by Abe Dancer
‘The MD you got here in Bullhead. Does he know much about pills and stuff? You know, what’s in them,’ Houston asked by way of an answer.
‘Doc Milford? He knows more’n most. Makes his own, I think . . . those he don’t, get shipped in from Chicago. What do you want to know for?’
‘I’ve got reasons,’ Houston said.
Mimsy came back. She was carrying Levitch’s holstered Colt and gun belt, was obviously still of lighter frame of mind. She handed the goods to Houston who was taking the small, waxed-paper packets from his pocket.
‘Sheriff says it’s Doc Milford who can help us,’ he said, pressing one of them into her hand. ‘His daytime surgery’s along the street. Tell him what we want to know, that we want him back here to give us his opinion.’
Houston then laid the gun and belt alongside Carrick’s bloodied shirt.
‘That’s Dod’s gun,’ Games exclaimed. ‘You said you buried ’em.’
‘I know. I also said a few other things in front of your deputy that weren’t exactly factual,’ Houston replied. ‘Take a look at the cartridges here. You’ll find every one’s been tampered with. This Colt’s about as lethal as spit.’
‘What are you talkin’ about, Houston? Why the hell should Levitch’s gun be duped?’
‘Because he meant Billy Carrick to make a grab for it. He also meant him to escape through the back door. That was where his men would have shot him down like a rabid dog.’
‘Keep talkin’,’ Games said. ‘I ain’t captured but I’m listenin’.’
‘Billy Carrick’s not dead. His family were helping bring him back for trial. We were ambushed, and Billy stopped a bullet. I dealt with them.’
‘Yeah, so you said. The brace of turkeys you didn’t recognize,’ Games offered.
‘That was for Levitch’s benefit. One of them was familiar. Billy said his name was Glim Savotta. He also said Savotta was an associate of Levitch’s.’
‘What did the other one look like?’
Houston described the second gunman and Games nodded in recognition. ‘Jack Carboys,’ he said. ‘The three of ’em worked a greasy sack spread a few miles out of town.’
‘Wasn’t it Savotta who claimed it was three riders hightailed it away from the bank?’ Houston asked.
‘Yeah, Savotta,’ Games confirmed. ‘The riders who never were. Hell, that’s why there’s been no response to Levitch’s wires. Huh, if he ever sent ’em. If I go with you on this, Houston, you explain Carrick’s gun . . . the chunk of his shirt.’
‘Very soon I think I’ll be able to tell you how the whole thing was set up.’
‘When Mimsy Carrick and the doc get here?’
‘That’s right. If Billy Carrick killed Chester Jarrow, my name really isn’t George Houston.’
Games went quiet, fidgeted uncomfortably then cursed. ‘No lawman wants to hear his deputy’s corrupt . . . crooked,’ he rasped with quiet anger. ‘The son-of-a-bitch pinned on his star two years back an’ I never had any reason to question him.’
‘Well, how long does it take to go bad?’ Houston asked. ‘You can’t ignore the cartridges. When Levitch went into that cell, he was inviting Billy to make a break. If Billy had gone through the back door, he’d have met Savotta, Carboys and Denvy. Met them with something less useful than a pea-shooter.’
‘If Carrick had been killed durin’ a break-out, there wouldn’t be any case to answer . . . no need for a trial,’ Games said.
‘Yeah, what Levitch wanted,’ Houston agreed. ‘If not, he’d have been in real trouble. If Billy was ever allowed to say his piece, the truth would have at least been heard . . . maybe considered. No way Levitch could risk that.’
‘I heard it, goddamnit,’ Games scowled.
‘You were too close. It needed an outside eye,’ Houston persisted. ‘Levitch would have been worried sick at Billy’s escape. Maybe recovered a tad when he realized Billy had run to the desert with hardly any water. He found out I’d gone after Billy with a good chance I’d find him, so he had to stop me.’
‘You’re sayin’ it was Dod out at the creek?’
‘He’s my best guess.’
‘But Savotta an’ Carboys were layin’ for you elsewhere,’ Games said with fitting surprise.
‘Yeah.’ Houston thought for a moment. ‘Do you remember when you last saw them?’
‘When they rode out with Dod . . . after Carrick broke jail. I didn’t see ’em after that, though.’
