Double eagle, p.11
Double Eagle, page 11
“Marshal,” he called softly. There was no reply. Short hairs pricked icily at the back of his neck.
He crouched in the shadowy cell, waiting tensely as someone tried the solid door. Then a thump of boots against the building wall, which meant an intruder was leaving by the window. Distant wolf cries were suddenly stronger, as if the wild things sensed a tragic climax to the human drama about to be enacted.
He heard someone outside the window. Quickly Cole reached the cell window and ducked below the sill as he glimpsed a chunky man with a scarred face swing toward the window from a corner of the building. Metal scraped against one of the window bars. Cole looked up from where he crouched and saw a revolver above his head.
“Cantrell, where the hell are you?” It was a heavy voice Cole did not recognize. A voice freighted with frustration. Probably Yokum, Cole reasoned, remembering the scarred cheek he had glimpsed.
Yokum was yelling again. From the side of the building Deal said, “For Christ’s sake, Dave, shut up.”
Cole didn’t wait for Yokum to lean close enough to the barred window to spot the top of his head. He sprang up, seized the revolver through the bars, and tried to twist it out of Yokum’s hand. But Yokum was strong and Cole off balance. He hung on.
“You killed Lanyard!” Yokum screeched and pulled hard, trying to free his gun from Cole’s grasp. And Deal was coming now at a run; no longer any need for secrecy. Yokum had spoiled that part of the game by yelling. As Cole fought desperately to twist the pistol out of Yokum’s hand, Deal came pounding around a corner of the jail building and into the shadowed alley. A big, angry man carrying a double-barreled shotgun, still some ten feet away. Cole’s mouth dried as he glimpsed the ugly Greener.
With all his strength, he managed to swivel the pistol back on Yokum and snap the hammer. A powder flash revealed the angle of the shot; it tore off Yokum’s chin. Weight of the falling body pulled the gun out of Cole’s grasp. Before Cole could move, the twin barrels of the scattergun slid between the window bars. A desperate Cole seized both shotgun barrels and tilted them upward just as the cell seemed to explode in flame and smoke. Bits of heavy timbers, the underside of the ceiling, peppered the air. Powder smoke swirled, greasy and acrid. The force of both barrels fired simultaneously nearly knocked Cole off his feet. But he clung to the barrels that by now were burning the palms of his hands. Quickly he turned loose of the hot metal tubes and seized Deal by a wrist. Before Deal could twist free, Cole put all his weight on the wrist with both hands, drawing Deaf s right arm through the bars until it was fully extended. Deal uttered a yelp of pain and made a frantic grab with the left hand at his holstered revolver. But Cole killed that hope by bending the right arm back against a window bar.
Deal screamed, “You’re breakin’ my arm!”
“Wish it was your neck!” Cole panted.
In the handful of seconds since the gunshot, followed by the punishing roar of the shotgun, men were coming at a run.
Deal still screamed, begged, pleaded, but Cole did not ease up on the pressure of the arm bent back against the iron bar.
Marshal Older unlocked both doors and cried, “What in the holy hell’s goin’ on?” Then he sprinted across the ceil and jammed the muzzle of a revolver against Cole’s cheek. “Turn him loose, Highpockets!”
Somebody in the growing crowd shouted, “There’s a dead man out here, marshal!”
Cole, still clinging to Deal’s arm, spoke through clenched teeth. “You better listen, marshal. I’m Cole Cantrell, and I’ve been hunting this man I’ve got by the arm.”
“Don’t believe you.”
“Deal! Am I Cantrell?”
“Go … to … hell!” Another scream erupted. “You’ll snap the bone … my God!”
“Am I Cantrell?”
“Yeah, yeah .. . you’re Cole Cantrell.”
Cole shouted at the shadowy figures in the alley, “Stay away from him! Don’t try to help him! He and two friends murdered a rancher. They figured to murder the Grimsbys. They beat a friend of mine half to death and robbed him. Deal, is that right? Answer up!”
Deal sobbed. “Dammit, Cantrell, my arm!”
“Is what I said right?”
“Yeah … it is. Don’t bust my arm …”
Marshal Older shouted through the window, “You boys hold Deal till I git out there!”
