“By God, that’s a mighty fine-lookin’ woman,” Troy was inspired to remark as he studied Mary Lou’s backside until she disappeared through the door.
“You just now noticin’ that?” Red asked. “I took a shine to her first time I saw her, up in the room with John Henry Black. She’s got a fair amount of mustang in her, and I’m plannin’ to saddle break her before we’re done here.”
“You ain’t the only one thinkin’ about that,” Troy said. “Been thinkin’ ’bout that, myself.”
“Is that so? Well, I’ve already got my brand on her. You’d best find you another ’un, ’cause I don’t aim to share this ’un with nobody.”
“That’s a helluva note,” Troy responded. “I thought we was partners. What about Yarborough? What if he says he wants a go-round with her, too?”
Red snuffled a grunt. “I ain’t worried ’bout Yarborough. He’s so tied up in knots over that gal that’s hidin’ from him, he ain’t thinkin’ ’bout nothin’ else.” He gave Troy a smug grin and teased, “You’re the one that has to find your own filly. Might have to settle for one of those old mares at the saloon, though.”
“What’s the matter?” Maggie asked when she saw the look in Mary Lou’s eyes as she returned to the kitchen. “Have they already started trouble?”
“No, it’s just the way that big one looks at me. I feel like I’ve been violated with him looking at me like I’m something on the menu.”
“We ain’t got no menus,” Maggie replied without thinking.
“Well, if we did,” Mary Lou said impatiently. “I wonder where the other one is, our brave new sheriff. Don’t rats usually travel in packs?”
“Maybe,” Maggie replied. “Rats I think we could handle, but we’re dealin’ more with wolves. I just hope to hell they clear outta here pretty soon without causing trouble. We’ll just feed ’em as fast as we can get something cooked and maybe they’ll be anxious to get back to the Cowboy’s Rest.”
“Maybe we can get them outta here before their partner comes looking for them and decides he wants to sit down and eat, too,” Mary Lou suggested, unaware of the events taking place at the jail.
* * *
When the women had returned to town that morning, prepared to reopen the hotel dining room, Cole was already making his next move against the remaining three outlaws. Having learned from Leon that the three slept in their hotel rooms and usually ate breakfast at the saloon, he approached the door of the sheriff’s office early. He found the door locked, but Leon had said that Pete Little was there most of the time during the day. He peered in the window and, sure enough, he saw the gray-haired little man sitting at the desk, drinking coffee. Good, Cole thought, I could use some coffee. He went back to the door and rapped firmly. He heard Pete hustling out of the chair, and in a few moments the door opened.
“Cole Bonner!” Pete exclaimed and stuck his head outside to look up and down the deserted street. “Whaddaya doin’ here? That feller you was chasin’ is back in town, and he brought plenty of help with him! He don’t come here to the sheriff’s office very much, but one of them with him does. He’s took over as sheriff.”
“That’s what I heard,” Cole said and stepped past Pete. “Any coffee left in that pot?”
Baffled by Cole’s seemingly unconcern with what he had just told him, Pete impressed upon him. “Yarborough’s the name of the feller callin’ hisself the sheriff. He’s the leader of the four.” He paused then, remembering. “Least there was four. One of ’em got killed last night.” He paused to think again. “Did you have somethin’ to do with that?”
“Might have,” Cole replied while examining the coffee cups sitting on a small table next to the wall. Selecting the least offensive one as far as dust and stain were concerned, he poured some coffee from the pot. His unhurried response only served to increase Pete’s anxiety.
“Yarborough’s liable to come walkin’ in here any time now,” Pete insisted.
“Good. Give me a chance to see him up close,” Cole said between sips. “Damn, this coffee’s rank. How old is this stuff?”
“Made it outta some fresh grounds yesterday afternoon. There was still more ’n half a pot left. Didn’t make sense to waste it.”
Cole walked over to the door, opened it, and threw the contents of the cup outside. Pete stood by the desk, his eyes opened wide, obviously amazed by Cole’s casual manner.