‘They took the regular trail,’ Houston suggested. ‘They were all nervous about Billy. It didn’t seem likely he’d get across that wasteland alive, but they had to be sure. They headed for the hills, in case he did.’
Games cursed quietly. He sliced his Brown Mule, popped a chaw into the side of his mouth. ‘I’ll wait for the girl an’ her second act,’ he said flatly, without humour.
Ten minutes later, Mimsy returned with Doc Milford. Games introduced Houston.
Milford nodded. ‘Yes, I know who you are,’ he said. ‘I was in the hotel when you met up with Cuff Marteau.’ The Bullhead MD placed a wax-packet on the desk-top and squinted at its contents. ‘Yours, I believe?’
‘No, not mine. And I’m not sure what it is either? A sedative?’ Houston asked.
The doctor grinned, shook his head. ‘It’s some sort of horse-pill. I’d never administer a sedative that strong to a human. Don’t reckon any other reputable MD would either. Too dangerous if the patient had any weaknesses.’
‘Say he didn’t. Say he was young, strong and healthy. What then?’
‘If his heart stood up to it, he’d feel as though he’d been kicked and trampled by a mule team.’
‘Sleep awhile then? On top of a drink or two.’
‘Certainly. It wouldn’t take many.’
‘And when he came to, he’d have one hell of a headache?’
‘He’d still be able to think and move around a bit. None of it too well, though. Where on earth did you get this?’
‘Someone’s pocket,’ Houston said sharply. ‘Doc, you’ve just explained how young Billy Carrick said he felt.’
‘I recall him sayin’ his head was fit to bust,’ Games put in.
‘Yeah, it’s what he told me and anybody who’d listen,’ Houston said. ‘A couple of dust-settlers was all he could pay for. These are tablets I found on Savotta. Carboys had the others. But there was three of them together in the saloon, and it wasn’t for their personal use. It was for Billy. Whoever got close enough to him.’
‘Close enough to slip it into his drink,’ Games concluded. ‘Like a mickey finn.’
‘Exactly.’
‘They never came from any store or doctor’s bag, believe me.’ Milford frowned.
‘I never thought they did,’ Houston said. ‘Billy reckons this Denvy character wasn’t a regular of the Delano Saloon. He appeared to be more of a professional man . . . like yourself, Doc.’
‘Hmm, I hope not. There’s more than one sense to pushing pills,’ Milford muttered. ‘I hope my observations have been of help, gentleman. If that’s all . . .’
‘Yes, Doc, thanks. I’d guessed it, just wanted to know what you thought,’ Houston said. ‘If there’s a fee, I’m sure the sheriff’s office will oblige.’
When Doc Milford had gone, Houston looked at Games, keenly. ‘It didn’t have to be some sort of monkey that climbed into that back room while Billy was only half-conscious. It would have been easy for Levitch or any of his sidekicks,’ he said, without trace of a smile or smirk.
‘Yeah, any one of ’em,’ Games agreed. ‘Natural like. They tore a piece off his shirt an’ stole his gun . . . took it all to the bank.’ The sheriff turned to Mimsy. ‘Can I ask you to do somethin’ now?’ he asked. ‘Ask the stableman to prepare a rig for me?’ Turning to Houston he added, ‘I have to bring in my deputy.’
‘I know you do. But you won’t be going alone,’ Houston assured him. ‘And you won’t be looking for fresh-dug holes in the ground, either. You know where to go af
terwards, Mimsy.’
‘Yep, the hotel,’ Mimsy nodded. ‘I lock myself in your room an’ wait for you to come fetch me.’
‘That’s it . . . act two,’ Houston agreed and winked. ‘Soon as this thing’s over and done with, we’ll ride back to your folks.’
‘You should’ve been a lawman, Houston,’ Games said after Mimsy had gone. ‘Or a fisherman or a trapper.’ He struggled up, made a pained face and let his crutches fall back to rest against the chair. ‘Funny how stuff gets mended when there’s sheriffin’ to do,’ he declared. ‘Let’s go see a man.’
‘I’m sure of where he’s gone,’ Houston told him. ‘We’ll know as soon as . . .’ He stopped what he was going to say because Orville Land was hauling in at the law office hitchrail. The hotel owner’s face was flushed and beaded with sweat as he swung down to the street. He stood beside his buggy, with his chest heaving, opened his mouth as Houston appeared ahead of Games. ‘Did what you said . . . followed him,’ he panted.
