Houston's Story

by Abe Dancer

  He was panting heavily, his whole body nervy as he picked up the key ring and hurried to the iron-strapped door at the rear of the short corridor. He lifted the floor bolt and tried keys in the lock. The third fitted and he turned it cautiously, pushed the door open a couple of inches and stopped. A gut feeling suddenly clicked in that something was wrong, a sense of mortal danger drawing him back.

  Carefully he pulled the heavy door to again. Sweat beaded across his forehead and trickled down his face. His heart was thumping wildly. It’s not right, he sensed. There’s someone out there in the shadows, I can feel ’em . . . just waitin’ for me. With his mind racing, he retreated to where Levitch lay. He wondered about going back, using the advantage of knowing they were there, to shoot it out. But I’ll die, he thought. Yeah, then it wouldn’t matter if I hadn’t robbed a bank and killed somebody. Wouldn’t matter about being innocent.

  During the moments of fearful tension, Carrick’s instincts became acute, sharper than the pains in his head bones. In desperation another thought struck him and he cursed forcefully.

  ‘Hell, if I was you, it might work,’ he muttered. He hauled Levitch into the cell, unstrapped the gun belt and buckled it around his own hips. He was of similar build to the deputy, and the black Stetson fitted his head perfectly. His torn shirt was a problem, but he didn’t have time. ‘I’ll take his goddamn fancy coat,’ he muttered.

  Cursing low and profusely, he donned the buckskin and pulled down the brim of the Stetson. He loosed the handcuffs from the man’s pants belt and secured his wrists behind his back. ‘Shout as much as you like when you come to, Deputy, I’ll be well gone. You won’t even have a horse to give chase, you son-of-a-bitch,’ he said quietly.

  Carrick dragged Levitch half onto the bunk, backed off to the corridor and shut the cell door.

  Convincing himself that the Post brothers wouldn’t shoot except in panic, he walked unhurriedly to the inner door that led to the office. When he walked through, Rex Post glanced over his shoulder. He had guessed correctly that stable hands acting as guards – even though well-armed – would be more worried about hostiles in the street, than a banged-up prisoner. With his head bowed he continued slow and determined to the street door.

  As he twisted the knob, Post spoke again. ‘Goin’ to calm ’em down, eh, Dod? Well, don’t forget to pick up a quart of gut warmer.’

  Carrick grunted an acceptance and tugged at the brim of his hat. He took a short intake of breath and opened the street door, stepped to the boardwalk and drew the door shut behind him. On the opposite sidewalk a group of locals nodded and called a greeting. He turned away from the light of the twin-sconce lamps outside of the office, lifted a hand in a casual salute and descended the steps to the street.

  At the hitchrail, Levitch’s blood bay mare puffed eagerly as Carrick unlooped its rein and hauled himself up into the saddle. He swung in a half circle and started to walk past the mill of townsmen, pulling up his bandanna and pointing ahead as if it meant something they would understood. It seemed to work, and he rode on past darkened, false-fronted buildings. The street was a mix of small businesses, the occasional high-lit saloon or nose-bag restaurant, a couple of boarding-houses. He glanced furtively at Delano’s Saloon, which up until now had been his own favoured dog-hole. Not until he had passed Chinatown and the downwind corrals on the town’s outskirts did Carrick urge the mare to a gallop. The animal responded willingly, took the south-west trail towards the mountains and the Nevada border.

  In the night shadows of the alley alongside the jailhouse yard, three men hunkered side by side, peering through breaks in the paling fence.

  ‘It’s well after midnight,’ Glim Savotta muttered. ‘He should be out here by now. What the hell’s goin’ on? He didn’t come my way. You two sure you ain’t missed him?’

  ‘We’re sure. This has got to be Dod’s doin’,’ Jack Carboys suggested.

  ‘Yeah,’ Fats Denvy growled. ‘When he says midnight, he means it.’

  ‘So how long does midnight last?’ Carboys asked.

  ‘Another ten minutes.’

  ‘Right. I hope he knows what he’s doin’.’

  The trio waited another fifteen minutes, the limit of Savotta’s patience. ‘This is a goddamn botcher,’ he rasped, stretching his legs. ‘You two stay here. I’m goin’ round front to see what’s up.’

  ‘You do that, Glim. It’ll look natural enough . . . you stoppin’ by to say howdy in the middle of the night,’ Denvy offered tartly. ‘Don’t want to look like it’s an assault,’ Savotta said, handing his rifle to Carboys. He walked to the corner and turned into the alley that ran alongside the jail. Entering the main street, he stepped up to the porch of the law office.

