Sackett 17 - The Sky-Liners

by The Sky-Liners

  When we rode up to the camp it was nothing but a corral, a spring, and a sod shanty that was half dugout Ladder Walker was a-lying on his back with a blanket pulled up over him, and he looked sicker than anybody I ever did see. Those others cowpokes were all standing around with their hats off, talking in low voices.

  As soon as all was going well, Galloway and me slipped out and rode back to Dodge. It looked to me as if Ladder was shaping up to one of the longest death scenes in history.

  Although the preacher said he was a Protestant, and confession was not necessary, Ladder couldn't miss a chance like that. So he started off by confessing to several hours of the most lurid sinning a body ever heard tell of. He had confessed to all he had done, which was a-plenty, all he had wanted to do, which was a sight more, and then he began inventing sins the like of which you never heard. I'll say one thing for him. He had him an audience right from the word go. They never even looked up when we went out

  "You can bet your bottom dollar," Galloway said, "they'll never get out of there tonight."

  The thing that worried us, suppose one of those sky pilots who had been out of town should return?

  Only they didn't.

  Chapter 4

  Galloway and me, we rode up to the hitch rail in front of the Lady Gay and stepped down from our saddles. We were hungry and tired, and it was coming on to storm. As we stood on the boardwalk sizing up the town, lightning flashed out over the prairie.

  "Looks to be a gully-washer," Galloway said. "I've been watching those clouds all the way in."

  "You go ahead. I'll put up the horses." I hesitated there a moment, then added, "You might look to see if Judith has switched her gear over to that room Fetchen got for her."

  The street was empty. I could hear boots on the walk down half a block or so, but could see nobody. The saloons were all lit up, going full blast, but there were few horses or rigs around because of the storm a-coming.

  Leading both horses, I walked across the street and went on down to the livery stable. On the corner I held up for a moment, watching a tumbleweed rolling down the street and thinking of that Judith. Of all the contrary, ornery, freckle-faced ... Trouble was, I missed her.

  There was a lantern over the livery stable door, the flame sputtering in the wind. Nobody was around, so I led the horses back to their stalls and tied them, then went up a ladder into the loft and forked hay down to both of them. I was finishing off the last fork of hay when I thought I heard a step down below, a slow, careful step.

  The loft where I was covered the whole top of the barn, and there were three ladders up to it - three that I'd seen, two on one side, one on the other. Come to think of it, there should be a fourth ladder, but if there was it must come down in an empty stall at the back of the barn where the liveryman hung spare bits of harness, tools, and suchlike.

  All the time I was thinking of that, I was listening. Had somebody followed me in? Or was it some drunk hunting a place to sleep away from the storm? Or maybe somebody coming to get his horse?

  The way those footsteps sounded made me think it was surely not one of the last two. My Winchester was down there beside my saddle and my slicker, waiting to be picked up before I went to the hotel. Likely that man down there had seen them and was just a-playing 'possum, waiting for me to come down and pick them up. And whatever lead he could throw at me.

  Now, some folks might think me a suspicious man, and they'd be right. Many's the time I've suspected something when I was wrong; but there were other times I'd been right, and so I was still among the living.

  Slipping the rawhide thong off the hammer of my six-shooter, I put that pitchfork down as easy as I could. Then I straightened up to listen. If he knew I was up here I'd best stir around a mite, or he'd be suspicious.

  Many a cowpoke slept in a livery stable, and that was the idea I hoped to give him. What I figured on was getting him to come up that ladder, instead of him catching me coming down.

  All the same, I started figuring. Seems to me a man can most usually take time to contemplate, and if he does it will save him a lot of riding and a lot of headaches.

  Now, suppose I was down there and wanted to shoot a man on one of those ladders? Where would I take my stand so's I could watch all three to once?

  It didn't leave much choice. Two ladders were on one side of the loft, opposite to him; the other ladder he knew of was on his side of the loft, up toward the front. If the man below wanted to keep all of them under cover, he had to be somewhere on the right side of the stable, toward the rear. If there was another ladder, which went up from that empty stall, one long unused, it would be behind the watcher.

