by Ralph Cotton
“So, this whole issue with Fenderson is over family pride, about me shooting his nephew, Mitchell Fenderson?”
“Is that what you believe?” Teague said, tight-lipped on the matter.
“What I believe, Henry Teague,” Sam said, “is that if you’re going to answer a question with a question, I might just as well change your place with this one.” He nodded at Rudabough. “Maybe he’ll be more sociable, and you can rest your head on the floor awhile.”
“Is that your answer to everything, Ranger? Crack a man’s head if he doesn’t cooperate with you?”
See? There he goes, doing it again, Sam reminded himself.
“Yes, it is,” Sam said, “today anyway. I’ve got a sheriff killed, a dove beat half to death, a prisoner I need to get to Yuma and a rich man wanting to pay to have me put underground. What’s a busted head here and there?” He gave a wry thin smile. “Now, I’m going to ask you another question, about something else, and I dare you to answer me with a question of your own.” He placed his hand on the butt of the big Colt. “All set?”
Teague looked across the table and saw a string of reddish drool bob down from Sonny’s parted lips.
“All right,” Teague said, giving in. “I’ll answer what I can. Keep in mind I work for Hugh Fenderson. I’m not giving that up.”
“Fair enough,” Sam said. “Then let’s talk about Oldham Coyle, about the dove losing the winnings he had her holding for him.”
“He turned his money over to a saloon dove,” Teague said with a tilt of his chin. “He might have gotten what he deserved, doing something that stupid. We came here looking for him, but he was too busy gambling, swilling rye and taking dope to want to deal with us.”
“You brought him the news about the bounty on my head,” Sam said firmly. “Even offered a little extra for him killing me, since he’s got such a reputation with a gun.”
“I won’t admit that we talked to him about killing you, Ranger. That would be against the law,” said Teague. “But if you wanted to think it, well, that would be okay too—it’s a free country.”
“A free country. . . .” Sam only nodded.
“I’ll be honest,” said Teague. “I figured the way he was going, he’d lose his winnings and end up wanting to take my proposition after all. And he did,” he added. “I rode out and talked to him. He seemed ready and eager to take on any deal Fenderson had to offer. That’s all I’m saying on that.”
Sam studied his face for a moment, seeing no way for him to stop anybody as powerful as Hugh Fenderson. Even Fenderson’s men had been schooled on what to say and what not to say. This was paid killing at a higher level than he was used to.
All right. . . He still had to figure it out and stop it, he reminded himself.
“How will Fenderson know when it’s over?” he asked.
“He’ll know it’s over when I telegraph him and let him know it’s over,” Teague said. “My job is to stick right here and wait until it’s done.” He couldn’t resist giving a smug grin as he spoke. Both of them knew that when it’s over meant when the Ranger was dead.
Sam shook his head at the thought of what they were discussing. But he had to play it this way, for now, he told himself.
“Telegraph him where?” he asked.
“Oh,” said Teague, “I suppose you didn’t realize. Hugh Fenderson has his own rail car. It has a telegraph set up in it. He stops anywhere along this rail spur and has his men throw a jumper rod over the lines—runs messages in and out of his car window.” His smug grin widened a little. “It’s slicker than striped socks on a rooster.”
“I see,” said Sam. He took a deep breath and let it out, as if overwhelmed at the power he found himself up against. “That’s why folks are still waiting for the train to arrive? Fenderson is holding up, waiting to hear I’m dead before he rides up here?”
“Yep, that’s it in a thimble,” said Teague with a dark chuckle. “Sort of makes you wish you’d stayed home, eh, Ranger?” he added. “Of course it can all be settled easy enough. Get two big guns on the street, you and Oldham Coyle—see who comes out standing.”
Without answering, Sam looked over at Rudabough, who had come around some, enough to raise a hand to the side of his head and groan. Dankett stood back, watching, listening to as much as he could but not catching all of it. Behind him the crowd had dispersed, losing interest now that the potential for bloodshed had died down.
“It looks like you fellows have it all figured out,” he said.
