudged him with his boot.
“On your feet. And into the cells for the night.”
The man stumbled around and finally managed to stand. Lindeen shoved him towards the law office steps and walked after him with the unconscious man. Ten minutes later he had them both locked up in a cell and he figured the unconscious cowboy would drift into a drunken sleep and stay quiet till morning. The other would fall asleep soon, too.
In the front office, he placed the cowboy’s Colt on the edge of the desk. He hadn’t lit a lantern when he came in, figuring he wouldn’t be there for long. Besides, there was enough reflected light coming through the door from the street for him to see. He adjusted his hat and was about to move out when a shadow filled the doorway. He snapped his head up and dropped his hand to his gun butt.
Then he eased it away as he recognized Mel Huckabee.
“What the hell you want this time of night?” Lindeen demanded.
Huckabee came inside the office, his face drawn.
“Chet, I’m worried.”
Lindeen’s eyes narrowed. He knew Huckabee was closer to cracking than he had thought.
“What about?” he asked, quietly.
“The whole deal, but mainly about the books. Them Enforcers are no fools. Bannerman’s a trained accountant. He’s already asked me some questions about the land deals I can’t answer. By morning, he’s gonna know the whole thing and we’re in trouble. Even if you did manage to get that rifle back it’d be no good now.”
“What you aimin’ to do?”
Huckabee made a helpless gesture.
“Well, I’m a family man, Chet. I can’t run out on my wife and kids. Not like you. I mean, you got no one to keep you if you want to vamoose. I can’t do that.”
“I ain’t plannin’ on leavin’.”
Huckabee seemed surprised.
“I’m trying to give you warning. To give you a chance to light out.”
“Told you, I ain’t goin’ anyplace.”
Huckabee seemed more nervous than ever as he dragged down a deep, steadying breath.
“Well, the choice is yours, I guess. But—I've made mine, too.”
“Which is ... ”
“I’ve talked it over with my brother. I’ve—told him—everything.”
“You goddamn idiot.” Lindeen’s hand tightened around his gun butt and he had to make a conscious effort not to draw. Slowly, he let his fingers uncurl and placed his hand on the desk.
“I—I had to tell someone, Chet,” Huckabee said with a whine in his voice. “Anyways, we decided the best thing I can do is see the Enforcers come morning and—throw myself on their mercy.”
Lindeen stiffened.
“It—it’s the only way. I—I can try to make restitution. Bannerman’s s’posed to be a fair man. I can’t go to jail, Chet. I’ve got a wife and kids ... !”
Huckabee’s voice began to break and Lindeen’s eyes blazed as he stared at the man. Then, in unthinking rage, as his hand slipped a little on the desk and touched the cowboy’s gun, he scooped up the Colt and shot Huckabee through the heart. He staggered back and fell to the floor.
Lindeen moved quickly towards the door—as Lang Huckabee came bursting through it. The Winchester man instantly threw himself forward as Lindeen tried to bring up the smoking Colt. But Huckabee sent him crashing against the wall then went after him with fists swinging. Lindeen ducked but caught a blow on the top of the head that sent him stumbling sideways.
He still held the Colt and tried to bring it up but Huckabee grabbed his wrist and wrenched it above his head. He used his body weight to pin Lindeen and smashed the back of the man’s hand against the clapboards. Lindeen grunted at the pain but refused to release his hold on the gun. Huckabee was close against him and the lawman snapped a knee into his groin.
Lang Huckabee gagged and fell back. Lindeen pushed off the wall, clubbed him with the Colt and was just starting to notch back the hammer when the door darkened again and Bannerman and Cato came in with guns drawn.
Yancey covered the sheriff, as Cato moved towards the groaning Lang Huckabee.
“Get some light in here,” Yancey snapped.
Cato lit a lamp and Lindeen squinted as the light flooded the room. Lang Huckabee was sitting up slowly, white and breathless as Yancey set his eyes on the sheriff.
“What’s going on?”
Lindeen pointed to Lang, placing the Colt on the edge of the desk.
“He just killed his brother.”
Lang snapped up his head but was unable to speak.
“Mel came to see me late,” Lindeen continued. “He told me he was worried about you fellers goin’ through his books. He said you were on the verge of findin’ out he’d pulled some swift moves on the land deals—” Lindeen shrugged. “I put up some cash, but I never knew he’d done any fancy dealin’.”
Bannerman and Cato kept their faces straight and expressionless as they allowed him to tell his story.
“I told him best thing he could do was go see you hombres and make a clean breast of it. He said he would then admit that he’d arranged with Brett Hallam to rob the bank vault and that was why he hadn’t wanted Lang to put that special gun in overnight—I guess Lang had been waitin’ outside. ’Cause when Mel said that, Lang came chargin’ in like a loco buffalo, screamin’ murder. An’ that’s just what he done. I struggled to get the gun away from him and had just done it when you hombres arrived.”
