by Brett Waring
‘Clay Nash, one of the Wells Fargo Company’s most efficient detectives, has succeeded in tracking down the Benedict gang of outlaws which perpetrated the recent outrage at the Reddings way-station in the Colorado Rockies.
‘Through dogged perseverance and a determination fortified by a personal involvement, Agent Nash fearlessly pitted his wits against this gang of bloody-handed killers—’
“Sure glad I never had to go up against that Nash hombre,” said Luke, leaning on the bar.
Barrett grunted without looking up and continued to read. The flesh under his thumb and fingernails where he held the paper was white with the pressure. His lips began to move more and more as he read on.
Luke laughed.
“Hey. That there sody-pop’ll be warm if you don’t get it across to Crissy, Dan.”
He reached up and pulled down the top of the paper to look at Barrett. Then Luke stepped back, startled as Barrett wrenched the paper out of his grasp.
“Goddamn it, Luke. Lemme get through readin’, will you? I won’t wear the goddamn paper out. ’Fact, I’ll pay you the goddamn nickel for it and then you won’t have no cause for complaint.”
Luke blinked at the abrupt change in the man as Barrett pushed a coin from his change across the counter and folded the paper. He knocked over the glass containing the remainder of his beer and cursed. Then, snatching the rest of the change and stuffing the paper under his arm, Barrett turned and stalked out through the silent, staring drinkers.
The doors swung violently on their two-way hinges and all eyes turned to the bartender. Luke shrugged, shaking his head slowly in utter bewilderment. The soda pop bottle still stood on the counter.
Barrett strode across the street to the general store and went in, roughly jostling aside an elderly couple on their way out. Such was his concentration that he didn’t even notice them. He looked around swiftly and spotted Eadie looking at a new calico dress. Crissy was sitting on the counter licking a lollipop that someone had given her. Her sticky face crinkled in a bright smile as she recognized Barrett, then it became a little glum as she looked at his hands and saw only the newspaper.
“Where’s my cold sody-pop, Pa?”
“Aw, heck, honey—I left it on the counter. We’ll get it later.” He gave her a swift, forced smile, and turned towards Eadie who held out the dress she had been inspecting.
“Oh, I’m glad you’ve arrived, Dan. You can help me choose between this one and one that Mr. Anderson’s got in back. Which one d’you think? Mr. Anderson says the one he has will wear better but this one’s color will last the longer, so I thought—”
“Take ’em both,” Barrett said curtly.
Eadie looked aghast.
“Good heavens! No, Dan. It’s too much. I’ve never owned two dresses before. Let alone two new ones—No, no, it’s unnecessary—”
Barrett reached out, took the dress she held, snatched the second garment the storekeeper had brought in and bundled them both into a ball under his arm, with the newspaper. He pulled some money from his pocket and slammed it in front of the startled Anderson.
“Enough?”
“Well, yeah, Mr. Barrett,” the man stammered. “I owe you some change “
“Keep it,” Barrett snapped as he scooped Crissy off the counter, ignored Eadie’s protests and questions and her concern for her dresses being crushed, then urged them both into the street.
“Dan, what is it?” Eadie asked on the boardwalk, fighting his grip on her arm. “What’s happened? This was to be a nice leisurely visit to town and it was goin’ beautifully, but now—”
“Aah! I’m fed up with this town. Mealy-mouthed folk. We was trash to them when we owed the bank and the store and just about everyone else. Now I’ve cleared cur debts, suddenly I’m ‘Mr. Barrett’ again or ‘Good ol’ Dan’ and I get smiles instead of scowls wherever I go.”
“Surely it’s better that way. You can’t really complain about that.”
“I can. It just goes to show how two-faced folk really are. It suddenly hit me over in the saloon with everyone fawnin’ over me just because I had some money in my pocket. Well, I’ve had me a bellyful. We’re gettin’ out of here, Eadie.”
Eadie sighed then frowned as she looked at him closely.
“Well, if that’s the way you feel, Dan. I’ve got all the supplies and Mr. Anderson’s had them loaded into the buckboard, so I guess we can just climb aboard and go on home if you like.”
