Tarnished Badge

by Paul Lederer

  ‘I don’t know,’ Bean growled, pulling his hat over his eyes before stretching out on his blanket. ‘I guess I don’t understand it all – I just want my loan from the bank!’

  ‘It’ll be a while,’ Riley had to tell him. These were the things bank robbers never thought about or cared enough to consider. Bean wasn’t the only one in Quirt who would be hurting for a while with the bank closed.

  Bank auditors. Those were the only words Lester Burnett caught out of Riley’s explanation of matters to Bean. Those men from Tucson would come up and pore over the bank’s books and discover many things, including the fact that Burnett had taken out three personal loans totaling fourteen hundred dollars. These were loans that his wife knew nothing about or his fellow members in the merchants’ association. Only Abel Skinner, who had been the soul of discretion, knew of these.

  The loans had been taken out only on the strength of Burnett’s signature. He had had nothing to use as collateral except his character. A weak character it was. Lester Burnett had taken the first loan so that he could finance his next poker game, the one where he was sure to win back all that he had lost at that same friendly table. Losing again, he had approached Abel Skinner for a second time, and then a third.

  It was at a private table that he lost, not in some public gaming hall, and so no one except Abel Skinner knew how far in debt he was and why. Burnett could not stay away from the cards! And if he did not go back to them he could never repay his debt. And so he lost again and again until desperation started to set in.

  Only Skinner had known, but his financial woes might become public now; the new bank management might demand repayment. Just now, when Burnett had already made up his mind to run for mayor in the next election. Having his weakness made public could destroy any chance he had at the polls. And his chances had once been very good indeed with the entire merchants’ association behind him.

  Burnett had thought that capturing Jake Worthy and returning the stolen money to the bank would forestall any investigation of the bank’s books. Now, if Riley was correct, territorial bank examiners would be swarming over the Quirt Bank whether Worthy was captured or not.

  Burnett’s political career was at an end. His finances were in ruins. He rolled over in his bed, furious and frightened at once. He lay on his back for a while as the fire burned low. He pondered – what did political office really mean to him except position and the ability to curry favor?

  No, what really hurt him was the lack of finances. It was all about the money – whether it was returned or if it could be somehow commandeered. He considered that closely, a thin ray of hope seeping into his troubled heart. Suppose they did not catch up with Worthy this side of the Yavapai and Sheriff Fawcett pulled out of the chase. What then? Who would be left if the posse decided to go on?

  He might talk to Bean along the trail, suggesting a plan to him. Bean was as desperate as he was to make something out of this. The farmer was in need of money to keep his patch going. Who else? Jesse Goodnight had a criminal background. He seemed to wish to gun down Jake Worthy more than anything else, but surely a man like that would not object to splitting the bank loot with them. Then they could each go on their own way, perhaps start over in a new town.

  The kid, Billy, he discounted. The blond young man was only in this for the adventure, Burnett thought. At any rate, the kid would not give them much trouble – not against three equally armed men.

  Riley, he was a different matter. He fit no pattern that Burnett could discern. He seemed to be closer to Fawcett than was explicable. Maybe he would just give up the pursuit when Fawcett left and return to Quirt with the sheriff. That was something that could not be counted on, however. Riley was the one man that would have to be watched very carefully. But with Bean and especially the dangerous Goodnight on his side, Burnett thought there was no reason to worry about what Riley might do. If a plan could be designed before they reached the Yavapai, Burnett thought that there was every chance that he could wriggle his way out of trouble.

  Lester Burnett yawned, half smiled and opened his eyes to the distant stars again.

  The fire ring exploded as rifle shots struck the burning juniper branches there, spinning one of them skyward and showering Burnett with sparks.

  David Bean let out a yowl and rolled from his blanket, which was smoldering. Goodnight cursed and automatically drew his pistol although there was nothing to shoot at in the darkness of the night. Billy Dewitt popped up from his bed, rifle in hand.

  ‘Stay down,’ Riley hissed at the blond kid as another rifle bullet struck the fire, sending a fresh shower of red-gold sparks skyward.

  ‘Who’s shooting?’ David Bean called out.

