“Barring a heart attack brought on by over-eating,” he told Buck, “you have an even chance of living to a ripe old age. Of course, you could use some exercise.”
“Doc,” sighed Buck, “you called me a fool—and you were dead right. From now on, I’ll pay no heed to any medicine-man that happens by.”
“I apologize for calling you a fool,” frowned Floyd.
“Don’t,” grunted Buck. “I was a fool.”
“Well ...” Floyd shrugged uncomfortably, “I’m still apologizing.”
“How come you’re so polite to me—all of a sudden?” Buck suspiciously enquired.
“Damn it all, marshal,” said Floyd, “I’m always polite.”
“Quit pussy-footin’,” chided Buck. “Talk straight.”
“Well, I’ve decided to leave Pelham City,” Floyd confessed, “and establish a practice here in Three Springs. I feel there’s a greater need of my services here.”
“That’s true enough,” said Buck.
“And,” added Floyd, with the perspiration beading on his brow, “it is my intention—with your permission—to begin courting your daughter.”
Buck chuckled knowingly.
“Meanin’ Anita? All right, young feller, you can quit sweatin’. It’s okay by me.”
Mid-morning of the following day, the young doctor took his leave of Three Springs, but on the understanding that he would return in the very near future, bag and baggage. It was, of course, necessary that fie should first settle his affairs in Pelham City.
“I’ll have to close my account at the Pelham Security Bank,” he told the Texans, “collect a few unpaid bills, sell the house—there are quite a few details I must finalize. And that’s why I’m glad you’re coming back with me.”
“We’re comin’ back with you,” Larry firmly assured him, “for just one reason. I figure it’ll take you three-four days—maybe a whole week—to get everything settled. In that time, there’ll be females houndin’ you everywhere you turn.”
“Houndin’ him,” chuckled Georgia Jake, “and breathin’ hard.”
“I know just how rough it is for Doc,” Stretch calmly asserted, “on accounta I’ve had the same problem all my life. Women always chasin’ me.”
North of town, the four horsemen reined up atop the same timbered rise from whence Larry and Stretch had first viewed the small town. Three Springs had looked peaceful and inviting on that occasion. It looked the same now.
“Right purty little town,” Jake commented.
“Larry and me oughta come back,” opined Stretch.
“Why’d you come here in the first place?” demanded Jake.
“We were,” sighed Larry, “lookin’ for a quiet town, a place to rest up awhile. We got four thousand dollars burnin’ holes in our pockets, so we figure we can afford to take it easy. No more fightin’. No more buyin’ into other folks troubles. Just loafin’—playin’ poker ...”
“Drinkin’,” frowned Stretch, “eatin’ ...”
“But it didn’t work out that way,” shrugged Larry.
“Runt,” grunted Stretch, “you sure ain’t foolin’.”
They made the journey to the southern boundary of Pelham County in less than forty-eight hours, because Larry had retained the map given him by Linus Margolies and was able to guide his party along the marked shortcuts. It was late afternoon and the Nevada sun was still baking the hard prairie, when they entered the south gate of a broad canyon and saw the posse advancing towards them—a large force, twenty heavily-armed riders, resolute, as orderly as a battalion of trained cavalry, and led by a distinguished quartet, Sheriff Barney Dreyfus, Messrs. Noonan, Sheehan and Fitzgibbon.
“By Jonah,” drawled the Georgia man, as the sheriff hailed them, “I could damn near feel sorry for Barney.”
“Well?” challenged Larry. “Do we go easy on ’em—or do we hit ’em hard?”
“Let’s just tell ’em the gospel truth,” Jake suggested. “That’ll wound ’em in the worst way.”
They nudged their mounts to movement again, not reining up until they reached the posse-leaders. Noonan and his colleagues greeted Larry with patronizing smiles. Dreyfus grinned blandly at his deputy and fired the first barb.
“Well, Jake? On your way back from Three Springs, huh? And I presume you ran into the entire Stark gang and wiped them out? Ha, ha!”
“Ha, ha,” echoed Noonan, Sheehan and Fitzgibbon.
