Clay Nash 8

by Brett Waring

  “D’you know where it is?”

  Mantell looked doubtful. “Didn’t actually see the place. Cherokee rode off by hisself, see. The rest of us kept movin’, ’cause we wanted to put as much distance between us and this place as possible. But I know where he quit the trail and when he came back he said he’d put the bag down ...” He broke off abruptly and gave the woman a crooked grin. “But that’d be tellin’, wouldn’t it?”

  “Well, why not?” Liz asked. “It’s of no earthly use to you. Even if you were free, there’s nothin’ in it that could be of any interest to you. Tell me where he dumped it. Please.”

  Mantell’s grin widened. “You sure want it bad, don’t you, little girl. I’d say real bad.”

  She looked at him levelly. “Please, Mantell. It’s my only hope. My brother’s only hope. You got to tell me where that bag is.”

  His face hardened. “Who says I gotta?” He sat on the edge of his bunk and looked up at her. “I don’t ‘gotta’ do nothin’ ’less I want to. What the hell’ve I got to lose by keepin’ somethin’ like that to myself? I got nothin’ to gain by tellin’ you where that bag’s hid.”

  “It would help me get my brother free.”

  “That don’t help me none,” Mantell said shortly. Then he looked up sharply, stood, and walked very slowly over to the bars, scratching at his stubbled jaw. The girl moved back apace. “Unless—mebbe we can do some sort, o’ deal.”

  She frowned. “What d’you mean? If you want me to get you legal help to fight your case, I’ll gladly do it, Mantell. Is that what you want?”

  He smiled crookedly. “I want more than that, Liz Garrett. A helluva lot more.” He came right up against the bars, still smiling, eyes staring into her puzzled face. “You gimme what I want—and I’ll guarantee to put that mailbag right in your sweet little hands. You interested?”

  Liz frowned, threw a glance towards the closed door at the end of the passage that led through to Lew Hackett’s office. Then she nodded slowly.

  “I’m interested,” she told him soberly. “I’m interested in anything that’ll help get Ben out of prison.”

  Mantell laughed shortly; he couldn’t help it. He knew he was on a winning streak now.

  ~*~

  When Nash returned to Jim Hume’s room, he felt and looked a lot better. The hot water had eased most of his aches and pains and had put new life into his body.

  Hume poured two drinks and they saluted each other before tossing down the whisky. Hume gestured to chairs and carefully lit a cigar. Nash got out the makings and built a cigarette.

  “How do you figure Mantell?” Nash said. “I mean really figure—deep down?”

  “Well, he knows plenty of details about the depot robbery.”

  Nash arched his eyebrows in surprise. “He sure didn’t say much on the way in. It’s one reason why I had a hunch that he hadn’t actually pulled it at all.”

  “He knows just about everything,” Hume said. “How the office looked, where the safe was, how much was in the payroll, and how many packages and sacks were in the safe.”

  Nash shrugged. “Guess my hunch was wrong, then.”

  “Mebbe not,” Hume said and gave a faint smile. “Liz Garrett was just leavin’ when I got to the cells to see Mantell. Sheriff said she’d been in there for nigh on an hour.”

  “Talkin’ with Mantell? Judas, she don’t waste no time.”

  Hume nodded. “Mantell’s smart. Could’ve pumped her. Gotten the information about the depot and the robbery out of her without her even realisin’. He didn’t hesitate to tell me when I questioned him. Made it sound like he’d done it, all right.”

  “You don’t think he did?”

  Hume hesitated briefly. “Well, no reason not to think he did by what he told me. All those details and such. But, like I said, he could’ve pumped them out of the girl.”

  Nash nodded. “Did he tell her ’bout the mailbag?”

  Hume shook his head. “She said not. But she didn’t stick around once I showed. Got out of there fast. Looked kinda upset, on edge, so I guess she didn’t get what she wanted.”

  “Too bad. She wanted to find that letter real soon.”

  “Yeah. But that’s her worry. We’ve got some bigger things on our plate, Clay, because if Mantell pulled off Red Rapids—who jumped Squirrel Creek? And if he’s only admitting to the depot deal so he can’t be blamed for the massacre up north—then who the hell cleaned out this depot?”