  Rex Post answered his knock. He gave a narrow opening to the street door, nodding recognition he stepped back and let Savotta in.

  ‘Evenin’, Glim, or should it be mornin’,’ he said. ‘You come to see Dod?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it,’ Savotta replied. He glanced about the office. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He rode out a while back. I think he was concerned about them out front.’

  ‘An’ ought to be back soon,’ Post’s brother Rex, put in. ‘He’s fetchin’ us a bottle . . . some fixin’s maybe.’

  ‘What the hell’s that?’ Savotta asked. From beyond the closed door to the cells, they heard scrabbling sounds and a muffled curse.

  ‘Carrick.’ Rex Post looked from Savotta to Newt. ‘What’s he up to?’

  ‘Take a look an’ find out,’ Savotta said.

  Newt Post laid his big shotgun across the sheriff’s desk and took Myron Games’ keys from the drawer. He unlocked the inner door. Savotta and Rex Post followed him into the cells.

  Dod Levitch had rolled off the bunk. He was working his face muscles, trying to move himself across the stone floor with his cuffed hands.

  ‘Christ, it’s Dod,’ Rex Post yelled.

  ‘He rode out. We saw him,’ his brother said.

  ‘Not him you didn’t,’ Savotta differed. ‘Use your keys, goddamnit.’

  Levitch grimaced in pain. ‘He must have broke my face half open. Cracked a bone or two,’ he groaned.

  ‘Who?’ Rex Post asked pointlessly as he removed the handcuffs.

  ‘Carrick, you fool. He grabbed my gun an’ hit me with it.’

  Newt Post looked around the darkness of the cell. ‘That ain’t all, Dod. He walked right past us an’ out the front door.’

  ‘You let him? You let him walk from here to the front door?’

  ‘He was wearin’ your hat an’ coat. We weren’t expectin’ anyone else but you.’

  ‘An’ he’s lit out on your horse,’ Rex Post muttered.

  ‘Yeah, well he would, wouldn’t he? Did you look to see which way he went?’ Levitch demanded angrily and painfully.

  ‘South. An’ he didn’t look like he was in much o’ a hurry. I didn’t know what he was up to. Now I know, an’ that mare o’ yours has got a real turn o’ foot.’

  ‘Yeah, the son-of-a-bitch knew that much.’ Levitch made a grab for Rex Post, used him to haul himself upright. ‘Kick the door o’ the livery stable in if you have to,’ he snapped. ‘But I want a rimrock here an’ ready to ride in five minutes. Glim, are your boys in town?’

  Savotta nodded. ‘I know where to find two of ’em.’

  ‘Good. I don’t want a big posse this time. Four o’ us is enough.’

  Levitch took a spare gun belt and Colt from a deep, side desk drawer and strapped them on. He lifted a flat bottle of physic, considered it for a moment then pushed it into his pants pocket.

  ‘Myron will have to know,’ he said to Newt Post. ‘Go wake him an’ tell him what you know. Tell him I’m ridin’ after Carrick.’

  Savotta went to the door and shut it after Post, turned to frown at the deputy. ‘What the hell happened here?’ he wanted to know. ‘We were waitin’ out back, just like we agreed . . . like you told us.’

  ‘How could I have guessed he�
�d escape through the front door?’ Levitch fumed. ‘Hell, I even warned him the street was full o’ towners wantin’ to stretch his neck.’

  ‘He ain’t the dumb ass you got him figured for,’ Savotta rasped.

  ‘Just enough to head for home.’

  ‘How’d you mean?’

  ‘Headed south could mean Lake Mead . . . the Black Mountains,’ Levitch replied. ‘He’ll need a fresh horse, an’ who else would he go to for help other than kin?’

  ‘He ain’t got that long a start,’ Savotta said. ‘We could be on his back before sun up.’

  ‘Could if we were goddamn hootie owls. Go get your boys,’ Levitch directed impatiently. ‘Soon, I’m goin’ to feed Carrick to our Chinatown hogs.’

  A quarter-hour later, the four men were hammering out of town on the trail of their quarry. There was a gibbous moon casting thin light over the desolate tract of land.

  The storm had drifted away, and, after the first four or five miles, they cut the bay mare’s sign. Levitch recognized the imprint, cursing in frustration, signalled for the others to draw rein.

