FOUR

Laredo sat his big buckskin horse on the rock-strewn knoll just south of Hangtown. He had nearly lost the trail of Jay Champion and his gang of robbers, but had found it again as they emerged from the sand dune country. They could not travel long and far, not without water, not with the shape that their horses were in. They had to be holed up in or somewhere near this ghost town.

He cuffed the perspiration from his brow and studied the ramshackle town, the brooding mesa beyond it and then started on his way. His horse was in no better shape than those ridden by the Champion gang, his thirst no less.

Nearing the weather-beaten town he saw that it was not totally abandoned. A surrey sat behind the sun-blistered stable. A horse wickered. Along the rutted street the figure of a man could be seen, and farther along what appeared to be a small woman in man’s clothing emerged from a building to throw out a bucket of water.

Laredo approached slowly, partly because of the weariness of his mount, partly because he had no idea who any of these people were, or whether Champion and his crew had made their base here – for all he knew Hangtown was an outlaw hideout. Asking questions in an unknown town was always risky.

Laredo knew. He had been in the business of pursuing men for a long time.

It had begun because of a man named Jake Royle. Down and out, Laredo had been eyeballing the bank in a small town called Carmel in southern Arizona. Laredo was hungry, tired and broke. While he stood considering the bank, a man who moved on cat feet slipped up beside him in hot shade of the alleyway and introduced himself.

‘Jake Royle’s my name,’ he said, stuffing the bowl of a stubby pipe with tobacco.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Laredo said shortly. He was not in the mood for idle conversation with a stranger.

‘Working in town, are you?’ Royle persisted, lighting his pipe.

‘Not at the moment.’

Royle nodded, blew out a stream of blue smoke and studied the tall stranger. ‘I, myself, am employed here,’ he said. Laredo cast annoyed eyes on the stocky old-timer. ‘For now, that is. I travel all around,’ Royle continued, indicating all of the territory with a wave of his pipe.

‘What are you, some kind of drummer?’

‘No. I am employed, my young friend, as an operative in the enforcement arm of the Territorial Bank examiner’s office.’

‘Oh?’ Laredo felt cornered suddenly. The inoffensive little man apparently had some standing. Laredo wondered how Royle could have known what he had in mind that hot, dry, desperate day.

‘Yes’ Royle went on, ‘you know, men will try to stick up these little banks in isolated areas, and very often succeed. Then, once they have beaten the town marshal to the city limits, gotten out of the county before the sheriff can catch them, they figure they’ve gotten away with the job. They’ll ride on to Mexico, California, anywhere, free as birds. Or so they think. The local law doesn’t have the time or resources to expend hunting them down. Me,’ Royle said with a gnome-like smile. ‘I’ve got all the time in the world, son. All the time in the world.’ With that the little man nodded and walked away. Laredo stood watching. If that had not been a warning, it was the next thing to one.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that Laredo traced Royle to the hotel room where he sat shirtless, bare feet propped up.

‘Mr Royle,’ Laredo said, ‘how’s chances of getting hired on in a job like yours?’

Now Laredo studied the desert-defeated town of Hangtown from the cactus-stippled knoll to the south. He didn’t much like the idea of riding into a potentially deadly situation, but his horse was beat-up, he was out of water, and it wouldn’t be the first time he had been forced to walk into a situation blind.

Besides, up until the day of his death, Jake Royle had repeated endlessly: ‘They can run, but they can not hide. Not from us.’

Laredo patted his big horse’s neck and started down from the knoll.

Wary of an ambush, he rode cautiously, eyes flickering from point to point. None of the four men he was pursuing should have known him, but perhaps there were others around who knew Laredo’s face and profession. You never knew. Six months earlier he had been caught in a trap near Scottsdale and spent five weeks on his back recovering from the gunshots. Laredo was not eager to repeat the experience.

Unexpectedly, he found himself approaching what a faded sign declared to be the town marshal’s office. So there was some sort of law here. The door was open and a gray-haired man with a beard was sweeping off the porch.

Laredo swung his faltering horse that way.

‘You the marshal here?’ he asked from horseback. Josh Banks shifted his eyes to the well set-up, trail-dusty stranger.

