Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  The other buildings housed the usual frontier businesses. Cully saw a gunsmith's shop, a smithy, a general mercantile, and even—out of place though it was—a millinery. Cully would have been willing to bet that there wasn’t much of a market for women's hats and dresses in a settlement like this.

  There was no jail, no marshal's office. The place probably didn’t even have a constable. Any law would be just what the citizens made for themselves.

  Brennan paused in the middle of the street. Cully reined in beside him, and the two men were silent for a moment as they surveyed the town. Quite a few of the buildings were dark, the businesses closed for the day, but lanterns burned in the saloons, the stable, and most of the residences. Brennan pointed to a sign over the livery's double doors.

  "Ambrewster's Gap Livery Stable," Brennan read aloud. "I guess that's where we are, Ambrewster's Gap. Ever heard of the place?"

  Cully shook his head. "Nope. Never been here, either. You suppose we ought to start with that saloon over there?" He nodded toward the Double Eagle.

  "That's as good a place as any," Brennan said. "I don't know about you, Cully, but I could use a drink."

  Cully grinned. "So could I—at least one."

  The prospect of a drink did appeal to him, even though he knew they had come into town primarily to gather information. Brennan had strictly forbidden drinking among the posse while they were on the trail, an order that didn’t sit too well with the men who never went anywhere without their flasks. Cully had agreed with him: If the men were allowed to drink, discipline in the posse would suffer, and some of them might get ideas about Hannah Stockbridge. It was a difficult enough task to ride herd on a group of men, and when a young, attractive woman was around, the problems were compounded.

  Brennan and Cully walked their mounts over to the hitch rail in front of the Double Eagle. Quite a few horses were already tied there, but Brennan and Cully were able to find room for their animals. The two men stepped up onto the plank walkway in front of the saloon. Brennan pushed through the batwings first, with Cully close behind him.

  As they stepped inside, Cully saw that the Double Eagle was identical to scores of saloons across the frontier. Several tables and chairs were scattered around the room on the sawdust-covered floor. A long mahogany bar with a badly tarnished footrail ran down the right side of the main room. The wall behind the bar was lined with shelves packed with liquor bottles, a few of them empty. Beyond the end of the bar was a closed door that probably led into an office. Two more doors were on the rear wall, one undoubtedly opening onto a room for private poker games and the other a storage room.

  A thick pall of smoke hung over the tables, diffusing the light from several kerosene lanterns that hung from the beams of the low ceiling. The wall opposite the bar was decorated with several stuffed animal heads. Cully saw a shabby, dusty buffalo and several tattered deer among the trophies. About half of the tables in the room were occupied. At two of the tables, poker games were in progress. The men sitting at the other tables were drinking and smoking, half-empty bottles and glasses arrayed in front of them. Quite a few men stood at the bar, although there were gaps where a man could belly up to the mahogany. Cully and Brennan headed for an opening about three fourths of the way down the bar, moving slowly so as to look over the occupants of the saloon.

  The two lawmen were being studied in return. Most of the saloon's customers were cowhands, from the looks of their clothes. Seedy-looking men dressed in frock coats ran the poker games, and a bald man wearing a dirty apron was tending the bar. The only woman in the room sat at one of the tables with a couple of men in town clothes, probably the owners of two of the businesses along the street. The woman had dark hair streaked with gray and was about thirty pounds too heavy for the tight green dress she wore. She turned bored eyes toward Cully and Brennan and sipped from the glass of whiskey in her hand.

  As Cully and Brennan stood at the bar, the aproned man came down to them with a surly look on his face. "Something I can do for you?" he asked.

  "A couple of beers would be right nice, partner," Brennan said mildly. "Cold ones, if you've got them."

  The bartender snorted. "That's asking for too much in Ambrewster's Gap, mister," he said. "The beer's wet, but it ain't cold."

  "Just so it cuts the dust, that's all I need," Cully put in.

  As the bartender reached onto a shelf behind him and picked up two mugs, which looked none too clean, he asked, "Been on the trail a long time, have you?"

