Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  "That shot's gonna bring folks runnin'!" Dawson said frantically.

  "I know!" Cooper bent and grasped Stauck's arm, hauling him to his feet. Putting his face close to Stauck's, Cooper asked urgently, "Can you run, Gage?"

  There was no way Cooper could leave him behind to talk and identify them. If Stauck could not get away, he would have to die here.

  As Stauck nodded shakily, Cooper rasped, "Then come on." He would at least give Stauck a chance.

  With Cooper in the lead, the three men plunged out of the tent toward the grove of trees where their mounts were hidden, about twenty yards from the edge of the camp. Cooper paused long enough to rip the money box from Dawson's hands. "I'll take care of that," he snarled.

  "Hey, wait a minute—"

  "You want to stand around here arguin' and get shot for your trouble?" Cooper demanded.

  Dawson shook his head. He reached out to support Stauck instead as the smaller man started to sag.

  "Let's go," Cooper said. He started to run through the shadows, not looking back to see if the other two were following him.

  Flint and Cully were admiring the skill with which Count Lothar von Berndt was putting his big cats through their paces when they heard the gunshot. The two lawmen exchanged a quick glance, and then they were both running toward the big top's entryway.

  Cully reached it first, with Flint a step behind. The deputy plunged out past the canvas flap, his gun drawn. His eyes darted around the surrounding camp, looking for the source of trouble.

  Some of the spectators had heard the disturbance, too, and curious shouts were coming from the tent. The count stopped his act and glared toward the entryway where Flint and Cully had gone rushing out.

  A low moan drew Cully's attention. Spotting Bruno lying in the entrance of a small tent, Cully said, "Over there, Marshal!" He ran toward the bloody form of the strong man.

  Flint hung back slightly, his head swiveling as he watched for any threat. Cully charged recklessly ahead, as was his nature, knowing that Flint would be ready if anybody tried to ambush them.

  Cully dropped to one knee beside Bruno. The strong man's shoulder and arm were covered with blood, and Cully could see the bullet hole in the flesh. Bruno shook his head and tried to open his eyes. Cully leaned closer and said urgently, "What happened, Bruno? Who did this to you?"

  Bruno lifted his uninjured arm slightly and pointed into the tent. "In...th-there..." he gasped.

  Flint was standing beside Cully now and heard the big man's answer. He put a hand on Cully's shoulder and said, "I'll check it out." Colt up and ready, he moved past Bruno into the tent.

  Flint saw immediately that the tent held no threat. He saw the pistol-whipped body of the bookkeeper, recognizing him from the night before, when Houser had introduced him to the man. There were also a few coins scattered on the ground inside the tent, Flint saw as he knelt to check on the old man's condition. He was alive, Flint discovered, but breathing shallowly and raggedly.

  Flint came to his feet and hurried outside, where a crowd was gathering around Bruno's body. Houser was among the group, and Flint grabbed his arm. "Send someone for Dr. Keller," the marshal ordered sharply. "Your bookkeeper's inside the tent. He's been pistol-whipped, from the looks of it, but he's still alive."

  "Who—who would do such a dreadful thing?" Houser demanded.

  "Whoever stole your receipts for tonight," Flint said. "Come on, Cully. They can't have gotten far."

  Leaving Houser and the others to care for Bruno and the bookkeeper until Rose Keller could arrive, Flint and Cully slipped into the shadows cast by the cluster of circus wagons.

  In a whisper, Cully asked, "You think whoever did it is still around here, Marshal?"

  "Did you hear any horses leaving after that shot?"

  "Nope."

  "Neither did I," Flint said. "And I haven't heard any hoofbeats since then. We were out of the big tent within a minute or two of the robbery, Cully. We would have heard the thieves making a getaway."

  Cully grinned in the shadows. "Then they're still in the camp somewhere, probably trying to get to wherever they stashed their horses."

  "That's the way I figure it."

  "And I'd bet my saddle it was Ned Cooper who pulled this."

  "No bet," Flint said grimly.

  They had been moving quietly but quickly between the wagons as they talked. Now they fell silent, concentrating on the task at hand. When they reached the edge of the camp, Flint motioned for Cully to go one direction while he headed the other way. Cully nodded in understanding.