  If I made a try at coming down any one of the three ladders now, I'd be climbing down with my back to the gunman - if that was what he was.

  The first thing I did was to sit down on some hay. I fluffed some of it around as if I was shaping a bed, and not being careful about noise; then I took off my boots and dropped them on the floor. After that I picked them up, tied them together with a piggin string, and slung them around my neck. Then, just as carefully as I could, I stood up in my sock feet. The floor was solid and not likely to squeak, so I eased across, soundlessly as I was able. And I waited.

  There was not a sound from below. Near me was a bin full of corn, unshelled corn waiting to be fed to some of the local horses. I tossed an ear of that corn over to where I had taken off my boots, and it hit the boards near the hay. I hoped he would believe I'd dropped something, or something had slipped from my pockets. Then I eased along the side of the loft till I was over that empty stall. Sure enough, there was an opening there, with a ladder leading down.

  It was well back in the stall and in a dark corner.

  The chances were that few of the stable's customers had any idea that this ladder was there.

  Crouching by the opening, I listened, but heard no sound. I drew my Colt and carefully lowered my head until I could see into the lower level ... Nothing.

  Swinging my feet down, my Colt gripped in my right hand, I felt for the first rung of the ladder, found it, and then the second. Lowering myself down, clinging to the ladder, I searched for him but could see nothing. I came down a step further, and heard a shout.

  "Got you, damn it!" A gun blasted not over thirty feet away. The bullet smashed into the frame of the ladder, stabbing my face with splinters, and I fired in return, my bullet going slightly above and left of the flash. I realized even as I fired that my shot was too high, and I triggered a second shot lower down.

  At the same instant I let go and dropped, landing on the balls of my feet, but I tumbled forward with a crash of harness and a breaking chair; and then came the bellow of a gun, almost within inches of me. Rolling over, I fired again.

  Outside I heard a shout, heard running feet, and I sprang up. Down the far side of the stalls near the horses a man was staggering. He was bent far over, clutching at his stomach, and even as I saw him he stumbled forward and fell on his face.

  The running feet were coming nearer.

  Ducking out the back door of the barn, I slid between the corral bars and, still in my sock feet, ran lightly along the area back of the buildings until I was close to the hotel. I paused for just a moment and got my boots on, and then I went up the back stairs of the hotel, and along the hall.

  Several heads appeared from doorways, and one of them was Judith's. She saw me, and for a moment I thought I saw relief on her face. "Flagan, what is it? What's happened?" she asked.

  "Some drunken cowhand," I said. "You've got to expect that in Dodge."

  She still stood there in the door of her room. She was fully dressed, although it was very late. "I will be married tomorrow," she said, almost tentatively.

  "I wish you luck."

  "You don't really mean that."

  "No, ma'am, I don't. I think you're doing the wrong thing, and I know it isn't what your grandpa wanted ... nor your pa, either, I'm thinking."

  "Mr. Fetchen is a fine man. You'll
see."

  We heard voices from down below, and then boots on the stairs. Colby Rafin was suddenly there, Black Fetchen behind him, with Norton Vance and Burr Fetchen coming up in the rear.

  "There he is!" Colby yelled.

  He grabbed for his gun, but I had him covered. Back in Tennessee those boys never had to work at a fast draw, and the way that gun came into my hand stopped them cold.

  "I don't know what you boys are looking for," I said, "but I don't like being crowded."

  "You killed Tory!" Burr shouted.

  Before I could open my mouth to speak, Judith said, "How could he? He's been standing here talking to me!"

  That stopped them, and for the moment nobody thought to ask how long I'd been there. After that moment they never got the chance, because the marshal pushed by them.

  "What happened down there?" he asked me.

  "Sounded like some shooting. These boys say Tory Fetchen got killed."

  Just then Bat Masterson came up the steps. "Everything all right, Wyatt?" Then he saw me standing there at Judith's door. "Oh, hello, Sackett."