  ‘He knows the territory . . . turned west,’ he muttered. ‘You know what that means?’

  ‘More or less. He’s headed for the plateau. Shorter route to the lake,’ Fats Denvy answered.

  ‘Yeah, if you want to die. My water bottle must have been damn near empty,’ Levitch said. ‘Even if he refills at any o’ the creeks, he won’t get across that wasteland.’

  CHAPTER 5

  The four riders chased the bay’s tracks to the headwaters of the Colorado River. Reaching a narrow, fast-flowing creek, they found evidence that their prey had paused to fill Levitch’s canteen. In the soft ground above the sloping bankside were the clear impressions made by Billy Carrick.

  ‘It’s where they took a drink,’ Denvy said.

  Savotta looked to where, beyond the creek, the bay’s tracks continued. ‘Dod, I really don’t want to chase him into that godforsaken place. That weren’t in the deal.’

  Levitch swallowed, thumbed down the cork in his bottle of physic. ‘We’ll follow his sign till we know for sure that’s the way he’s gone,’ he replied.

  In the early hours of the morning, they topped a low rise and reined in. Stretching west was the vast expanse of scorched, barren land known as Tierra Sin Vida – mile after mile of miserable country that, over the years, had claimed many an unsuspecting soul. Even tough prospectors who had ventured into its emptiness, disappeared, never to be heard of again.

  ‘He’s got my blood bay, but he certainly didn’t leave the jailhouse with anythin’ more’n the spit in his chops,’ Levitch said.

  ‘But it’s still a short cut if he’s headed home,’ Jack Carboys held.

  ‘A canteen won’t last him. Even a full one,’ Denvy added.

  Levitch grunted with aggravation. ‘For chris’sakes, is he headed home or not?’ he challenged.

  ‘Won’t pay to be too over-hasty,’ Denvy shrugged. ‘Let’s think about why he’s goin’ that way. If it’s home he’s headed for, what next?’

  ‘Just say what you’re thinkin’, Fats. Same goes for all o’ us,’ Levitch offered.

  ‘If he does make it home, he’ll be a dead man ridin’. If he can talk, he’ll make sure his kin know what happened. Whatever you think of Billy Carrick, his family are square-dealers . . . all of ’em,’ Denvy looked to Levitch who nodded for him to continue.

  ‘Real likely, his pa will get suspicious when he hears about how the jail break went. He might even take a close look at that Colt of yours . . . see those pinchbeck cartridges in your gun belt.’

  ‘And? What could they do about it?’ Levitch asked.

  ‘Probably get angry an’ head straight for town to meet with the law,’ Denvy continued at a pace. ‘But not you, Dod. They’ll pass you up an’ make their case to the sheriff.’

  ‘Fats is right,’ Savotta said. ‘Maybe there ain’t much chance of the kid gettin’ clear across this desert. But what if he does, eh, Dod? What if he does?’

  Levitch stared out west across the moonlit landscape then to the south. ‘The likely trail to the lake is a longer route,’ he said, ‘but Carrick’s goin’ to be at walkin’ pace. If he makes it at all, you’ll be well ahead o’ him,’ he added grimly.

  ‘How much time should we give him?’ Jack Carboys asked.

  ‘Three days at most. If he’s not out o’ that hell hole by then, he never will be.’

  They descended from the rise, rode another hundred yards, still following the sign left by the bay. Levitch dismounted and picked up his buckskin jacket, dusted it off and stowed it in his saddle-bag.

  ‘Son-of-a-bitch don’t know worth when he sees it,’ he muttered derisively.

  ‘He kept your pretty bonnet, Dod,’ Savotta jested. ‘At least he knows the price of silver. Besides, come tomorrow, that desert sun will be hotter’n hell’s kitchen.’

  ‘Well, I guess that’s it,’ Levitch decided as he remounted. ‘Glim an’ Jack take the long trail. Fats an’ me are headed back to town.’

  ‘You figure Games will be satisfied with all this?’ Savotta asked.

  Levitch nodded. ‘Yeah, if it suits. Why make a fuss? He can report Billy Carrick broke jail ’cause he’d earned a rope. An’ when he rode off he was signin’ his own death warrant.’ The deputy grinned wryly. ‘Ol’ Myron can wire all the peace officers from here to kingdom-come to be on the look-out for three strangers.’

  ‘Yeah, very specific,’ Carboys sniggered. Savotta and Denvy swapped complacent grins.