“How about you, Barney?” asked Jake. “You have any luck?”
“Not yet,” said Dreyfus. “But it’s only a matter of time. Organization is what counts, Jake. We’ve completed our sweep of the northern areas. Now, we’re about to comb the territory east.”
“According to our calculations,” said Noonan, “we should make contact with our quarry sometime within the next four days.”
“You can do it in less,” offered Larry. He fished out his map and passed it to the frowning Pinkerton. “Use this. You’ll find all the shortcuts marked. Yeah. This map is so clear that a ten-year-old kid could follow it—or even a Pinkerton.”
“And just what,” demanded Noonan, “do you think you’re talking about?”
“Talkin’ about the Stark gang,” drawled Larry.
“All that’s left of it,” grinned Stretch.
“Sheriff Dreyfus,” prodded Floyd, “I presume you’re equipped with the necessary extradition warrants?”
“I can extradite Stark from any corner of Nevada,” frowned Dreyfus. “But—what the devil ...?”
“All you have to do, Barney,” said Jake, “is head for Three Springs. That Craydon hombre—that Texas lawman you claim is a lazy no-account—he’s got Stark and six of his gun-hawks stashed tight in the town jail.”
“If you want the other seventeen,” said Stretch, “you’ll have to start diggin’—on accounta they’re all planted in the Three Springs Boothill.”
“It turned out just like Larry figured.” Jake yawned ostentatiously and spat tobacco-juice. “The Stark gang hit Three Springs sure enough, only Craydon and them salty citizens was all primed and ready for ’em. Quite a hassle it was. Well, too bad for Stark. This was one time he bit off more’n he could chew.”
Larry let his amused gaze travel from Dreyfus’ flushed countenance to the slack-jawed faces of the Pinkertons, and decided they deserved no mercy.
“Mind now,” he frowned, “I don’t claim it was scientific. We didn’t have no—uh—Pinkerton criminologists on our side.”
“And that’s a fact,” nodded Jake.
“This wasn’t scientifical at all,” Stretch assured the Pinkertons. “In fact, I guess you’d say we handled it in an old-fashioned way.”
“You wouldn’t have enjoyed it one little bit, Barney,” grinned Jake. “Marshal Craydon and them small-town folks just tore into Stark and his gunslicks and whupped the tar out of ’em.”
“It was,” Larry recalled, “plumb untidy.”
“No organization at all,” said Stretch.
Dreyfus finally found his voice.
“They’re lying!” he gasped. “They have to be lying!”
“Our experts,” asserted Noonan, “couldn’t be wrong!”
“Gentlemen,” smiled Floyd, “my friends aren’t lying—or exaggerating. It happened exactly as they’ve told you. And now ...” He produced his watch, frowned at it, “… I’m afraid that’s all the time we can spare you. If you’ll excuse us, we have to hurry on to Pelham City.”
“When you get to Three Springs,” Larry told Dreyfus, “you better treat the marshal respectful.”
“A real rough Texan is Buck Craydon,” grinned Stretch.
“He never heard of organization,” drawled Jake, “but he sure gets results.”
The four parted company with the dumbfounded Dreyfus and the chastened Pinkertons, and continued their journey to the big town. Georgia Jake was chuckling satirically, and would probably continue to do so, all the way to Pelham City. Floyd was puffing contentedly at a cigar and thinking a
bout Anita Craydon. And now Stretch thought to ask:
“How long’ll we stay in this Pelham burg?”
“Not long,” said Larry. “I figure we’ll be on our way again inside a week.”
“Where are we gonna spend that four thousand dollars?” Stretch wondered.
“Somewhere,” shrugged Larry. “But not hereabouts. My feet itch.”
“Come to think of it,” said Stretch, “mine itch, too.”
They rode on to Pelham City with Floyd and the deputy—a town in which they would remain for no longer than was absolutely necessary. After all, Pelham City was in no danger. No fights to be fought, no wrongs to be righted hereabouts. And, therefore, no reason for the Texas nomads to linger.
The Larry and Stretch Series by Marshall Grover
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