  ‘It’s Jake Worthy, has to be,’ Burnett called from the shadows.

  ‘It’s not Jake,’ Goodnight said with conviction. ‘No one’s dead.’

  ‘That damned farmer!’ Bean said hoarsely. ‘See what you’ve caused, Burnett!’

  ‘Shut up,’ Sheriff Fawcett ordered. ‘Keep your eyes peeled for a muzzle flash, something to fire back at. He’s near enough to pick us off one by one.’

  ‘But who is it?’ Bean asked again, his voice nearly a whine. ‘Indians?’

  Indians, Riley thought as he lay on his belly, clutching his Colt .44. Indians, or Jake Worthy. Or the wronged farmer.

  Or the mysterious lone rider who had been tracking them for mile after mile across the lost land.

  The fire burned low, the flickering tongues of flame withered and blew out in the wind. Curlicues of smoke rose in bleak surrender. The men lay unmoving for long, cold hours after the fire had burned out. There were no more shots; still no one was inclined to rise and move around. The sniper, whoever he was, might have been moving closer in the darkness all this time.

  The sounds of Sheriff Will Fawcett outfitting his horse brought Riley awake in the dark chill of morning. No one had started a morning fire. They were all still jittery about the sniper. Jesse Goodnight could be made out, lugging his own saddle across the tiny camp. Billy Dewitt was sitting up in bed, rubbing at his eyes. Bean moaned, ‘Oh, God, not another day so early.’

  Lester Burnett, who seemed to be in a better mood this morning, encouraged Bean with a few words, then rose stiffly from his blankets to equip his own horse.

  ‘Time to mount up, Billy,’ Riley said, passing the kid’s bed.

  ‘Yeah, I got the idea,’ Billy said with a weak grin, ‘I just don’t like it much.’

  Riley smiled faintly and walked to where his roan had been picketed overnight. Rime crackled underfoot. Riley rubbed his shoulders and shivered violently once. There was not even a hint of gray along the eastern skyline as of yet. There would be no breakfast, not even a cup of coffee, but they would hopefully be gaining ground on the elusive Jake Worthy. Smoothing the Indian blanket on his roan’s back, Riley swung his battered saddle up. The small amount of movement got his blood circulating again, and as he slipped the roan its bit, he was starting to feel like a living man and not some creature that had clawed its way from its cold crypt.

  ‘Be nice if we had some light to pick up Worthy’s tracks by,’ Riley muttered to Fawcett as he rode up beside the sheriff, who was blowing into his clenched hands to try to warm them.

  ‘Hell, we haven’t cut his sign for two days anyway,’ Fawcett grumbled. ‘We’re just riding on probabilities.’

  ‘Could be that he’ll start to get careless now,’ Riley said.

  ‘There’s that hope, but the man hasn’t made a careless mistake yet. He’s a cagey one, is Jake Worthy.’

  With everyone mounted they headed westward once more. Not even the tall mountains ahead could be seen as yet. There was nothing but a dark land and dark men moving like specters along the ill-defined trail. Their horses’ hoofs made splintering sounds against the hoarfrost, as if they were treading on glass. Riley heard Goodnight mutter, ‘Jake Worthy’s sitting up next to a fire somewhere, having a nice cup of hot coffee.’

  No one replied; ther
e was no response that could be made. Riley thought that Goodnight was probably right. How far ahead of them was the bank robber? He doubted that they had made up a yard of ground on Worthy since leaving Quirt. It was a defeated feeling, like running on a treadmill, that they rode with now.

  One by one, forms began to make their appearance from out of the darkness. An isolated stack of boulders appeared and the tilted, solitary oak tree growing near it. Glancing across his shoulder, Riley now could see a gray band of light on the eastern horizon, and a flush of pink at its lower reaches. Dawn would come rapidly, but the air would remain chilly for some time.

  Billy Dewitt’s teeth chattered as he asked, ‘H-how f-far to Yavapai Creek?’ He had his shoulders hunched up to his ears in his thin leather jacket.

  ‘I’m not sure, except that we should reach it today. Then some men are going to have to make some difficult decisions.’