The Enforcers digested that in silence and then looked at Lang Huckabee who was starting to stagger to his feet. He leaned against the desk groggily and pointed a wavering finger at the lawman.
“He killed Mel—to keep him from going to you fellers and confessing the lot. I’d talked Mel into doing just that, but he felt he had to warn Lindeen first, because they were in it together. He wanted to give him a chance to get out of town. Instead, he got himself killed. I heard it all. I was waiting outside.”
Lindeen was already shaking his head long before Huckabee had finished speaking. When the Winchester man broke off the sheriff pointed to the Colt on the desk.
“That’s the gun he used. It ain’t mine. As you can see, mine’s still in my holster. He came in so fast, I didn’t even have a chance to reach for it. And you know I’m mighty slick, Bannerman. If I’d had any chance at all, I’d have gotten it out and cold-decked him.”
Yancey nodded slowly.
“I know you’re fast, Lindeen. Which makes me wonder why you didn’t try for your gun instead of jumping Huckabee and grappling with him.”
The sheriff shot Yancey a deadly look.
“Because I figured that was the best way to move at the time. You know how it is, Bannerman, at times like that. You just react instinctively.”
“Sure. My instincts tell me that yours would’ve been to drag iron.”
“You weren’t here.”
Yancey smiled crookedly.
“That I wasn’t. But a man’s dead and it’ll have to be investigated.” He turned to Lang Huckabee. “Your word against his for now. We’ll have to take you into custody.” Huckabee stiffened.
“You what? Judas! You think I’d kill my own brother?”
“You threatened him,” Lindeen said swiftly. “Lot of folk heard you when you were riled about that gun being stole.”
Lang Huckabee paled a little more as a number of men in the crowd around the office door confirmed this.
“Hell—it wasn’t the way Lindeen said,” Huckabee breathed weakly as Yancey took his arm and nudged him towards the door leading to the cellblock.
Lindeen, smirking a mite, got the keys, and led the way into the passage. He put Huckabee into the last cell nearest the rear door. Yancey and Cato paused by the cell containing the two snoring cowpokes, lying in a tangled heap on the flagged floor.
Cato held his lamp higher.
“Only one of them cowpokes wearin’ a gunbelt—and the holster’s empty.” He looked levelly at Lindeen.
“Yeah, I took his gun away just a little while back. They were cuttin’ up rough in the street.”
“Where is it?” Cato asked quietly. “His gun.”
Lindeen frowned, hesitated a second, then gave Cato a sour look and stalked to the front office. The Enforcers followed swiftly. Lindeen went to a desk drawer, pulled out a six-gun and slapped it on the desk. It was a spare one he had confiscated from another cowpoke some weeks earlier. He raked bleak eyes from Cato to Yancey.
“Satisfied?”
Yancey said nothing. Cato picked up the gun and examined it closely in the lamplight. Then he nodded and handed it back to the sheriff. Mel Huckabee’s body had already been removed.
“Well, we’ll be going. We’ll look into this again in the morning,” Yancey said.
Lindeen nodded. “I’ll sleep here tonight. Just in case.”
“In case what?” Cato asked from the doorway.
The sheriff shrugged: “Just in case. Close the door when you go, will you?”
He sat down and swung his boots onto his desk, reaching to turn out the lamp. Then he pulled his hat over his eyes and folded his arms across his chest.
Yancey followed Cato outside and quietly closed the door after him.
“What you reckon, Yance?” Cato asked as they strolled back towards their hotel.
Yancey shrugged, scrubbed a hand down his jaw and looked at his pard.
“You tired?”
Cato frowned. “Some, why?”
“Nothing. You go on ahead and turn in. I’ll be along shortly.”
“Hold up. What you got in mind?”
Yancey smiled faintly.
“Go get your beauty sleep. You need it.”
Then, laughing quietly at Cato’s good natured rejoinder, obscene though it was, he turned down a side street a few buildings from the law office. Cato shrugged and continued on towards the hotel.
~*~
Chet Lindeen waited until well after midnight before he stirred from his position at his desk. Stiffly, he swung his legs to the floor and sat up in the chair. He straightened his hat and stood stretching the kinks out of his muscles.
He looked around the darkened office and groped his way to the window that overlooked the street. There were some lights in a saloon, at the back of the building, their glow just discernible through the front windows. There was also a light showing upstairs and Lindeen’s lips pulled into a tight, thin line.
That saloon man would kick in an extra fifty bucks: he knew he was supposed to keep the whores’ rooms shut after midnight. Lindeen would make sure he paid for the privilege of operating after hours.
