Turnback Creek (Widowmaker)

by Robert J. Randisi

  “I can’t blame you for that,” Locke said.

  “Nice of you to say.”

  Sheriff Hammet finished his beer and set the empty mug back on the bar top.

  “I wish you both luck,” he said, “and I hope I won’t be cartin’ both your bodies down the mountain.”

  Locke didn’t comment, but he had the same hope.

  THIRTEEN

  After Locke and Cooper left Molly Shillstone’s house, she and George Crowell sat together on the porch. Molly knew George was waiting for her to invite him to stay overnight. He always waited for that invitation, and it never came—and never would. She often wondered why he didn’t know that. He was older than she and not the least bit attractive. In addition, he was weak. He had attached himself to her father for years, and now he was doing the same thing to her. If and when she found herself a real man, someone who would marry her and be at least as strong as she was, George Crowell would be out of a job. For now, he had his uses—but warming her bed was not one of them.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Molly?”

  “Hmm? Do what, George?”

  “Entrust all this gold to these two men,” he said. “What do we know about them?”

  “Well, quite a bit, actually,” she said, “They do both have rather big reputations.”

  “Yes, as gunmen.”

  “Marshal Cooper’s is more as a lawman than a gun-man,” Molly pointed out. “Mr. Locke, as I understand it, has more of a reputation as a gunman. The Widowmaker, they call him. Or is that what they call his gun?”

  “Nevertheless,” he said, “Cooper is more of a drunk right now than anything else.”

  “He had one glass of brandy tonight, that I saw,” Molly said. “Not exactly what you’d expect from a drunk, George.”

  “Molly, his hands were shaking out here on the porch.”

  “I trust Mr. Locke’s judgment,” she said. “If he deems the marshal fit to go up the mountain with, that’s good enough for me. Why would he risk his life with a drunk?”

  Crowell turned in his chair to face her. “Molly, why would you put so much faith in a stranger?”

  “I have a good feeling about him.”

  “You’re attracted to him,” Crowell accused.

  She didn’t answer.

  “That’s what it is, isn’t it?”

  “George,” she said, “I think it’s time we said good night.”

  Crowell lived in a small shack near the mining office. Molly had never been inside and did not intend ever to be.

  “Molly—”

  “Good night, George.” She said it without looking at him. Slowly, he got up from his chair, stepped off the porch, and left.

  Molly closed her eyes for a moment, imagining that John Locke had been watching, waiting for George to leave so he could come back, come to her bed. Locke was the kind of man she’d been waiting for all her life, despite the fact that he was much older than she was. She wondered what kind of woman he’d been waiting for.

  Hoke Benson watched from across the room while John Locke and the sheriff had a conversation. There were enough men sitting between him and the bar that he felt certain Locke would not be able to see him. He just wanted to take some time to observe the man. Hoke was still trying to decide if they should hit the payroll at the train, between Turnback Creek and the train, or on the mountain. He was also waiting to hear from the other men he’d “invited” to participate in the robbery to get back to him. Word had gotten out that it was John Locke who was taking the money up the mountain. There weren’t a lot of men who wanted to go up against the Widowmaker, but Hoke felt sure that in the end, the money would overcome their fear. Besides, wherever they did it, they were going to ambush Locke and Cooper, so the two old legends would never know what hit them.

  The lawman left, and Locke stayed for a few moments before also leaving. Eli and Bailey were playing faro, but Hoke left them alone. He didn’t feel there was any need to follow Locke back to his hotel. They had all day tomorrow to keep an eye on the man.

  Locke watched the lawman leave, then finished his own beer and set the empty mug on the bar.

  “’Nother one?” the bartender asked.

  Locke was tempted. In two days’ time, he was going to put his life on the line for five hundred dollars. That was a lot of money to Dale Cooper—a lot more than it was to Locke. In all Cooper’s years as a lawman, he had probably never made that much money in one year. He certainly had not seen that much at one time during the past ten years. But it wasn’t enough to John Locke to risk his life for.

  Now, his friendship with Dale Cooper, that was something worth risking his life for, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be nervous about it. A lot would depend on how Cooper performed with his gun tomorrow—a new gun in a shaky hand, at that.

  The bartender was still waiting for a reply.

  “No,” Locke finally said. “No more, thanks.”

  After riding Cooper all day about his drinking, the last thing Locke could do was get drunk himself. And it would be an easy thing to do—a far too easy thing to do—to have another beer, and then another, and then just keep going and going …

  Locke stiffened, straightened up from the bar, and forced himself to walk out the front door and go back to his hotel room for the night. Even in his room, and in his bed, that next beer was still calling to him.

  FOURTEEN

  The next morning, Locke left his hotel and walked down the street to the rooming house where Dale Cooper was staying. He hoped the ex-marshal had been able to stay in his room last night and had not sneaked out to any of the saloons. If he had, then Locke was prepared to saddle up and head out of town. Leaving Molly Shill-stone in the lurch was no problem for him. She’d get somebody else to deliver her gold, or get killed trying to do it. Locke’s only reason for being involved was to try to help Cooper regain some of his self-esteem and possibly some of his lost stature.