  Moonlight illuminated the open areas and created deep shadows in other places. Cully and Flint were about fifty yards apart when a figure suddenly loomed up in front of Flint. The marshal tilted his Colt in that direction and was only an instant from pressing the trigger when he recognized one of the roustabouts from the circus.

  "Don't shoot, Marshal!" the man squawked, holding his hands aloft. One of them held a whiskey bottle. "I was just out here havin' a drink. No call to get upset."

  Flint bit back a curse and said, "You see anybody out here the last couple of minutes?"

  The man shook his head and then pointed toward the rebuilt corral where the large animals were kept.

  "No, I ain't seen nobody, but I did hear somethin' funny over there just now. Sounded almost like somebody cryin'—"

  Flint's eyes flicked toward the corral, and he spotted moonlight glinting on metal. "Get down!" he shouted at the roustabout, lunging forward and giving the man a hard shove.

  The roustabout went sprawling as a gunshot cracked from the corral. The slug whapped through the air close to Flint's head. He snapped the Colt up, triggered twice, saw movement in the shadows, and fired again. A man came staggering into the moonlight, his hands pressed to his middle. He took two steps before he pitched forward onto this face.

  Running footsteps came from Flint's right, and he lunged forward, catching himself on one hand as another gun blasted and sent a bullet over his head. He fired quickly at the sprinting figure, knowing he probably wouldn’t hit him. "Cully!" he shouted. "Coming your way!"

  Flint had no way of knowing how many men he was up against. He had seen two so far, but there might be others. He hurried forward to crouch behind a wagon wheel. His gun was lined on the man he had shot, but there was no motion from the dark shape on the ground. Flint knew from grim experience that the man was probably dead, but he wasn’t going to bet his life on that. He made his way forward carefully, using what cover he could find.

  Cully had spun around at the sound of shots and he was already moving toward Flint when he heard the marshal's warning yell. Cully spotted the man running toward him and cried out, "Hold it, mister!"

  The man's reply was a shot, the slug whining through the night. Cully returned the fire and saw the man swerve away from him. The man ran desperately toward the big top, cut off from any other avenue of escape.

  Cully pounded after him. The deputy feared that if the thief made it to the crowd around the big top, he would grab one of the bystanders and use him or her as a shield. Cully didn’t want that to happen.

  He was too late, he thought bitterly as he heard a scream up ahead. Rounding a wagon at top speed, he jerked to a halt as he saw a horrifying tableau in front of him.

  A thick-set man wearing a duster had grabbed a little girl who had been attending the performance with her family. Now, as the crowd scattered around him, he pressed the barrel of his pistol to the girl's head.

  "Get away!" he screeched. "All of you, get away from me, or I'll kill her! I swear I'll kill her!"

  Cully's mouth was dry, and his throat felt constricted. The bandanna once tied around the outlaw's face had slipped down so that his features were revealed, and Cully recognized him as Heck Dawson, one of Cooper's friends. Dawson's face glistened with sweat, his eyes darting in nervous panic as he scanned the crowd in front of him. He was clearly scared enough to carry out his threat.

  As the man's frantic
eyes lit on Cully, the deputy said, "Take it easy, Dawson. Nobody wants to hurt you." He tried to keep his voice calm and level, but it wasn’t easy.

  "Back off, Deputy!" Dawson warned.

  Cully held up both hands, the Colt still in his right one. "I'm backing off," he said as he took a step backward. "It'll be all right, mister. Just let the little girl go."

  The girl writhed in terror. Hoarse whimpers came from her throat. Cully didn’t recognize her. In her feed-sack dress and pigtails, she looked like any of several dozen farm kids from the area. He wondered fleetingly which of the fear-stricken onlookers were her parents.

  Suddenly, a man pushed his way through the crowd and stepped out into the little clearing that had formed around the outlaw and his hostage. Count Lothar von Berndt strode forward. "Release that child!" he said firmly.

  The hardcase turned slightly. "Get out of here, mister!"

  "I said let her go!" the count barked.