“I’d say so,” said Teague with haughty satisfaction.
Henry Teague had shown him his whole hand. Now it was his turn, Sam thought. He fished the chip he’d purchased from his vest pocket.
“Here’s something else we need to talk about,” he said. He flipped the poker chip out onto the tabletop.
“What’s this?” asked Teague.
“A poker chip,” said Sam. He raised a hand and motioned Dankett in closer.
“I can see it’s a poker chip. So what?” Teague said, sounding a little impatient.
Sam leaned forward and said, “What if I told you my deputy and I both saw this fall from your pard’s pocket a while ago?”
Teague tried a carefree smile, but it wasn’t working.
“I’d say thank you both for returning it,” he said. “Sonny will be happy—”
“What if I told you we already checked? That your pard hasn’t played a hand of poker since the two of you have been here?”
Teague’s face tightened a little.
“So what? He might have found it on the floor,” he said. “In fact, I remember him saying he found a chip.”
Sam leaned in closer, his hand resting atop the Colt.
“Search him, Deputy,” he said.
Dankett pulled his left hand away from his leveled shotgun long enough to reach inside Rudabough’s coat and rip down on the inside lapel pocket. A stream of poker chips spilled down to the floor all around the half-conscious gunman’s boots.
Teague clenched his jaws and his fists. From all corners of the saloon, eyes turned toward the sound of the chips falling. Dankett stepped away and gave the onlookers a warning stare.
“He’s been cashing in chips steadily every night,” Sam said to Teague. “So many that he’s got all the dealers wondering where they come from. I say these chips came from Anna Rose, and whoever has them is the person who beat her and left her for dead—”
“This stupid son of a bitch!” said Teague, exploding before he could stop himself. He reached over and shook Sonny. “Wake up, damn you to hell. This is your doing! Explain all this!”
Sonny gurgled, swooned and swung his head, awakening enough to hear what was going on.
“Look at me, Henry Teague. There’s more,” Sam said, drawing Teague’s attention back to him. “I can prove that whoever beat up the dove also ambushed Sheriff Rattler out back of his new jail.”
“You can? How?” Teague asked, staring coldly at him.
Sam relaxed and sat back in his chair, his hand still on the Colt. Things were turning, starting to go his way.
“I don’t want to tell you too much at once,” he said. “If I do that, I’ll have no surprise left for you when the judge gets up here from Yuma.”
“You’re bluffing, Ranger,” Teague said. “You’ve got nothing to show that either one of us killed the sheriff. At the best maybe you can say this idiot beat up a dove. So what? Some doves like getting knocked around. Some only charge a little bit extra for you beating them up.”
Ignoring his remark, Sam said, “You do not want to make the mistake of thinking I’m bluffing, Teague. What you want to do is decide who you’d best like to see hang for this, you or your pard here. If I ask him that same question, I bet I can guess what his answer will be.”
Teague gave Sonny Rudabough a look up and down, realizing the Ra
nger was right. Sam saw his confidence overtaken by a dark, troubled look.
“Here’s another way we can settle this thing easy enough,” he said, giving Teague a sharp stare. “Forget me and Coyle. We can get some bigger guns, get out on the street, like you and Hugh Fenderson, me and the law—let the court say who comes out standing.” He pushed his chair back from the table. He had run a bluff; now it was time to see where it took him.
“Wait, Ranger,” Teague said, seeing Sam had finished talking and was ready to make a move. “I’m not to blame for anything this fool has done! If he beat the dove and robbed her, it’s on his head.”
“And Sheriff Rattler?” Sam asked, stone-faced.
“For killing him too,” Teague said. “I don’t know what proof you’ve got, but whatever it is, you can’t prove I had anything to do with it.”
“You think you kept yourself clear of it, Teague,” Sam said, “but you didn’t. You made a mistake trusting a fool. Now you’ll have to share that fool’s reward.” Instead of standing, he raised the Colt and cocked it in Teague’s face.
A strange, puzzled look came to Teague’s eyes.