Thinking it best to enlighten him, Cole explained. “I heard how easy it is to win an election around here, so I had another one and I won this time. I reckon I’m the new sheriff.” Astonished, Pete looked as if about to blurt something, but he remained silent and Cole continued. “How many keys are there to that lock on the door?”
“Ain’t but two now. The one that John Henry carried never showed up—mighta been buried with him—but I got one, and Sheriff—” He paused. “I mean, Yarborough’s got the other one.”
“You just keep your key, and I’ll get that one from Yarborough when he shows up.”
“Yessir, whatever you say,” Pete replied, still wide-eyed with disbelief. He couldn’t hold his curiosity any longer, however. “You just gonna tell him he ain’t the sheriff no more? Just like that? And you’re the new sheriff?”
“Well, pretty much,” Cole said. “’Course I’ll tell him he just lost another election, fair and square, just like the one that got him the job. Then I’ll arrest him and lock him up till I can arrest his friends.”
Pete nodded as if he understood. In reality, he wondered if Cole had been chewing on locoweed, or maybe had gotten his brain frozen during all the time he and Harley were stomping around in the high mountains. Thinking of Harley, Pete wouldn’t have been surprised if that was the case for the brash-talking little man, but Cole had always impressed him as a sensible man.
In any case, Pete was eager to see what was going to happen when Flint Yarborough showed up. At the same time, he was not sure it would be safe to be there when the bullets started flying. He was still undecided whether to stay or clear out when Yarborough showed up to check on things at “his office.”
“Ohhh . . . shiiiit!” Pete dragged the words out slowly when he glanced out the window and saw Yarborough approaching from the saloon across the street. He turned to face Cole, but it was unnecessary to say anything.
“Yarborough?” Cole asked.
Pete nodded solemnly.
“By himself?”
Pete nodded again.
“All right, you just stand over there next to the cell door and don’t get between us.” Cole sat down at the desk facing the door and laid his rifle on top of the desk.
Yarborough opened the door and stood there for a moment, puzzled by the sight of Pete standing against the cell wall, his eyes as big as saucers. “What the hell’s ailin’ you?” he asked and closed the door behind him. It was only then that he discovered the man seated at the desk. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
“I reckon you’d be Flint Yarborough,” Cole said.
“I know who I am,” Yarborough came back. “Who the hell are you?” He made a gesture as if about to reach for the .44 he wore.
“That would be a mistake”—a soft smile parted Cole’s lips as he raised the Henry rifle off the desk—“especially with that heavy coat in the way.” He shrugged. “But hell, if you wanna make a try for it, it’s up to you. You never know. Maybe I forgot to crank a cartridge in the chamber. Right now I can’t recall, myself.”
“Mister, you’re makin’ one helluva mistake,” Yarborough growled. “I own this town, and you’ll be dead by nightfall.” He had a strong feeling he had seen Cole before. He looked familiar, but he was having trouble remembering where it might have been.
“Oh, there ain’t no mistake. You see, while you and your friends were havin’ your breakfast, we had another election here in town and damned if I didn’t win. Too bad you didn’t come in to vote.
“Well, enough of that small talk, you’re probably wantin’ to get into your cell, so
you can relax.” He gave a nod toward Pete. “Pete, open that cell door for Mr. Yarborough.” Then back to Yarborough, he said, “Now I’ll have you unbutton that coat and drop it on the floor.”
Yarborough did as he was told.
“Now, unbuckle your gun belt. Not too fast!” Cole warned when Yarborough moved a little too rapidly. “Just let it drop on the floor and step over it.”
Yarborough hesitated, not willing to surrender any chance he had to fight.
“I know what you’re thinkin’,” Cole said. “Will he pull that trigger? Let me answer that for you. Yes, he will. And he’ll be beholden to you for making the job easier than keepin’ you alive.”
Yarborough was convinced. When he did as he was told, Cole asked for the key to the lock on the front door. Yarborough, of course, claimed that he had lost it.
“I hope you ain’t gonna make me strip you down naked. I bet it gets pretty chilly in that cell when the fire dies down in the stove. But it won’t matter that much if we don’t find that key. I’ll get another lock at the store. It only opens the front door, anyway, doesn’t open your cell. Now, step inside.”
