High Wild Desert

by Ralph Cotton

  “What about you, Deputy?” the Ranger said, wanting the deputy’s opinion on the matter. From what he’d seen of Dankett’s wild, strange behavior, Sam had his own ideas of why the town would not want Dankett as acting sheriff.

  “What about me?” said Dankett.

  The Ranger drew a patient breath.

  “Oh, you mean me be acting sheriff?” Dankett said, catching on.

  “Yes, you acting as sheriff,” the Ranger said, wishing he hadn’t broached the subject.

  “They won’t have me, Ranger,” Dankett said quietly, giving a slight shrug, “but they won’t come out and say so.” He paused, then said, “I think they’re scared of what I might do if they tell me I can’t be sheriff—probably wanting you to be the one who tells me.”

  “I’m sorry, Deputy,” Sam said, sorting through the facts as the deputy gave them to him.

  “Why?” said Dankett, beneath his wide hat brim. “It’s not your fault that I don’t get along with people, that I’m too quick-triggered, too ill-natured, too . . .” His words stalled as he searched for another description of himself.

  “Unpredictable?” the Ranger offered.

  Dankett cocked his head toward the Ranger.

  “You saw that too?” he said, sounding dejected.

  “No,” said the Ranger. “I was just helping you find a word.”

  “Obliged,” Dankett said. He fell silent for a moment, then looked back at Sam. “I am trustworthy, though, and if I give my word, I’ll take a beating and die before I’ll ever crawfish on it.”

  Sam just looked at him, somehow knowing he meant it.

  “But I’ll be honest, it took me longer to find you than it should have, knowing once I found you, my chance at being sheriff was over.”

  “That took character, Deputy,” Sam said. “That tells me more than anything about the kind of sheriff you’d be.”

  “So, here I am, telling you and cutting myself out,” Dankett said with a sigh. “Are you going back with me?”

  “Part of being a Territorial Ranger is filling in when something like this happens,” Sam said. “I’m going back. I’ll agree to be sheriff, but only if you’ll agree to stay on as my deputy.”

  Dankett appeared stunned and just stared at him. “Are you feeling sorry for me, Ranger? Because I don’t—”

  “No,” the Ranger said, cutting him short. “I’m going to need a deputy. You’re already wearing the badge.”

  “I don’t know what the council will say,” Dankett warned.

  “They’ll say yes if they want us,” Sam replied. “They’ll say no if they don’t. Are you with me?”

  Dankett gave him a proud, thin smile.

  “Dern right, I am,” he said.

  “I need to tell you, Deputy,” Sam said. “There might be men showing up wanting to kill me. Is that going to be a problem?”

  “Yes, for them, it will,” said Dankett. He straightened his back, quickened his step, appearing to hold his head a little higher as they neared the campfire. “Is that coffee I smell?” he asked, sniffing toward the fire where Adele and Lang turned at the sound of Dankett’s horse clopping along the hard stone path toward them.

  “Yes, it is, and you’re welcome to it,” Sam said.

  “Obliged,” said Dankett, “but I’ll have to drink it standing up. I told the town I’d ride right back with an answer straightaway. Miners and drovers all coming to town at once makes everybody nervous. They don’t want the town unprotected a minute longer than it has to be. You with a prisoner and a horse loaded with the woman’s belongings, I can be three hours ahead of you. I rode Pony Express before the rails set in.”

  “I understand,” Sam said. “We’ll get some hot coffee in you and get you back on the trail.”

  As they drew nearer to the campfire, Lang recognized Clow Dankett by his hat, his corduroy coat and long-barreled shotgun.

  “Jesus, no!” he called out, jumping to his feet, his hands cuffed to his saddle horn.

  “Howdy, Cisco,” Dankett said, affably enough—but still not affably enough to suit Lang.

  “Keep him away from me, Ranger!” Lang said, the cuffed saddle hanging to his knees and straining his wrists.

  “Settle down, Cisco,” Sam said as he and the deputy stopped a few feet back from the fire. “You best get used to Deputy Dankett being around. We’re riding back to New Delmar.”

