by J. T. Edson
‘It’s just not in sight yet,’ corrected the man who had cut the Duesenberg’s tires, moving the shotgun nestling across his bent left forearm slightly and directing a contemptuous glance at the clearly nervous peace officer, as the call of a whippoorwill came from behind them to be answered by another somewhere across the street. ‘But I’m sure’s I heard one.’
When Zip arrived at Soskice’s Hotel and told Abel Softly of what was happening in the canyon, Healey had been summoned for orders. He was to collect his deputy, then accompany Marty and another of the men to the edge of town where they would wait for and ambush the car which had pursued the Packard if the earlier attempt failed to stop it. With Mulley and the Skinner brothers unavailable, Softly had stated he did not have enough men to go to the rescue of the party at the canyon until the officers who were coming had been taken out of the game. It was, he had claimed, possible that one might be taken alive and induced to tell how large a party was involved, so they would know exactly what they would be up against.
Although the sheriff had not dared to refuse when informed what was expected of him, he was far from enamored of the prospect. Nor, despite having had his salary supplemented by Softly, had he ever envisaged he would have to earn it in such a manner. His uneasiness had increased rather than diminished, after having taken cover with Marty in the alley between the last pair of buildings on the left at the outskirts of the town—with Callaghan and the other man, also armed with sawed-off shotguns in a similar location across the street—as time passed without anything happening. There had been a moment of anxiety when his companion claimed to have heard a car approaching, but neither of the other pair nor Healey had done so. Certainly the sound had not repeated itself, but the waiting and suspense had done nothing to calm, or ease, the sheriff’s misgivings.
Across the street, Deputy Sheriff Callaghan was in a no less agitated and despondent frame of mind. Like his superior, he had willingly accepted Softly’s money and was now equally disenchanted by the way he was having to repay it. Although he had failed to notice how the tire of the Dodge coupe was punctured, he was not so dull witted that he underestimated the danger of what they were intending to do. If the raiders at the canyon were Bomber Boys, as he considered likely, they belonged to a Federal law enforcement agency. Killing them would create such a furor that staying in Grouper County would be out of the question. Not that he cared greatly about being compelled to take his departure, except for being aware the authorities would spare no expense nor effort to apprehend those who were responsible. Unimaginative as he might be and not usually given to thinking of the consequences, he could foresee nothing other than a life on the run should the affair end in murder. Yet, again in common with the sheriff, he had lacked the courage to refuse when ordered to participate in the ambush and whatever was to follow.
‘Goddamn it!’ the man at Callaghan’s side grumbled, breaking into his disconsolate thought train after the nocturnal bird’s call to his rear answered the one from the other side of the street. ‘Those son-of-a-bitching whips give me the miseries.’
‘And me,’ Callaghan confessed. ‘Hell though, Ben, Marty must’ve been wrong about hearing a car.’
‘Sure,’ the man agreed. ‘Happen he had, it’d’ve been here by now.’
Relapsing into silence after the comments, the deputy and his companion looked across the street. They could make out the shapes of the sheriff and Marty, who were speaking to one another, but could not hear what was being said. Nor was anything visible in the alley beyond the pair. Before either Callaghan or Ben could try to satisfy their curiosity on the matter, a double click reached their ears from not too far behind them.
‘It’s a ten gauge, like its mate, and both lined on you boys!’ announced a drawling voice quietly, yet exuding a menace matching the ominous sound each man was sure he had recognized without requiring the identification. ‘And there’s two Texas Rangers behind ’em. Don’t stir, or make a sound, else it’ll be your last.’
Despite the shock each had received, the deputy and Ben had just sufficient self-control to realize resistance would not only be futile, but might prove fatal. So they managed to hold down the exclamations both were on the point of uttering and refrained from turning to even look at the speaker.
‘That’s the way to live long ’n’ stay healthy,’ the quiet voice praised, after a few seconds had elapsed without either man making a sound or movement. ‘Now set down them sawed-off scatters slow and easy!’
Yielding to the inevitable, Callaghan and Ben began to comply with the order.