  "Long enough," Brennan said. He watched as the bartender filled the mugs from a keg and then slid them onto the bar. The beer foamed over the tops and made puddles on the hardwood.

  "Dollar," the bartender said curtly.

  "For both of them?" Brennan asked.

  "Apiece."

  Brennan raised his eyebrows and said, "That's a mite steep, isn't it, friend?"

  "That's the going rate. You don't like it, you can do your drinkin' somewheres else."

  Brennan shook his head and dropped a couple of coins on the bar. "No call to get upset. We're not complaining, are we, Cully?"

  Cully picked up his mug and sampled the warm, bitter brew. He grimaced and said, "Not about the price. The quality might be another matter entirely."

  The bartender frowned. "Listen, you two, if you come in here to make trouble—"

  "No, no," Brennan said quickly. "My young friend here sometimes lets his mouth get a little ahead of his brain, that's all."

  Cully bit back the angry retort that sprang to his lips. Brennan was right; they had not come into town to pick a fight, but to gather information about Wolfe and his gang. He picked up his beer, drank from it again, and said nothing.

  The bartender moved away to pour drinks for some cowhands. Cully and Brennan nursed their beers for several minutes. Finally, Brennan licked his lips, set his mug down, and said loudly, "Wish I knew whether or not Roscoe was here yet."

  Realizing what the marshal was doing, Cully thought rapidly and then asked, "Are you sure this is where he said to meet him?"

  Brennan nodded. "Yeah, Ambrewster's Gap is what he said, all right. I just hope we didn't get here too late." Catching the bartender's eye, Brennan raised his empty mug to signal for a refill. When the aproned man came to take the mug, Brennan went on, "Say, you see 'most everybody who comes through this town, don't you, friend?"

  "What makes you say that?" the bartender asked with a suspicious frown.

  Brennan spread his hands and said in an innocent voice, "Well, look at the place. There's nowhere else around here that a man would want to have a drink, is there?"

  The bartender grunted. "Ain't the only saloon in town," he said.

  "No, but as my friend and I were riding in, I said to him, 'Let's go over there to the Double Eagle. We don't want anything to do with those hole-in-the-wall dives.'"

  "I reckon this is the fanciest place in town." The barkeep nodded, a gleam of pride in his eyes.

  Cully looked down at his beer, trying to stifle the grin he felt threatening to break out. Brennan was a smooth one, all right, and the bartender wasn’t very bright.

  Lowering his voice slightly, Brennan said, "We're supposed to meet a pardner of ours here, and I was wondering if you might have seen him. He's a big jasper, got a red beard. He might be riding with several other men, or he might have been by himself."

  "This fella got a name?"

  Brennan grinned. "When he feels like it, if you know what I mean."

  "Yeah, I reckon I do. But I don't recollect seein' anybody like that in the last few days, mister. He probably ain't got here yet."

  "I suppose you're right. I guess we'll just have to wait for him."

  Brennan sipped his fresh beer. Cully tried not to gag on what was left of his first one and cast an eye around them. The conversation had been loud enough for several of the other men at the bar to hear, but they seemed to be ignoring it.

  Someone stepped behind Brennan. He and Cully turned to see the woman st
anding there, a smile on her heavily made-up face. "Hello, boys," she said. "How are you doing?"

  Brennan smiled back at her and lifted a hand to touch the wide brim of his black hat. "Why, we're just fine, ma'am. And yourself?"

  "Thirsty," she replied. "You think I could talk either of you gents into buying me a drink?"

  "I'm sure my friend here would be glad to," Brennan said, grinning at Cully.

  Cully's mouth tightened, but he willed himself to relax. "Sure, ma'am," he said to the woman. "I'd be right happy to."

  The woman sidled in between them and leaned an arm on the bar. "Whiskey, Joe," she said to the bartender.

  The man poured a small glass and handed it to her. "That'll be two dollars," he said to Cully.

  Cully tried not to glare at Brennan as he dug out the coins and passed them over. The woman said, "Thanks," and tossed back the drink. When she had finished it, she placed the empty glass back on the bar and let herself sag slightly toward Cully. He felt the swell of a heavy breast pressing into his side and supposed that was in payment for the drink.

