The Ten Per Cent Gang

by I. J. Parnham

  Fairborn widened his smile, but Nat shook his head.

  ‘Deputy, you just sold your conscience for a cheaper price than I did,’ Nat said.

  Fairborn met Nat’s firm gaze for a moment, then lowered his head.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Standing outside the train, Deputy Fairborn watched Sheriff Creed commandeer horses from the freight car. Then, with his reluctant new deputies at his side, Creed rode after Bell’s gang, leaving Fairborn and the even more reluctant Jonah Eckstein behind.

  ‘Can I go now?’ Jonah whined.

  ‘You’ve got one more job to help me with.’ Fairborn patted Jonah’s shoulder. ‘Cheer up. At least this job won’t involve gunfire.’

  Jonah smiled. ‘At least that. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Get me a horse, and unload one for yourself before the train leaves.’

  Jonah nodded and grinned hopefully. ‘When you’ve gone, can I go back to Lincoln?’

  ‘Nope. You’re waiting for me here. Then you’ll help me track down Bell.’ Fairborn smirked. ‘I reckon there’ll be plenty of gunfire then.’

  ‘I was afraid you’d say that.’

  Jonah mopped his brow, then bustled along the side of the train.

  Fairborn waited until Jonah rolled into the first car, then clambered into the empty freight car. Scattered about the car were the money bags.

  He smiled and kicked a bag.

  ‘People can be such idiots,’ he said to himself.

  * * *

  Sheriff Creed and his new deputies galloped along the trail, but they saw no signs of Bell’s gang other than the lines of hoof-prints, which hurtled off in all directions. They followed the tracks with the cartwheel ruts.

  Five miles on, they approached the mesa, scene of their failed trap the previous month. Creed directed the group from the trail and away from the tracks.

  Nobody questioned his orders.

  They headed up a gully to reach the top of the mesa, then rode across the rocky plateau and down through another long gully, emerging on to the plains where, to Creed’s directions, they headed to the east of Lincoln.

  As there were no obvious tracks for Creed to follow, Nat and Drago exchanged glances, then followed him.

  Another hour of riding later they approached Turner Galley’s smithy, ten miles out of Lincoln. Creed allowed himself a smile – a line of horses bustled in a corral at the back.

  Drago snorted. ‘How did you know Bell would be here?’

  Creed tipped back his hat, his smile growing. ‘Like I said, I’m way ahead of everyone.’

  A hundred yards back from the smithy, the men halted their horses and tethered them to a tree. Then, running doubled over, they snaked towards a rock pile set before the building.

  They were ten yards away when a burst of gunfire blasted into the ground before them and the three men speeded, then hurled themselves head first behind the rocks.

  Creed batted dust from his jacket and leaned back against a rock.

  ‘Are you three fine?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Nat said. ‘We’re just waiting to see what you want us to do next. Seeing as how you’re way ahead of everyone.’

  Creed nodded and raised his head a fraction above the rock.

  ‘We’ve found you, Clayton Bell,’ he shouted. He waited for a reply that didn’t come. He raised his voice. ‘I said, we’ve found you, Bell.’

  ‘You don’t have many men out there,’ Bell shouted through the smithy’s only window, his head appearing for a moment before he stood to the window’s side.

  Creed snorted. ‘I don’t need many men to take down your type. Come out and hand over the money.’

  ‘We aren’t coming out to your orders, Sheriff. We’ll come out when we choose to. If you want to live, you’d better not be here when we do.’

  ‘You won’t kill me. I’m your only chance of living.’ Creed laughed. ‘Unless you’ve learned to read real quick.’

  Bell snorted and slammed the shutters closed.

  ‘What did that mean?’ Drago asked.

  ‘Like I’ve been telling you.’ Creed checked his gun was fully loaded. ‘I’m in control of this situation. I’m way ahead of everyone here.’

  ‘As you keep telling us. So what do we do now?’

  ‘We wait for fifteen minutes, then the in-fighting in Bell’s gang starts. When the gunfire has reduced their numbers, we’ll move in.’

  ‘How do you know . . .?’

  Nat patted Drago’s shoulder.

