“What the hell are you lookin’ at?” Red demanded when Harold Chestnut glanced in his direction as he climbed off the bench, preparing to leave. Red reached as if going for his six-gun, then roared with laughter when Chestnut nearly fell over the bench in his haste to retreat. Troy joined in, enjoying the feeling of power derived from the obvious fear everyone suffered in their presence.
“Damn,” Red declared, “I’m gonna need a drink of whiskey pretty soon. All this coffee I’ve been downin’ has damn-near sobered me up.” He got up from his chair and paused to watch Mary Lou carry a tray full of dirty dishes to the kitchen. “I’ll tell you somethin’ else I’m needin’, too. And I aim to have it. But first, I’ve gotta go get rid of about a gallon of coffee.” He headed for the door that opened to the back hallway and led to the outside door on his way to the outhouse.
As he walked down the hallway, he passed a couple of doors, and it occurred to him that the two women lived there at the hotel. In one of these rooms, I’ll bet, he thought. Out of curiosity, he tried one of the knobs. Finding it locked only sharpened his curiosity, so he pressed a massive shoulder to the door and forced it open, splitting the jamb in the process. “Uh-huh,” he murmured when he discovered it to be a bedroom. “I thought so.”
He went inside the empty room to look around and it took no more than a few moments to confirm it to be a lady’s bedroom. I knew she lived in this damn hotel somewhere, he thought, still not certain that he had found Mary Lou’s room and not Maggie’s. I’m going to be visiting you pretty soon, Honey-britches, he promised himself. Then he went back to the hall and continued on his way to the outside door to find the outhouse.
CHAPTER 13
Troy Womack tilted his chair back against the wall, his coffee cup in hand, as he surveyed the dining room, enjoying the almost visible cloud of fear hanging over the long table. It gave him a sense of power to witness the obvious signs of intimidation displayed by the men of Cheyenne. First one, and then another diner rapidly finished breakfast and hurried out the front door. He stared after them, but none would meet his eye. It was especially gratifying when he was called to remember the circumstances under which he had been forced to leave town before. Chased out of town by what appeared to be a half-breed Indian after Travis was shot down, he thought he would never return. But return he did, and no one dared stand against him. The thought twisted his lips into a smug, satisfied smile.
Another diner got up and hurried toward the door, leaving only two customers remaining at the long table. Troy looked at Mary Lou as she continued to pick up the dishes from the table. Red was right in thinking her a fetching young woman, and although he had staked his claim on her, he had no rights to her. Might be, I’d best corral her before Red gets back from the outhouse, he decided. He ain’t got no more claim on her than I have.
His thoughts were distracted when the front door opened and another customer came inside. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sandy-colored hair, he was a stranger to Troy, even though he had a familiar look about him. Must have seen him in the saloon, he thought, then shifted his gaze back to Mary Lou, who had stopped abruptly when she spotted the man. She looked about to speak, but hesitated and glanced at Troy. The little man seated at the table next to the kitchen seemed to be startled as well. The stranger nodded briefly toward them and continued on toward the long table, but he didn’t stop there. He continued on to Troy’s table.
His curiosity aroused, Troy lowered his chair back down on four legs. Puzzled by the man’s lack of intimidation, he began to wonder if he had reason to be concerned. The man carried a Henry rifle, but it was held in one hand, hanging at his side. No sign in his facial expression or in the casual way he carried the rifle indicated that Troy should be alarmed.
Thinking it better to be cautious, he set his cup on the table and reached down to draw his .44 as Cole walked right up before him.
“What the hell do you want?” Troy demanded.
The front sight of his pistol had not cleared his holster when he was knocked sideways out of his chair to land hard on the floor, the impact causing him to squeeze the trigger to send a shot into the ceiling. At the sound of the gunshot, Harley didn’t hesitate, knowing Red would hear it as well. He jumped up and ran out through the kitchen to the back hallway door. He wanted to be in position to surprise Red when he rushed in to see the cause of the gunfire.
The butt of the rifle that had rendered Troy senseless for a few moments had been reversed and the barrel was pointing at his face.