“I want my sody-pop,” whined the little girl.
“Forget your damn sody-pop,” Barrett gritted as he deposited her in the back of the old buckboard among the sacks and parcels. “We’ll get it some other time.”
“Oh, Dan, you did promise her.”
“Forget it, I said,” he snapped, obviously rattled. Eadie saw how upset he was and she put a hand on his forearm. He shook it off irritably. “Listen, I didn’t mean just get out of town now and go home. I meant get right away from here. Sell up and move out to the real frontier where I won’t be bothered by a bunch of hypocrites like we got in this here town.”
Eadie gasped and stepped back involuntarily, blinking, a hand going to her mouth as she stared at him incredulously.
“But—we—we’ve just paid off our home. It’s what you’ve always wanted. We’re—where we wanted to be. Crissy’s just due to start school and—oh, Dan! Tell me what’s really wrong. Please.”
“Told you. Sick of the town and the folk in it. We’ll stop at the land agent’s on the way out and put the ranch up for sale. Then we’ll move right out into the wilderness. He forced a smile but it was very stiff and unconvincing. “Guess I’m a man who likes his freedom with plenty of room to breathe, Eadie. No, don’t say nothin’. My mind’s made up. We’re movin’ out.”
He lifted her into the passenger seat as Crissy began to whimper and sniffle then Barrett climbed up himself, tucking the crumpled, folded newspaper under him as he lifted the reins and got the team moving.
He wasn’t a man who was easily scared, but, by hell, he figured he sure didn’t want to come up against this Clay Nash hombre. The man sounded like an unstoppable machine and he sure hadn’t wasted any time in tracking down Benedict’s bunch—and killing them.
A man like that would eventually find him, even though he had covered his tracks pretty well. And, to give Barrett his due, he was more concerned for the safety of Eadie and Crissy than he was for himself. He knew someone like Nash, motivated more by vengeance than duty in this case, would never give up and Barrett realized only too well just how vulnerable he was with a wife and child.
The only thing he could possibly do was to try to escape into the wilderness.
He reined down sharply outside the land agent’s, jumped down and hurried across the walk towards the door. Barrett went in quickly and was told by the clerk that the agent, Davis, could not be disturbed; that he had a client.
Barrett cursed silently and fretted the minutes away as he waited, impatient to be out of town and back at his ranch. He had an idea where to go. It would be grueling and they might just make it before the big blizzards, but they would have to go up and over the Rockies. It’d be hell on Crissy and Eadie—but it was the only route to safety.
Then the office door opened and Davis stood aside to allow the visitor to leave. Barrett stiffened as he recognized the man.
Tall, hard-eyed and gun hung, the stubble of long trails showing on his jowls, the man’s name was Cassidy. Despite the deadliness in his eyes, his skin was soft and boyish, though the man must be in his twenties. Barrett remembered he had saved Cassidy from a bunch of lecherous hardcases in Canyon City, behind a rock pile—and Cassidy had been very grateful. He had seen the man a couple of times since his release from prison and each time Cassidy had asked if he could do anything for Barrett. He had since gained a reputation as a gunfighter, ‘Kid’ Cassidy—a known killer. Barrett had no idea what Cassidy was doing in Sage Bend, nor did he much care.
But as he walked forward, grin
ning and thrusting out his right hand, Dan Barrett knew that he had an unexpected weapon to use against Clay Nash.
Cassidy owed him—and it was settling-up time.
Jim Hume walked to the corrals and rested a boot on the bottom rail as Clay Nash off-saddled a sweating brown mount. The big agent heaved the steaming leather over the top rail. A man came out of the stables and led the horse into the stalls.
“Take damn good care of him,” Nash ordered, his voice rough with weariness. He slapped at the dust on his clothes. “He’s done a lot of travellin’ and he’s got an empty belly.”
“Right, Mr. Nash,” called the stable hand.
Hume watched as Nash continued to slap at the dust.
“No luck I take it?” he asked.
The agent shook his head.
“None that I’d call real. I’ve checked out a lot of Benedict’s old pards. Had to kill one who went for his gun, but none of ’em were in on the Reddings deal and they didn’t know of any new hombres Benedict might’ve taken with him.”