  Earp turned on him. "Do you know this man, Bat?"

  "Yes, I do. He brought Evan Hawkes's cattle in, and helped round up some strays. He's a friend of mine."

  Earp glanced down at my boots. "Mind if I look at your boots? The man who did that shooting had to come along behind the buildings. It's muddy there."

  I lifted one boot after the other. Both were as slick as though they'd never stepped on anything but a board floor.

  Colby Rafin was sore. He simply couldn't believe it. "He's lyin'!" he shouted. "It had to be him! Why, Tory was - "

  "Tory was what?" Masterson demanded. "Laying for him? Was that it?"

  It was Burr who spoke up. "Nothin' like that," he protested, "Tory just went after his horse."

  "At this hour?" Earp asked. "You mean he was riding out of town this late, with a storm brewing?"

  "Sure," Burr replied easily. "He was riding out to join some of our outfit."

  "Gentlemen," Earp said coldly, "before we ask any further questions or you give any more answers, let me tell you something. Your Friend Tory Fetchen wore new boots, boots with a very distinctive heel pattern. He left enough tracks down there at the stable for a man who was doing a lot of waiting, a man crouched down or standing beside one of the support posts. From those tracks, I'd say he was waiting for somebody and trying to keep out of sight. He was either nervous or he waited a long time. In any case, his gun was fired twice, and he was hit twice ... looked to me like a third shot cut the top of his coat's shoulder. We've no case against the man who shot him. Both men were armed, both were shooting. It's nothing but a matter of clearing up the details."

  "Just a question, gentlemen," Masterson said. "You came up here, apparently headed for Sackett's room. Did you have some idea of finishing the job Tory tried to do?"

  "Aw, it was nothing like that!" Burr Fetchen waved a careless hand. "Only we had some trouble back in Tennessee, and - "

  "Then I suggest you go back to Tennessee and settle it," Earp interrupted. "I won't have shooting in Dodge."

  "I give you my word, Marshal," I said, "I won't shoot unless I'm shot at."

  "That's fair enough, Sackett. All right, you boys go about your business. If there's any more trouble I'll lock you up."

  When they had gone, I said, "Judith, I'm sorry I got you into this."

  "You were standing here with me!" she insisted. "Why, I must have come out of my door just as those shots died away."

  She had been quick enough. The trouble is that a running man can cover a good distance, and folks just never calculate time as well as they think. In any event, she had stopped a nasty shooting in a crowded place where she or others might have been hurt, and for that much I was glad.

  "They didn't tell the truth," she said then. "Tory wasn't going out of town. He was going to have dinner with James and me."

  "Late for dinner, isn't it?"

  "James said he would be busy. He wanted to eat late. He said the restaurant would not be so crowded."

  'I'd better go," I said. I backed off a few steps. "If you change your mind, you can always come back and join us. We'll take you on to your pa."

  She smiled a little. "Flagan, I shall not change my mind. I love James, and he loves me."

  "You keep telling yourself that. Maybe after a while you'll come to believe it," I said.

  "Flagan Sackett, I - "

  Maybe it isn't right for a gentleman to walk away whilst a lady is talking, but I did. This was an argument where I was going to have the last word, anyway ... when they found no preacher in town.

  There was a corner at the head of the stairs where a body couldn't be seen from above or below, and I stopped there long enough to reload my gun.

  Galloway was sitting in the lobby holding a newspaper. He looked up at me, a kind of quizzical look in his eyes. "Hear there was a shooting over to the livery," he said.

  "Sounded like it," I agreed, and sat down beside him. In a low tone I added, "That Tory laid for me whilst I was putting hay down the chute. He come close to hangin' up my scalp."

  "Yeah, and you better start pullin' slivers out of your face. The light's brighter down here than in that hallway upstairs."

  Something had been bothering my face for several minutes, but I'd been too keyed up and too busy talking to notice it much. Gingerly, I put my hand up and touched the end of a pine sliver off that post. Two or three of them I pulled out right there, getting them with my fingers, but there were some others.