Mary was at Belle’s taking a final pat at the unaccustomed pile of black hair on her head when she heard a gunshot, then a terrific roar. Mary whitened, but Belle shrugged it off.
“Likely some drunks try in’ to shoot a hole in the sky. Older will have ’em locked up. Mary, you sure look scrumptious.”
“This corset is killing’ me.”
Belle’s girls crowded around, gushing their compliments, pleased with their contributions of clothing, face powder, and lip rouge.
Cole stared over the heads of the crowd jamming the marshal’s office. He saw a slim young woman in the doorway who was saying, “Marshal, I come to pay Highpockets’ fine an’ to git him out.”
Her voice trailed away, because a dead man with a scarred cheek was being dragged from behind the jail and deposited limply on the boardwalk.
Locked in the cell was a big man who was rubbing his arm and cursing. The marshal ordered him to quiet down. “There’s a lady out here.” Marshal Older turned and said sternly, “Miss, this ain’t no place for you.” Then his mouth fell open as he got a closer look.
“Like I said, I come to git my friend Highpockets. But you’re already out, seems like.” She peered rather forlornly up into Cole’s grim face.
Even after all that had happened in the past few minutes, Cole had to smile at Mary’s getup. She seemed acutely uncomfortable in a blue dress and high lace collar. A pert bonnet was pinned to coils of black hair. Her shoes had small buttons and high heels.
Marshal Older was saying to some of the men, “Stole my Greener, Deal did. If Cantrell hadn’t been on his toes, Deal would’ve blowed him to a bloody pulp.”
Mary turned white. “You come close to gittin’ yourself killed, Highpockets, while I was tryin’ to get prettied up.” Cole buckled on his gun. Older looked slightly crestfallen. “Reckon I should’ve listened to you a little closer,” he admitted.
“Will you keep Deal here till I get back from some business at the Crow camp?”
“Sure will. But I don’t envy you tryin’ to take that killer all the way back to Eden like you said you’re gonna do.”
Cole shrugged, then went out to the street, Mary stumbling after him in the unfamiliar shoes. A cold wind stung Cole’s eyes, buffeted a store sign hanging on chains, whipped the tails of horses at the racks.
A man came running along the street toward the marshal’s office. “Hey, Older, somebody stole my dun an’ my roan. Was over to my brother’s an’ when I got home . .
Cole was looking at Mary. “Go back wherever you got those clothes. Stay there. I’ll get your horse back from the Crows like I promised.”
“I wanta go with you, Highpockets, damn it all.”
“In those clothes?” he chided.
Her face split in a wide grin. “Your butterfly pardner is about to turn into a caterpillar. Wait for me at the stable!” She hurried away into the thickening twilight, her dress billowing.
There was stabling to pay for, the hostler insisted. That was when Cole realized his money sack was gone. He stood with arms folded, awaiting Mary’s return. He looked grim.
Within minutes she came in from the alley wearing her old clothes, hat on the back of her head. “Rejoice, Highpockets.” she cried, happy. “Mustang Mary is back!”
“My money sack,” he said narrowly, patting his hip pocket where it had been carried.
“I kinda hated to shuck outa my lady suit,” Mary said with a bright smile. “But reckon you can’t make a sow’s purse out of a silk ear.”
“The hostler is the same as putting a gun in my ribs for two dollars I don’t have and which I don’t think I owe. Stable fee for the horse I bought for you.”
She removed his money sack from a pocket and handed it over. “I only borrowed it. For a good cause.”
He settled his bill with the dour, hay-chewing hostler, then mentioned to Mary there were no saddles for sale. “If you’re set on going along you’ll have to ride bareback,” he said, hoping to discourage her.
“Done it many times,” she said cheerfully.
Just as they were ready to mount up, the hostler gave a squeak of fear. Cole spun, slapping Trooper aside. He was still keyed up because of the shootout that evening. A black-clad man stood in the wide stable doorway. It was Ames Reeboth, who held a cocked gun pointed at Mary.
“Been lookin’ for you,” Reeboth said coldly. “You double-dealin’ female tinhorn!”
