“And on account of he’s already shot, it’ll make ’im real easy to kill,” Higgins said.
“But that don’t mean that Slater is goin’ to get any of the five hunnert dollars, ’cause it’s like Lanagan said, he wasn’t payin’ nobody money just for shootin’ someone. The onliest way they can get the money is if they actual kill ’im, which is what me ’n Higgins is goin’ to do,” Garland said.
“You say he’s down at the doctor’s office?”
“Yeah, but don’t you go gettin’ no ideas about you killin’ im. You want some of the money, you go find your own one to kill, either Jensen, or the other feller, Pearlie, I think he’s called.
“I’m not interested in Cal or Pearlie,” MacMurtry said. “Smoke Jensen is the one I want.”
“You plannin’ on goin’ up ag’in ’im?” Garland asked. “The reason I ask is, I’ve heard he’s most the fastest man with a gun there ever was.”
“I plan to kill him,” MacMurtry said, “but that don’t mean I’m plannin’ on havin’ a contest with him.”
“Yeah, well, whether you go up ag’in ’im or not, a feller like him is just real hard to kill. You got yourself a idea how you’re a-goin’ to do it?”
“I’m workin’ on it,” MacMurtry said. “When are you two plannin’ on takin’ care of Cal?”
“We figure on doin’ it tonight, after ever’ one is gone to sleep,” Higgins said.
“Yeah, you do that,” MacMurtry said. He saw Candy coming down the stairs with a man she had just entertained. “Just stay out of my way.”
MacMurtry stood up and started toward Candy, who initially greeted him with a smile, but, as he came close enough to her for her to get a good look at him the easy smile changed to one that was obviously forced. He put a hand on her arm and started up the stairs with her.
“I don’t much like him,” Garland said.
“Yeah, if you ask me, they’s somethin’ about him that ain’t quite right,” Higgins agreed.
“If if warn’t for the fact that killin’ Jensen would help us rob the bank, I wouldn’t care if Jensen kilt him.”
Higgins laughed. “You know what would be good? What would be good would be iffin’ they was to both kill one another.”
“Yeah,” Garland agreed.
* * *
Audubon was a different town at one o’clock in the morning. The saloons, which, but an hour earlier had been alive with conversation, laughter, and piano music, now sat dark and quiet. There were no signs of commerce, only the call of night insects, and the occasional bray of a mule from the freight yard.
Garland and Higgins, with guns drawn, moved as quietly as possible through the night. As they passed a house they were startled by the ribbony yap of a dog.
“What the hell?” Higgins shouted.
“Shh,” Garland hissed. “Be quiet!”
* * *
In the back of the doctor’s office, Cal, who had just gotten out of bed to use the chamber pot, heard Higgins’ startled call. He was curious about who had called out, so he listened more attentively.
“There’s the doctor’s office.”
The disembodied voice was quiet, though loud enough for Cal to hear it.
“How are we goin’ to get in?”
“I can slide the lock back with my knife.”
Cal moved over to the sheriff’s bed and put his hand on the sheriff’s shoulder. “Sheriff Peabody,” he hissed. He shook the sheriff’s shoulder, gently. “Sheriff?”
“What? What is it?” Peabody asked, groggily.
“I think we’re about to have some company,” Cal said. “Some unwanted company.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Someone is about to try and come in here,” Cal said. “And I don’t think it’s going to be a friendly visit.”
Sheriff Peabody sat up, slowly.
“I don’t think we should stay in bed. Can you get up?” Cal asked.
“Yeah. Where’s my gun?”
“I think both of them are in the front of the . . .”
Right in the middle of Cal’s response, they heard the front door open.
“Damn, too late now,” Cal whispered.
“Whoever it is, I’m not up to fightin’ them,” Sheriff Peabody said.
“I’m not either,” Cal said. “We need to hide.”
“I’ve been here longer than you and, believe me, there’s no place to hide.”
* * *
Dalton had been on duty until ten o’clock, then Smoke took over. Smoke would be on until two, at which time Pearlie would take over. Pearlie would be on until six in the morning.