  We walked down the street to the Peacock, just to look around, and Bat was there. He came over to us, glanced at the side of my face and smiled a little. "I hope you had time to change your socks," he said. "A man can catch cold with wet, muddy socks on."

  Me, I had to grin. "Nothing gets by you, does it?"

  "I saw you go into the barn. I also saw Tory follow you. I saw the track of a sock foot just back of the barn. I kicked straw over it."

  "Thanks."

  "When I take to a man, I stand by him. I have reason to believe that you're honest. I have reason to believe the Fetchens are not."

  But, no matter how good things looked right at that moment, I was worried. Black Fetchen was not one to take Tory's shooting lying down, and no matter what anybody said, he would lay it to me or Galloway. I'd had no idea of killing anybody; only when a man comes laying for you, what can you do? The worst of it was, he'd outguessed me. All the time, he knew about that other door from the loft, and he figured rightly that I'd find it and use it. That he missed me at all was pure accident. I'd been mostly in the dark or he'd have hit me sure, and he'd been shooting to kill.

  After a bit Galloway and me went back to the hotel and crawled into bed. But I slept with a Colt at my hand, and I know Galloway did, too.

  Tomorrow two things would happen, both of them likely to bring grief and trouble. First would be Tory's funeral, and second would be when they tried to find somebody to marry Judith and Black Fetchen.

  Anybody could read a funeral sermon, but it took a Justice of the Peace or an ordained minister to marry somebody.

  Chapter 5

  There was a light rain falling when we went down to the restaurant for breakfast. It was early, and not many folks were about at that hour. The gray faces of the stores were darkened by the rain, and the dust was laid for a few hours at least. A rider in a rain-wet slicker went by on the street, heading for the livery stable. It was a quiet morning in Dodge.

  We stopped at the dining-room door, studying the people inside before we entered, and we found a table in a corner where we could watch both doors. Galloway had the rawhide thong slipped back off his six-shooter and so did I, but we were hunting no trouble.

  Folks drifted in, mostly men. They were cattlemen, cattle buyers, a scattering of ranch hands, and some of the business folks from the stores. A few of them we already knew by sight, a trick that took only a few hours in Dodge.

  There were
half a dozen pretty salty characters in that room, too, but Dodge was full of them. As far as that goes, nine-tenths of the adult males in Dodge had fought in the War Between the States or had fought Indians, and quite a few had taken a turn at buffalo hunting. It was no place to come hunting a ruckus unless you were hitched up to go all the way.

  We ordered scrambled eggs and ham, something a body didn't find too much west of the Mississippi, where everything was beef and beans. Both of us were wearing store-bought clothes and our guns were almost out of sight There was a rule about packing guns in town unless you were riding out right off, but the law in Dodge was lenient except when the herds were coming up the trail, and this was an off season for that. Evan Hawkes had been almost the only one up the trail right at that time.

  Nowhere was there any sign of the Fetchen crowd, nor of Judith.

  "You don't suppose they pulled out?" Galloway asked.

  " 'Tisn't likely."

  Several people glanced over at us, for there were no secrets in Dodge, and by now everybody in town would know who we were and why we were in town; and they would also know the Fetchen crowd.

  It was likely that Earp had figured out the shooting by this time, but as had been said, Tory was armed and it was a fair shooting, except that he laid for me like that. He'd tried to ambush me, and he got what was coming to him. Dodge understood things like that.

  We ate but our minds were not on our food, hungry as we were, for every moment we were expecting the Fetchens to show up. They did not come, though. The rain eased off, although the clouds remained heavy and it was easy enough to see that the storm was not over. Water dripped from the eaves and from the signboards extending across the boardwalk in some places.

  We watched through the windows, and presently a man came in, pausing at the outside door to beat the rain from his hat and to shake it off his raincoat. He came on in, and I heard him, without looking at us, tell Ben Springer, "They had their buryin'. There were nineteen men out there. Looked to be a tough lot."