by Ralph Cotton
“That may well be,” said the colonel, giving him a harsh look. “Did you suppose there would no risk involved in killing two lawmen, especially one of them being the renowned Sam Burrack? Why the hell else would I pay a thousand dollars to whoever does the killing? Why would I even pay five hundred to the second gun on the job?”
“I was just thinking out loud,” said Strap, backing down quickly from what he’d said.
“Don’t think with your mouth open, Strap,” said the colonel. “It makes you look like an idiot.”
Pale Lee chuckled out loud. “I’d think that nobody here would want to kill the ranger worse than you and our Romanian pal here.” He gave a mocking nod toward Vlaktor Blesko. “The way he set you afoot…sent you both packing with your tails between your legs.”
“I do not have de tail,” Vlak growled.
“Only by luck of the draw,” Pale Lee laughed tauntingly.
Jack Strap fumed. But he kept his words civil as he stood up and said. “Come on, Vlak. You and me will be the ones to collect that money…me for killing the ranger, you for helping.”
Vlak just looked at him as he stood, dusted the seat of his wool trousers, and followed him across the yard, out of the circle of firelight.
As the two walked away, the colonel blew a chunk of gristle out into the dirt and said, “If any of yas need a plan of action, here it is, “Go get them and kill them both.” He looked around solemnly from one face to the next. “Any questions?”
“Just one,” said Pale Lee, holding up a greasy finger as he swallowed a bite of pork. “Where the hell is Frank Skimmer?”
“He’s got it stuck in his head that he has to kill somebody over his brother’s death.” Colonel Elgin shook his head slowly. “If it were anyone but Frank, I’d be fire-pissing mad.” He let out a breath. “But he is still my top gunman. I know how he operates in cases like this. He’s off getting ready for the unexpected, the way he always does. Frank is good, make no mistake about it.” He raised his eyes and looked back around at their faces. “Let me make this known to all of you. Tonight is a good night to impress me, to let me know which ones of you are good enough to go on up in the ranks after this Hole-in-the-wall job is done.”
“Meaning?” Pale Lee asked.
“Meaning, a man can do a lot worse than making a career for himself dicking for the railroads,” the colonel said. “Anybody who wants it, best be ready, willing, and able to show me something tonight.” He uncapped the whiskey bottle on the ground beside him. “Now eat up, drink up, and let’s get this done and over with. I’m sick of running into that ranger at every turn in the trail.”
“Yeah, and the sheriff too,” said Pale Lee, raising his own bottle in a toast, “for siding with him!”
Memphis Beck looked at the large carpetbag lying on the floor beside a heavily loaded steamer trunk. Seeing the look on his face, Emma said, “I know this looks like a lot to take with me where we’re headed. But I’ll go through everything and get rid of most of it once we’re away from here.”
“It is a lot,” Beck said, looking doubtful. “Maybe it’s best to leave it behind to begin with? It’s only going to slow us down.”
“I can’t leave it behind, Memphis,” she said. She was in a hurry to leave while the sheriff had his hands full with the railroad detectives. “There’s a lot of memories there,” she said tenderly. “I need some time to sit down and go through everything.”
Beck nodded, keeping quiet on the matter.
“You do understand, don’t you, Memphis?” she asked, almost apologetic.
“Sure.” Beck shrugged. “I understand. I just don’t keep much around to remind me of anything.” He tapped the side of his head. “Any memories I’ve kept, they had to find themselves a place up here. You know me…I always travel light.”
“Yes, and so do I, if you’ll recall,” Emma said. “But be patient with me, Memphis, please. It’s been a while since I’ve been on the trail. I’ll get back to my old self as soon as we’re out of Little Aces.”
“I’ll be patient with you, Emma, I promise,” Beck said reassuringly, “but right now we need to get moving before the sheriff shows up.” Stiffly, without disturbing his bandaged wound, he stooped down, picked up the carpetbag, and walked through the house to the kitchen door.
Feeling harried and somehow put upon, Emma looked all around her bedroom with a hand to her forehead. All the years she’d spent here, inside this house, the only real home she’d known since childhood, were coming to a fast ending. She couldn’t stop it, she didn’t want to stop it. Yet she needed more time. Time for what? she asked herself.