It was a little after one now and Smoke didn’t have to be walking around the town, but he had found himself getting very sleepy, and he figured that some fresh air would wake him up. He had reached the end of the street and was about to cross over to come back, when he saw two men standing in front of the doctor’s office. And if their presence there wasn’t troubling enough, both were carrying drawn pistols.
Drawing his own pistol, Smoke ran down the street toward the doctor’s office. He had no idea who the two men were, but he figured they were after the sheriff, or Cal, or both. He heard a gunshot just as he reached the front of the building.
* * *
Cal and the sheriff were backed into a corner, and in the light of the muzzle flash, Cal saw two men. One of them had fired into his bed.
“Son of a bitch! There ain’t nobody in that bed!” one of them said.
“Drop the guns!” another voice called, and Cal felt a huge sense of relief when he recognized Smoke’s voice.
“The hell we will!” one of the two men shouted and turning back toward the front of the office, they began shooting.
Smoke returned fire and for the next few seconds the room was filled with the roar of gunfire, intermittently illuminated by the light of the muzzle flashes, and perfumed with the acrid smell of gunfire.
Cal heard both men go down and he knew, even without a clear view, that both intruders had just been killed.
“Cal?” Smoke called, anxiously.
“We’re all right, Smoke,” Cal called back, relieved to hear Smoke’s voice. “Both of us are all right. What about you?”
“I’m fine, but I can’t see a damn thing,” Smoke said.
“Just to the right of the door as you come in, there’s a desk, and there’s a lantern on the desk,” Cal said.
Cal heard the sound of a match being struck and a moment later a bar of golden light spilled through the door from the front office, then the light grew into an illuminating bubble as Smoke followed it into the back, carrying the lantern.
“You picked a good time to drop by,” Cal said with a little chuckle.
“Well, I was in the neighborhood, and I didn’t have anything else to do,” Smoke said. Setting the lantern on the floor he knelt by the two men and examined them. It was immediately clear that both men were dead.
“Do you know either of them, Sheriff?” Smoke aske.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Sheriff Peabody said. “I’ve run across both of them a few times. That one is Jay Garland, and that one is Bo Higgins. They are a couple of no accounts. You did the world a big favor by taking them out.”
“There’s no doubt but that they came in here with killing on their mind,” Smoke said. “The only question is, which one of you did they want to kill?”
“To tell the truth, Smoke, it didn’t look to me like they were bein’ all that particular,” Cal said.
Smoke chuckled. “I don’t think they were, either.”
* * *
From the Audubon Eagle:
Murderous Attempt!
Foiled by a Brave Hero.
Our noble Sheriff Andrew Peabody lying in the confines of Dr. Palmer’s recovery room, was joined recently by Calvin Wood, one of the heroes of the recent attempt to hold up the stage coach. As the two men were peacefully convalescing, they were set upon by two fiendish intruders who were bent
upon sending both Sheriff Peabody and Deputy Wood to their graves.
Fortunately, their evil intent was thwarted when the two would-be murderers had their assassination attempt interrupted by the timely intrusion of the noted Western figure, Smoke Jensen. Mr. Jensen, acting as a deputy sheriff, was making his rounds when he happened upon the two brigands in the middle of their deed most foul. When they failed to respond to his demand that they drop their weapons, he stopped them by using his pistol. The two vandals were, themselves, killed and are now being introduced to eternal damnation in the fiery furnaces of the Devil’s realm. Readers of this newspaper will recognize that Smoke Jensen, too, is one of the heroes of the thwarted attempt to rob the stage coach.
The two desperadoes have been identified as Jay Garland and Bo Higgins. It is not known, for certain, that the two men have any direct connection with the outlaw, Clete Lanagan, but that is generally believed to be the case. And if this is true, it means that Lanagan, and those evildoers in his company, are bent upon eliminating any opposition to the nefarious plans they have, not only for Audubon, but, no doubt, for all of Jack County.