“You’re arresting us, taking us to jail?” he said, seeing Dankett step back in closer to Rudabough and shake him by his shoulder.
“You’re half right,” Sam said. “I’m arresting you. But we’ll never make it to jail. You’ll both make a run for it, and I’ll drop you in the dirt. Deputy Dankett here will see the whole thing, right, Deputy?” he said quietly to Dankett.
“You’ve got it,” Dankett said, the big shotgun aimed down at Teague. He scraped the chips into a pile with his boot, then stooped and loaded them into his corduroy coat pocket. He reached down to pull Rudabough to his feet.
“Ranger, wait!” said Teague, his hands chest high. “We can work something out here.” But Sam didn’t wait, instead he reached down and lifted a big Remington from Teague’s holster. “I’ll give you Rudabough for everything,” Teague continued. “I can even call off the fight with Coyle, at least tell him that Fenderson has dropped the reward.”
Sam lowered the Colt an inch and took a deep breath.
“Yeah, I can do that,” Teague said, seeing the Ranger consider his words. “Believe me, you don’t want to go up against this fellow Coyle. I know your reputation. But this man is faster than you. He’s faster than anybody I’ve ever seen.”
“All right,” said Sam. “We’ll talk about it at the jail.”
“Am I going to get shot in the back on my way there?” Teague asked.
“Not unless I change my mind,” Sam said, pulling him to his feet.
“Here, help your pal,” said Dankett, shoving the wobbling Rudabough to him. Teague grabbed Sonny’s flailing arm and looped it across his shoulders.
“Where . . . we going?” Sonny said thickly, his head cocked sideways, his swirling eyes staring into Teague’s ear.
Dankett walked them past the bar and stopped long enough to empty the chips from his coat pocket onto the bar top.
Beside him, Sam said to the bartender, “Bag these and mark them for Oldham Coyle when he gets here.”
“Oldham Coyle, you’ve got it, Ranger,” said the bartender. He raked the chips into a cloth sack and tagged it as the Ranger, his deputy and their unsavory consorts filed out the door.
• • •
On the way to the jail, Sam spotted Adele Simpson leading the roan away from a hitch rail out in front of a small restaurant, her belongings still loaded on its back. Seeing the Ranger, his deputy, and the prisoners, their arms encircling each other like two drunkards, she stopped and stared as they drew nearer.
“Ranger?” she said. “Is everything all right?”
“It’s getting there,” Sam replied, touching the brim of his sombrero toward her. He slowed almost to a halt as Dankett continued walking with the two prisoners.
“As you see, the train still has not arrived,” she said, spreading her arms slightly. “I still wait.”
“Be patient, Miss Adele. I’ve got a feeling it won’t be much longer,” Sam said.
“I will,” said Adele. Knowing the Ranger would turn and walk away any second, she asked, “How is Harvey doing?”
“He’s doing as well as might be expected, ma’am,” Sam said. “Did he ever tell you what brought him west?”
“No,” Adele said. “The law chasing him would be my guess, once I realized the kind of man he is.”
“That would be my first guess too,” Sam said. “But that’s not it at all. He was just a young man who came out here . . .” He paused and let his words trail. He shook his head a little. “It’s something you’d have to have him tell you, I suppose. It’s not my way to pass along things told to me in confidence.”
“In confidence?” Adele said. Sam could tell he’d piqued her interest.
“Not that I’m anybody’s confessor, ma’am.” He smiled. “After all, I’m a lawman, not a priest.” He watched her curiosity rise. “We got our jail finished. It looks good. If you get a chance, stop and see it before you leave.”
“Yes, thank you, Ranger. I just may do that,” Adele said.
Sam looked at the roan and said, “Come see it right now, if you’ve a mind to,” he said. “I’ll hitch the roan out front. I’ll escort you to the hotel afterward.”
“I suppose I could,” Adele said, looking around.
“Good,” Sam said, taking the lead to the roan. “I know Cisco will be pleased to see you.”
They walked on behind Dankett and the prisoners, and stepped onto the boardwalk as the deputy reached around Teague and Rudabough and opened the door to the sheriff’s office.