  Crazy Prussian son of a bitch, Cully wanted to shout at the count. He was going to get them all killed.

  The outlaw jerked his gun toward von Berndt, and the girl sagged in the grip of his other arm, slipping toward the ground.

  That was the opening Cully needed. He yanked the Colt down and squeezed the trigger, the motion so fast it was a blur. The bullet smacked into the gunman's head, knocking him off his feet and right out from under his hat, which fell onto his face, obscuring the bloody ruin. As he fell dead onto his back, his gun slipped unfired from his still-twitching fingers. Free now, the little girl ran toward her parents, bawling at the top of her lungs.

  Cully looked from the body to the count. Von Berndt smiled thinly. "You must never let the beasts forget who is in command," he said.

  Cully took a deep breath and found himself grinning with relief.

  Flint appeared behind Cully. "There's another one back there at the edge of the camp," the marshal said as he looked bleakly at the gunman's body. "He's as dead as that one. Both of them rode with Cooper."

  Cully nodded. "You see any sign of Cooper himself?"

  "No. And that means he may still be around. I don't think these two would pull a job like this alone."

  Cully's eyes met Flint's. As long as Ned Cooper was out there somewhere in the night, no one was safe.

  Cooper crouched, leaning against one of the wagons. He clutched the money box in one hand; the other held his pistol. He lifted his right arm and used the sleeve of the duster to wipe sweat off his forehead. His hand was trembling slightly. He frowned at it.

  Dawson and Stauck were both dead, more than likely, to judge from the amount of shooting that had gone on after they split up. He didn’t think either of them had noticed when he slipped away. All he had to do now was get out of this camp somehow and make it to the horses. If he could do that, they would never catch him. Ned Cooper would head for the high lonesome country, and to hell with everybody else, including Asa Parker!

  Cooper swallowed nervously. This was the first time he had been facing odds like this, and he didn’t like it. He had to get moving again, had to get out of here.

  He hurried around the end of the wagon, then stopped in his tracks and jerked back as he almost ran into someone. "Damn!" he yelped, lifting the gun in his hand.

  "Hold it, Cooper!" the shadowy figure hissed. "It's me, you fool!"

  "Parker!" Cooper breathed the name in relief. A moment earlier, he had decided to double-cross the former acrobat, but all of those thoughts deserted him as he said desperately, "Listen, Parker, you've got to help me get out of here!"

  Parker nodded. "Sure, Cooper," he said. His hand slipped inside his coat, and when it came out, he was holding a small pistol. He jabbed it toward Cooper and squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet felt like a fist thumping Cooper in the chest. He felt a sudden fire inside him, and he dimly realized that Parker had just shot him. Cooper tried to lift the gun in his hand, but it was just too heavy.

  Parker fired again. Cooper rocked back, falling to the ground, dropping his gun and the money box. One booted foot drummed on the dirt for a second, and then the outlaw was completely still.

  Parker took a deep breath. The wheels of his brain were spinning, just as they had been ever since he had realized that the robbery had gone badly. When he had set out looking for Cooper among the wagons, he hadn’t been sure what he would do if he found him. When the time came, however, it had all been so simple. Parker knew he wouldn’t have been able to sneak Cooper out of the camp. And if he left Cooper alive, the man could be captured and reveal Parker's part in the scheme. That had left only one course open.

  Parker had only seconds in which to act. He bent over and scooped up the money box, then ran to an empty animal cage nearby. It was unlocked, and a thick layer of straw covered the floor. Yanking the door open, Parker hopped lithely into the cage. He shoved the metal box deep into the straw, then dropped back onto the ground and hurried over to Cooper's body.

  People were approaching now, several of them bearing torches. In the lead were Lucas Flint and Cully Markham, both of them with their guns out and ready.

  "It's all right," Parker called, turning toward them, and taking a couple of steps in his exaggerated limp. "Cooper's over there. He's dead."

  "What happened?" Flint asked as Cully went to check the body.

  Parker still had the little gun in his hand. He lifted it and shook his head. "I—I'm not sure," he said slowly. "He nearly ran over me while he was trying to get away...and then he raised his gun and was going to shoot me. I didn't have a choice, Marshal. I shot first."