‘Where to?’ Houston asked.
‘Direction of Glim Savotta’s place. Unless he’s going on somewhere.’
‘No, that’s about where he’s headed. And it figures,’ Houston nodded with satisfaction as he turned to Games. ‘I reckon there’s two of them storming their own puncheons right about now, Sheriff. Whatever they took from the bank, they’ll be splitting it right down the middle.’
‘So, you’ll be accompanyin’ me to the shindig?’ Games asked.
Houston grinned his acceptance. ‘Just try and stop me,’ he said.
‘We should have someone else to ride along . . . do the drivin’. This peg of mine ain’t exactly mended. It’ll slow me up some.’
‘How about deputising Mr Land?’ Houston suggested. ‘He’s here and fascinated by front-line action.’
Ten minutes later, and after a brief swearing-in procedure, Myron Games was being driven out of town by the thrilled, albeit nervous Orville Land. From the sidewalk, Doc Milford puffed his cheeks in frustration at the recklessness of Games. Bullhead’s sheriff wasn’t in shape, but he was raising a commanding hand as Houston’s mare cantered alongside his buggy.
CHAPTER 14
They reached rough, home pasture at dusk. A light glowed dully from a window in the ramshackle ranch-house. Beyond the corral there was a saddled horse tethered to a lone cottonwood and Houston called a halt.
‘They’ll not be waiting for us, but we’ll walk from here,’ he directed. ‘The way I see it, Mr Land, there’s nothing daring or heroic about this encounter. You might want to bear that in mind. Levitch is the son-of-a-bitch who attempted to backshoot me. To that I don’t take too kindly and that’s why I’m here. For the sheriff, I’m guessing it’s a matter of being deceived first . . . bringing criminals to book, second. We’ll just have to see how it pans out.’
‘That’s enough goddamn explanation,’ Games responded. ‘My leg’s stove-up, but everythin’ else is workin’. Let’s get on with it.’
‘No need to hurry,’ Houston said. ‘We know where they are, and the darkness can be our friend.’
The three men advanced slowly, and Games was at no disadvantage. By the time they had cautiously reached the near side of the corral, it was almost full dark.
One side window hung open, and in response to a wave and pointed arm from Houston, Games stood alongside a hand pump. The barrel of his big Colt shotgun was aimed belly high on the ranch-house door. Orville Land stayed close behind Houston as they moved round towards the window.
Houston indicated that Land shouldn’t move, just listen and watch. Then he ducked low, moved to the other side of the window, stood with his back close to the chinked wall. Up close, they could both now hear the eager, forceful voices of Levitch and Fats Denvy.
‘You didn’t drop him at the creek,’ Denvy was saying. ‘He was alive and kickin’. A bear with a sore head, who got Carrick off that godforsaken ground an’ back on the trail. Hell, Dod, if Glim an’ Jack had lived, they could’ve told him everythin’ . . . a dyin’ man’s words, an’ all that.’
‘Well they didn’t to both, so quit worryin’,’ Levitch growled. ‘An’ that means mas dinero for you an’ me.’
‘Should be mucho mas dinero for me,’ Denvy chuckled. ‘None of this would have been possible without my slumber tablets. You wanted a fall guy . . . I gave you one. You didn’t even have to bend the barrel of your own gun.’
‘An’ you’d have been in for only a quarter of this,’ Levitch countered. ‘When Glim an’ Jack died we profited. Now, there’s more’n plenty for the two o’ us.’
‘I was only raggin’ you, Dod,’ Denvy laughed again. ‘The way I’m fixed right now, a share of anythin’s one hell of a lot.’
Houston stood and drew his .44 Navy Colt. In the light from a single oil lamp he could see through the ranch’s narrow pantry to where Levitch and Denvy sat cater-corner at a plain table. A few bundles of bank notes and bags of coin stood beside a half-empty bottle of corn whiskey. When Houston appeared as a deeply-dark shape in the window, Levitch looked up and gasped in shock.
‘He’s here,’ he rasped. ‘Houston. He’s standin’ outside the goddamn window.’
‘Yeah, the bear with a sore head,’ Houston responded. He swung his left hand at the window frame, pushed it fully open in one fast movement.
Of the two men inside, Dod Levitch was the first to act. He swept the whiskey bottle from the table, across the room to smash against the outer wall adjacent to the window near where Houston stood.
