The Ten Per Cent Gang

by I. J. Parnham

  Turner looked at the fire. ‘I guess you’ve seen things right.’

  ‘An arrest is the worst I can threaten you with, except as I have nothing on you, I’ll have to release you.’

  ‘You’re speaking sense. A few nights in your cells or death isn’t a difficult choice.’

  ‘Except people around here don’t like horse-thieves. When a man gets a reputation, he can find himself dangling on the end of a rope without the law getting involved.’

  ‘Then I’m all right. I don’t have that reputation.’

  ‘But if I arrest you for horse-stealing, then let you go, arrest you tomorrow, then let you go . . . before long the rumors will start. Then the next time a horse goes missing, you’ll get a midnight visit from some angry townsfolk with a rope in hand. Of course when they realize that you’re innocent, they’ll feel right sorry, but that won’t worry you. You’ll already have a stretched neck.’

  Turner gulped. ‘That’s an interesting threat, Sheriff, but I still don’t know where Bell is.’

  ‘I only want to talk to him.’

  Turner shrugged. ‘What have you got to talk about?’

  Creed chuckled, a huge smile appearing.

  ‘That question was your big mistake.’ Creed nodded to Fairborn.

  In three long strides, Fairborn stormed across the smithy. He grabbed Turner’s arms and pulled them behind his back, then swung Turner round to face Creed.

  Turner struggled, then slumped on finding that Fairborn had a firm grip.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Turner babbled.

  ‘Before, I might have believed that you didn’t know where Bell is. Now, I know that you know, and you’ll tell me.’

  ‘You can arrest me, but I’m telling you nothing.’

  Creed nodded. ‘That’s only because you’re more scared of what Bell will do to you than what I’ll do to you.’

  As Turner gave a short nod, Creed strode to the pile of branding-irons by the fire. He grabbed one, then dropped it, letting it clatter on the floor. He picked up a second and faced Turner, grinning.

  Turner winced. ‘You wouldn’t.’

  Creed traced the brand’s pattern. ‘This is a good brand. A big T.’

  With a lunge, Creed thrust the brand deep into the fire.

  ‘Don’t think about doing that,’ Turner said. He struggled against Fairborn’s firm grip, but the deputy tightened his hold.

  ‘I haven’t started, yet.’ Creed bent to the pile of brands and selected another one. ‘I reckon as I might spell out your name on your hide.’

  ‘You aren’t scaring me, Sheriff.’

  ‘I’m not aiming to scare you. I just want to talk to Bell.’ Creed thrust the second brand into the fire and withdrew the first. He considered the reddening tip, then thrust it deeper into the fire. ‘The only question is – how many letters do you get branded into your hide before you help me.’

  ‘You’re a lawman. You wouldn’t.’

  Creed glanced at Fairborn. ‘You got a firm grip?’

  ‘Yup,’ Fairborn said with a pronounced gulp.

  Creed strolled to Turner. With a firm gesture, he ripped open his shirt, exposing his chest and quivering guts. He walked back to the fire and extracted the brand, then spat on it. The glowing metal sizzled.

  Creed turned and stared deep into Turner’s eyes.

  ‘You got something to say?’ With deliberate slow paces, Creed strode to Turner, the brand at arm’s length.

  ‘Rot in hell, scum,’ Turner said, his throat catching.

  ‘Anything else?’ Creed swung his arm up towards the cowering blacksmith.

  Turner pushed back from the approaching brand, his whirling feet skidding on the floor, but he only flattened himself against the impassive deputy’s chest.

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  Creed edged the brand forward, the heat blistering Turner’s chest hairs. The hairs curled and spluttered away, a sharp burning odor rising.

  ‘That’s another wrong guess.’

  ‘All right,’ Turner screamed. ‘I’ll do what you want.’ Through wild eyes Turner watched Creed nod and withdraw the brand. He sighed. ‘Just give me something to take to him.’

  Creed glanced at the dulling end of the brand, then walked back to the fire and thrust it back in.

  ‘I want Bell to leave my county and pester someone else. I want to know what it’ll take to do that.’

  Turner snorted. ‘I can answer that for nothing. He won’t leave.’