  Adele gave Sam a concerned look, but Sam noticed that her eyes slid past Lang’s on their way to him.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  “Sheriff Rattler is dead,” Sam said. “I’m going to have to ride back and keep order until they get another lawman.”

  “Man!” said Lang. “Somebody killed Rattling Ed . . .”

  “Don’t call him that,” Dankett warned, taking a step forward.

  “Whoa, sorry!” said Lang, seeing the big shotgun rise an inch in Dankett’s hands.

  “Let me pour you some coffee, Deputy,” said Adele, stepping quickly to divert Dankett away from Lang.

  “Obliged to you, ma’am,” Dankett said. “I’ll drink it on my way back.”

  Sam stood watching, thinking. Riding back to New Delmar might be all it took to tip these two’s hand—if there’s a hand to tip here, he reminded himself.

  • • •

  Almost before the sound of the deputy’s horse’s hooves echoed off along the stone path and the distant canyon walls, Sam pitched his saddle up atop Black Pot’s back. As he drew and fastened the cinch under the stallion’s belly, he noted Adele rummaging through her belongings. Lang stood over to the side waiting, his saddle hanging from his cuffed hands.

  “Ranger, when we get to New Delmar, you’re not leaving that idiot guarding me, are you?” he asked. “He talks to his shotgun, you know.”

  “That depends,” Sam said, ignoring the remark about the deputy talking to his shotgun. He offered no more on the matter, making Lang reach for anything he told him.

  “Depends on what?” Lang asked.

  “On how you behave yourself, Cisco,” the Ranger said, finishing with Black Pot. “Seems to me the only trouble you had with Deputy Dankett was when you tried to escape.”

  “All right, I made a mistake,” said Lang. “But that was a setup deal and you know it. He’s got that chain measured just long enough to hit the ground without pulling a man out the window.”

  Sam smiled a little to himself, picturing Lang hanging from the end of the chain when the heavy ball yanked him upside down off his feet and left him swinging on the wall.

  “He set all that up, yet you call him an idiot?” Sam said.

  “Okay, maybe not an idiot,” said Lang. “But he’s a straight-up madman. You’ve got no right, leaving me with him.”

  “There’s a prison wagon runs through once every month or so,” Sam said. “I can stick you on it, if that suits you better.”

  “Damn,” said Lang, “you expect we’ll be in New Delmar that long before they get a sheriff?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sam, pulling his Winchester from his saddle boot and checking it. He stepped over and led Lang’s horse back to where he stood. While he reached out and unlocked the cuff from Lang’s saddle horn, he noted a tense look on Adele’s face as she watched. She turned and flipped open the leather case sitting atop the carpetbag and felt around inside it.

  “Saddle up, Cisco,” he said as the freed saddle fell to the ground at Lang’s feet.

  Lang picked up the saddle with his cuffed hands and started to pitch it atop his horse.

  Looking up from the leather case, Adele cried out, “Ranger, he’s got a gun!”

  Lang turned sidelong. He shoved the saddle into the Ranger’s chest, knocking him back a step.

  The Ranger pushed the saddle out of his way. He started to bring his rifle up, but he froze as he star
ed into the bore of the small pistol from the leather case. Lang held the gun cocked and pointed in his face.

  “The trail ends here, Ranger,” he said. “Get the key out, get these jail bracelets off me.”

  “Huh-uh, Cisco,” Sam said. “I’m not cutting you loose. Now you lower the gun, or I’ll bury this rifle butt in your face all over again.”

  “None of your tricks or bluffs this time, Ranger,” said Lang. “I’m not going to New Delmar and I’m not going to jail.”

  “Ranger, I had nothing to do with this,” Adele blurted out. “I saw the gun wasn’t there. I told you right off.”

  “Shut up, Adele,” said Lang. “You could have had the decency to keep your mouth shut about the gun.”

  “I want no part of this, Cisco,” Adele said.