Walking inside, they saw Dr. Starr looking at them through bloodshot eyes, drying his freshly washed face on a clean towel.
“Is that fellow all right?” he asked, seeing the welt alongside Sonny’s head, Sonny swaying as if in a strong breeze.
“I believe he is,” Sam said.
“Very good, then, if you’ll excuse me, Ranger,” Starr said, “it’s time I get out of here and go see about my patient.” He picked up his leather bag and left, rolling down his shirtsleeves, his coat draped over an arm.
From his cell, Lang stood up at the sight of the woman.
“Adele?” he said in a gentle voice. “You haven’t left?” His voice had a ring of hope in it.
“No, Harvey, I’m still here,” Adele said, almost in the same tone. She looked to the Ranger, who gave her a wave forward.
As the two met at the bars, Sam and Dankett walked Teague and Rudabough over to the cell where Carnes and Johnson sat staring beneath a gray cloud of cigarette smoke.
“I bet I know where he got that,” Carnes said, eyeing the print of the Ranger’s gun barrel on Sonny Rudabough’s head. Rudabough gave Carnes a starry-eyed look as Teague walked him inside the cell and slid him down against the plank wall, beneath the window now covered with bars. Johnson held up a bag of tobacco and some rolling papers to Henry Teague as Teague stepped over closer.
“Build a smoke for yourself, mister,” Johnson said. “It’ll help take your mind off things.”
“Get it rolled and get out here, Teague,” Sam said from the other side of the bars. “You and I are going to take a walk to the telegraph station.”
“Teague . . . ? Henry Teague?” said Johnson, looking at Teague with a lowered brow. “You’re the one who works for Hugh Fenderson—who damn near got us killed going after the Ranger?” He reached out and jerked the tobacco from Teague’s hand.
Sam watched. Johnson gave Teague a hard stare for a moment. Finally he handed the tobacco bag back to him and shrugged.
“What the hell?” he said. “It wasn’t your fault we didn’t kill him.”
Teague walked away from the extended tobacco bag and stood in front of the Ranger, looking at him through the corner bars of the cell.
“You’re going to wire your boss for me,” Sam said. “I want you to get Hugh Fenderson up here where he can see for himself what his money’s buying.”
“I can’t do that, Ranger,” Teague said. “Fenderson won’t come up until he hears that you’re dead.”
“Good, that’s what you’ll tell him,” Sam said.
“Huh-uh,” Teague said. “I’m not pulling any shenanigans on Fenderson.”
Ignoring his refusal, Sam said, “I figure you’ve got private words or numbers you use when you wire him so he’ll know it’s you. You give me those words or numbers and I’ll wire him myself.”
“It’s code words. But how will you know I gave you the right words?” Teague said shrewdly.
“I’ll trust you the first time,” Sam said. “If you give me the wrong words and he doesn’t show up, I’ll have my deputy get the right words from you.” He paused, then said, “Or I can have him walk you out back, make sure you give it right the first time.”
Teague just stared at him, deciding whether or not he wanted to test him on the matter.
Without hesitation, the Ranger called over his shoulder to Dankett, “Deputy, I’ve got a man needs to go to the jakes. I need you to talk to him some on the way.”
“All right, Ranger, call him off,” Teague said. “I’ll go with you to the telegraph station.”
“Obliged, Teague,” Sam said flatly. He called out to Dankett as the deputy walked over with his long-barreled shotgun, “Hold up, Deputy. He’s changed his mind. But I need you and Big Lucy to watch about the jail for a few minutes.”
“We’d be pleased to the core,” Dankett said, patting the shotgun on its walnut stock.
Lang and Adele looked around from talking quietly at the next cell.
“Are things getting better between you and the deputy?” Adele asked.
“Yes, maybe . . . I mean, I don’t know,” said Lang. He sounded remorseful. “Adele, I have had to think about so many things.” He shook his lowered head. “I’ve been nothing but a fool. I used you, and I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to tell you that before I leave here. I only hope someday you can forgive me.”