‘Aw hell, Marty!’ Healey protested as, unbeknown to him, the men across the street were laying down their arms. ‘Zip’s boys must’ve stopped whoever was trailing ’em. The sons-of-bitches’d’ve been here by now if they hadn—!’
A slight sound such as might be made by a stealthy foot step from the other end of the alley brought the sheriff’s words to a halt, causing him and the man by his side to glance hurriedly over their shoulders. Seeing a bulky masculine figure silhouetted in the gap between the buildings, they swung around with alacrity. Any chance that he might be a harmless citizen passing through was shattered by seeing how he threw himself forward and down, raising whatever was in his hands as he went.
‘Get him!’ Marty bellowed, starting to swing the butt of the shotgun to his right shoulder.
Under the circumstances, the command and movement, which Healey copied, were most ill advised.
After treating the two criminals’ wounds and leaving the one attacked by Lightning bound hand and foot with a rope brought from the Ford, the three sergeants had resumed their interrupted journey. Despite having been too afraid of the big blue-tick to lie, the man who was bitten could supply no hint of what might be in store for them when they arrived at Grouperville. Discussing the matter once Alvin had retrieved his Colt and the vehicle was moving, they had decided Softly would arrange a hostile reception for them on being told what had taken place at Brixton’s Canyon. As nothing had happened on the way, they had planned their strategy and put it into effect.
Forming two groups, although disproportionate in numbers, the party had advanced the remaining distance on foot after having driven as close to the town as they considered could be done without the sedan’s engine being heard. While Alvin, Branch and the blue-tick went in one direction, Soehnen had made his way there alone. He had found, as had been decided might be the case, that the men who were waiting to ambush them occupied the first alley on the outskirts. Making the discovery, he had impersonated the call of a whippoorwill. On receiving a similar response to the prearranged signal, informing him that his companions were in position and had duplicated his findings, he started to approach the men he had located. In spite of his stealthy movements, he had been overheard.
Forming an identical conclusion with regards to the ambushers’ armament to that made by Jubal Branch, Soehnen responded rapidly on seeing his presence was known. As he dropped to the ground, he thrust the Thompson submachine gun ahead of him. Knowing the pair meant to kill him if they were given the chance, he had no qualms over opening fire without warning of his intentions. For the second time that night, the deadly weapon’s stuttering automatic thunder shattered the silence. Fanning away from him at an upwards angle, some of the bullets found their billets in human flesh. Both Healey and Marty were hit, the latter suffering a mortal wound. They went down almost simultaneously and, although each discharged his shotgun involuntarily, the buckshot balls winged futilely over the sergeant.
‘Straighten up empty handed and lift ’em high!’ Branch commanded, snapping the Winchester Model of 1873 rifle—the hammer of which he had drawn back and forwards twice while holding the trigger depressed to simulate the cocking of a shotgun—to his shoulder and throwing its lever through the reloading cycle. When the men he was addressing obeyed with alarmed alacrity, he went on somewhat louder, ‘They get you, Hans?’
‘Nary a one,’ Soehnen replied, rising and walking forwa
rd warily but swiftly. ‘I can’t say the same for them, though.’
‘You got your handi-cuffs about you?’ Branch inquired, having identified Callaghan, as he and his partner—who was armed with the Winchester Model of 1894 carbine that had been with the rifle in the Ford—reached the two would-be ambushers.
‘N – No!’ the deputy gulped, ensuring he kept his hands raised. ‘We was told some owlhoots’d be coming!’
‘I believe you, it’s the judge you’ll be facing you’ll have to get to do it,’ Branch interrupted dryly, taking his left hand from the rifle’s foregrip and extracting the pair of handcuffs from his jacket pocket. ‘Use mine.’
‘O-On him?’ Callaghan asked hopefully, catching the device as it was tossed in his direction.
‘Him, and you-all, one wrist apiece,’ the elderly sergeant corrected. ‘And I’d do it quick, was I you, this ole Lightning dog of mine gets a mite tetchy this time of the night and’s been knowed to chaw on a man for ’most no reason at all.’ Hearing its name and drawing the correct conclusion from the intonation which the word was given, the big blue-tick let out a low and menacing growl that suggested the rest of the comment about it was correct. Already frightened by the realization of their position, Callaghan showed no hesitation before doing as he was ordered and Ben did not resist.