That being the case, our community owes a vote of thanks to Deputy Dalton Conyers for stepping up to the task of serving as sheriff during the current incapacitation of Sheriff Peabody, and to the three men who have come, not only to assist him, but to defend our fair city in its time of peril.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“They’re both dead,” McCoy said. “Garland and Higgins broke in to the doctor’s office and tried to kill Sheriff Peabody and this Cal feller that Slater said he kilt, ’n both of ’em wound up gettin’ their own-selves kilt.”
“So what you’re tellin’ me is that Cal ain’t dead,” Lanagan said.
“No, he sure ain’t.”
Lanagan looked over at Slater, glaring at him. “You told us you kilt ’im. Did you think you could lie ’n I wouldn’t find out?”
“I thought I kilt ’im,” Slater replied. “I seen ’im go down, ’n someone come into the saloon ’n said he was kilt. ’N anyhow I warn’t lyin’ none ’cause McCoy hisself just told you he was shot.”
“Well, he wasn’t shot good enough, else wise Sheriff Peabody and Cal couldn’t have kilt Garland and Higgins.”
“It warn’t Peabody ’n Cal what killed Garland and Higgins, it was Smoke Jensen that done it.”
“Damn,” Lanagan swore, driving his fist into the palm of his hand. “That means that that son of a bitch has killed eight of my men! We have got to get rid of him.”
“Ain’t that what MacMurtry says he’s goin’ to do?” Claymore asked.
“He ain’t goin’ to have no more luck doin’ that, than Garland ’n Higgins had tryin’ to kill Cal ’n the sheriff,” McCoy said. “’N they was both lyin’ down, most dead anyway when Garland and Higgins tried to do it.”
“And it was Jensen that kilt ’em both,” Claymore said. “Our only hope is that MacMurtry does kill ’im.”
“Where is MacMurtry anyway?” Lanagan asked. “He went off to kill Jensen, but I ain’t seen ’im in a couple of days.”
“Maybe he’s done been kilt too,” McCoy said. “It’s like ever’ body is sayin’, Jensen is a hard man to kill.”
“I know someone who could can kill ’im,” Slater said.
“Who?” Lanagan asked.
“Before I tell you, we need to talk about money,” Slater said.
“We’ve already talked about money,” Lanagan replied. “I’ll give a thousand dollars to whoever kills Jensen.”
“After the railroad money has been brought to the bank in Audubon, ’n we rob it, you’re sayin’.”
“Yes, that’s the deal.”
“If this feller that I’m talkin’ about will do it for five hunnert dollars can I have the other five hunnert for setting it up?”
Lanagan stroked his chin and studied Slater for a long, quiet moment.
“You said yourself that we need ’im dead,” Slater said. “’N this deal won’t cost you ’ny more than you already said you was goin’ to pay.”
“All right, I’ll go along with that,” Lanagan agreed.
“Onliest thing is, this feller I’m talkin’ about won’t do it if he has to wait until we rob the bank before he gets the money. He’ll be wantin’ his five hunnert dollars soon as he gets the job done.”
“Five hunnert dollars?” Lanagan asked.
“Yeah. I’m willin’ to wait for my five hunnert, just like what you said. But I don’t think this feller is goin’ to be willin’ to do that. He’s goin’ to want his money, soon as the job is done.”
“How much you got left, Claymore?”
“I got about six, or maybe seven hunnert.”
“How much, you got, McCoy?”
“Five hunnert.”
“Joad?”
“I’ve got seven hunnert dollars left,” Joad said.
“All right, you fellers come up with a hunnert dollars apiece, ’n I’ll come up with two hundred. Slater, find this man you’re talking about, ’n if he kills Jensen, we’ll give ’im five hunnert dollars.”
“That’s a lot of money to have to be comin’ up with now,” Claymore complained.”
“Think about it, Dingus,” Lanagan said. “If we don’t get rid of Jensen, we might never get the money that’ll be put in the bank by the railroad. If we do get rid of him, why, stealin’ that money will be like takin’ candy from a baby.”
“Yeah,” Claymore replied, smiling in understanding. “Yeah, that’s right, ain’t it? All right, I’ll put up my share.”
“Me too,” McCoy said.
“Joad?”