‘Not me,’ Josh replied. ‘I’m just helping out. I’m the mayor here. Marshal’s busy just now, and there’s a lot to do around town.’

‘I see. Well, I need water and feed for my horse. Is there a place I can stable him up?’

‘Stable is being saved for the soldiers due to arrive,’ Josh said cautiously. ‘Other passers-by have been advised to water at the seep at the foot of the mesa.’ He waved a hand toward the dark bulk of the massive landform.

‘Other strangers?’ Laredo asked, trying a smile. ‘I wonder if I know them.’

‘I wouldn’t know. I heard the names Jay, Bert and Sly – mean anything to you?’

‘No,’ Laredo answered although he knew that he had found his men. ‘I had hopes of finding some friends. Listen,’ he said, leaning forward, his hands cupped on the pommel of his saddle, ‘I don’t much like the idea of camping out with men I don’t know. Isn’t there some way I can maybe sleep in the stable?’

‘There’s a town ordinance—’ Josh began and then he saw the glint of sunlight on a ten-dollar gold piece in Laredo’s hand. ‘Of course, with a special permit. …’

‘Any chance you could take care of that for me?’ Laredo asked.

‘Under these circumstances. I mean I wouldn’t want you to have to blanket up with a bunch of men who might not mean you well. It would be sort of a protective decision – however you might phrase that. I’ll take care of it, mister. The permit will run you about ten dollars, though.’

‘Seems high,’ Laredo said with a smile, ‘but it costs money just to stay alive, doesn’t it?’ He flipped the gold piece toward Josh. It glittered as it spun. Josh caught it neatly in his hat.

‘There’s one other fellow staying over in the stable,’ Josh said. ‘An old man named Gus. He sleeps nights in the Conestoga wagon you’ll see. He won’t give you anything to worry about. It’s about the time of day he takes his own horses up to the seep to water them. He’ll either show you the way or might be convinced to water your buckskin for you for a dollar or two … if you don’t care to be seen.’

Suspicion had returned to Josh Banks’s eyes; what was this one hiding out from.

‘I thank you. I’ll see what Gus can do for me. What time is the marshal due back?’

‘It’s sort of hard to say,’ Josh answered. It depended on how long Liza could put up with him.

‘I’d like to talk to him,’ Laredo said. ‘I’ll try again later.’

Then Laredo tipped his hat and turned the big buckskin horse with the splash of white on its chest and started toward the stable. Josh was left to stand on the porch holding his broom, frowning and wondering. What now?

By the time Wage Carson returned to the jail, the sun was dropping behind the mesa, extending its cooling shadow toward the town.

He found Josh Banks sitting behind the repaired desk in the jail, hands behind his head.

‘Who was that man I saw over here?’ Wage asked, seating himself in one of the straight-backed wooden chairs.

‘I don’t think he ever did give me his name,’ Josh said, lowering his arms.

‘Well, what did he want, then?’

‘He wanted to sleep in the stable. I told him that he could.’

‘I thought we had a town ordinance against that,’ Wage said. He rose and placed his rifle in the disused gunrack.

‘We do,’ Josh answered, ‘but I issued him a special permit. Here it is,’ he said, moving the ten-dollar gold piece on the desk with his index finger.

‘Is that the way we’re going to do business around here?’ Wage asked with disappointment.

‘No, it isn’t, son. The law is the law, this one just needs to be amended a little. The man didn’t think it was safe to camp out with four rough men he doesn’t know. You can understand that, can’t you?’

‘I suppose so,’ Wage answered. ‘Those men up by the seep, Josh, where do you think they’re traveling to? Way out here.’

‘My guess would be,’ Josh said, rising, ‘that they’re not going to something, but away from it. Their ponies were awfully beat up.’

‘That would be my guess as well,’ Wage said glumly. ‘Well, there’s nothing for them here. Why would they hang around?’

Both knew the answer to that. Josh asked, ‘How are the ladies coming along over in the saloon?’

‘Liza’s the only one there. I don’t know why the girl puts up with matters the way they are.’

‘Did she tell you?’

‘She says she has no other choice.’

‘Well then?’

