Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  "You want me to come along, Marshal?" McFarland asked, sounding distinctly nervous.

  "You and your family had better stay here," Flint told him. "I don't know what we're heading into out there."

  The farmer looked visibly relieved.

  Less than two minutes later, Flint and Cully were riding hard out of Abilene, heading for the Barlow farm. Calling over the pounding of hoofbeats, Cully asked, "You think this has something to do with O’Sullivan and Talmage?"

  "That's what I'm afraid of," Flint replied, raising his own voice. That was the first possibility that had occurred to him. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of any other reason why someone would want to hurt the Barlows. Except for Charlie's drinking, they were about as harmless a family as any in the area.

  But now there was a connection between them and Quincy O’Sullivan, and the big prizefighter seemed to attract violence wherever he went.

  At first glance, everything looked normal as Flint and Cully rode up to the Barlow farm. But then they saw the trampled stalks in the cornfield and the dark shape sprawled on the porch of the house. Flint reined in and slipped his Colt from its holster. Cully did the same.

  "There was trouble here all right," Flint said quietly as he sat in the saddle and studied the scene for a moment. There was no sign of anyone around now, and his instincts told him that whatever had happened was over. He walked his horse slowly toward the house.

  Cully followed until Flint gestured silently for him to circle the house. The deputy steered his horse to the right to loop around the building as Flint rode up to the porch.

  Charlie Barlow lay motionless on the rough planks, stretched out on his back with his arms and legs splayed to the sides. His shirtfront was soaked with blood, drying now to a dark rust-brown. There was a black-rimmed hole in his forehead, just above his sightlessly staring eyes, and an ugly stain on the wall behind him told where the bullet had exited. Flint grimaced.

  Rose Keller could do nothing for Barlow; no one could help him now but the undertaker. Flint swung down off his horse and climbed onto the porch, still holding his gun ready. He moved into the house to see if anyone else was there.

  When he emerged a few minutes later, he found Cully sitting on his horse in front of the porch. The deputy shook his head. "Nobody else around," he told Flint. "I didn't see hide nor hair of the other two. What about inside?"

  "It's empty," Flint said flatly. "Whoever was here took Ellie and the boy with them. This will tell you why." He thrust a piece of paper at Cully.

  Cully took it and scanned the precise writing. A low whistle escaped from his lips. "You were right," he said. "They want O’Sullivan and Talmage."

  The note was simple. It stated that Ellie and Oliver Barlow were prisoners and they would be killed unless the kidnappers' orders were followed to the letter. The note contained directions to a shack west of Abilene on the Smoky Hill River and instructed O’Sullivan and Talmage to come to that cabin—alone and unarmed. If they didn’t, no one would ever see the two captives alive again.

  "What are you going to do?" Cully asked grimly.

  Flint squinted into the distance, his expression bleak. "There's only one thing we can do," he replied. "We have to let O’Sullivan and Talmage decide how they want to play this."

  "They could be riding into a trap," Cully pointed out.

  Flint nodded. "They'll know that as well as we do."

  "We could get a posse and hit the place. Wouldn't even have to trail those bastards. They've told us where to find them."

  Flint glanced at Charlie Barlow's body. "That might just get those youngsters killed." He mounted up. "Come on. Let's get back to town."

  "What about him?" Cully nodded toward the corpse.

  "We'll send somebody out to get him later. He's not hurting anymore." That was the first time anyone had been able to say that about Charlie Barlow in a long while, Flint thought.

  12

  When Lucas Flint and Cully Markham rode into Abilene a little later, they found a crowd of anxious people waiting in front of Dr. Rose Keller's office. As they reined in their horses at the hitchrack, they saw Rose and Netta Barlow standing on the front porch with Angus, O’Sullivan, and Talmage. A dozen citizens had gathered in the small, tidy yard and were peering with puzzled expressions at the marshal.

  As the two lawmen dismounted, O’Sullivan charged off the porch, pushed through the crowd, and hurried to the marshal. "Is it true, Flint?" he asked anxiously. "What did you find out?"