“Time to say good-bye,” she heard herself murmur softly, as if there were something there that could hear her.
Outside the kitchen door, Beck hefted the carpetbag to his chest and walked down into the dark yard. He didn’t stop to light the small lantern hanging on the back wall of the house for just such a purpose. He wanted the starless, moonless darkness to blanket him from the world. But it wasn’t to be. As he’d opened the kitchen door, Frank Skimmer had recognized him in the light that spilled out onto the porch until Beck closed the door behind himself.
I’ve got you, Memphis Warren Beck! Skimmer said to himself, gripping his Colt in his gloved hand. He crouched beside the tree Beck would have to walk past to get to the rented buggy sitting thirty feet away. From the darkness, Skimmer saw the outline of Beck walking toward him in the broken light from the kitchen window.
As Beck grew closer, leaving the glow of kitchen light behind in the yard, Skimmer heard the unsuspecting outlaw open the gate and continue toward him, his footsteps coming closer and closer. Timing each step, Skimmer arose and stepped out behind Beck. Quickly he grabbed Beck by the back of his shirt. Before the man could respond, the detective made a vicious swing with his gun barrel and sent him crumbling to the ground.
“Now for your girlfriend,” Skimmer whispered, still holding on to Beck’s shirt. The blow had stunned Beck, but the darkness caused Skimmer to miss solidly, landing it across the back of his head. Beck lay half conscious, powerless to act, yet still knowing what had just happened to him.
He felt himself being dragged along across the dirt by the detective until they reached the buggy. “This will have to do for now,” Skimmer whispered in a raspy voice, knowing the sound of a gunshot would ruin everything. “I’d cut your throat, but I don’t want to bloody my shirt.”
Beck felt the detective pull his arms forward roughly and cuff his wrists through the buggy spokes. He felt a bandanna pull tight across his mouth and tie at the back of his throbbing head, keeping him from calling out and warning Emma. “Now then, we’ll just wait here real quietlike until she comes to see about you.” He leaned in close and said mercilessly, “I expect you and her will want to die together.”
In her bedroom, Emma waited as long as she could for Beck to return. When she grew anxious she walked to the kitchen window and peeped out, not knowing what she expected to see in the darkness. This was the part of going back to her old way of life she could live without, she reminded herself, the uncertainty, the suspense of never knowing what lay in wait….
She stood in deep thought about things for another five minutes. “All right,” she said aloud, “what’s going on out there?” Picturing Beck on the ground, his wound having reopened from struggling with the heavy carpetbag, she opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.
She wasn’t about to go out there alone, posse or no posse, she told herself, taking down the lantern and lighting it before stepping down off the porch into the dark yard.
Carrying the lantern low at her side, exposing as little light as necessary, she walked warily through the yard. At one point she could have sworn she heard someone moving right along with her, tracking her footsteps along the side of the yard through the perimeter of tall unkept grass and foliage. But that was foolishness—fear of the dark, she told herself.
But her fear felt more real when she’d left the yar
d, crossed the alley, and, following the path toward the buggy, found the carpetbag lying abandoned in the dirt at her feet. “Memphis?” she called out in a hushed voice, her eyes searching the darkness in vain. “Where are you? Are you all right?”
“No, he’s not all right, lady.” Frank Skimmer suddenly appeared beside her, his hand clamping around her forearm. She felt the tip of his gun barrel jam against the side of her neck. “But why don’t I just take you to him? You can see for yourself.” He jerked the lantern from her hand and dragged her forward by her arm. When she gasped, he said, “Uhuh, lady, if you try to scream I’ll cut your tongue out. And I don’t want to do that. You’re going to need it, to tell me why you killed my brother.” He shook her as he dragged her along. “That’s right, I put two and two together. Now it’s your turn to die…you and your murdering outlaw boyfriend, Memphis Beck.”
“Beck had nothing to do with your brother’s death, I swear he didn’t!” Emma said, hoping beyond hope that saying it might make a difference.