He sniffed, hitched up his gunbelt, took his keys then went into the cell block and unlocked Lang Huckabee’s door. He stood back as he swung it open.
“C’mon, Huckabee. You’re awake. I can see that much.”
Lang Huckabee, sprawled on his bunk with his hands clasped behind his head, sat up slowly, his eyes glittering in the faint light that spilled through the cell’s high, barred window. It sheened off the barrel of Lindeen’s Colt.
“What’s this, Lindeen?” he asked a mite hoarsely.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m lettin’ you go, is all.” The sheriff jerked the gun barrel impatiently. “Come on out here.”
Huckabee slowly walked out of the cell with his hands half raised and his eyes on the gun.
“I don’t believe this,” he said.
Lindeen laughed briefly.
“Suit yourself. But there’s the door to the yard. It’s unlocked. Go ahead. I ain’t gonna stop you.”
“What’ve you got in mind, Lindeen?” Huckabee asked suspiciously.
“Nothin’. I just don’t want you around foulin’ things up for me any further. Look, your brother’s dead. Nothin’s gonna change that. I’ll see he gets a decent burial. You just light out and there’ll be no more problems, savvy?” Huckabee ran a tongue across his lips.
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“What’re you talkin’ about? I’m lettin’ you go. If I wanted to kill you, I could do it easier in your cell. Now, go on. Vamoose.”
“I’m going to be shot down while ‘trying to escape’—Isn’t that it?”
Lindeen’s eyes slitted.
“Smarter than I figured, Huckabee. Well—you want it here? Or you want to take a chance runnin’ outside? Mebbe I’ll miss in the dark.” He chuckled. “Mebbe.”
Huckabee was breathing fast as he stared at the lawman. Then he started to shake a little.
“I ain’t got all night,” Lindeen snapped.
Lang Huckabee moved towards the passage door. He paused with his hand on the latch and looked back.
“How you gonna explain about me getting out of the cell?” the Winchester man asked hoarsely.
“You let me worry about that. Git.”
Lindeen raised the gun threateningly. Huckabee lifted the latch abruptly and swiftly dodged out into the night, slamming the heavy door after him. He pounded across the dark yard, preferring to take his chances on the run. He stumbled over some crates, rolled in tangled weeds and bounced to his feet, just as the sheriff got the door open and a wedge of light spilled into the jailhouse yard.
Huckabee pounded towards the rear fence. It sagged in one part and he wondered if he could clear it in a flying leap. He used to be pretty good at high-jumping ...
As he streaked towards it, gathering his body for the leap, the first shot hammered out and he heard the zip of the bullet tearing the air as it passed his ear. It thudded into the fence ahead and he was forced to veer away. The sheriff fired again and this time the lead burned across his ribs, sending him stumbling and staggering. He tried to keep from falling but he had too much momentum. He cannoned off the fence and spilled in a heap among the weeds.
Through a haze, he saw Lindeen running across the yard towards him, his gun coming up for the killing shot, and he knew he had lost his run for life.
“Hold it, Lindeen.”
Huckabee was as startled as the lawman as Yancey Bannerman’s deep voice came out of the darkness by the gate in the fence. He snapped his whirling head around and saw the Enforcer stepping into the yard. He couldn’t believe it when he saw that Yancey’s gun was still in its holster.
The crooked sheriff skidded to a halt, swinging his gun towards the sound of the Enforcer’s voice.
“It won’t work, Lindeen. You’ve got a witness to murder now.”
“He’s tryin’ to escape,” the sheriff panted.
“You’re letting him go so you can kill him,” Yancey replied. “It's an old trick, Lindeen. I figured you’d pull it.”
Lindeen brought up his gun swiftly and Huckabee couldn’t swear later that Yancey’s right hand even moved. But before the hammer on Lindeen’s Colt had dropped, there was a blazing six-gun in the Enforcer’s hand—and the sheriff staggered. Lurching and fighting to keep his balance, Lindeen tried to bring up his gun.
Yancey shot him again and Sheriff Chet Lindeen went down thrashed wildly in the weeds then gradually lay still.
Huckabee, shaking and holding a hand against his bullet-burned side, clambered to his feet and stumbled towards Yancey as the Enforcer started to reload his smoking gun.
“Th—thanks, Bannerman,” the Winchester man gasped. “You—you’ve squared it all away this time.”
The Enforcer looked at him in the faint light, his face sober.
“Not quite, Huckabee ... I gave my word I’d get that rifle back for you. It’s the Governor’s property so I’ll still do that. And now that we’ve bought into the deal, we have to run down Brett Hallam and his crew. But you’re lucky to be alive, feller. Just remember that. And stay out of things from now on. Leave it to Johnny Cato and me, savvy?”
Huckabee stared, his face drawn with pain. Finally, he nodded slowly.
“It’s all yours,” he croaked.