Hume nodded.
“Like I told you, Clay, I reckon it was just Benedict havin’ the last say, throwing a farewell barb into you. There never was any sixth man. He just wanted you to go on living with the hell of that, thinking it was so, that the man he claimed actually killed Mary was still walking God’s green earth some place and you’d never get your hands on him.”
Clay Nash jammed his hat on the back of his head stifled a yawn and took out tobacco sack and papers. He began to build a cigarette.
“Still don’t agree, Jim. Sure, Benedict knew he was twistin’ a knife in me, but I seen him die and heard his voice I know he was speakin’ gospel, Jim. He was so damn pleased with himself, even though he had only seconds to live: he spent his last breath tellin’ me about that sixth man because he knew how it’d hit me. He’s somewhere about, all right.”
Hume’s mouth tightened a little.
“Well, Clay, you been on the trail for a week since you nailed Benedict and you’ve come up with absolutely nothin’. I’m sorry, amigo, but I can’t give you any more time on this.” He lifted a placating hand as he saw Nash stiffen. “There’re other assignments. You got back most of the money and you got all of the killers from Reddings. I have to close the file, Clay.”
Nash looked at his boss as he fired up a vesta and touched it to the end of his cigarette. He dragged down a deep lungful of smoke and let it out slowly.
“I appreciate what you’ve done, Jim. You’ve given me a fair deal on this, but I’m convinced it ain’t yet finished. You mentioned most of the dinero. Well, that ain’t right. We only got a little over half. Checkin’ round, I found out that Matthews and Doane lost a heap gamblin’, and I guess the others spent up big. But puttin’ together all we got back, allowin’ for what Doane and Matthews lost, it looks to me like each man only got about sixteen hundred apiece.”
“Right,” Hume agreed readily. “Split five ways.”
“Sure—but Short was already dead. Benedict killed him. So they’d’ve split his share, too. Would’ve made them come out with a couple thousand a-piece.”
Hume’s eyes narrowed.
“You can only guess at these figures, Clay. Benedict might’ve taken a bigger share as he was the leader—”
“Now who’s guessin’?” cut in Nash. “Look, Jim: they all did an equal amount of killin’. They’d all want equal shares. What I’m sayin’ is, if Short was dead and they all got about sixteen hundred, that means there was another man.”
Hume straightened and frowned as he took out a cheroot, struck a vesta along the corral bar and then touched the flame to the end. The aromatic smoke wreathed his head and face.
“All right, Clay. I know how thorough you are. I’ll go along with you on that. There is a real possibility there’s another hombre still on the loose. But I can only give you a week—”
“Two.”
Hume shook his head.
“One’s all I can manage.”
“You can stretch it a mite.”
Hume sighed.
“We-ell—ten days. No longer, Clay. There’s a lot of pressure on me from head office. We’ve had a whole spate of robberies and we’ve lost a couple of men as you know—”
Nash nodded.
“Ten days’ll be fine. If I can’t get me some sort of lead in that time, I’ll have to leave it—and learn to live with the knowledge that Mary’s killer is still walkin’ around.”
“What you got in mind?”
“There’s a couple of Benedict’s old pards I got to see. It’s possible the man ain’t got a record. Might not be wanted any place.”
“Be almost impossible to track him down in that case.”
“Maybe. But he must’ve been an experienced killer, or Benedict wouldn’t’ve used him. Likely, too, he was a local man who knew either the Reddings area or the Rockies in general. Figure I’ll check ’round and see if anyone’s suddenly come into a little money: say enough to pay off some local debts or buy in a small herd of steers, some ranch or farm machinery—somethin’ that could be covered by as little as sixteen hundred bucks.”
Hume pursed his lips.
“Lot of work in that. Sound detection, Clay, but one hell of a lot of work involved.”
“Not as much as you might reckon. There ain’t a lot of towns for a start. There’s always gossip. Folk know who’s in debt and who ain’t and who’s been able to meet their bills and so on. They’ll loosen up over a few drinks.”
“You could draw some bushwhack lead,” Hume warned.
Nash smiled thinly.