  As Lang looked away for a second, the Ranger stepped in quick and swung the rifle butt across his jaw. Lang went sideways to the ground. The gun flew from his hand and landed at Adele’s feet. She picked it up as the Ranger stood over Lang and stuck the tip of the rifle barrel down behind his ear. Lang tried to raise his head. But Sam shoved it down with the rifle barrel.

  “Game’s over, Cisco,” he said. “Lie still or I’ll give you another one.”

  Looking sidelong through swirling eyes, Cisco saw the gun in Adele’s hand. “Sh-shoot him, Adele,” he managed to say.

  Sam looked around and saw her gripping the gun tight, the barrel pointed loosely at him. He gave her a questioning look.

  “Decide here and now, ma’am,” he said firmly, stepping back from Lang lying on the ground, seeing the downed outlaw wasn’t going to be able to do anything for a while. “The gun’s in your hand.”

  A look passed across Adele’s face; the Ranger saw it but wasn’t able to read it before it was gone.

  “No, Ranger, no!” she said, shaking her head wildly. She turned the gun in her hand and held it out to him butt first. “I’m not doing this. I told him all along I wasn’t going to help him escape.” She looked tearfully down at Cisco Lang. “I’ve done things I shouldn’t have done, but I’m not going to kill somebody.”

  Sam took the gun from her hand, and wrapped her in his arm as she bowed forward against him, sobbing.

  “Forgive me, Ranger,” she said.

  “It’s all right, Adele,” he said softly. “You made the right choice. You don’t need to be forgiven . . . not by me anyway.” As he spoke, he reached back and shoved the gun down behind his belt. He wasn’t going to mention that he had unloaded it. No one would ever need to know, he told himself.

  Chapter 11

  At daylight, Blind Simon sat his turn at guard. Instead of using his eyes, he kept his nose and ears turned to the trail as the distant sound of hooves moved farther away through the morning gloom. Soon after Henry Teague and Sonny Rudabough had ridden out of their camp, Dave Coyle poured himself a cup of coffee. Little Deak, Karl Sieg and Chic Reye sat near the fire, watching as Dave placed his steaming cup aside and filled another cup for his brother. He carried it over to where Oldham sat on a blanket leaning against a rock, fifteen yards away.

  “Where’s this going to put us?” Sieg asked Reye quietly. “If he wants to go off after the Ranger?”

  “Do I look like I know where it puts us?” Reye said, sounding a little irritated. He spit and stared across the camp watching as Dave approached his brother, who sat holding his big Colt in his right hand, twirling it deftly back and forth, his eyes dark and riveted before him on things unseen, engaged in deep serious contemplation.

  At the edge of his blanket, Dave stooped down and set the steaming cup of coffee on the ground beside him.

  “Drink this, Oldham. It’ll make you feel better,” Dave said.

  “What are they talking about over there?” Oldham asked, the gun twirling, his eyes turning toward the men across the camp from them.

  “They’re probably talking about the same thing I’m thinking about, Oldham,” Dave said. “We’re all wondering if you’re going to stop everything and go after the Ranger.”

  “There’s nothing to stop, brother Dave,” Oldham said. The gun ceased twirling suddenly and stood near the side of his face, pointed skyward. “I messed up everything for us. I had a good thing set up, but I lost my mind gambling, drinking and eating dope. That’s the truth of it.”

  Dave Coyle shrugged, reached over and lowered his brother’s gun hand. He sipped from his own cup of hot steaming coffee.

  “Everybody makes mistakes,” he said.

  “No, they don’t,” said Oldham. “Not as bad as I do.”

  “But there’s no point in letting it eat at you,” Dave said. “Learn something from it this time. Pick yourself up and let’s go on. Everybody’s depending on you.”

  “And I’ve let them all down,” Oldham said. “We’re all broke because of me.”

  “We’re not broke. Not all of us anyway,” said Dave. “We could use some money, sure. But there’s always next month, far as the mine payroll goes.”

  “And the five thousand dollars bounty would go a long ways holding us over until then,” said Oldham. “We’re all proud men here. We live up to our appetites.”

  “Here you go, Oldham,” said Dave, shaking his head.