“You’re a dead man, you smart-mouthed son of a bitch,” Yarborough threatened. “There ain’t nobody in this whole town man enough to face up to my boys. When they find out what you’re tryin’ to pull off here, they’ll tear this jail down and go through you to do it.”
“Don’t sound too good for me, does it?” Cole replied. “Pete, take a look through those coat pockets, ’specially those on the inside, and see what you find.”
“You’re the sneaky son of a bitch that dry-gulched Tiny Weaver, ain’t you?” Yarborough growled. “I’d like to see how you’da come out in a fair fight with Tiny.”
“I don’t do fair fights,” Cole said. “Odds are better the other way.” He paused then when Pete held up a double-barreled derringer. “Uh-oh, you musta forgot you had that.”
A few moments later Pete produced the key. Cole took the key and the pocket pistol and told Pete to give Yarborough’s coat back to him.
Growing more and more enraged over finding himself in such an unexpected situation, Yarborough scowled as he snatched his coat through the bars when Pete offered it. The slight grin on the old man’s face didn’t help. To Yarborough, it seemed impossible for him to have been captured so ridiculously easily—one man, sitting behind the desk. He didn’t even get up from his chair. The infuriating part of it was the fact that there was nothing he could have done to resist without getting himself shot. He had no doubt that Cole would have pulled the trigger, just as he immediately surmised that Cole was the one who put two arrows in Tiny. It had been a huge mistake to think the town had no backbone enough to resist him and his friends. Already, they had been cut in half, as far as the numbers were concerned, without their even knowing they were in a fight.
“Damn!” he suddenly blurted, unable to contain his frustration. When both Cole and Pete reacted with puzzled expressions, Yarborough demanded, “You’re Harley Branch, right?”
His question served to deepen Pete’s puzzled expression, but Cole was not surprised. Evidently no one had told Pete about the mistaken identity.
“Nope,” Cole answered, “I ain’t Harley Branch.”
“The hell you ain’t,” Yarborough replied, choosing not to believe him. “You went after Troy Womack.”
“That’s a fact. I went after Womack, but I ain’t Harley Branch.” Cole couldn’t resist japing Yarborough. “You’d best thank your lucky stars that Harley wasn’t on your tail, and you just had to deal with me.” He turned his attention to Pete then. “Anybody ever break outta this jail, Pete?”
“Nary a soul,” Pete said.
“That’s what I figured. Those bars looked pretty stout to me, and that window’s too small for even a man your size to squeeze through. What about the roof?”
“Four-by-six rafters with a double deck of two-by-fours, layin’ crossways each other, come special from Gordon Luck’s mill,” Pete answered.
“Damn,” Cole exclaimed and shook his head, impressed. “No wonder nobody ain’t ever broke outta here. It’d take a man six months to go through that roof if he had a good axe to work with.” Figuring that Yarborough had received the message, he said to him, “Now you’d best sit down and make yourself comfortable, ’cause you ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
Like an angry bear chained to a tree, Yarborough sat down on one of the two bunks in his cell, scowling fiercely but unable to strike out at his captor. In a few seconds time, he jumped to his feet again when he suddenly remembered. “You son of a bitch! I shoulda gone after you with Red when you left Murphy’s.”
“Woulda saved all of us a lot of trouble,” Cole replied. He motioned for Pete to follow him outside, and waited for him on the short boardwalk by the hitching rail. “The easy part of this thing is done. Now comes the hard part, tryin’ to catch the other two. Does one or both of them usually come here?”
Pete said that it was not the usual case. So far, they had preferred to plant themselves in the saloons. It was only Yarborough who liked to come by the jail, and he didn’t stay very long when he did show up. Pete was of the opinion it was because Yarborough enjoyed feeling he had an official position of power. “I stay here most of the day by myself. I wouldn’t hang around if he was gonna be here.”