  ‘I’m not looking for your answer.’ Creed grabbed the second brand and stoked it into the fire.

  ‘I’ll see him, but I’m not promising anything,’ Turner shouted.

  Creed withdrew the heated brand from the fire and swung it round to aim it at Turner.

  ‘Then I’m not interested.’ He advanced a long pace towards Turner. ‘I hope your second offer is better.’

  ‘Stop! I’ll be persuasive, honest I will.’ Turner glared at the brand until Creed lowered it. ‘Give me two days and I’ll get back to you.’

  ‘I don’t want two days.’ Creed advanced another pace and raised the brand. ‘I want to see Bell, now .’

  ‘That isn’t . . .’ Turner considered the approaching brand. ‘I’ll do it.’

  Creed grinned and to his nod, Fairborn released Turner, who stumbled to his knees.

  On the floor, Turner wiped a layer of sweat from his brow. Then, with a last glance at the two lawmen, he scurried outside on hands and knees.

  Creed moved to follow him, but Fairborn took his arm and pulled him back.

  ‘I’ve got to ask you,’ Fairborn said. ‘Would you have used the brand?’

  Creed walked across the smithy and threw the cooling brand back on to the pile of branding-irons.

  ‘You shouldn’t be interested in my answer. When I started on this, I decided how far I was prepared to go.’ Creed strode to the door. ‘The only thing you should worry about is how far you’re prepared to go.’

  Chapter Eight

  Twenty miles from Turner’s smithy, deep into the hills, Fairborn and Creed sat astride their horses outside an abandoned farm.

  ‘I’ve seen three rifles on us,’ Fairborn said, leaning to Creed.

  ‘If you’ve seen three,’ Creed said, ‘there must be at least twice as many you haven’t seen.’

  An old man sat on the main shack’s porch. He was rocking back and forth with a blanket thrown over his legs, but he kept his hands beneath the blanket.

  Outside the tumbledown barn, two men lounged, fingering their gunbelts, their narrow-eyed gaze never leaving the lawmen.

  ‘I’ve trusted you enough to come here, but if you’re wrong, I don’t reckon I’ll get enough time to regret trusting you.’

  ‘Yeah, but if we live, this is one hideout Bell won’t use again.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re thinking about the future.’ Fairborn tipped back his hat. ‘I’m just worrying about the next two minutes.’

  With a sudden yell, a pale-faced Turner wheeled out of the shack propelled by a firm boot. He hit the ground, rolled, and came up with a resigned shrug. He coughed twice before he faced Creed.

  ‘Bell will see you, but you leave your guns out here,’ he said.

  Creed snorted and swung from his horse. He waited until Fairborn joined him.

  ‘Stand tall and look confident,’ he whispered from the corner of his mouth.

  He brushed past Turner and on to the porch. He tipped his hat to the old man, then rolled his shoulders and kicked back the door. With his back straight, he strode inside.

  Clayton Bell sat behind a table, the only furniture in the room. Trent Jackson, Clayton’s ever-present hired gun, stood beside the table. Two other men flanked the doorway.

  Creed paced into the room. Fairborn edged after him, keeping the men flanking the door in his view.

  With his eyes narrowed, Bell considered Creed and Fairborn. He smiled, the arc of yellow teeth breaking the mass of bristles and grime.

  ‘I’m onl
y seeing you because I didn’t believe it really was you.’ Bell gestured at Creed’s waist. ‘You’re packing a gun.’

  Creed glanced at Trent. ‘I’m no threat when your gunslinger is here.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Trent muttered through gritted teeth. He drew himself to his full rangy height and blew on his fingers. ‘Either of you makes a wrong move and you’ll both be dead before you complete that move.’

  Bell patted his grimed hands together. ‘So why have you got yourself a death wish?’

  ‘I haven’t.’ Creed slowly raised his hands and folded his arms. ‘I’m here to offer you a deal, and it’s for your ears and Trent’s ears only.’

  ‘I hide nothing from my men.’

  Behind Creed, the two men grunted their approval.

  ‘You don’t need them to guard us if you’re as confident in Trent’s abilities as you say you are.’

  Bell glared back at Creed, then nodded.

  ‘Dave, Kyle, go,’ he said.