  ‘At least my pony will have some water,’ Billy said. ‘What do you think, Riley? Are we going to cross the river and continue after Worthy?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s something every man is going to have to decide for himself.’

  ‘M-me, I don’t know,’ Billy said. ‘I’ve got nothing against Worthy. I’m not even from Quirt.’

  ‘Do whatever you feel you must,’ Riley said.

  ‘You, Riley, what do you plan on doing?’

  ‘Haven’t decided yet,’ Riley answered, although of course he had. He had to continue in pursuit of Jake Worthy. It was a part of his job.

  That morning saw some strange companions on the westward ride. Lester Burnett was in close conversation with Jesse Goodnight although the gunman had only demonstrated contempt for the townsman. Before dawn, Riley had noticed Burnett riding near to David Bean, talking – although each had shown disdain for the other. Something was up, and Riley was pretty sure he knew what it was. The men were choosing up sides. The three had nothing in common except that one item which always attracted disparate men, temporarily bonding them.

  Jake Worthy was carrying too much cash to be allowed to escape.

  Sheriff Fawcett had undoubtedly noticed these goings-on as well. He was too experienced not to have seen them and placed the same construction on the muted conversations. Would that affect Fawcett’s own decision about crossing the Yavapai into the neighboring county, illegally pursuing Worthy?

  Riley decided things would fall out as they would. For himself, badge or not, he was going to track down Jake Worthy no matter how many miles, how much time it took.

  As the sun rose higher and beat down on their backs they continued along the trail in torpid silence. Now and then Bean cursed at his slow-moving dun horse as it mis-stepped out of fatigue, but that was about it.

  The sun was high overhead when they crested the grassy knoll and saw, unexpectedly, a little house of sawn lumber below, surrounded by a screen of cottonwood trees, their leaves flickering silver in the sunlight.

  ‘Maybe someone with water and a kinder view of lawmen,’ they heard Lester Burnett say.

  ‘There’s a chance,’ Fawcett said, ‘and it’s worth asking. We won’t see the Yavapai until nearly sundown if I’m not mistaken.’

  Together then, they moved in a ragged line down the slope toward the tiny house. They had gotten to within fifty yards of it before a woman burst out onto the porch, screaming and waving her arms at them.

  FOUR

  Riley, as amazed as any of them, slowed his horse and stared at the porch of the small house, where a woman in red silk continued to wave her hands frantically in their direction, dancing a sort of crazed jig as she tried to attract their attention.

  She already had it.

  She was young, dark-haired and slender. Now her voice reached them and they could make out a few of the words. ‘Help! Help me, I beg you. Please!’

  Fawcett glanced at Riley and kneed his horse forward. The two men reached the porch as the hysterical woman stopped her frantic dancing and clung to an upright post, her slender arm slung around it. She looked up with grateful, dark-blue eyes, attempted a smile, failed and said in a dry whisper: ‘Thank God.’

  ‘What’s happening here?’ Fawcett asked, taking charge.

  ‘He … a man came to my house. Last night. He said he wanted food and a horse, and I could give them to him or he’d take them by force.’ The girl hesitated. ‘Of course I gave him what he wanted.’

  ‘Did he give his name?’ Fawcett wanted to know.

  The girl shook her head vehemently. ‘No, no name. He just displayed his pistol and told me what to do.’

  ‘We know who it was,’ said Jesse Goodnight, who had arrived in time to hear the last of the girl’s broken words.

  Fawcett scowled. ‘What did this man look like?’ he asked.

  ‘Look like…?’ The girl sounded dazed. She took a deep breath, stood away from the porch support, smoothed her red skirt and thought for a moment. ‘He rode a buckskin horse with a splash of white on its chest. He was fairly tall. He had a full, dark mustache and black eyes. And he was left-handed,’ she told them.

  ‘Jake Worthy,’ Fawcett said, glancing at Riley.

  ‘I knew it,’ Goodnight said. He was appraising the young woman from horseback. It was difficult to tell his motives, though she was a good-looking thing. ‘Which way did he go?’ the gunman demanded.