  ‘So, it’s Amen.’ Denvy gave a snorting laugh. ‘See you in a few days, Glim.’

  ‘Let’s move out,’ Levitch ordered.

  Levitch and Denvy swung their mounts away, and began their return journey to Bullhead. Carboys and Savotta rode south towards the regular trail that linked the State border with Lake Mead.

  For the first mile or so, Levitch and Denvy travelled in silence. ‘About that jimson you fed young Carrick,’ the deputy asked eventually. ‘How long will it last?’

  ‘For his head to clear? About now. The Apache can make it last for three days. But that’s when they’re takin’ on the US Army.’ Denvy grinned. ‘Not that a clear head’s goin’ to help him where he’s set for.’

  ‘His mind was sharp enough when he clocked me,’ Levitch growled. ‘I expected somethin’ o’ the sort, but I never thought he’d steal my hat an’ coat. Huh, more front than the Alhambra. Someone else might admire that.’

  ‘Yeah, they sure might, Dod,’ Denvy grinned wryly again.

  Levitch shook his head in puzzlement. ‘Why in hell didn’t he sneak out back? It was the natural thing for him to do . . . for anybody to do.’

  ‘Maybe he checked your Colt an’ found out they were quack bullets. Maybe he didn’t like the look of it,’ Denvy suggested.

  ‘Sounds like you’re enjoyin’ this, Fats,’ Levitch grated. ‘No, Carrick didn’t have time for anythin’ like that, goddamnit. He made up his mind, quick like.’

  ‘He knew somethin’ was up,’ Denvy said. ‘Funny thing is, while we were staked along that fence, I thought that rear jailhouse door opened. The light sort of changed. I thought it was my eyes playin’ tricks in the dark. I guess we’ll never know.’

  ‘No, I guess not,’ Levitch grimly agreed. ‘But if by some miracle he does reach the west end o’ the desert, Glim and Jack will be waitin’ for him.’

  ‘Waitin’ for his body, an’ your hat.’ Denvy chuckled softly. ‘I just thought of somethin’ else funny, Dod.’

  ‘Yeah, what’s that?’

  ‘If he comes up against Jack an’ Glim, maybe Carrick will have enough life in him to try firin’ your Colt. That’ll be mighty funny, goin’ for a shootout with duff beans in his wheel.’

  ‘Yeah, mighty funny. I’m almost laughin’ myself from the saddle.’ There was silence for a few moments before Levitch continued. ‘It could be there’s somethin’ wrong with you, Fats,’ he said. ‘Bein’ a murderin’
bank robber’s one thing. Carrick’s another. He’s nothin’ more than our fall guy an’ you know it. He’s just servin’ a purpose. Hell o’ a thing, but that’s the way it is.’

  At first light, Levitch met with Myron Games at the Widow Book’s boarding-house. Games had taken a few deep breaths at the news of the escape. With hardly-suppressed anger he reprimanded the deputy for negligence, slowly conceded as he calmed himself down.

  ‘It sure gives meanin’ to love thine enemy,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure how much we can learn from this, Dod, other than don’t put guns in their hands.’

  ‘It could be worse,’ Levitch tentatively suggested. ‘As far as I’m concerned, there was never any doubt o’ Carrick’s guilt. Now he’s proved it by ridin’ into the Tierra Sin Vida.’

  ‘Yeah, if that’s where he’s gone. He probably knows it more than most,’ Games said.

  ‘Well it’s typical,’ Levitch drawled. ‘As irresponsible as you’re ever goin’ to get.’

  ‘I’d say suicidal,’ Games suggested harshly. ‘An’ now we’ll never know where his share of the loot is, or the identity of his three sidekicks. They’re into the next State by now with a few thousand dollars between ’em.’

  ‘We’ve done all we can,’ Levitch muttered. ‘There’s wires sent to every telegraph office in the territory, but with no descriptions to circulate, they’ve got it all their own way.’

  Games gestured half-heartedly. ‘If I hadn’t been slowed down with a busted leg . . .’ he sighed.

  ‘You think you’d have caught him, Myron?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have had to,’ the sheriff replied snappily. ‘I’m frustrated, Dod. It’s not every day I discuss losin’ a prisoner with a deputy who’s already missin’ his horse, gun, hat an’ coat.’

  Levitch pulled the near-empty bottle of physic from his pocket. ‘Good job I didn’t lose this,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Myron. The way you put it, it sure sounds crazy.’