‘How the hell did you get here, Sergeant Branch?’ the deputy inquired at the completion of the task, belatedly realizing his captor was the man he had been ordered to watch leave the county. Although he had parked the coupe in concealment after changing wheels and spent the remainder of the afternoon resting, he had believed he was speaking the truth when telling his superior the departure was made on returning after dark. ‘You didn’t come by—’
‘Maybe you was sleeping as I passed,’ Branch suggested, although this had not happened. ‘Anyways, we’ll talk about that later. Right now, where-at’s your boss?’
‘Across there,’ the deputy replied, gesticulating with his unfettered hand. ‘Looks like he’s—’
‘Not Fat Jim,’ the elderly sergeant corrected. ‘It’s Softly I want.’
‘Down to the hotel,’ Callaghan answered, making no attempt to resist as Branch ran an expert hand over him and removed the Colt revolver from his waistband.
‘You pair do what you can for Fat Jim and the other jasper,’ the elderly sergeant ordered, after disarming Ben and throwing both revolvers into the darkness. ‘You-all set to go, Hans?’
Without needing instructions, Alvin had unloaded the shotguns while his partner was disarming their captives. Across the street, despite an examination having proven that .neither of the men he had shot was in any condition to contemplate further hostilities, Soehnen was completing similar precautions.
‘I reckon there’s enough shells in my Thompson to see me through,’ the burly sergeant answered. ‘Let’s get moving.’
Leaving the prisoners to fend for themselves, the three men set off along the street towards the hotel accompanied by the dog. They realized that there was no longer any possibility of taking Softly by surprise as they had hoped would happen if they could capture the ambushers without noise. However, having heard the Thompson, the men they were going to confront might be induced to surrender.
With that thought in mind, the trio watched the building and its surroundings carefully as they were approaching. Ranging ahead at a signal from its master, the blue-tick lessened the danger of enemies lurking in the alleys and allowed the sergeants to concentrate their attention on the entrances to the reception lobby and well-lit barroom.
Reaching their destination unchallenged, the sergeants stalked silently and warily along the sidewalk. Peering around the door into the lobby, Alvin found it empty. As he and his companions resumed their advance, they heard a handgun fired somewhere on the upper floor. Although curious about the sound, they did not offer to investigate.
‘Well I’ll be damned!’ the small Texan ejaculated, after commencing a surreptitious examination through the window of the barroom. ‘We didn’t need to be so cagey.’
Following their young companion as he strode forward with none of his former caution, the older sergeants saw enough to share his confidence. Although a few of Softly’s men were in the barroom, they posed no threat as they were covered by shotguns and other weapons in the hands of the desk clerk, Mexican waiter, Joplin, Hislop and three more of the town’s male residents.
‘Stay out of it, amigo,’ Branch told the small Texan sotto voce, knowing it was inadvisable for the geologist’s true status to be exposed. Speaking louder, he went on, ‘Inside the bar. We’re a couple of Texas Rangers wanting to come in.’
‘Come ahead!’ Joplin ordered, in tones far different from when he had refused to supply tires for the Duesenberg. ‘Only do it slow and careful until we can see for sure who you are.’
Approving of the reason for the last part of the invitation, the two sergeants had the Winchester and the Thompson tucked under their respective left arms as they walked through the batwing doors. They were wearing their badges in plain view and these, taken with the evidence of their pacific intentions, caused the weapons which had been pointed in their direction to be lowered.
‘Howdy, you-all,’ Branch greeted. ‘What was that shot just now?’
‘Sounded like Tombstone’s old Frontier Colt to me,’ Joplin replied. ‘Him and Ollie Soskice went upstairs after Softly while we kept these longhorns quiet.’
Striding swiftly through the connecting door into the lobby, the elderly sergeant saw the retired peace officer and another man coming down the stairs.