‘Those soldiers are due in tomorrow, aren’t they, Josh?’

‘So I’ve been told. Why?’

‘I don’t know. In a way it makes me feel safer with those men still camping up there along the seep. In another way it gets me to worrying. I don’t suppose half a dozen liquored-up soldiers will be much less trouble than four rough men on the run.’

‘Let’s hope they mind their manners, that Cora Kellogg keeps them in check. If not,’ Josh said, glancing toward the cells, ‘you might have your work cut out for you.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ the bulky kid said gloomily. Josh approached him and said:

‘We can still high-tail it, Wage. It seems I’ve gotten you into something a little over your head.’

‘You didn’t get me into anything, Josh. A man makes his own choices. But the answer is “no”, I don’t want to leave. It doesn’t do for a marshal to run out on his own town. It’d be plain cowardly.’

And there was Liza to consider. She might need some protection and he was the only one who could provide it for her.

Josh could read the young man’s mind. He wasn’t sure that Wage was being wise, but a man has to have his pride – if he is to be called a man at all. Josh Banks had commandeered the cot in the marshal’s front office. There he had spread out his bedroll and he went to it now, turning the lamp down in passing. It was early yet, but he was getting to be an old man and his bones sometimes ached. Pulling off his boots, he wrapped a blanket around himself. Wage Carson remained sitting in the near-darkness for a long time, trying to solve a problem for which there seemed to be no answer.

It was still early in the morning, the sun just breaking the eastern horizon when Bert Washburn, rising early from his blankets, saw the dust far out on the white-sand desert. Squinting into the harsh dawn light he tried to make out the incoming riders, but could not. He walked to where Jay Champion was sleeping. Bert crouched and shook the outlaw leader’s shoulder.

Jay sat up in a flash, drawing his Colt as he rose.

‘Oh, it’s you. What do you want?’ the black-bearded man asked angrily.

‘There’s men riding this way, Jay,’ Bert told him. ‘I figured we might have to get ready to ride.’

Sly had also awakened, and the narrow gunman rose to his feet in one catlike motion. None of them – except Dent – ever slept heavily. Doing so could spell the end for men on the run. Jay Champion was on his feet as well now. He peered into the sunlight with sleep-reddened eyes, watching the dark approaching figures of horsemen.

Virgil Sly said, ‘Isn’t this the day the soldiers were supposed to arrive? Maybe it’s them.’

‘There’s only five, six of them,’ Jay said. ‘Not much of a cavalry contingent if they’re expecting Indian raids in the area.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ Bert Washburn said. Now Dent had crawled from his bed to join them. ‘I don’t think they’re being billeted here at all. Remember I told you that I saw two women in town? Well, they weren’t dressed like no miners’ wives. And it seems to me – without a calendar – that we’re close to army payday. No sir, I think that desert rat who called himself the mayor of Hangtown, whoever he was, was flat-out lying to us.’

‘I don’t get you, Bert,’ Dent said. He looked haggard, ready to flee at any moment.

‘I think, Dent, that what we have here is a band of fancy ladies waiting for a bunch of cavalrymen with a three-day pass and their pockets filled with government pay.’

‘But the mayor—’ Sly began.

‘Mayor of what? Hangtown! It’s enough to make you laugh, isn’t it, Sly? No, the “mayor” is traveling with the ladies, I’d bet, and he was just trying to keep us out of town until the pony soldiers got here.’

‘I think you’re right,’ Jay Champion said, scowling. ‘What does this ramshackle town need a mayor and a marshal for? Why didn’t they want us to sleep in the stable under a decent roof?’

‘Another man was sacked-out there last night,’ Bert said. His interest in the activities in and around Hangtown was unabated. ‘I saw him.’

‘What did he look like?’ Jay asked, his scowl deepening.

Bert gave the best description of Laredo that he could. Jay shook his head. ‘That doesn’t remind me of anyone I know. Still, let’s keep an eye on him. Could be the law, though I don’t know why they’d send one man after us instead of a posse. I think, boys, we’d better keep our horses ready to ride from now on.’

The cavalrymen drew nearer. The shadows of early morning withdrew and now they could see that they were definitely soldiers in their blues. And that there were six of them only. Bert jabbed a finger toward the town and they watched as three women in silk dresses emerged from the hotel to welcome the incoming men.