Mary stood in a pool of light from the stable lantern the hostler had just lit. She looked indignant. “I dunno what you mean, stranger.”
“I want my money or I’ll bust your head!”
As he lifted the gun barrel, Cole moved quickly. He elbowed Reeboth across a cheekbone and twisted the gun free. Reeboth straightened up, snarling, “Why, goddamn you …” Then he got a closer look at the big dark man hovering over him. “She … she cheated me,” Reeboth said shakily.
“Mary, you ride out. I’ll be right behind you.”
“You’re letting her get away,” Reeboth protested. “I tell you she handled those cards like a pro.”
“Got a hunch you’re pretty light-fingered yourself,” Cole said roughly.
“An’ when I saw how she’d marked that deck …”
“She’s only a kid. Leave her alone.” Cole shoved his jaw only inches from the swelling his elbow had put on the gambler’s cheek. After unloading Reeboth’s weapon, he threw cartridges far across the alley and the gun into a hay mow.
He caught up with Mary a block away. “So aside from being a good pickpocket you’re also a card slick.”
“I seen right off that him an’ his partner could read them cards from the backs better’n I could from the front.” She said she had excused herself to go to the outhouse. “I just happened to have my own deck of cards marked my way,” she finished with a chuckle.
“Then you switched decks and hit paydirt.”
“Cheatin’ a cheater ain’t really cheatin’, Highpockets.”
“One of these days you’ll get yourself hung from a tree.” But Cole was laughing.
In the bustling Crow camp, Bear Singer embraced Cole like a brother. But the Indian was embarrassed upon learning the purpose of Cole’s visit with the female dressed like a boy. It was the scrawny, wall-eyed horse he had taken. Mary was hugging the homely Beelzebub like a lost child.
Bear Singer was mollified when Cole returned his medicine in the beaded buckskin pouch. “We have badush,” Bear Singer exclaimed, but Cole had to decline the invitation to a feast, explaining he had to take a killer to justice. This Bear Singer could understand.
It was two days later that Cole rode Mustang Mary to the Rimrock stable once again. “Here’s where we part company, Mary.”
She looked hurt. “But why?” Beelzebub seemed glad for the halt and a chance to munch some spilled hay.
“Got business to tend to, as you well know,” Cole said. He put a hand on her arm. “This is dangerous country. And it’s best if you quit wandering around alone.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“So can I. But Deal and Yokum came close to putting me six feet under. And I’ve had a lot more experience facing up to people like that than you have.”
“Sure glad they didn’t hurt you, Highpockets.”
“You were right pretty all dressed up like you were the other day.”
“I was?” She sounded doubtful.
“Find yourself some young fella. Help him run a ranch or a store or help him bust sod.”
“Doin’ it with you I’d like. But I got to admit them nights out on the prairie you kept away from me like I had the plague.”
“Hell of a temptation, though,” he said to make her feel good.
“Which we sure could remedy,” she said hopefully.
He had to smile. He put out his hand, and they shook. Then she came to tiptoe and impulsively flung her arms around his neck. Her wet mouth planted a kiss on his lips. Then she mounted up and spurred in the direction of Belle’s place.
Cole sold the livery-stable horse back to the hostler and took the money to Marshal Older. He asked that it be turned over to Mustang Mary.
“Glad to oblige.” The marshal twisted an end of his mustache and seemed embarrassed.
“I’m ready to take Deal back with me.” Cole said.
Older cleared his throat. “Waal now, I gotta tell you what happened …”
“The bastard escaped!” Cole started to open the solid door that led to the jail, but Older called him back.
“Deal an’ that other scalawag stole Barney Tucker’s dun an’ his roan. A$’ folks in town got kinda upset. Hoss stealin’ is mighty serious, as you well know.”
“You mind getting to the point, Older?”
“The point being that last night when I was havin’ supper down at the Ace Cafe a bunch of the fellas got hold of my keys. They took Deal outa town an’ hung him.”
Cole gave a long sigh. “High-country justice. About time we got some of the real thing.”
“You can’t blame the boys none. They was some riled. I shouldn’t have gone off an’ left my office open an’ the jail keys on my desk. Gettin’ forgetful, reckon.” Older looked him in the eye.