‘Howdy, Jubal,’ Tombstone called. ‘Figured it was you when I heard the Thompson.’
‘Looks like you had everything in hand here,’ Branch answered, having decided against letting it be known he and the gravedigger were acquainted on his last visit to the hotel. ‘What happened, Gabe?’
‘Got some of my amigos ready should they be needed,’ Tombstone replied. ‘We moved in when the gun play started along the street.’
‘How about the shot up there?’ Branch wanted to know.
‘Caught that jasper Softly taking things out of Ollie here’s safe,’ Tombstone explained, indicating his companion, but distending the truth somewhat as the repository had been brought by the supposed bartender on taking over and was in his living quarters. ‘Figured he was robbing it and had to throw down on him when he grabbed out a gun. Tell you, though. This’s one grave I’ll enjoy digging.’
‘What do you reckon about moonshiners being friendly now, amigo?’ Alvin Fog challenged, as he sat with the other members of Company “Z” in the sheriff’s office on the morning after his hectic visit to Brixton’s Canyon. ‘Because, I tell you, those bunch last night struck me as being just a teensy-mite unsociable.’
‘You couldn’t call them for real, good ole country-boy moonshiners,’ Jubal Branch protested. ‘They was per-fessery-on-alls.’
As Major Benson Tragg had suggested, the men at the canyon had surrendered on learning no help could be expected. They had already discovered, via a couple of well-placed rifle bullets when one of their number tried to leave, that there was no escape through the second exit. He was not killed, nor was he meant to be or even injured, but his description of the close call he had had added to his companions’ growing appreciation of the danger they were in.
An examination of the area after the surrender had revealed the secrets of Brixton’s Canyon and the means by which it had been haunted.
The Yankee geologist had not been searching for gold, but was enlarging a cave—which originally had only a very small entrance—to be used as an illicit distillery. While doing so, he had tunneled into the other wall around the corner from where Alvin had been in action, blowing it up to provide the excuse for his disappearance and keeping the property unoccupied. He had manufactured the two exits with great care, making the doors so well that each would stand up to a close examination when closed without revealing their existence. The requisite
equipment and an electric generator to supply light and power were installed. As a further precaution, all traces of the occupants and trucks which collected the merchandise, coming across the Badlands without going near Grouperville or other human habitation, were removed.
None of the prisoners had been able to say who first discovered the cave, or would admit to Hogan Turtle being involved in any part of the operation. [74] Nor were they any more informative about the decision to employ the ghost to scare away unwanted visitors, although—whether truthfully or not was never ascertained—there was a mutual agreement that the man with the Thompson who Alvin had killed was responsible for the death of the young Forked Box cowhand.
Discovered where Zip had dropped it on top of the canyon, the ghost proved to be nothing more spectral than a flashlight inside a diaphanous white shroud suspended by a length of fishing line from the tip of a long aluminum pole. The eerie wailing originated from half way up the canyon’s wall, via the speaker of a gramophone concealed in a hole. In addition to supplying the installation’s other needs, the stream Brixton had discovered and diverted across the canyon served as a conductor for the electric shocks which had created a stupefying effect upon those would-be investigators who tried to wade out and grab the ghost.
‘There’s those’s might think you shouldn’t’ve gone nosing around on your lonesome in the first place,’ Sergeant Bratton remarked.
‘I wasn’t taken with the notion myself,’ Alvin admitted, noticing the speculative way in which the other sergeants and Tragg were studying him. ‘But I didn’t know which way whoever was making the collection I’d been told about would come. If they’d run across you-all, there’d likely have been enough fuss to keep the ghost from showing itself. So I reckoned I’d best see if I could bring it out. What I didn’t count on was Tombstone’s horse getting shot and falling on the Very pistol. It’s lucky for me you-all were close enough to hear the shooting.’
‘We didn’t hear it, first off,’ Branch contradicted and pointed to the big blue-tick sprawled as usual by his feet. ‘Ole Lightning here was the one. When he all of a sudden jumped up, looked towards the canyon and started to bawling, we figured we’d best drift over ’n’ see why.’