Cole paused to think about the situation he had created with Yarborough’s capture. “Here’s what we better do right now. We’ll put the padlock back on the door and leave Mr. Yarborough by himself for a while. I’ve got to see if I can round up those other two and I ain’t sure that’s gonna be so easy. I don’t want you here in case one of his boys come to get him out. I don’t wanna worry about you with a gun held to your head.” He knew that Pete would have to open up if threatened with his life. “Tell you what. You can do me one more favor if you let me buy you a drink at the Cowboy’s Rest. If Womack is there, you can give me a little warning. I haven’t seen him up close. Whaddaya say?”
Pete readily accepted the invitation. “Well, it’s a little too early in the day for me, but if it’ll help you out, I’ll have a little shooter with you.”
Cole closed the shutters on the one window in the front of the office before locking the padlock in place on the front door. Then he and a slightly nervous Pete Little walked the short distance to the Cowboy’s Rest saloon. He stopped at the door while Pete took a step inside to look the room over. After a couple of minutes, Pete stepped back and said he didn’t see Swann or Womack in the saloon.
“I reckon we took too long visitin’ with Yarborough,” Cole said. “We’ll go on in and maybe they’ll show up pretty soon.” He had no real plan, just trusting his instincts to react to whatever happened when he finally came face-to-face with the two gunmen. But he needed Pete in case Troy Womack came in alone, and he hoped that would be the case. He’d much prefer to deal with them one at a time.
“Well, I’ll be . . .” Abe started, surprised to see Cole in the saloon. He looked around nervously, even though he knew none of the three gunmen were there. “Howdy, Cole. I reckon you’re still lookin’ for Troy Womack. Tell you the truth, we thought he mighta turned the table on you, but I reckon he’da been braggin’ about it if he did. You followed him right back where you started, all right, but he’s got company with him. I reckon Pete’s already told you that. Womack ain’t here right now. He was here, but him and Red Swann, one of the fellers he hooked up with, walked up to the hotel dinin’ room to get some breakfast. I don’t know where Yarborough went.”
Cole was not expecting to hear that. “The hotel? I thought the hotel dinin’ room was closed.”
“It was,” Abe replied. “One of my customers in here a few minutes ago said Maggie came back to town and opened for business again.”
“Just Maggie?” Cole pressed. “Was she by herself?”
“No, he said Mary Lou was with her. Beulah wasn’t, though.”
That was not good news to Cole. He had started his one-m
an track-down of the four ruthless killers, feeling safe in the knowledge that Mary Lou—and Maggie, too—were out of harm’s way. He didn’t say anything for a few moments while he tried to think of the best way to approach his problem. His first thought was to simply lie in wait for the two to leave the dining room and finish business with two quick shots from his Henry rifle. That was by far the quickest solution for the town’s problem and the safest solution for him. But he soon discarded the notion, reminding himself that he preferred not to create a reputation as an assassin if there was a chance to capture them. That way a jury of the town’s citizens or a judge could order a hanging.
His mind made up, he figured he shouldn’t have any trouble picking out the two outlaws in the dining room. Since he didn’t need Pete any longer, there was no reason to expose the little man to danger. “I reckon I owe you that drink I promised,” he said to Pete, tossing a coin on the counter. “Give Pete, here, a drink of that whiskey you sell to your good customers.”
“Where you goin’?” Pete asked. “Ain’t you gonna have one?”
“No, I reckon not,” Cole said, turning to leave. “I’ll see you back at the jail in a little while.”
Abe poured Pete’s drink and set the bottle down. “Did he say he’d see you back at the jail?”
“Yep,” Pete replied, smacking his lips. “He’s the new sheriff.”
* * *
When the food finally arrived on the tables in the dining room, it was devoured in rather hasty fashion by those plucky souls who had stayed to receive it. Over half of those who had come to eat breakfast had already gone, deeming it not worth the risk to sit around waiting for the two malevolent bullies to decide to amuse themselves at the expense of some unfortunate cowhand or store clerk. The uneasy exodus of many of the diners did not go unnoticed by Swann and Womack and, in fact, provided amusement for them while they ate the fried potatoes and beans with the sliced ham Maggie and Mary Lou served up.
Massacre at Crow Creek Crossing Page 21