“I don’t believe you, lady,” said Skimmer, stringing her along, knowing if he kept her talking and pushed hard enough, he’d find out what he wanted to hear.
At the buggy, Frank Skimmer shoved her to the ground and held the light out to get a look at both her and Memphis Beck. “She had nothing to do with killing your brother, Detective,” Beck said, having come to and worked the bandanna down enough to speak in a muffled voice. “I did it, just like your detective friends told you,” he lied, speaking quickly. “I shot him in the head, then in the chest. I would have shot him again if they hadn’t showed up and—”
“Shut up, Beck!” said Skimmer with a swift kick to his ribs. “If I want to hear from you, I won’t be bashful…I’ll let you know.”
“He’s lying,” said Emma. “He didn’t kill your brother. I did.”
“There now,” said Skimmer, “we’re starting to get somewhere.” He pointed his Colt at her, stooping to watch her face and hear her tell him what had happened. “Start talking, lady,” he demanded, “and don’t even try telling me my brother forced himself on you. All that will do is make me madder.”
Chapter 22
From the dimly lit window of the sheriff’s office, the ranger looked out along the deserted street and saw the half-dozen detectives walking forward. The men had spread out, walking abreast toward them. He knew there were more moving along in the darker shadows out of the streetlamp glow. “Here they come, Sheriff,” he said calmly to Gale, who stood at the desk behind him.
“Any sign of the colonel out in front?” Gale asked skeptically.
“No,” said Sam, “and I’m not surprised. I figure he’s farther back, out of the streetlamps. That’s where we’re headed.” He looked around the office as if making sure they weren’t forgetting something. “It’s time we get out of here.”
Gale slipped the strap of a canvas bag of fresh shotgun rounds over his shoulder. “I’m ready, Ranger.” Before stepping to the back door, he said, “Can I ask something from you?”
“Right now?” Sam gave him a curious look.
As if not hearing the ranger’s question, the sheriff said, “It’s about the widow Vertrees, the woman I was with when you rode in the other day?” He let out a breath. “She means a lot to me. If things should go badly for me out there tonight…” He paused, as if uncertain of how to finish his request.
“I’ll tell her you spoke of her,” said Sam.
Gale nodded. “Obliged, Ranger.” Then he added before walking to the back door, “She’s a good woman. She was a good wife to Dillard Vertrees, I understand, and I believe in time she would have been a good wife to me.”
“She still might,” said the ranger.
“No, I get a feeling this is as far as it’s going, her and me,” said Gale. “I’m asking, if something happens to me, would you look after her?”
“That’s an unusual request, Sheriff. We should’ve talked about it earlier.” Sam glanced out the window, seeing the detectives walking nearer. Soon the colonel would send someone to cover the back door, if he hadn’t already.
“A man could do lots worse than Emma Vertrees, Ranger,” Gale said. Taking the hint, he also glanced out the window, then headed to the back door.
“I’m sure you’re right,” said the ranger, throwing the door open wide and taking cover beside the frame for a moment before going out.
“So, what do you say, Ranger?” Gale asked. Crouched and ready to go, he searched the darkness behind the building.
“If things don’t go well, I’ll do what I can,” said Sam. “But I can’t promise anything beyond that. She might have ideas of her own.”
“You’re right,” said Gale. “I’m just saying if there’s anything—”
“Stop it, Sheriff,” Sam said stiffly. “Let’s go.”
The ranger let Gale run on ahead of him, he himself lagging back just long enough to close the door and lock it behind them. Hurrying, Burrack catching up with Gale, they stopped inside a stretch of woods sixty feet away and looked back at the building. “Just in time,” Gale whispered, watching three figures appear out of the darkness and creep toward the locked door.
“This is as good a place as any to get things started,” Sam said. He raised his rifle to his shoulder. “Be ready to ride.”
The sheriff hurried toward their two horses standing hitched to a sapling five yards away, where the ranger had left them earlier. By the time he’d unhitched the animals and swung up into his saddle, a shot exploded from Sam’s repeating rifle, followed by a scream of pain from one of the men at the rear office door.