  Flint flipped his reins around the rail. "Charlie Barlow is dead," he said grimly, shaking his head. "There's no sign of Ellie or Oliver." He reached inside his coat and drew out the piece of paper on which the note was written. "But the men who took them left this."

  O’Sullivan snatched the paper from Flint's outstretched hand and scanned it. Talmage came up beside him and read the note over his shoulder.

  "It's a trap," the detective snapped. "This is just the kind of thing that Brett Easton would do. He doesn't care who he hurts as long as he gets what he wants."

  O’Sullivan looked up from the note and met Flint's gaze. "Can you tell me how to get to this place?" he asked.

  Before Flint could answer, Talmage cried, "No! I can't let you do this, Quincy. They'll kill you for sure."

  O’Sullivan turned and stared at him coldly. "You don't have to go, Sam. I know they asked for you, but I think they'll settle for me. I'm the eyewitness, after all."

  "But—"

  "Forget it, Sam. They've got Ellie and Oliver. I've got to go."

  Talmage looked at Flint. "Marshal, can't you talk some sense into him?"

  "Seems to me it's his decision," Flint said with a shrug. "But it would be foolish just to waltz in there like Easton says. And I don't think that would save the lives of those two youngsters, either. Easton would just kill all three of you, O’Sullivan."

  O’Sullivan shook his head. "I've got to go," he muttered.

  Talmage suddenly took a step back, his hand darting under his coat. He drew out the derringer and lined it up on O’Sullivan. "You're not going anywhere," he rasped. "I'll keep you here at gunpoint if I have to!"

  Flint saw his deputy reaching for his own gun and snapped, "Cully! Hold it!" As the deputy froze, Flint went on, "I don't want any shooting here in town, Talmage. Why don't you put that gun down?"

  O’Sullivan grimaced. "That's right, Sam. Anyway, you can't shoot me without doing Easton's job for him. That would sort of defeat your purpose, wouldn't it?"

  "I can put a bullet in your leg so that you can't ride or walk," Talmage said coldly. "But you'd still be able to testify against Savage and Easton. Quincy, don't you realize there's more at stake here than just a couple of lives, no matter how precious they are to you? Dane Savage has been ruthlessly killing people for years. There's no telling how many deaths he's responsible for. Now that we have a case against him at last, we can't let it be destroyed."

  The group of bystanders watching from the yard gaped at the gun Talmage was pointing at the man they all believed was his friend. Angus, who had remained on the porch with Rose and Netta, hurried to the marshal with a shocked look on his face. "Wha' is this, Lucas?" he cried. "Has Talmage gone daft?"

  Flint shook his head. He had been afraid the two visitors from Chicago would react like this, bitterly split in the course of action they each wanted to follow. He said to O’Sullivan, "Maybe Talmage's right. You know Easton won't hesitate to kill all of you once you're in his hands. Ellie and Oliver will stand a better chance if we try to get them out of there ourselves."

  "With a posse, you mean." O’Sullivan laughed humorlessly. "He'll kill Ellie and Oliver as soon as he sees you coming."

  "He won't see us coming until it's too late," Flint said pointedly.

  Cully looked at him. "You sound like you've got a plan, Marshal."

  "Maybe. I need to take a look at the lay of the land first. I think I've been to that old cabin where they're holed up, but I don't remember exa
ctly what the terrain around it is like. We might just be able to take them by surprise."

  "How about it, Quincy?" Talmage asked the prizefighter. "Are you willing to give the marshal a chance to rescue them?"

  O’Sullivan drew a deep breath. "What else can I do?" he asked bleakly. "You've got a gun on me, and I believe you'll shoot if you think you have to."

  "I will," Talmage growled.

  O’Sullivan reached out and grasped Flint's arm. "Get them out of there, Marshal," he said. "Please, get them out."

  "We'll do our best, Quincy," Flint promised, calling the desperate prizefighter by his first name for the first time. He turned to Cully. "Now you'd better round up that posse."

  Cully nodded and hurried off, Angus at his side. The Scotsman would be riding with them, Flint knew, and there were plenty of other good men in town who would be willing to join the rescue effort.