  "Mighty damned lucky," Flint commented.

  Parker passed a shaking hand over his face. "I know."

  Cully stood up from his crouch beside Cooper's body and came over to them. "He's dead, all right," the deputy confirmed. "That was good shooting, Parker."

  "Like the marshal said, I was lucky."

  Professor Horace Houser came up to Parker and reached out to grasp his hand. Wringing it heartily, he said, "Thank God you were here, Asa! You've disposed of a notorious criminal. Perhaps now the rest of our stay in Abilene won't be quite so hazardous. You have the appreciation of all of us!"

  Parker put a weak smile on his face. "You're welcome, Professor. I wish it hadn't come down to shooting, though."

  "It always does with Cooper's kind," Flint said heavily. He sighed. "Well, I guess I'd better see about taking care of the bodies."

  "Excuse me, Marshal, but have you located the missing money?" Houser asked.

  "Neither of the other two had it," Flint said. "What about Cooper, Cully?"

  The deputy shook his head. "I didn't see any loot, Marshal."

  "It would have been in a small metal box," Houser said.

  Under Flint's direction, a quick search of Cooper's body and the surrounding area was carried out. The money wasn’t found.

  "Cooper either dropped it while he was trying to get away or stashed it somewhere," Flint speculated. "We'll be able to do a thorough search in the morning. I'm sure it'll turn up, Professor."

  "I hope so," Houser fretted. "A night's receipts are important to this circus, Marshal."

  Parker tried not to smile as he heard the ringmaster's worried tones. The money in itself wasn’t that important to the former aerialist, but its loss was one more step in his plan to ruin Houser. One more step on the road to revenge for Moriah's death...and the money would come in handy when he eventually took over the circus, Parker thought.

  He let himself be led away by other members of the troupe, all of them congratulating him on his daring confrontation with Cooper. Flint told Cully to keep an eye on the bodies, then faced the curious spectators who had poured out of the big tent.

  "Might as well get back to your seats, folks," Flint told them. "All the excitement's over for tonight out here."

  13

  The excitement may have been over for the night, but the work went on. Dr. Rose Keller, who was in the circus audience, tended to both Bruno Waldman and
the pistol-whipped bookkeeper. The old man had a possible skull fracture, a certain concussion, and several large cuts on his face. His condition was grave, but Rose expected him to pull through. However, when the circus left Abilene, he would have to remain behind for at least a few weeks of recovery. Bruno's wound was serious but not life-threatening. The bullet had passed through cleanly, missing all the bones in the strong man's shoulder. Rose cleaned and bandaged the injury, then told him to take it easy for a couple of weeks. "No more bending iron bars for a while," she warned him. "You've got to give that wound time to heal."

  "All right," Bruno promised reluctantly. "I don't know what the show will do without me, though."

  Houser was standing close by as Rose ministered to Bruno. He said dryly, "I expect we'll muddle through some way, old chap."

  Flint took Ned Cooper's guns and other belongings and turned the body over to Abilene's undertaker, who was also the local coroner. The man loaded Cooper's corpse into his wagon, which was already burdened with the remains of Gage Stauck and Heck Dawson. "We'll hold an inquest tomorrow," the undertaker told Flint. "Just a formality, though."

  Flint nodded and then drew Cully aside. He said quietly, "I'm going to stay out here tonight, just to make sure nothing else happens. You go back to town, and you can spell me on this duty tomorrow."

  Cully frowned. "But Cooper and his boys are dead. Who else is going to pull anything?"

  "Have you forgotten that a member of the troupe might be sabotaging the circus?" Flint asked.

  "Well, yeah, we talked about that, but I figure Cooper was behind everything that happened since they got here. The rest could be mostly coincidence."

  "We'll see," Flint said.

  As it turned out, the rest of the night passed quietly. After Houser announced that the remainder of that night's performance would be suspended and that everyone holding tickets would be welcome to come back to the final show free of charge, the townspeople and farmers from the audience drifted back to their homes. The animals were returned to their cages, the greasepaint was washed off, and the camp settled down for a peaceful night.