  ‘Like the sheriff said, he’s way ahead of everyone here,’ Nat said.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Inside the smithy, Clayton Bell hurried from the window to the bench where Turner Galley was still working on the strongbox’s lock.

  ‘Why aren’t you in there?’ Bell said.

  Turner wiped a layer of sweat from his brow.

  ‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ he said. ‘That idiot sheriff broke the key off in the lock.’

  ‘How much longer?’

  ‘Ten minutes.’

  ‘You said it’d be ten minutes, twenty minutes ago.’

  ‘It’ll still be ten minutes in another twenty minutes if you keep talking to me.’ Turner gulped at his sudden defiance and hunched over the strongbox.

  Bell drew his gun and aimed it at the lock. ‘I reckon I know a quicker way.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Turner shouted, raising a hand. ‘I’ve seen people try to do that and shoot themselves with a ricochet. This is solid iron. You aren’t ever shooting your way in here. I built this to last.’

  Bell planted a firm hand on Turner’s shoulder making Turner flinch.

  ‘Telling me about this box persuaded me not to kill you last month. Getting into it will prove I shouldn’t change my mind.’

  ‘I built this.’ Turner peered into the lock. ‘I’ll dismantle it.’

  Bell glared at Turner, then walked to the pile of branding-irons. He picked up the topmost one.

  ‘You have ten minutes, then I find a use for these.’

  Turner laughed, the sound hollow.

  ‘You’re just like that Sheriff Creed. He threatened to brand me with that big T, too.’ Turner leaned over the box and poked at the lock. ‘He said he was going to brand my name on me.’

  Bell considered the brand, then moved over to the wall, tapping it against his thigh.

  Trent joined him. ‘What did Creed mean about him being the only one who could save you?’

  Slim and Dave glanced up, but Bell glared at them until they looked away, then shifted to the corner of the smithy out of their hearing range.

  ‘Inside the train I could have killed Creed,’ he whispered, ‘but I didn’t when he bargained for his life.’

  ‘What did he offer?’

  ‘He’d been investigating.’ Bell lowered his voice to the lowest of whispers. ‘He’d found the names of the two people in here who are working for the Ten Per Cent gang. He wrote down their names, guessing I wouldn’t trust anyone enough to let them read the names to me.’

  Trent glanced around the room, looking at Fletcher, who stood at the window and Dave, who stood by Turner, then across the rest. He sighed.

  ‘You can trust me to read them to you.’

  ‘I know.’ Bell rubbed his brow, looking at the strongbox. ‘But you get to thinking.’

  With a steady whistle, Trent breathed slowly through his nostrils, then nodded.

  For long moments, Bell watched Turner work on the box. Then he reached into his pocket and with the paper clutched between two fingers, passed it to Trent.

  Trent grunted an acknowledgement, then opened the paper and read the names. His eyes narrowed.

  ‘Our traitors are Carlos Pitcairn and . . .’ Trent took a deep breath and lowered his voice to the lowest of whispers. ‘And Hardy Newman.’

  ‘Both dead.’ Bell sneered. ‘That sheriff must have been playing a trick by picking the dead ones.’

  ‘He wouldn’t know they were dead. Beside
s, they were the biggest troublemakers we had. They were my prime candidates, too.’

  Bell nodded. ‘So we have nothing to worry about. Nobody in here will turn against us.’

  ‘It seems that way.’

  Trent crunched the paper into a ball and opened his hand. He flexed his fingers as the paper fell to the floor, then walked across the room to join Fletcher at the window.

  Bell glanced at the sweating Turner, who now seemed to be using every tool in his workshop to get into the strongbox. He kicked the screwed-up paper at the wall and moved three paces towards the strongbox, tapping the brand against his leg.

  Turner glanced up, then selected the largest of his hammers and began an insistent tapping on the lock.

  ‘Branding Turner’s name into his hide using this brand,’ Bell said to himself.

  He raised the brand and considered the two connected lengths of iron. He traced a finger across the brand, mouthing to himself.

  With a last glance at the window, where Trent was looking outside, he edged back to the crunched-up paper and picked it up. He opened it and pressed it flat.