“That’ll be okay, too. I’ll know I’m smokin’ him out then. Just one thing, Jim: if I get a definite lead on him before the ten days are up, I aim to continue on his trail until I get him. No matter how long it takes.”
Their gazes met and held and Hume smoked slowly for a spell before nodding slightly.
“That sounds fair enough, Clay. But it has to be somethin’ definite.”
“What I said. Now, I’ll go wash-up and eat and get me some rest before I move out again.” He climbed through the rails and looked down at Hume as he straightened beside the detective chief. “One more thing, Jim. Benedict was in Canyon City Pen a little while back. Could be he made contact with the sixth man in there.”
“Sounds promising. I’ll have his papers sent down by special messenger. I’ll get the papers on all his cellmates for the time he was in there, too.”
“Gracias,” Nash said and yawned as he began to shrug out of his jerkin and walk through the crisp fall air towards the bathhouse attached to the rear of the Denver Wells Fargo depot and offices.
The thought of a long, long soak in hot water up to his armpits was a pleasant one.
Eadie Barrett stepped onto the porch of the ranch house and looked across the yard towards the corrals where her husband was talking to Cassidy. She didn’t like the man much, maybe it was because he made no secret of the fact that he was a gunfighter and that he had killed nine men in square-offs—something she considered nothing to brag about.
Yet Cassidy was courteous and he gave Crissy a good time. He was supposed to be staying with them for only a few days but so far didn’t seem to be making any attempt to move along.
Eadie glanced behind her, made sure Crissy was eating her lunch, then walked across the yard towards the men. They were engrossed in deep conversation and had their backs to her. They didn’t hear her approach, so she caught a few words of their talk—and stopped dead in her tracks.
“—but Nash is the main one,” she heard her husband saying. “Could be others—after us—he’s the—Fargo man—”
“Heard of him,” Cassidy replied. “Got—reputation of—ing fast ... Reckon I can—le him.” He clapped an arm across Barrett’s wide shoulders. “—glad to—after what you—for me.”
The wind coming up the valley took away some of the words, but she heard enough to bring deep creases between her eyes. It seemed obvious to her that Barrett was
asking Cassidy to look out for someone named Nash—possibly that Wells Fargo agent she had read about in the Denver Post which she had found jammed into the wood range firebox recently. She had no idea why Barrett would want Cassidy to watch for Nash—but it frightened her. Cassidy was an admitted gunman. It was almost—if she let her imagination run wild—almost as if her husband was hiring him to—to kill the Wells Fargo man. But that was preposterous. Dan would have no reason to do that—
No, she must have picked it up wrongly; she shouldn’t make any judgment on a fragmentary conversation such as that.
“How about some lunch, you two?” Eadie called suddenly—and the men jumped. She flinched as Cassidy’s right hand streaked to his gun butt. She gasped and her hand went to her mouth as fear leapt into her eyes.
Cassidy straightened slowly out of his part-crouch and forced a smile as he took his hand off the gun butt.
“Sorry, Eadie. You startled me, comin’ up so close like that before you spoke.”
“Yeah, Eadie,” Barrett said a little tensely. “Why didn’t you just call out from the house.”
“I did,” Eadie lied. “But I guess you didn’t hear because of the wind.” She shivered and hugged her shawl tighter about her shoulders. “It’s cold out here. Come on in and get the food while it’s hot.”
The men nodded as she turned and hurried back towards the house, ducking her head against the chill wind. Her smile had faded instantly once she faced away from them and the deep frown of worry was back between her eyes.
Cassidy put a hand on Barrett’s forearm.
“Think she heard anythin’?”
“Hell, no, wind would’ve prevented her from makin’ out what we was sayin’. Look, Kid, I can’t pay you for this chore—”
“Glad to do it after what you done for me in the pen.”
Barrett shook his head. “Too big to do in return for that.”
“The hell it is.”
“No. It’s your profession; ain’t right to ask a man to give his professional time for nothin’. So you cut out ten of the best prime steers from my herd when I go and sell ’em off. You’ll get yourself close to two hundred, with winter comin’ on. Beef prices are up now ’round here. I’d be obliged if you’d do that, Kid.”