  Nash sighed. “I think maybe I’ll have another talk with Tex Harmer. Ruby Dow and him somehow link up to this, I’m sure of it. She didn’t just dope me to get my wallet.”

  “No, Clay. You turn in and get some rest,” Hume said. “I’ll go see Harmer, or, leastways, take a quiet look into his affairs. I want you fresh.”

  “What you got in mind?”

  “You’ll have to get on up to Squirrel Creek. I’ve been pushing you pretty hard lately, not givin’ you enough time to rest up between things. You get an early night and ride the stage to the Creek tomorrow. It’s time you had a good look-see up there. We might’ve missed somethin’—and if that somethin’ ties in Mantell, he’s as good as hung. Likewise, if we can prove someone else robbed this here depot, then Mantell’s gonna have to change his story.”

  Nash nodded. It was sure one hell of a mixed-up deal. Here they had a man behind bars who readily admitted to a robbery and somehow, they couldn’t believe him. They didn’t know why, but when both Wells Fargo men had the feeling he was lying, despite his supply of details of the robbery, then something had to be done to get proof that would satisfy them both—and the judge.

  Hume had been a long time on the administrative side of things and, though he kept his hand in with pistol practice, and he did some exercise, he was nowhere near as fit as he had been as a field agent, enforcing the Fargo code with fists and gun.

  He was a hard man, and there wasn’t much that Hume was afraid of, but those long years behind a desk, using his brains instead of his muscles, had taken their toll. They sure hadn’t prepared him for his meeting with Tex Harmer, upstairs in the Palace.

  Right from the start, Harmer resented Hume coming to his office at all and trying to involve him in the robbery.

  “Look, Hume,” Harmer snapped after the Wells Fargo man began his quiet questioning. “Nash and me tangled over this. I know nothin’ about it and I told him so. And I’m tellin’ you so. Just leave it be. You got the man responsible behind bars, what the hell else you after?”

  “The truth, Harmer,” Hume told him. “Mebbe we’re not convinced Mantell did rob the depot here. Mebbe we’d like to know just what connection Ruby Dow had in all this. And why she put knock-out drops in Nash’s drinks.”

  Harmer’s eyes narrowed. “You figure I put her up to it, so Nash’d be out of the way and give me a clear run at the depot safe, huh? And I kept Hollis in a poker game for the same reason. That’s what you’re gettin’ at, ain’t it?”

  Hume held his hot gaze easily. “It’s a possibility. Maybe you didn’t actually rob the depot yourself, Harmer, but you’ve a lot of men on your payroll who could’ve done it for you.”

  Harmer stood slowly, leaning his hands on his desk top. He glared down at Hume and then strode around the desk to the office door. “You’re right about one thing, Hume. I’ve got a lot of hombres on my payroll who’ll do what I tell ’em.” He opened the door and stuck his head out into the passage, bawling out: “Rocky. Finch.”

  Almost immediately Hume heard a door slam and heavy boots pounded down the passage. He started to his feet, hand going under his coat towards his shoulder holster. Harmer whirled abruptly and scooped up a chair from beside the door. It took Hume in the chest and knocked him backwards across the desk, his gun spinning across the floor.

  By that time, two hulking bouncers were crowding in through the doorway, guns in hands.

  Harmer jerked his head towards Hume.

  “Throw him out,” he growled.

  Hume began to s
truggle to his feet while the two bouncers moved in on him.

  He brought a fist up from floor level and hooked one man on the jaw. He grunted and his head jerked back but he kept coming. Hume swung at the other man, but his blow was blocked and his arm caught and twisted violently up his back in a hammerlock. He lifted to his toes, grunting at the sudden pain. The first man sank a massive fist into his midriff and Hume jack-knifed. The second bouncer heaved him upright while the other batted him back and forth across the face.

  “Not here, damn it,” Harmer snapped. “I said throw him out and that’s what I meant.”

  The bouncers nodded and dragged Hume towards the door—working over his kidneys and ribs with heavy blows as they went. He was only semi-conscious and in great pain when they dragged him down the passage to the door that led to the outside stairway. They bustled him out onto the small landing, pummeled him savagely, then grabbed the collar of his coat—and heaved.