  Flint just hoped the attempt wouldn’t end in more deaths. On the ride back to Abilene from the Barlow farm, he had realized that this whole thing was his fault. O’Sullivan's friendship with the Barlows was the connection he had overlooked, the nagging detail that he had failed to cover.

  He was going to get Ellie Barlow and her brother back safely, Flint vowed to himself, or die trying.

  O’Sullivan let Talmage talk him into returning to the boardinghouse while Flint and Cully gathered their posse. Talmage holstered his gun and said, "I'm glad you decided to be reasonable about this, O’Sullivan. I really didn't want to shoot you."

  "But you would have," O’Sullivan accused bitterly.

  "Of course."

  O’Sullivan snorted. He had never doubted that for a moment.

  It had been sheer coincidence that they were at Rose's office when she came in with Netta Barlow. They had gone to the office to have her check the bump on O’Sullivan's head. Finding it empty when they arrived, they waited on the porch, and within a few minutes Rose came up the walk carrying Netta. The little girl immediately threw herself into O’Sullivan's arms and wailed as she told the horrible story of the raid on the farm. The commotion brought Angus from the tavern next door.

  Waiting for Flint and Cully to return from the farm had been one of the most harrowing experiences of O’Sullivan's life. For all he knew, the entire family might be dead except for Netta.

  Now he knew they were alive, but the situation was still horrible. Ellie and Oliver were the captives of two ruthless men.

  "I'm sure Flint knows what he's doing," Talmage went on. "He'll bring them back all right, you'll see."

  "I thought you didn't have a high opinion of frontier lawmen," O’Sullivan retorted.

  Talmage shrugged. "Let's just hope I've been wrong all along, shall we? In the meantime—"

  "In the meantime, we wait," O’Sullivan cut in.

  "That's right. That's all we can do."

  The two men plodded toward the boardinghouse in silence. There was nothing else to say, and both of them knew it. When they reached the house and entered it, Hettie Wilburn appeared from her kitchen and wanted to know all about the commotion downtown. Talmage quickly gave her a modified version of the story, leaving out the connection O’Sullivan and he had with the bloody events at the Barlow farm. While Talmage was talking to the landlady, O’Sullivan went upstairs to his room.

  He hung his hat on a hook, sat on the bed, and stared down at his hands. The knuckles were knobby, the palms calloused. He made a living with those fists, shaped his own destiny, such as it was, with them. But now, when the people he cared most about in the world were in danger, there was nothing he could do for them. He had to sit by helplessly and wait for someone else to save Ellie and Oliver—or bring him the news that they had been too late.

  He had never planned beyond the next prizefight, sometimes not even beyond the next round in a match. But now he suddenly realized that he had started to make plans for his future, and those plans included Ellie Barlow.

  He was in love with her. Even though he hadn’t known her for long, he had no doubt about his feelings. And there was no way he could sit idly by while her life was in danger.

  O’Sullivan heard footsteps in the hall outside. The door opened, and Talmage entered without knocking. The detective said, "There you are. I was hoping you hadn't tried to slip out again."

  Moving with the speed that had saved him from more than one defeat in the prize ring, O’Sullivan came up off the bed, his fists bunched. He lashed out, his right-hand slamming into Talmage's jaw before the shocked detective had a chance to move. The blow jerked Talmage's head around, and he dropped to the floor. He never had a chance.

  O’Sullivan knelt beside him and checked to make sure that Talmage was only unconscious. Even in his desperate state of mind, he had tried to pull his punch, aware of how easy it was to kill a man by hitting him too hard. He nodded in satisfaction when he saw the steady rise and fall of Talmage's chest. The inspector was out cold, but he seemed to be all right otherwise.

  O’Sullivan stood up. The posse would be gone by now, riding hard out of Abilene on their rescue mission. That was all right; O’Sullivan doubted that Flint would have let him accompany them anyway. He had to find someone else who could show him the way to the cabin where the prisoners were being held.

  Leaving Talmage where he lay, O’Sullivan clattered down the stairs and out of the house, ignoring the questions that a surprised Hettie called after him. He turned west on Second Street, heading for the schoolhouse at a fast walk that was almost a run.