“You were in on it with them,” Cole accused.
“Tell you one thing, son. I saved you a long trip with that son of a bitch who’d spend twenty-four hours of every day tryin’ to figure a way to kill you.”
“I could’ve handled him, dammit.”
“You said he killed a rancher over south of here so’s to git his hosses. Had Barney been home when they come right into his house to steal a haunch of venison, they might’ve done the same to him. Deal figured to hang anyhow.”
“Older, you took an oath to uphold the law.”
“That I did.” The marshal’s eyes were round with innocence. “It just plumb slipped my mind goin’ to supper an’ bein’ so forgetful.” He clapped Cole on the arm. “Anyhow, now you can have a peaceful ride back to wherever you’re goin’.”
One side of Cole welcomed being relieved of the burden of Deal. But the other side rebelled against vigilante law.
However, it was late in the day to do anything about it now. Deal was dead.
As he stepped outside he saw Mary coming at a run. She was excited and started to tell him about Deal getting his neck stretched. Cole interrupted her, saying he already knew about it.
“So long, kid,” Cole said affectionately, “have a good life for yourself.”
Then he was gone. A mile out of town, he turned to look back at the brown nub on the horizon that was Rimrock. He wondered what would be next for Mary.
Chapter Fourteen
IT WAS DAYS later when Cole, tired and disgusted, rode into El Dorado Gulch. It was full dark, stars brushing the high peaks and a moon strongly yellow climbing out of the east. There was a lot of hoorawing coming from the Lucky Lady as Cole headed for the livery barn. He was in no mood for it tonight. He had a letter to read and bad news to digest.
The night hostler was Josh Eggley, a spindly, one-eyed man. He was playing checkers with Beamer Doan, who was taller and had a knucklebone for an Adam’s apple. Seeing them didn’t improve Cole’s mood. Both men were members of Amos Burkett’s vigilantes.
Cole gave instructions for Trooper to be rubbed down and grained. He mentioned Harve Galway. “They still in town?”
Eggley held Trooper’s reins. “Pulled out last week on the first stage in since winter. Gone down to New Sodom, so I hear.”
Cole gave a short laugh. He was the one who had suggested it. But he had ridden some miles out of the way on the chance he might see Cornelia again. He was in the mood for a woman who knew little of his past and wouldn’t keep stirring him up with fool questions.
“You heard that Martin Gale sold out to Python?” Eggley asked, and gave Beamer a wink.
“Already heard the bad news.”
“Kind of upsettin’ to you, I bet, now that Claudius Max owns Intermountain—”
But Cole had walked out into the cool mountain night. During a quick meal at a side street cafe he thought of the change in ownership of the stage line. He had been crossing South Pass Road when Josh Hendel, driving an Intermountain stage, had spotted him. Josh was one of Cole’s oldest friends on the line. Josh told him about Martin Gale.
“He got twenty-five thousand dollars in double eagles, seen ’em myself at the Eden Bank when Claudius Max paid him.”
“So Martin sold out. Be damned.”
“He’s goin’ back to St. Louis to make a home for his niece.”
“I hope he has good luck.”
“By the way, been carry in’ around a letter for you for most two weeks. Hopin’ to run into you, an’ I sure did.”
Josh was a former cowhand, bowed legs and all, who had transferred his banty body from saddle to the seat of a stagecoach. Cole accepted the letter. It was creased and sweat-stained. It was from his friend Colonel Timberlake. Cole shoved it in his pocket and thanked Josh Hendel.
“Reckon I’ll be huntin’ me a new job, Cole,” Hendel said, kicking off the brake. “Won’t work for Max after what he done to your folks.”
Cole stood up in the stirrups, shook a small hand, waved, and then the coach was roaring off along the mountain road.
He got a hotel room, climbed the stairs, and flung himself down on the bed. It was then that he opened the letter from Colonel Timberlake.
“ … indeed regret the trouble you had with Major Landeau. He has been sent to Arizona Territory and replaced by Major Enos Fairweather. It would be a personal favor to me if you would again accept the position of chief scout at Fort Savage, even for a few months. I attribute the present relatively good relations between the Indian and the military to your good work …”