“Drop it,” Cole commanded. Troy did not respond at once, his ears still ringing from the blow to the side of his head. He stared at the blurred image of the muzzle of the Henry rifle staring back at him. Gradually, as his head began to clear, the image of the rifle barrel became sharp.
Troy released the weapon and Cole kicked it away. The sight of Cole’s moccasin flashed like a sudden bolt of lightning in Troy’s brain, instantly bringing the realization that the man before him was the devil that had pursued him.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, but didn’t wait for an answer as he felt the side of his face where the skin was broken and blood was already trickling down across his cheek. “You’re that son of a bitch that shot my brothers. You’re Harley Branch.” He looked frantically toward the back door, expecting Red to walk in at any moment.
“That’s right,” Cole said. “I’m the son of a bitch that shot your murderin’ brothers and I say good riddance. But my name ain’t Harley Branch. You’ve been lookin’ for the wrong man all along.”
“Whaddaya aimin’ to do with me? Maybe you caught up with me, but I ain’t by myself no more. You’d best turn me loose. My partners will be all over you in just a few minutes. Then it’s gonna be a different story. You’d better run while you still can.”
Cole glanced at Mary Lou, who had not moved since first seeing him come in the door. She nodded, then motioned toward the hallway door with her head. He understood then why Harley had run out the back.
“Your partner’s outside,” Cole said to Troy. “We’ll just wait for him to come back.”
“You’ve got more to worry about than just one.” Troy moaned, his broken cheekbone throbbing from the blow that felled him.
Mary Lou warned Cole. “I think the other one went to the outhouse, but I haven’t seen the third one, the one called Yarborough. He’s liable to show up any minute.”
“That’s all right,” Cole said. “I know where Yarborough is. I’m not worried about him, but I need to know where Harley is.” Knowing he had clearly run out to intercept Swann, Cole thought for a moment, then said, “I need some rope. I need to tie this one up till I can go find his partner.” He looked at the two men still sitting wide-eyed at the long table. “Either of you got any rope?”
He was answered by a shake of the head from both men.
“I’ve got some clothesline in the pantry,” Maggie volunteered, having rushed to stand beside Mary Lou when she had heard the shot fired by Troy and Harley had rushed by her.
“That’ll do,” Cole said. “Get it.”
In a matter of minutes, Maggie returned with a coil of clothesline cord. Cole took it from her and handed her his rifle. “Shoot him if he makes a move.” He rolled Womack over on his belly and quickly tied his wrists behind his back and his ankles together with a short length of clothesline binding ankles to wrists.
“I’ve gotta go find the other one before Harley gets into trouble.” Cole took his rifle from Maggie and offered his handgun instead.
She refused, saying she felt more confident with her twelve-gauge shotgun, which she kept behind the kitchen door.
“Shoot him if he tries to get outta those ropes—in the legs, if you can. I’d like to lock him up and let a judge decide what to do with him.” He flashed a wry grin in Womack’s direction and added, “Or maybe a jury of the good citizens of Cheyenne.”
“Don’t you worry about him,” Maggie assured him as she broke her double-barreled shotgun to ma
ke sure it held two shells. “I’ll be happy to see he doesn’t go anywhere.”
“We’ll help out,” one of the two men still seated at the table said, now that the monster had been rendered harmless.
Hearing three shots coming from the alley, Cole started toward the kitchen.
As he passed Mary Lou, she said, “Cole, be careful.” That was all she could think to say, still surprised by his sudden appearance.
He gave her a worried smile, his mind occupied with thoughts of what trouble Harley might have gotten himself into.
* * *
With full confidence that Cole had the situation under control in the dining room, Harley had knelt beside the back porch steps, watching the door of the outhouse. He was concerned that Swann might go back inside before Cole had Womack under control. Never letting his eyes stray from the closed door of the privy, he began to wonder just how long Red could linger after surely hearing the shot fired from inside the building. The minutes began to pile up until finally Harley decided he’d better make sure Red was still in the outhouse.