  When O’Sullivan opened the door of the school and strode into the classroom, a startled Emery Thornbury turned from the figures he had just chalked onto the blackboard. When he saw who the visitor was, he paled and cried, "You! What are you doing here, you barbarian?"

  O’Sullivan snatched off his hat, not wanting to offend Thornbury at this moment. Even though the teacher was a pompous prig, he could probably tell O’Sullivan where to find Leslie Garrison. "Sorry to interrupt your arithmetic lesson, Mr. Thornbury," O’Sullivan said, "but I'm looking for Leslie Garrison. Is he here?" As he asked the question, he realized the children in the room were staring at him. Their trusting yet curious faces reminded him of Oliver, and that only increased his impatience.

  "It doesn't matter whether Mr. Garrison is here or not," Thornbury snapped. "You can't just barge in here and disrupt my lessons, O’Sullivan. You don't know how hard it is to make these children concentrate in the first place. Why, when something like this happens, I do well to get their minds back on their work before the day is over!"

  O’Sullivan felt his hands clenching into fists and hoped he wouldn’t give in to the urge he felt. Tightly he said, "Just tell me where Leslie is, and I'll get out of your way."

  "I'm here, Quincy," rumbled a deep voice from the doorway that led into the other classroom. Leslie Garrison looked at him with a puzzled expression on his bearded face. "What's the trouble?"

  O’Sullivan hurried toward him, threading his way among the children's desks. "It's Ellie Barlow," he said, "and Oliver, too. They've been kidnapped."

  "Kidnapped!" Leslie exclaimed, his features creasing into a shocked frown. "Who the devil—"

  "That's about right," O’Sullivan cut in. "Come on. I need your help."

  O’Sullivan and Leslie had taken a step toward the door when Emery Thornbury's voice cracked like a whip. "Mr. Garrison! May I remind you that you have a class to teach this afternoon? You have a responsibility to those children. I can't allow you to run off on some wild-goose chase with this pugilist friend of yours!"

  Leslie looked from Thornbury to O’Sullivan. "You were telling the truth about the kidnapping, Quincy?" he asked.

  "I was. It's a matter of life and death, Leslie. I promise you that."

  Leslie nodded. "Sorry, Mr. Thornbury," he said to the schoolmaster, "I've got to go."

  Side by side, the two big men strode out of the schoolhouse, while Thornbury yelped peevishly behind them, "I'll have your job for this insubordination, Garrison!"

>   When they were outside, O’Sullivan said, "I hope you don't lose your job over this, Leslie."

  The teacher grinned. "I didn't get fired for knocking Thornbury on his rear end. I don't think anybody will want to get rid of me for this, either. Now, what's happened?"

  Quickly O’Sullivan told him about the events of the morning. Leslie's frown deepened. O’Sullivan spared no detail, including his punching Talmage. When he was finished, Leslie said, "I knew Oliver and Netta weren't in school today, but I had no idea such a terrible thing had happened. What do you intend to do?"

  As O’Sullivan talked, the two men had been walking toward Texas Street. Now the prizefighter stopped, thrust his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "The marshal forgot about this," he said. "It's the note from Easton that tells how to get to the cabin where the prisoners are. I want you to take me there."

  Leslie took the note, then glanced up and saw that they had stopped in front of the livery stable. He scanned the writing on the paper, then said, "I think I could find the place, all right, but didn't you say that Flint and Cully have already gone out there with a posse?"

  "It's me that Easton and Price want, not some posse," O’Sullivan replied. "I have to be there, Leslie. I can't just wait and do nothing!" The desperation in his voice was plain.

  Leslie looked uncomfortable. "This is the kind of thing that's best left to the authorities, Quincy," he said slowly. "If we go out there, you could wind up badly hurt."

  O’Sullivan shrugged. "I know. Maybe even killed. But it's my life I'm risking. I can't stay here when Ellie and Oliver are...are..."

  "I understand," Leslie said with a grimace. "I don't know Ellie very well, but Oliver and I have become good friends." He took a deep breath. "All right. I suppose we don't really have a choice."

  A fierce grin broke over O’Sullivan's face, and he clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Good! Now let's get going. I don't know how long Talmage is going to be out."