  Four blocks of shapes were on the paper. The first two blocks were just a meaningless jumble to Bell, but the third block started with the same shape as the branding-iron.

  Bell traced his finger along the letters finding the same shape at the end.

  ‘One of the traitor’s names starts with a T and ends with a T.’ Bell stabbed at his brow as he forced his mind to consider his limited knowledge of lettering. He mouthed the ‘T’ sound to himself. ‘And that isn’t Hardy or Carlos.’

  He glanced at Turner, mouthing Turner’s name. The brand dropped from his slack fingers and clattered to the floor.

  Turner glanced up, then returned to hammering the box.

  Dave headed over to him. ‘What’s up, boss?’

  ‘I know who the traitors in our gang are,’ he whispered.

  Dave gulped and backed a pace. ‘Who?’

  ‘Carlos was one.’ Bell took a deep breath. ‘The other is Trent.’

  ‘Trent?’ Dave said. He glanced over his shoulder at the window.

  ‘Yeah, Trent,’ Bell roared. ‘Trent’s the traitor. Kill him!’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  From across the plains, Deputy Fairborn and Jonah Eckstein rode to the smithy.

  Fairborn dismounted at the tree where Creed and the others had tethered their horses, then hurried to Creed’s position with Jonah’s smaller form waddling at his side.

  Inside the smithy, sporadic gunfire was echoing.

  ‘There’s plenty of shooting going on,’ Fairborn said, flopping down beside Creed.

  Creed smiled. ‘Yeah, and all of it’s inside the smithy and none of it’s aimed at us.’

  ‘What’s happening?’

  Drago snorted. ‘As Creed keeps telling us – everyone is just following his plan.’

  Creed chuckled. ‘They sure are. Bell’s just figured out that his gunslinger is one of the traitors in the gang.’

  As Nat furrowed his brow, Fairborn frowned.

  ‘Dave Gordon and Slim Johnson are the ex-members of Kirk Morton’s gang, not Trent. As far as I could tell, he’s loyal.’

  Creed’s smile that he’d sported for the last hour turned into a grin.

  ‘I’ve got me a talent for switching bags, and it seems I’ve got me the same talent for switching names.’

  ‘You mean you lied?’ Drago said.

  ‘Nope. I sowed a seed and let Bell’s twisted mind sprout it into something that’ll help us.’

  A gunshot blasted into the rocks before them and all five men ducked.

  ‘It seems that your plans didn’t finish them all off,’ Nat said.

  ‘With their gunslinger gone, the odds are better. So now it’s time to finish a job that’s become a whole lot easier.’ Creed glanced at each man in turn, receiving nods, but when he faced Jonah, the small man was cowering on the ground with his hands clutched over his ears. ‘What’s wrong, toad?’

  Jonah peered up from under his arms.

  ‘All this shooting,’ he whined.

  ‘This is the sort of trouble you cause when you sell information to outlaws. I thought you’d appreciate seeing it first hand. Do you want a gun to help us sort this out?’

  ‘No. I’ve never owned a gun. I’d probably just shoot off my own foot.’

  ‘So you’d prefer to let one of Bell’s gang shoot you instead, would you?’

  ‘Quit mocking me. I’ve followed you like you wanted me to do. I helped you on the train, but this is too much.’ Jonah glared at Creed, his eyes wide and pleading. ‘I’m no use to you here today.’

  ‘You’re no use to anyone anywhere at any time, toad.’

  Jonah placed the palms of his hands together and held out his hands, beseeching Creed to relent.

  ‘Please let me go.’

  ‘You’re staying.’ Creed peered at Jonah, causing the small man to cower even further behind his rock cover. ‘I’m handing out real justice today and you’re another recipient. Every time a toad like you takes a bribe or sells information, another man suffers, usually at the end of a gun. I’m just letting you know what being that other man feels like. Then when someone next offers you a bribe . . .’

  Creed grabbed Jonah’s collar and dragged him up until his head was just below the cover.

  ‘Please, I want to go,’ Jonah whimpered.

  ‘One inch higher and somebody in Bell’s gang will see you and they’ll start shooting. Do you want a gun to defend yourself?’