  With muttered grumbles, the two men peeled from the wall and headed outside. Bell appraised Creed until the door slammed shut, then raised his eyebrows.

  ‘When two men have a mutual enemy they have something in common,’ Creed said.

  ‘Which enemies do you have in mind?’

  ‘The Ten Per Cent gang.’

  For the briefest of moments, Bell’s right eye twitched.

  ‘I’ve got plenty of reasons to hate them, but why do you hate them?’

  ‘When men successfully take the law into their own hands, it suggests to everyone that vigilante justice is better than real justice. Before too long anarchy will descend, and I don’t fancy picking up the pieces.’

  Bell shrugged. ‘It’s hard to care either way, but I believe you. So what are you offering?’

  Creed took a deep breath. ‘The Ten Per Cent gang is always ahead of you and they’re even further ahead of me. So we lay a trap. You’ll carry out a raid, except I’ll know where and when, so when the Ten Per Cent gang raid you, I’ll be waiting for them.’

  A huge grin spread across Bell’s face. He glanced at Trent, who snorted a laugh. Bell turned back to Creed, shaking his head.

  ‘You want me to tell you what I’m doing, just so you can lie in wait for . . .’ Bell waved an arm at Creed. ‘You must think I’m stupid.’

  ‘I do, but I’m not interested in what you’re doing.’ Creed raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m planning your next raid on the wagon riders.’

  Bell lowered his elbows to the table and cradled his chin in his hand. With his other hand, he rubbed the bridge of his greasy nose using a steady rhythm, then shook his head.

  ‘You’re a straight lawman. You won’t give me information on the wagon riders’ movements.’

  ‘I’m not. The shipment you’ll raid won’t have a dime in it.’

  Bell laughed, Trent echoing his mirth. ‘You expect me to risk my men to steal nothing, then risk them further getting that nothing stolen off them?’

  ‘You’ve got it. You aren’t as stupid as you look.’ Creed glared at Bell, who narrowed his eyes and gripped the side of the table. ‘But the risk is minimal. The wagon riders will be in on the deal. Their gunfire will be token. The aim here is to capture the Ten Per Cent gang.’

  With a steady rhythm, Bell tapped his fingers on the table. The fingers stopped moving and he looked up.

  ‘I’ve heard enough, and you got lucky. You’ve intrigued me enough to let you live. I’ll discuss this with my men and get back to you.’

  Creed snorted. ‘You won’t. This deal is between the four of us.’

  ‘It isn’t. Everyone has to agree.’

  ‘Ridiculous.’ Creed turned and took a long pace towards the door. ‘Come on, Alan. I’m not wasting any more time with this idiot. All deals are off.’

  Bell jumped up from behind the table and pointed a firm finger at Creed.

  ‘Explain that or die.’

  While shaking his head, Creed turned. He sneered at Bell, then strode three paces and stood before the table.

  ‘When Fairborn and me were together, Trent could kill us both before one of us killed you. Now we’re ten feet apart, and Trent won’t take both of us down before one of us wipes away your evil-smelling existence.’

  Bell’s eyes widened. ‘You can try, but you’ll live longer if you explain.’

  Creed shrugged. ‘Why are the Ten Per Cent gang so successful?’

  ‘They got lucky.’

  ‘No.’ Creed leaned forward and grinned. ‘They got information.’

  Bell winced. ‘Are you saying that one of my men works for the Ten Per Cent gang?’

  ‘Yup.’

  Bell pouted, rocking his head from side to side.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ Bell rubbed a hand through his greasy hair, then shrugged. ‘A two-man gang is too small to be that successful.’

  ‘Only two men!’ Creed shook his head as he blew out his cheeks and slammed his hands on his hips. ‘Anybody seen either of them?’

  ‘One’s dark-haired, the other’s blond, but they cover their faces and there’s nothing familiar about them.’ Bell grinned. ‘Except we’ve surmised one thing. If you want to know who runs the Ten Per Cent gang, look to your own kind.’

  ‘Lawmen?’ Fairborn snapped, speaking for the first time. ‘Have you got proof?’