  He went up the walk to the two-story rooming house, mounted the porch, and knocked on the door. Out of all the homes he’d seen in town, this was the only one built nearly as well as Molly Shillstone’s house.

  An elderly woman answered the door, and he asked politely for Dale Cooper.

  “The marshal is having his breakfast,” the woman said.

  “Oh,” Locke said. “I was going to buy him breakfast.”

  “Well, I’m Mrs. Helms, and this is my house,” she said. “You’re welcome to come in and eat with him. There’s plenty of food.”

  “That’s very kind of you, ma’am,” Locke said, removing his hat. “Thank you.”

  He entered, and she closed the door.

  “I don’t have any other boarders at the moment,” she said. “Come this way.”

  He followed her into the dining room, where Cooper was digging into a pile of flapjacks. Also on the table were plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, and fresh biscuits. The aroma of coffee was heady.

  “Marshal, you have a guest.”

  Cooper looked up from the table and smiled when he saw Locke standing there.

  “Pull up a chair, John,” he invited. “Ingrid makes the best breakfast in town.”

  “That coffee smells mighty good, ma’am.”

  “I’ll get you a cup,” she said. “You just set and dig in.”

  “Thank you.”

  Locke sat across the table from Cooper and was amazed at how well rested the man looked. He was eating heartily and looked like a completely different man from the day before.

  “Coop, I’ve got to say you look … changed.”

  Cooper waved his fork. “I’ve given up the bottle, John.Look at my hands.” He held them out, and they were as steady as a rock.

  “Just like that?”

  “It’s time to go to work,” Cooper said. “I don’t drink when I’m working.”

  Ingrid Helms came back into the room and poured Locke a cup of coffee. Then she walked over to Cooper and refilled his cup, leaning on his shoulder with one hand. She
appeared to Locke to be older than the marshal, but he wondered if the two had formed some sort of a relationship.

  He helped himself to bacon and eggs and biscuits, intending to follow that with some of the flapjacks.

  “You’re gonna be wantin’ to see me shoot today, right?” Cooper asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s why I gave up the bottle. My hands have got to be steady to show you I’m as good as I ever was.”

  Locke wondered if Cooper had had a drink that morning. Very often, the hair of the dog that bit him will brace a man, but Cooper’s eyes seemed very clear.

  “Will you gentlemen be wanting any more food?” Mrs. Helms asked at one point.

  “Ma’am,” Locke said, “I do believe you’ve got enough food here to feed an army, and might I say I haven’t had a better meal since … well, since I can’t remember when.”

  “You should move in here,” Cooper said. “You could eat like this every day.”

  “You’d be most welcome, sir,” Mrs. Helms said. “Are you staying at the hotel?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Be cheaper here, and you’d eat better.”

  “I can see that, ma’am,” he said. “Fact is, we’ll be leavin’ tomorrow to pick up Mrs. Shillstone’s payroll, and then we’ll be taking it up the mountain to the mine.”

  “Might there be anything you’d be leaving behind?” she asked. “It’d be safer here than at that hotel.”

  “She’s got a point there, John,” Cooper said, with a jabbing motion of his fork.

  “All right, then,” Locke said. “I’ll move my stuff here from the hotel later today.”

  “That’ll be fine,” she said. “I’ll give you the room right next to the marshal’s.”

  Locke felt the least he could do for this meal was give the woman another boarder.

  “Now, you gents just eat up, and I’ll go upstairs and get your friend’s room ready.”

  “His name is Locke, Ingrid,” Cooper said. “John Locke, and he’s the best friend a man ever had.”

  “Well, I’m glad you have a friend like Mr. Locke, then, Marshal,” she said. “It appears to me you’re gonna need him.”

  FIFTEEN

  After breakfast, Ingrid Helms showed Locke where his room was, and he promised not to come back too late to move in. He and Cooper then left the rooming house together.

  “I don’t remember the last time I was so stuffed,” Locke said.

  “Good thing we’re leaving tomorrow,” Cooper said. “A man could get fat staying there.”

  “Coop, I’ve got to say, I’m still stunned by the change in you,” Locke said.

  “I tol’ you,” the older man answered, “I don’t drink while I’m workin’. Far as I’m concerned, this is the first day of the job.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Locke said. “I feel much better about this job now.”

  “Wait until you see me shoot,” Cooper said. “You’ll be feelin’ even better.”

  They found an area out behind the hotel where they’d be able to do some target shooting without anyone being hit by a stray bullet. Others obviously had used the area for the same purpose, as there were broken bottles of varying sizes around, as well as previously perforated cans.

  “I’ll set some up,” Locke said. He collected the largest chunks of bottles he could find and set them up on some rocks—five in all. He returned to Cooper’s side. “Let’s see how this new gun of yours shoots.”

  “You want me to draw and fire?” Cooper asked when Locke came and stood alongside him.