  Hume cried out in strangled pain as he hurtled down the steep narrow stairs, bouncing and rolling and rattling. His body and head smashing alternately into the brick wall and the edges of the hardwood steps. Just before he hit the bottom, senses reeling, pain hammering through him, he heard a fusillade of gunshots.

  His last conscious thought was that they seemed to come from the jail. Then he thudded into the alley and crashed into oblivion.

  ~*~

  Nash awoke to the sounds of the gunfire. It was dark and the hotel window was closed but the sound had reached him all right. He instinctively rolled out of bed and grabbed his Colt.

  He crossed to the window, eased the curtain aside and looked out. He couldn’t see anything, but could hear a couple of horses galloping away fast. Then someone was at the door of his room. He swung around, gun hammer coming back to full cock.

  “Call out or I’ll blast you through the door.”

  “It’s me. Trace.” A muffled voice came through the door panel. “Open up. All hell’s busted loose.”

  Nash went across the room fast and silently on his bare feet. He kept the hammer of the Colt cocked back and unlocked the door. He stepped back.

  “Okay. Open up. Slow.”

  The latch lifted and the door eased open to reveal Trace Hollis, fully dressed. He reared back when he saw Nash’s gun on him.

  “You better come fast. Mantell’s busted out of jail and killed the deputy.”

  Nash swore as he eased down the gun hammer. “How in hell did that happen?”

  “Liz Garrett. She must’ve made some sort of deal with him to get her that mailbag. Anyways, she was waitin’ with a couple of horses and they’ve both hightailed it for the hills.”

  “You tell Jim?” Nash asked, groping in the dark for trousers and hopping on one leg as he pulled them on.

  “Haven’t had time. I banged on the door of his room but there was no answer. We better get after ’em, hadn’t we?”

  “Damn right we had,” Nash gritted. “That stupid, goddamn girl. What the hell she think she’s pullin’?”

  “Meet you at the stables,” Hollis called as he ran back down the passage towards his own room. “I’ll get the rifles. You better wait for me, Clay. I know this country better’n you. We gotta stop Mantell gettin’ clear away!”

  “I’ll be waitin’,” Nash said grimly. But he was thinking that they had to reach the fugitives fast—before Mantell killed Liz when she had outlived her usefulness.

  And now that he had used her to break him out, she couldn’t be of much more use to Mantell. Except, maybe, as a hostage.

  Nine – Long Memory

  They weren’t many miles out of Red Rapids before it finally dawned on Liz Garrett that she had been duped. Worse, she knew that Mantell not only had no intention of taking her to the mailbag—if it even existed—but that he only wanted her along as a means to his own escape.

  The killing of the deputy had been the first incident which had aroused her suspicions. She had tackled Mantell about it almost immediately and had even hesitated, beginning to wheel her mount around. But Mantell had reached across, snatched the reins from her hand and galloped on, dragging her mount after him. She had gripped the animal’s mane so as to stay in the saddle. Only when they were clear of the town and lost in the darkness did Mantell stop their headlong dash. Before she could properly regain her balance, he had reached across and hauled her Smith and Wesson from her holster. He rammed it carelessly into his own belt, then, holding her at bay with one hand, yanked her rifle free of the saddle scabbard. She saw his teeth flash in the night.

  “That’s better,” he said.

  “Killing wasn’t in our deal,” she snapped.

  “If you’d slugged the deputy like you were s’posed to in the first place, I wouldn’t’ve had to kill him.” He levered a shell into the Winchester’s breech. “’Stead of that, you bring him into the cellblock at gunpoint, aimin’ to lock him up in the cell when he let me out. But you never even took his gun! He was loco enough to go for it, so I had to do somethin’.”

  “But you didn’t have to kill him like you did. Shootin’ at him like a mad dog four or five times.”

  “He’s dead. Ain’t no use worryin’ ’bout how. All I need is miles—between us and Red Rapids. And pronto, little girl.”

  “I ain’t movin’.”

  Nitro thrust his rifle between her breasts and clicked the hammer to full cock.