‘Be damned,’ Dent muttered. ‘It looks like you were right, Bert.’ Jay was meditative. ‘Where did you stash the money, Sly?’

‘In the old mine shaft over there. It’s safe. There’s a little ledge about head high. We put the saddle-bags in there and hid them with a few rocks.’

‘That should do it. We’ll leave it there for now. I don’t like riding out past the soldiers. But they won’t be here long. When their pay is gone, they’ll leave. And when the soldiers are gone, the women will leave. We’ll wait them out for a few more days.’

‘There’s still the marshal,’ Bert put in.

‘What’s he look like? The dangerous sort?’

‘He’s a chunky kid, looks like a big farm boy. Not much to worry about.’

‘Fine. He won’t be chasing us out of here. We stay, let our ponies get well-rested. When the soldiers are gone, we go.’

‘That means we’re going to need some more supplies,’ Sly said. ‘We cleaned that venison to the bone last night.’

‘We’ll find a way to replenish,’ Jay said, waving an indifferent hand. The soldiers wouldn’t want to go hungry, nor would the women. There were supplies to be had in Hangtown, had to be.

They watched now as the soldiers trailed into town, some whistling, waving their hats in the air, in a celebratory mood. One of them tried to sweep a woman up from horseback. It looked as if the party was on.

Jay’s restlessly shifting gaze watched as the tall man at the other end of the street emerged from the stable to watch the activity, hands on hips. Who was he? Jay Champion figured he had things well in hand; he didn’t like the idea of there being a wild card in the deck.

‘The marshal already knows you, Bert. Why don’t you go back down there, and see if you can find some supplies. And,’ he added, ‘see if you can get a handle on who that stranger is.’

Bert agreed eagerly, taking his assignment as a sign of trust. The truth was that the other three outlaws had already decided among themselves that the naive Bert Washburn was expendable. If he ran into trouble, well, then that was his misfortune and none of their own.

Bert made his way down the short grass hill once again, entering the town through the alley he had used on his last visit to Hangtown. In the heated shade of the narrow alleyway he paused to rest for a minute, trying to decide what to do first. He had been given two chores: find provisions; try to discover who the tall stranger was. If he happened to run into the baby-faced marshal again, he could strike up a casual conversation about the newcomer, pretending that he thought he might be a friend of his. Failing that, he saw no way to achieve that goal.

The other task should be the easier. Now, from the saloon across the street he heard banjo music, heard the whoops of the soldiers, a woman’s high-pitched shriek of amusement, He glanced at the soldiers’ bay horses, lined along the hitch rail and pondered. If virtually everyone in town was in the saloon, why then there was no one in the hotel. That was the obvious place to look for food, wasn’t it? The women had to have been eating. If the soldiers had been expected, there must be something for them as well.

Bert Washburn returned to the back of the building and sidled toward the hotel. The rear door was ajar. Beyond it was a kitchen. Bert smiled. This was going to be easy. Take whatever food he could find, stash it and then go about trying to discover the identity of the strange rider.

Cautiously Bert slipped inside the kitchen, and two things happened at once.

He saw a small dark-haired girl in men’s clothing scrubbing the kitchen down, and at the outer door a blond cavalryman slipping into the kitchen, his eyes fixed on the girl. The soldier had a wolfish look on his face, and he stepped toward the little girl. He meant her no good. Halfway there he noticed Bert and spun toward him. The young soldier pawed at the flap of his cavalry holster, but Bert’s holster carried no such impediment and he drew and shot the soldier in the chest.

The girl screamed, the soldier sagged against the wall and slid to the floor. Bert took to his heels and sprinted toward the mesa.

In the marshal’s office, Wage Carson jumped to his feet as the pistol shot echoed through the narrow street. Josh Banks went to the door and swung it open to the white sunlight of the desert morning. Soldiers, guns in hands, were swarming toward the hotel, women in bright silk dresses watching them as they charged across the overgrown street.

‘What in hell is happening?’ Wage Carson asked Josh.

‘Son, it seems that civilization has returned to Hangtown.’