Glancing from right to left, from the smokehouse to his left, back to the small stable on his right, Harley eased out from behind the porch steps. Seeing no one, he began a slow, cautious approach toward the closed outhouse door. With his. 44 Colt aimed at the door, he advanced to within fifteen feet before he heard the sobering metallic sound of a hammer cocking behind him. He froze, instantly aware that he had been outfoxed, and was struck with a sick feeling of helplessness as a result.
With no chance other than pure luck, he had no choice but to try, so he spun around in time to face the .44 slug that tore into his side before he could even complete his turn. Staggered, he still tried to get off a shot, only to be stopped cold by a second shot from Red’s pistol that knocked the wind from his chest. With his arm hanging limply, he fired a shot into the ground before he collapsed into a heap before a leering Red Swann.
Red could not be sure, but he had a feeling something had to have gone terribly wrong inside for this little bowlegged old man to have come looking for him. Consequently, he didn’t waste much time over his kill. With a contemptuous sneer at the fallen man, he hurried to the cover of the hotel stable where he paused to decide what to do. Something had happened to Troy in the dining room. Or maybe he had just decided to shoot someone.
That didn’t figure, Red decided. Maybe a group of the town’s citizens had decided to act to defend their town. If that was the case, he’d best not take a chance on being surprised as Troy might have been. Best to find Yarborough and they could decide how to handle the problem. Hearing the sound of someone running on the long porch behind the kitchen, he was sure then that Troy must have been overpowered.
Red slipped out the back of the stable and headed for the Cowboy’s Rest. Behind him, Cole paused at the back door. As a precaution to running headlong into an ambush, he eased the door open only far enough to permit him to see what awaited him. He felt his heart stop when he surveyed the alley behind the hotel. The yard was empty except for the body lying in front of the outhouse.
In a fit of panic, he burst through the door and was halfway across the yard before he thought to exercise any caution. He dropped to one knee, his rifle to his shoulder, and looked quickly around him. There was no sign of any threat and he had to remind himself that, had there been, he would most likely be lying in the alley beside Harley. Further thoughts of any danger to himself were quickly forgotten, however, as he hurried to Harley’s side. He was overcome with a feeling of guilt when he gazed at the pitiful little body of his friend, for he felt that he was the cause of the tragedy.
As gently as he could, he turned Harley over to get his face out of the dirt and was startled to witness a slight fluttering of Harley’s eyelids. He was alive, or maybe just going through the final moments before death. There was no way Cole could be sure, but he prayed it was the former. “Harley,” he pleaded. “Can you hear me? It’s Cole.”
There was no response, but he could feel a weak heartbeat in the veins in Harley’s neck.
“I’m gonna take you to the doctor, partner. You hold on. Don’t run out on me. Just hold on.” He laid his rifle on the ground and lifted Harley up on his feet so he could let him fall across his shoulder. When he felt his load was secure, Cole knelt down and picked up his rifle. Rising to his feet again, he hurried back to the hotel as quickly as he could. He had no thoughts of Red Swann nor concern for his getting away. Thoughts of making the man pay for shooting his friend would come later. All that mattered was to get help for Harley.
“Oh, my God,” was all Mary Lou could utter when she opened the kitchen door.
“Send somebody to get Doc Marion,” Cole directed as he carried his wounded partner into the dining room half filled with spectators who had heard the gunshots and were gaping at the trussed-up outlaw lying on the floor.
A young man who worked in the harness shop volunteered, and Cole said, “Tell him to hurry. Harley’s hurt bad.”
“Is he still alive?” Maggie asked, not certain from the lack of response from Harley.
“Just barely, I think,” Cole answered.
“I’ll get a blanket,” Mary Lou said and ran to her room in the back hall, never noticing the split doorjamb on Maggie’s door when she hurried past. When she returned, she spread the blanket on the floor next to Harley, then she and Cole lifted him over on top of it.
Both were startled when Harley whispered, “Did you get him?” The words were weak and halting, his lips barely moving.