  “Here I go what?” Oldham asked.

  “You do this every time,” said Dave.

  “What, damn it?” said Oldham, getting heated. “What the hell do I do every time?”

  “This right here,” said Dave. “You start making up all the right reasons for doing whatever it is you’re aching to do anyway.”

  “I don’t make up the reasons,” said Oldham. “The reasons are there. I just consider them and—”

  “Can I say something?” said Dave, cutting him off.

  Oldham just stared at him.

  “Here it is, then,” Dave said. “Money is not the real reason you want to kill the Ranger. You want to do it because some sporting man has put the odds in your favor.”

  “So what?” said Oldham with a crooked smile. “What’s wrong with me being favored to win? Would it be better if everybody thought I was going to lose?”

  “What’s wrong is it clouds the picture, Oldham,” Dave said. “It makes it all into some game. And it’s not a game. It’s a dirty, dangerous piece of work. We’re not assassins, brother. We’re highwaymen, long riders.”

  “We’ve killed men,” said Oldham in defense.

  “But not like this, never for pay,” said Dave. “And never a man like this Ranger.”

  Oldham cocked his head slightly and gave Dave a curious look. “You don’t think I can beat the Ranger in a straight-up match, do you?”

  “Jesus, brother, listen to you,” said Dave. “This is not a match, not some sort of sporting event. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Even if you do kill the Ranger, what do you think happens then? Do you figure you’ll get a bronze plaque? Do you figure Hugh Fenderson will take you for a ride in a Pullman car?”

  “Go to hell, brother Dave,” said Oldham.

  “They’ll hang you—no, wait,” he said, catching himself. “They won’t hang you. They won’t even take you to trial. They’ll kill you in the street before you’ve even collected the bounty money. Every lawman between here and hell will be out to kill you, for killing one of their own.”

  “Leave it alone, Dave,” Oldham warned him.

  But Dave would have none of it.

  “See?” he said with sarcasm. “They’re the law. That’s why, as rich as Fenderson is, he won’t step out in front of this and put his own ass on the line. He’ll pay some stupid thug who’ll do the bloody work for him.” He paused, then said, “Stick to what we do, Oldham. Let’s get clear away from here and go rob something.”

  Oldham took a deep breath, placating himself, and slipped his Colt into his holster. He reached over, picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip
.

  “There’s times I could bend a gun barrel over your head, brother Dave,” he said, almost sighing.

  Dave gave a short, dark chuckle.

  “Yeah?” he said. “There’s times I could bend one over your head and straighten it across your jaw.” He sipped his hot coffee and said, “So, are you going to put all this bounty nonsense out of your mind?”

  “No,” Oldham said firmly, staring off toward the fire and the men gathered a few yards from it. “I’m going to kill Burrack and collect that bounty.”

  “Damn it,” said Dave. “Why is it the more I talk against doing something, the more determined you get on doing it?”

  “That’s just me, brother,” Oldham said. “I’m molded that way, by bigger hands than these.” He glanced down at the hot tin cup in his hands, then looked back over toward the men.

  • • •

  From across the camp, Chic Reye turned away from Oldham’s gaze and sipped his coffee. Sieg sat to his left. A few feet away sat Little Deak Holder.

  “Sounds like they’re arguing right now,” Reye said, more irritated than he’d been earlier. “I expect this will last most of the day. Meanwhile, we sit and wait like a band of drooling idiots ready to laugh if one of them farts.”

  “I see you woke up in a good mood,” said Sieg. “That’s always worth something.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m not some mindless fool,” Reye growled. “I know what I see, and if what I see makes me ill, I ain’t withdrawn from speaking my mind on the matter. The Reyes are known all across Kansas for speaking their minds and letting the chips fall where they will.”

  “I can believe that,” Sieg said dryly.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Reye asked in a surly tone.

  “It means I have taken note over time that you’re not one to mask either your attitudes or opinions.”

  “It’s true, I will orate where necessary,” Reye said, seemingly satisfied with Sieg’s explanation.