  Bell turned his steady gaze from Creed. ‘Nope, but if I raided a rival gang, I wouldn’t leave anyone alive to come after me, but these men have raided us three times and they’re yet to kill anyone – wounded a few, but no deaths. That speaks of principles.’

  Fairborn sighed. ‘It could just mean more of your people are in their pay than you thought.’

  ‘No. These men tread a fine line. They keep just enough money to make it worth their while, but not so much that anyone reckons they’re greedy. And they use just enough force to get the job done, but not enough that they risk the noose.’

  As Fairborn nodded, Creed edged a pace closer to Bell.

  ‘Do we have a deal?’ he asked.

  Bell patted his fingertips together, then nodded, but Trent walked round the table. He squared up to Creed and narrowed his eyes.

  ‘If we work together, we’re not interested in seeing them behind bars.’ he said.

  Creed smiled. ‘Neither am I.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘I reckon you were right about Bell,’ Fairborn said. ‘He is stupid.’

  ‘What changed your mind?’ Creed asked.

  Fairborn pointed down the side of the mesa to the trail below and the two riders galloping towards them.

  ‘He always uses the same tactics. A man as predictable as that is just asking for someone to take advantage of him.’

  In the week since Creed’s and Fairborn’s meeting with Bell, they’d avoided Mayor Lynch or the possibility of Creed getting into any more fights with the townsfolk by spending as much time as possible away from Lincoln.

  Instead, they’d relayed messages through Turner to Bell, honing the last details of a raid in which most of the raiding party had to believe that the risks were high and the return was equally high.

  Worse, Creed had dealt with Jonah Eckstein more often than was good for his fraying temper while the smug clerk confirmed details of the bogus cash shipment with Drago Holbeck, the leader of the wagon riders.

  The previous night, the lawmen had slept on a length of rock high above the plains and from first light had watched the trail to Stone Creek, waiting for Bell to carry out the raid at the pre-arranged place.

  On time, a wagon – a stagecoach with the top half sawn off – had trundled down the trail, a phalanx of dark-blue coated wagon riders on all sides. The bulky form of Drago Holbeck rode up front.

  From either side of the wagon, two groups of raiders had peeled away from their hiding-place in a narrow gully and descended on the wagon. After a short chase, they had forced it to make a stand.

  The wagon riders blasted off an impressive amount of high gunfire to satisfy
anyone who was watching, either casually or not, of the raid’s authenticity.

  Although the wagon was too far away to see clearly, it didn’t appear that the raid hurt anyone, but when Drago moved the wagon riders to a more defendable position, the wagon containing the cash became unhitched and rolled free.

  A solid block of raiders swarmed over the wagon and with the wagon riders being slow to recover from their apparent mistake, Bell’s gang claimed the cash shipment within seconds. Then they rode away, throwing off the lame pursuit within a mile.

  Half-way through the second mile, Bell’s gang split into four groups, each heading off in a different direction.

  The two men holding the fake cash swung in a long arc around the mesa, and hopefully straight into an ambush.

  ‘Bell is predictable,’ Creed said. ‘So we get double the benefit from this. As soon as we have the Ten Per Cent gang, we’ll have an advantage on Bell the next time he raids.’

  Creed jumped to his feet and beckoned Fairborn to follow him.

  The two lawmen slipped back from the edge of the slope, then dashed for their horses. They galloped across the mesa, down a steep gully, and across two ridges to reach a secure location. There, they could look down on the spot where Bell had ordered the men with the fake cash to wait.

  For ten minutes the lawmen waited, then the two riders hurtled into sight, slowing as they reached the rendezvous point.

  Fairborn nudged Creed. ‘I’ve seen no sign of this ambush.’

  ‘I guess that’s why the Ten Per Cent gang is so successful. Nobody sees them until it’s too late.’

  The outlaws below halted and edged close to a large rock. They sat astride their horses, facing away from each other as they watched the trail in both directions.

  There, they waited for the remaining parts of Bell’s gang to meet them.

  High above them, the lawmen waited for the Ten Per Cent gang to show.

  * * *

  In a bolt-hole in the canyon opposite the mesa, Nat McBain and Spenser O’Connor peered out from their hidden position. They had been there, quiet and unmoving, since the lawmen had ridden on to the plains last night.