  "Anything I can do for you, cowboy?" the woman asked.

  Cully let his left arm slide around her waist. She was really sort of pretty, he supposed, especially for a woman in a place like this. Of course, she was also probably twice his age.

  "Nothing I'd like better if we had the time, sugar," he said brightly. "But me and my pard are supposed to meet a fella here, and there's no telling when he'll show up."

  "Why don't you tell me about him, honey?" she suggested. "I might have seen him. And I sure wouldn't mind getting to know you better, too."

  Cully glanced over her shoulder. The men who had been sitting at the table with her were gone. She had obviously failed to interest either of them in shelling out any more money, so now she was trying to move on to a fresh pigeon.

  "Maybe he has been here," Cully said. "Ol’ Roscoe would sure go for a lady like you, that's certain. He's a great big fella, got a bushy red beard. Looks a little like a bear."

  Following Brennan's example, Cully pitched the words loudly enough for some of the other drinkers to overhear. The woman shook her head. "I'd remember somebody like that," she said. "I haven't seen him."

  "That's too bad. In that case, I guess my friend here and I better mosey on, then, and see to our horses. If we're going to be waiting around, we'll need to put them in the stable."

  Brennan spoke up. "I reckon I could handle that by myself, Cully. No need for you to go." A smile pulled at the corner of the marshal's wide mouth.

  Cully, trying not to grit his teeth, thought, Brennan is enjoying this! Quickly, he said, "You're crazy if you think I'm going to trust you with my horse. Last man who did that wound up shot, now didn't he, you old horse thief?"

  Brennan's laugh boomed out. He moved around the woman, slapped Cully on the back, and said, "I reckon you're right, son. Come on, we'll both go."

  The woman, reluctant to see Cully leave, clutched at his arm for a moment before she released him. "You come on back, you hear?" she said. There was a desperate look on her fleshy face.

  "Sure, ma'am," Cully said. He didn’t like lying to her, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, either.

  "You always were quite a hand with the ladies," Brennan said loudly as he and Cully went through the batwings. Cully muttered a curse under his breath.

  They went to the hitchrack and untied their horses. Cully knew they weren’t going over to the stable, so he gripped the saddle horn and started to put a foot in the stirrup.

  Dark shapes moved out of the alley next to the saloon. Cully saw them coming and tried to turn around, but with one foot raised, he was in an awkward position. Something hard rammed into his back, and he heard the familiar, ominous click of a pistol's hammer being pulled back.

  A few feet away, the same thing had happened to Brennan. The shadowy figures had moved quickly, and before either lawman had a chance to do anything, they had been taken prisoner. Five men surrounded them, guns out and ready.

  "You said you were goin' to take them hosses over to the livery stable," a low voice rasped. "That sounds like a good idea to me. Move!"

  The gun barrel pressed into Cully's back was shoved in painfully for emphasis.

  Brennan took a deep breath. "Reckon we'd better do what they tell us," he said bleakly.

  9

  Cully was seething as he and Brennan started across the street toward the livery stable. For a couple of lawmen, they had been taken easily. A man was in back of each of them, a couple more flanking them. The man who had given the orders led the way.

  As the group moved into the stable, Cully got his first good look at the leader. The man was of medium height and seemed to be burly, although it was hard to be sure about his build. He wore a long duster, pushed back on one side to give him easy access to the walnut-handled Remington holstered on his hip. The man's hat was black and battered.

  Glancing to each side, Cully saw that the two men flanking them looked about the same, and he would have bet money that the two prodding Brennan and him with their guns were of the same sort. Hardcases, all of them, Cully thought. Just the sort of men who would ride with Roscoe Wolfe.

  He wasn’t sure, but he thought he had seen these men inside the Double Eagle. They must have slipped out the back just as he and Brennan were leaving, then moved quickly up the alley to get the drop on them. It seemed that the questions he and Brennan had thrown out had had an effect after all.