“They’re in the woods!” a voice shouted as the ranger came running to his waiting horse and snatched the reins from Gale’s hand.
Even as they turned their horses and booted them into a run, Gale saw blossoms of gunfire from the direction of the building. One man lay dead in the dirt at the rear door. The other two had begun firing as they fled and took cover behind an abandoned buckboard wagon.
Riding as hard as they dared push the horses through the tangled woods and brush, the two lawmen heard shots whistle through the air behind them. When they had flanked the town from thirty yards away, they slowed their horses and looked to their right, where gunshots exploded on the wide dirt street. Heavy gunfire pounded the small plank and adobe building front and rear.
“The fighting’s commenced without us,” Sheriff Gale said wryly, “just the way we like it.” But the two rode on in grim silence, both knowing that the fight was far from over….
Out in front of an apothecary on the main street, Colonel Elgin stood in the dark with his whiskey bottle hanging from his left hand and his big Walker Colt hanging from his right. Above him hung a streetlamp; one of his men had shinnied up the lamppost and extinguished the flame, casting a portion of the street into darkness.
“Any word yet from Skimmer?” Pale Lee asked, leaning in close for the colonel to hear above the gunfire.
“No,” said Elgin, “but we’ll likely hear from him. Frank is a natural manhunter. If you hear shots from where you’d least expect to, that’ll be Frank getting a jump ahead of these lawmen.”
A few feet away, Bobby Vane called out loudly above a cacophony of gunfire, “If they’re in there, Colonel, I’m betting they’re dead by now.” He pointed toward the sheriff’s office, watching as bullets sliced through the darkness and ripped chunks of dried earth and pine splinters from the front of the small building.
“Keep them firing, Bobby!” the colonel said, loud enough for Vane to hear. “I’ll tell you when they’ve had enough.”
No sooner had he spoken than one of the new men named Delmar Sherman ran up and said, “Colonel, they’re in the woods behind the jail! They shot Leroy as we were going inside to surprise them!”
“Damn it!” said Elgin. To Vane he called out above the noise, “Well, Bobby, there we have it. They made their getaway before we arrived. Have everyone cease fire!”
“Want me to call them all
back here to regroup, Colonel?”
“No, Bobby,” Elgin said. “Everybody stay where they are. We’ll hear from them shortly, unless they’ve turned tail and run out of town at the last minute.”
Beside him, Pale Lee warned, “I wouldn’t count on that, Colonel.”
“I’m not counting on it, Pale Lee,” said Elgin, looking back and forth along the dark street as the firing began to die down. “But we can’t very well stand here and shoot an empty building into the ground. The next move is theirs. It won’t be long, I’m certain. Get around to everyone, make sure everybody’s ready.”
“Yes, sir, Colonel,” said Pale Lee. Before turning to leave, he said, “This is just like the good old days, you giving the orders, me passing them on, eh?”
“Yes,” said the colonel, “but keep in mind how much more it will pay when you take these two down.”
“Yes, sir.” Pale Lee almost saluted, but then he caught himself, turned, and hurried away.
Frank Skimmer had ignored the sound of gunfire when it began erupting from the main street. He had the ones he wanted right here in front of him. “Go on,” he said, jiggling the gun in Emma’s face when she’d finished talking. Above the roar of gunfire, she’d told him everything, Memphis Beck listening on the ground right beside her, having watched Skimmer closely and found no way to make a move that wouldn’t get Emma killed instead of saving her.
“That’s—that’s all there is to tell you,” Emma said, knowing what that meant to a killer like Frank Skimmer. “I am sorry I killed him, if that helps any,” she added.
“Not a bit, lady,” said Skimmer. “You’re dead.” He jiggled his gun at her. “So is this outlaw boyfriend of yours.”
“But you don’t have to kill him!” Emma said quickly, looking straight into the barrel of the gun in Skimmer’s hand. “His railroad reward is still good even if he’s alive!”
“He’s got to hang for murder, lady,” Skimmer said with a half smile. “Which do you want to do, Beck, swing from a rope, soiling yourself, your toes scratching for some ground…or a fast bullet in the head?”