  The girl looked startled by the question. She stuttered an answer. ‘I don’t know … well, I do, but he told me…’ her voice became more panicked, ‘that there were some men following him and if I said a word, he would know and he would come back and take care of me. I was so frightened. That’s why I was so happy to see you men arrive.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Riley asked gently.

  ‘Rita. Rita Poole,’ he was told. With more excitement she said, ‘I have to clear out of here, you can see that. What if he does come back …? I have an aunt in Ellis. If I can get there, I’ll be safe.’

  ‘You mean you live here all alone?’ Fawcett wanted to know.

  ‘Last winter,’ she said, ‘my father and mother both took ill with the diphtheria. I tried to nurse them through it, but in a couple of weeks they both died. I’ve been here alone since.’

  ‘Tough,’ Fawcett muttered, not without pity.

  ‘I’ve got another horse, an old mare. As soon as I saddle her and grab a few things, I’ll be ready to go,’ Rita Poole said almost feverishly.

  She had turned toward the door when Fawcett barked: ‘Just wait a minute, Miss Poole. No one said we were taking you along with us. I don’t even know if we’ll be riding as far as Ellis.’

  ‘That’s where the man said he was going,’ Rita said, whirling to face them. ‘Don’t you want to catch him? If I stay here, I’ll be alone, at risk. Riding alone I’ll be just a target. I was so happy to see six grown men with badges on their chests riding up. I knew I’d be safe then. After so much fear …. Don’t tell me that you aren’t chivalrous enough to assist a poor orphan girl.’

  ‘It’s just that—’

  ‘Of course we are,’ Goodnight said. ‘I, at least, will see you as far as Ellis.’

  ‘That’s across the Yavapai, isn’t it?’ Billy Dewitt asked in a quiet voice, and Riley nodded. That explained at least some of Fawcett’s reluctance to promise the girl safe passage.

  ‘Let me give you a hand,’ Goodnight said, dismounting. He swung down from his horse and said to Bean, ‘Maybe you can find the girl’s mare and get it trail-ready. You all can water your horses at that tank.’

  ‘Taking over already, is he?’ Fawcett said through tight lips. ‘It’s enough to make me cross the Yavapai myself.’

  ‘They’d have your badge for it if anyone found out,’ Riley said.

  ‘Who’s going to say anything, Sheriff?’ Billy asked. ‘Not us, certainly.’

  ‘No. Not you, at least, Bill, but Goodnight and Burnett might not be so close-mouthed. Burnett, especially, is entwined in county politics. If he thought it would gain him favor in some quarters to take me down,
it’s not beyond him.’

  ‘I don’t see why any man would do that to you just because you tried to do your job!’ Billy said, shocked.

  ‘Then you don’t understand politics,’ the sheriff said in a muffled voice. ‘Riley, if they decided to cross the Yavapai, will you take charge for me?’

  ‘You know I can’t do that, Sheriff.

  ‘I didn’t think so.’ The sheriff removed his hat and wiped back his lank dark hair. He looked suddenly older and slightly bewildered.

  ‘I’ll see if I can help inside,’ Riley said, swinging down from his roan.

  Now it was Billy who seemed puzzled. Why would the girl need the help of two men to pack up a few of her things?

  ‘He just wants to look around the house,’ Fawcett told Billy. That did nothing to clear the mists of confusion.

  ‘Sheriff Fawcett,’ Billy asked, ‘is Riley—?’

  The sheriff cut him off. ‘Whatever he is, he’ll tell you if he thinks you need to know. Let’s just say he’s a capable man. It took me a time to recollect where I knew him from, but now I remember. Stick by his side and listen to what he has to say and you’ll be all right, kid. We’d better water our horses as well.’

  Riley slipped silently into the house. He could hear the voices of Rita Poole and Goodnight in a back bedroom. They didn’t sound like strangers. Frowning, Riley went into the kitchen, noticing that there were still dishes at the table from a breakfast for two. That didn’t have to mean anything, but it was curious. There was much growing curious about this crossing of paths. He returned to the living room just as Rita Poole and Goodnight – carrying a leather satchel – emerged from the bedroom. Goodnight was glowering, but Rita had a bright smile on her face. The expression faded as she saw Riley.

  ‘Did you want something, Riley?’ the badman demanded.