It was the first time Cole had thought about Red Swann since he saw Harley lying motionless in the alley. “No,” he answered, “but I damn sure will. You can count on that.”
“Give me a little room here,” Mary Lou said, “and I’ll see if I can slow that bleeding down.”
Cole backed away obediently while she stuffed a couple of towels over the two bullet holes. Knowing there was nothing he could do for Harley, he reminded himself that he had a prisoner he had left tied up in the other corner of the room.
Stepping between two of the spectators, Cole faced Jim Low, who was standing over Womack now, having taken responsibility for that job from Maggie. Cole could not help thinking that if Jim and his fellow citizens had stepped up sooner, maybe Harley wouldn’t be lying on the floor with two bullet holes in him.
“Whaddaya aimin’ to do with him?” Jim asked.
“Take him down to the jail and throw him in with his partner,” Cole answered, his mind already working on the one gunman who had escaped.
“Jail?” Low responded in surprise. “Are you sayin’ Yarborough’s in jail?”
“Unless he broke out since I came in here,” Cole said.
“Well, I’ll be . . .” Low started. “So that’s why he didn’t show up to eat with his partners. You put him in jail?” He still found it hard to believe and thought that over for a few moments before commenting again. “So we’ve got two of the three captured then.”
Cole nodded, even though thinking the term we was hardly the case. But maybe the pioneer spirit that had inspired men like Jim Low to brave the frontier had returned. He hoped so for the future of the town.
“What are we gonna keep ’em in jail for?” Low thought to ask then, thinking that the natural course of action would be to simply hang them.
“I reckon that’ll be up to you and the mayor and the rest of your citizens,” Cole said. “Try’em, hang ’em, or wire the U.S. Marshal Service to send a deputy to pick ’em up.” Satisfied that his prisoner was well taken care of, he went back across the room to see if Harley was still hanging on. He was kneeling beside him when Doc Marion came in.
A quick examination prompted the doctor to comment. “It’s a damn wonder he isn’t dead.” He glanced up at Mary Lou. “It’s a good thing you got some of the bleeding stopped. Maybe he won’t lose too much more before we can get him over to my office. I can’t do what I have to here, and I’m not certain I can do much, anyway. I’ll have to find out
how much damage those bullets have done.”
One of the spectators said he had his wagon beside the hotel and volunteered it as a transport for Harley. Cole found himself in a storm of indecision between seeing Harley carried safely to the doctor’s surgery or taking control of his prisoner. Foremost in his mind was his need to find Red Swann before he escaped, but he knew he had to make sure Womack was locked up before he could seek out Swann. He looked anxiously back and forth between the wounded man and Jim Low standing guard over Womack.
Feeling a hand on his elbow, he turned to find Mary Lou beside him.
“Don’t worry about Harley,” she said. “I’ll go to Doc Marion’s with him. You have to worry about that murderer over there. You need to make sure he doesn’t get away.”
He nodded, understanding his priorities when she reminded him.
“And, Cole, you be real careful. That monster, Swann, might still be in town.”
He nodded again and started to turn away, but stopped after a couple of steps, looked back at her and said, “Thanks.”
* * *
“Where’s Yarborough?” Red Swann demanded when he rushed into the Cowboy’s Rest.
“Up at the jail,” Abe replied, surprised to see Red after news of the altercation at the dining room.
I should have checked there first, Red thought, considering the fact that Yarborough went there every morning to “play sheriff.” “How long ago was that? Did he say when he was comin’ back?”
“No, he didn’t say,” Abe said, feeling a bit more cocky in light of developments that had taken place that morning. “I don’t think he’ll be comin’ back here a’tall.” Although he had not left the bar, he was well aware of the arrest of Flint Yarborough. Word traveled very rapidly in a settlement the size of Cheyenne and since Red had left with Troy to go to the hotel dining room, how could he not know about Yarborough? Seeing Red’s obvious anxiety in his efforts to find his partner, Abe could not help but be amused by the irony of the situation. It was especially satisfying, considering how the sinister foursome had ridden into town, killed the sheriff, and defied anyone to oppose them.
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