“Yeah,” Joad said with a nod.
“Who is this man you say can kill Smoke Jensen for us?” Lanagan asked.
“His name is Proffer, Lucien Proffer.”
“Lucien Proffer?” Lanagan stroked his cheek for a moment, then he nodded his head. “Yeah, he most likely could do it all right. Are you tellin’ us you can get him?”
“Yeah, I can get ’im.”
“All right, you get a-holt of ’im ’n tell ’im we’ll give ’im five hunnert dollars as soon as Jensen is dead, but not one penny before.”
“What’s MacMurtry going to think about this?” McCoy asked. “He’s the one you sent out to kill Jensen.”
“I didn’t send ’im out, he volunteered to go. ’N I ain’t heard from him since. Anyway, it don’t much matter none what he thinks,” Lanagan said. “I want Jensen dead, ’n I don’t care which one of ’em it is that kills ’im.”
Longview, Texas
“Proffer? Is your name Lucien Proffer?” The question was cold, flat, and menacing.
The man being addressed as Proffer was tall with an olive-skinned face, pronounced cheekbones, dark hair, and very dark rather narrow eyes. At the moment he was standing at the bar of the Thirsty Lizard Saloon, and he didn’t turn toward the speaker. Instead, he stared into his glass of beer with cold, droopy eyes.
“That’s who you are, ain’t it? Lucien Proffer?”
Not until then did Proffer take a look into the mirror to see who was challenging him. The speaker was a tall thin man with white hair and a white mustache. Proffer had never met him, but he had heard him described, so he knew who this was.
“Yeah, I’m Lucien Proffer. What’s it to you?” Proffer finally replied.
“You want to know what it is to me, do you? There’s a fifteen-hundred-dollar reward out for you, that’s what it is to me.”
“That’s old paper, ’n it’s from Kansas. There ain’t no Texas paper on me.”
“It might be old paper, but you ain’t been caught yet, so it’s still good,” the white-haired man said.
“Ha! How do you expect to get me to Kansas?”
“Belly down over your saddle.”
The others in the saloon had tensed up at the first challenge, and they stood transfixed by the drama that was playing out before them.
“What’s an old man like you doin’ still bo
unty hunting? You really think you’re going to be able to collect that reward? How are you plannin’ on collectin’ that reward?”
“By killin’ you.”
“What’s your name, bounty hunter?” Proffer asked.
“The name is Boyle. Barney Boyle,” the bounty hunter replied. “I reckon you’ve heard of me.”
Proffer had heard of the man that everyone on the run feared. It was said that he had gotten rich by bounty hunting, and he didn’t actually need the reward money anymore. What he needed was the legal authority to kill people, and that he did with great relish.
“Really? You’re plannin’ on killin’ me, are you?”
“I am. So step away from that bar and face me, you son of a bitch, ’cause I don’t intend to hang for shootin’ you without it bein’ a fair fight.”
Now the others in the saloon realized that this about to come to a deadly head, and they hurried to get out of the away. Tables and chairs made scuffing and squeaking sounds as they were scooted across the floor. Every patron in the saloon got up and moved back against the wall, out of the line of fire.
“It’s four-fifteen,” one of the customers said, glancing at the grandfather clock that stood against the back wall of the saloon.
“Four fifteen? What the hell does that matter?” one of the other saloon patrons asked.
“We’re about to see somethin’ we’ll be able to tell our grandkids,” the first speaker said. “I want to be able to remember ever’ thing about it, even the time.”
“Oh, yeah,” the questioner said. “Yeah, you’re right. This is goin’ to be somethin’ to behold.”
“I told you to step away from the bar, Proffer,” Boyle said, his voice showing even more irritation than before.
Proffer stepped away from the bar, then turned to look at Parker. There was an evil smile on his face. It was that, the smile, that elicited a collective gasp from the other patrons. They had expected fear, anger, but not a smile.
“Like I said, Boyle, that paper is old, ’n it’s from Kansas. Hell, even if you was to kill me, you’d more ’n likely not even get to collect any reward.”
“It don’t matter,” Boyle said.
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