  “You’re comin’. And you ain’t gonna gimme any trouble. You just keep on rememberin’ that deputy, ma’am.”

  Liz gazed at his indistinct form over the rifle barrel. “You ain’t gonna take me to no mailbag.”

  “Shut up and get ridin’,” he growled. “Take the south fork. I’ll be right behind you. We’ll be climbin’, so you’ll make a fine target against the stars. Just don’t get any fancy ideas.”

  “Right female fool I turned out to be.”

  Mantell laughed. “Must’ve been my fatal charm.”

  “You filthy pig—what in hell would you know ’bout charm? Be a man for once in your dirty life and say somethin’ truthful. Tell me what you know ’bout the mailbag.”

  Mantell laughed again. “I dunno ’bout no mailbag, little lady. Leastways, I dunno where it is. Never did.”

  He twisted the rifle into her soft breasts.

  “Move!”

  Shaking with rage, Liz kicked her mount forward and heard Mantell move after her almost immediately.

  By daylight they were high in the ranges, and the girl knew she was no more than a hostage; that her hours were numbered. Mantell would use her for bargaining for his freedom, but now that he had killed the deputy, maybe Nash and Hume and the law wouldn’t listen. Maybe they would take a chance and call his bluff. She knew he wasn’t bluffing, though. He was desperate to keep his freedom and now she thought she knew why.

  “Hold up,” he ordered abruptly. She reined down, turning slowly in the saddle.

  Mantell was a few feet behind and below her, the cocked rifle in his hands. He hipped slightly to gaze back over the rugged trail they had travelled during the night. He had not made any attempt to hide the trail during the darkness.

  Liz, gazing out over the flats and towards the distant town, felt her heart give a lurch. There was the usual morning mist along the lower parts of the trail. It was white, milky, ghostly, reminding her of the swamp. But—rising just above it, in the foothills, there was a misty haze of a slightly yellowish color. She knew it was dust, stirred up by a rider. Maybe two. The sun slanted through it and gave it the yellowish cast, almost orange around the edges. From where she sat, she could see it against the dark gray of the rocky slope. But Mantell was lower and gazing in a slightly different direction. From where he sat his mount, he would see the dust only against the thinner tendrils of mist, or rising against the reddish trail. In fact, it was doubtful if he would be able to pick it out clearly at all.

  Liz Garrett tensed. She had that much advantage over him now but didn’t know how long she would be able to hold it. If he
turned in the saddle a little more to the right, he must see at least the edge of the dust cloud against the gray rocks. One or two riders. They had to be pursuing Mantell. They couldn’t just be cowpokes looking for strays.

  “When do we eat?” she asked in an effort to get Mantell’s attention away from the dust cloud.

  He snapped his head around and snorted derisively. “Eat? We ain’t got no time to eat. Not now and maybe not at all. All we got is a long ways to go. Now, move on.”

  The girl nudged her mount forward instantly, wanting to hold his attention, to keep him looking up trail. She turned to see if he were coming and her heart thudded in her throat. He had moved his mount up after her and was hipped in the saddle once more for a final look back. From where he was, he must spot that dust cloud rising above the mists.

  “Damn it, I’m starvin’ hungry,” she whined, trying to get his attention again. But he had other ideas. Mantell froze and she knew he had seen the dust.

  Liz jumped her mount around and rammed home her heels, driving the animal into Mantell’s mount. He swore as he grabbed the reins tight but his horse’s legs buckled. It scrabbled for a foothold and Liz drove her sorrel into him again. The big black went down on its haunches, whinnying. Mantell fell. Liz could have made a run then, up and over the. crest, but she directed her sorrel at him, trying to get past on the down trail.

  Mantell fought for balance and grabbed her as she raced by. He hauled her bodily out of the saddle. She cried out as they both crashed to the ground and skidded and rolled on the slope. They broke apart. Liz started to climb to her feet. She saw Mantell shaking his head and, at the same time, saw the bump over his right eye where he had hit a rock. But he was only momentarily dazed and he lurched to his knees. He threw himself at her, grabbing at her ankles with his free hand, still holding the rifle.