Levitch drew his gun as he rose from the table, but Houston already had the advantage. Fats Denvy was momentarily shaken. It gave Houston time to make a decision, and he fired as Levitch backed towards the front door. Now Denvy fired, but his shot was wide, and Houston simply flinched as the bullet smacked into the side wall. Another bullet kicked splinters from the window frame, but Houston steadied himself to fire a second shot. Colts roared in angry unison, and Houston’s bullet punched high into Denvy’s chest. It sent the man staggering to the far wall, sliding fatally to the floor.
‘Get down . . . stay out front,’ Houston snapped as Land attempted to look through the window. The agitated hotel owner dropped down immediately, hunkered and patted his pockets as though seeking a weapon. Then he gulped, closed his eyes to take on the clamour, the powder flashes, the overpowering tang of burnt cordite.
Back inside, Houston seemed to be holding his fire. Through the low light he watched with a near-detached interest as Levitch reached the front door, listened with a tight, icy smile as the deputy started his desperate claim.
‘I know you’re out there, Myron,’ the deputy sheriff started. ‘The bounty man caught me an’ I’m bleedin’ bad. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Don’t shoot,’ he appealed.
By the pump, Games took a single step forward. ‘You’re goin’ somewhere all right, you treacherous scum,’ he responded furiously. ‘Get your rotten carcass out here.’
‘Sheriff, I’m coming around. Hold your barrel high,’ Houston called out. He waited a moment, stepped around the corner of the cabin as first Levitch’s Colt, then Game’s shotgun exploded.
Levitch was down, sprawled in a heap atop and across the narrow steps. He had dropped his Colt and was writhing in anguish, bleeding from severe wounds to the whole of his right leg.
‘You been hurt?’ Houston asked the sheriff.
‘No, not in that way . . . not from bullets. He didn’t give me a choice. But I got a hankerin’ to take him back alive. Somethin’ for the town to see an’ chew over.’
‘The other one caught a bullet too high to live,’ Houston said. ‘Careful how you write this, Mr Land,’ he then advised. ‘We don’t want any of your book-reading folk to think we’re all natural, cold-hearted killers.’
Allowing his excitement to overcome his fear, Orville Land had continued to tag along close behind Houston. ‘I reckon this one could make a story in its own right,’ he replied, staring into the night as though addressing potential readers.
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‘Where’d you reckon the cash is?’ Games asked.
‘Inside, on the table.’
‘I’ll take care of it,’ Games decided. ‘You an’ Orville can get Levitch up an’ onto his mount. Make sure he’s safely tethered. In the darkness, we don’t want him topplin’ off.’
‘If we don’t do something about his bleeding, you know he’ll die before he leaves the saddle?’
‘Yeah, what a gift,’ Games answered, taking a step towards the cabin and the stolen bank money. ‘I’ll send out the Post brothers to bring in Denvy’s body.’
They took Levitch back to town, along with the recovered cash. During the journey, and mostly for the benefit of Orville Land, Houston gave an end-to-end account of the situation. He repeated the significant facts again when he paid a late visit to Cottonwood Walk and Agnes Jarrow. The lady listened attentively, offering little comment until he had finished.
‘I’m not sure it’s the right word, but I am very grateful,’ she murmured. ‘No matter the contrary evidence, I just couldn’t believe the boy was guilty. Call me soft-hearted, if you like.’
‘There’s probably been a few men and women who’ve thought like that before and to their cost. I prefer the facts . . . the reality.’
‘I think you’re meaning the bodies of the bad men, Mr Houston. Well, whatever, it’s over now and he’s in the clear. And so you’ll be travelling on?’ she said.
‘Yes, ma’am. But first I’ve got to return Billy’s sister, Mimsy. Then there’s one or two items to pick up from Orville Land.’
‘The money I offered you, it seems small compensation for all your trouble. You’ve risked your life.’
‘That was down to me . . . mostly,’ Houston conceded. ‘But since accepting your offer, I have thought of a better use.’
‘Really? What’s that?’
‘The Carricks. Make it a loan from the bank. It’s somehow fitting . . . bring a long-awaited smile to their faces. There’s only so much two or three men can do with picks and shovels. No wonder they’ve nothing to show. I reckon the money will be well invested and you’ll even get repaid. A sort of exclusive grubstake. How can you refuse?’