  As the group of men entered through the barn's double doors, a wizened old man came out of the livery's office. He stopped in his tracks, eyes widening as he saw the drawn guns and the hard faces. The prominent Adam's apple in his thin neck jerked up and down as he swallowed and licked his lips nervously.

  "Just don't ask any questions, Pop," the leader of the outlaws said in his gravelly voice. "We want to hire your stable for a few minutes."

  "Th-the whole stable?" the old man quavered.

  "Told you not to ask questions. Just for that, we ain't payin' you. Now git!"

  As the leader started to lift his gun, the old man scurried for the doors and disappeared into the night.

  One of the other men asked, "How do you know that old coot won't go yellin' for help, Farley?"

  The leader laughed harshly. "Who's he goin' to yell to? Ain't no law in this town, and the good citizens of Ambrewster's Gap don't give a damn." Farley trained his Remington on Cully and Brennan. "Now get their guns."

  One of the other outlaws pulled Cully's pistol and Brennan's twin Colts from their holsters. The man moved quickly and smoothly, not giving either lawman a chance to jump him, then tossed the guns to one side.

  Farley stepped closer, an ugly smile on his beard-stubbled face. "So," he said, "you two ride with Wolfe, do you?"

  Coldly, Brennan said, "I don't recall mentioning any name except Roscoe."

  "Don’t know any other Roscoe who fits that description."

  "What if we are looking for Wolfe? Do you know where he is?"

  Cully had to admire Brennan. Even under these desperate circumstances, the marshal was still trying to get whatever information he could.

  "If I knew where he was, why would I be wastin' my breath on you two?" Farley demanded angrily.

  Suddenly, there was a loud thump from the hayloft. Farley whirled to face the threat, instinctively raising his gun. Cully instantly recognized what might be their only chance.

  The young deputy dove toward the distracted outlaw. Slamming into Farley's back, he knocked him to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brennan spinning around, swatting aside one of the guns that was trained on him. Then Cully's attention was riveted on Farley as the outlaw twisted around and tried to level his gun.

  Cully lunged, his fingers wrapping around Farley's wrist and forcing the arm down. Farley used his other hand to smash a fist into Cully's midsection, driving the air out of his body. Bright lights danced in front of Cully's eyes as he desperately clung to Farley's g
un hand.

  Other hands grabbed Cully. He heard the thud of fists on flesh, the grunts of effort, the harsh rasping breaths of battling men. Then he was being torn away from Farley. A bony fist cracked against his jaw, knocking him back and down. Somewhere in the big barn, a gun boomed.

  "Hold 'em, dammit!" Farley howled. He loomed up in front of Cully as one of the other men hugged the deputy from behind. Farley lashed out, his big fists plowing into Cully's belly. The deputy would have doubled over if the other man had not been holding him up. He retched.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Farley stopped hitting him. Cully's head hung limply. Slowly he forced his gaze up, blinking to clear his vision. A few feet away, Tom Brennan was undergoing a similar beating, held by one man while another worked him over. The fifth man stood nearby, holding a gun and looking as though he wanted to use it.

  "That's enough," Farley said sharply to the man who was hitting Brennan. "We don't want to kill 'em yet. They got to tell us what they know about Wolfe first. That shot hit anybody?"

  The man with the gun shook his head. "Naw, it just went off when we was tryin' to corral that other feller. Reckon the townsfolk will come to see what's goin' on?"

  "Not if they know what's good for them," Farley grated. He bent to scoop up the gun he had dropped. "What the hell made that noise, anyway?"

  The man holding Cully laughed. "Look up there at the loft, Farley. That's what got you so spooked."

  A curse ripped from Farley's mouth. Cully lifted his eyes and saw a big gray-and-white tomcat sitting on the edge of the loft, calmly looking down at the men, a haughty expression on its face.

  "Reckon he was sleepin' in that hay, and we woke him up," one of the men said. "He must've jumped down off of something."

  Farley's face twisted in anger. "I'll teach the furry little varmint a lesson," he snarled, jerking his pistol up.

  The gun cracked, but the cat had sensed the danger and moved just quickly enough. It darted away, disappearing with an angry hiss into the deep shadows of the loft.