  ‘No, I just want to go. Please . . .’ Jonah’s voice died with a croaked whimper. Tears welled from his pleading eyes.

  With an angry snort, Creed threw him to the ground.

  ‘You’re not any kind of man. You’re barely worth calling a toad.’

  ‘I know, but . . .’ Jonah sobbed. The tears cascaded down his cheeks and dripped to the ground.

  Creed sneered. ‘Go.’

  Creed had just finished the word when Jonah leapt to his feet. With his small legs whirring and his head down, Jonas scampered away from the smithy, then arced to the trail and scurried for Lincoln.

  ‘Hey, toad, don’t forget your horse,’ Creed shouted after him. ‘Lincoln is ten miles away.’

  Jonah pushed his head down further, his scrambled gait suggesting that nobody would stop him now that he had the open plains and safety to head for.

  Creed watched him, then glanced around. The other three men were watching him leave. Nat and Fairborn were shaking their heads and smiling. Drago was sneering.

  ‘Come on,’ Creed said. ‘Let’s see if we can sort this out even without Jonah’s help.’

  All four men chuckled and rolled on to their fronts.

  For the next hour, Creed and his deputies waited for Bell to make his move, but aside from the occasional burst of gunfire from the window, all of which ripped into their rock cover, everyone remained in the smithy.

  Twice, Bell fired at them, but Trent never appeared.

  Then Creed glanced at the plains. He narrowed his eyes, then turned to Nat.

  ‘It’s time you decided where your loyalties lie,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve already done that when you deputized me,’ Nat said. ‘When I give my word, I stick with it.’

  ‘I believe you do, but what happens when you’ve given your word twice and they’re in conflict?’ Creed pointed to the side.

  A half-mile down the trail, a lone rider had stopped. He was too far away to recognize, but with his eyes narrowed Nat peered at him, then sighed.

  ‘Who is it?’ Fairborn asked Creed.

  ‘That’s Nat’s partner, Spenser O’Connor. He’s finally realized that the trap they’d set for Bell didn’t spring and now he’s followed the trails here. He’ll try his own raid on Bell, siding with Dave and Slim, if they’re still alive.’ Creed patted Nat’s shoulder. ‘So, are you still with him?’

  Nat shook his head. ‘I’m an honest man, so I’ll tell you this. I�
��ll try to help you capture Bell and the cash, as I promised, but I’m not stopping Spenser if he gets to the money first.’

  Creed nodded and leaned his gun on top of his rock cover.

  ‘I reckon that’s the best I could have hoped for.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Fifty yards to the lawmen’s right, Spenser O’Connor dismounted and leapt behind the only rock on that side of the smithy.

  Creed watched him, then turned to Drago.

  ‘Drago, you’re with me,’ he said. ‘We’ll frighten off Bell’s horses. Fairborn and Nat will cover us. Then we force Bell out.’

  The group exchanged nods. Then Fairborn slammed his gun on the top of the rock and blasted at the window.

  Fairborn’s lead peppered the wall around the window as, with their heads down, Creed and Drago hurried for the corral at the side of the smithy.

  While Fairborn reloaded, Nat blasted the window at a steady rate. Every time Fletcher poked his gun through the window, Nat fired again, forcing him to dart back inside.

  With the covering fire stopping the men in the smithy returning fire, Creed and Drago reached the corral fence. On his belly, Drago snaked to the gate and edged it open, then shuffled back to join Creed.

  The two men leapt into the only cover, a rain-washed gully, then slapped their guns on the side and joined Nat and Fairborn in firing, but they blasted over the heads of the horses in the corral.

  The horses whinnied and bustled against the fences. One horse tried to leap the fence but crashed against it. The fence held, but another horse found the open gate and within moments it was free.

  Then the other horses trailed outside after the free horse and galloped away, tossing their heads as they captured their freedom. Creed and Drago fired over their backs, encouraging them to gallop further away.

  Thirty yards away, Nat edged to the side behind his cover to kneel closer to Fairborn.

  ‘I reckon Creed’s trusting me and Drago now,’ he said.

  Fairborn shrugged. ‘Only just, but I trust you. I don’t reckon you’ll harm me after you saved my life back on the train.’