  “Just hit them, and I’ll be happy,” Locke said.

  Cooper drew his gun from his holster and fired three shots. Two bottles shattered, and one bullet ricocheted off a rock.

  “Damn!” Cooper said.

  “That’s okay,” Locke said. “It might be the gun, not you.”

  “The gun is fine,” Cooper said. “It shoots true.”

  He fired the other three shots in the cylinder, and one of the other cans flew off.

  “Goddamnit!”

  “It’s okay, Coop—”

  “Okay ain’t good enough!” Cooper snapped. “Okay ain’t gonna keep you alive if I can’t hit what I’m shootin’ at. You wouldn’ta missed a damn one of them!”

  Locke walked over to the bottles and cans and set up two bottles. “There’s two more bottles,” Locke said, returning to his friend’s side. “Take the both of them.”

  Cooper licked his lips and reloaded the weapon. He extended his arm and fired deliberately this time. Both bottles shattered.

  “There you go,” Locke said.

  Cooper ejected the spent shells from his Colt and replaced them with live ones.

  “A man ain’t gonna stay still like a bottle,” Cooper said. “I ain’t gonna have time to aim.”

  He holstered his gun and walked around collecting cans. He went and set them up where the bottles had been, then returned to stand next to Locke. “Six cans,” he said. “You take the three on the right, I’ll take the three on the left.”

  “Coop—”

  “Just do it, will ya?” Cooper snapped.

  Locke sighed. “All right.”

  “On three,” Cooper said. “One … two … three …”

  Both men drew their weapons. One of Cooper’s cans flew off the rock first, but all three of Locke’s quickly followed. Once again, Cooper had left one can behind.

  “You beat me,” Locke said, ejecting the spent shells.

  “Fast don’t mean better,” Cooper said, doing the same. “I want to go again.”

  “Coop,” Locke said, holstering his gun, “I’m satisfied that you can shoot well—”

  “If I was you,” Cooper said, interrupting him, “I wouldn’t want to go up that mountain with me coverin’ your back. Not the way I’m shootin’.”

  “Maybe with some more practice—”

  “We ain’t got time to practice,” Cooper said, cutting him off. “We gotta go and pick up that payroll tomorrow.”

  “I know, but—”

  “And there’s a good chance somebody’ll try to take it from us before we even get to the mountain,” Cooper went on. “You know that. The first payroll was such easy pickin’s, I’ll bet there’s two or three gangs just waterin’ at the mouth to come at us.”

  “If they do,” Locke said, “we’ll handle them.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Cooper turned to face the can he’d left standing. He drew quickly and fired from the hip. The can went flying.

  “That’s better,” he said. “More like it.”

  “Keep shooting,” Locke said. “We’ve got time today. By the end of the day, you’ll be hitting five out of five.”

  “Six out of six,” Cooper said, replacing the single spent shell. “I ain’t gonna be happy with nothin’ less.”

  “I know you won’t, Coop,” Locke said.

  “Just keep shootin’ with me, John.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be shooting with anyone else, Coop,” John Locke told him.

  SIXTEEN

  Later in the day, Cooper was still missing a shot here and there and was not happy with his performance. Locke also noticed that the man was constantly licking his lips and wiping them with the back of his hand, a sure sign that he was craving a drink. It seemed that nothing he said to the ex-marshal helped much at all.

  “Coop,” Locke said at one point, “you’re shooting better than most men could ever hope to.”

  “It’s not enough, John,” Cooper said. “Not nearly good enough. If I expect you to watch my back, you’ve got to be able to expect me to watch yours.”

  Locke put his hand on his old friend’s shoulder and said, “Believe me, there’s nobody I’d rather have watching my back.”

  “Sure there is,” Cooper said. “The man I was fifteen years ago.”

  “Why that far back?” Locke asked. “Why not ten years ago?”

  “Not ten years ago,” Cooper said
. “You remember why …”

  Ellsworth, Kansas

  1877

  Marshal Dale Cooper and John Locke walked to the end of the street shoulder to shoulder. Waiting for them there were five cowboys from the Bar Z spread, who had driven their cattle in only the day before. These five had gotten particularly drunk the night before in the Alhambra Saloon, shot the place up, and injured one man, an innocent bystander. Cooper had arrived on the scene after the men had fled. He talked with the foreman, Bud Selkirk, and told him that the five men should give themselves up the next day at noon. Selkirk told Cooper that the men would be waiting at the north end of Main Street but that it would be up to them whether or not they came peaceably.

  “They’s Texas cowboys, Marshal,” he said. “No tellin’ what they’ll do.”

  “Won’t they do what you tell ’em to?” Cooper asked.

  “On a trail drive, yeah,” Selkirk said. “But in a situation like this, when one, two, or all of ’em might go to jail? No.I’d suggest you take a deputy or two with you.”

  Well, Cooper didn’t have a deputy or two who were willing to face five Texas cowpokes with him. What he did have was his friend John Locke, and that was enough for him.

  But there was something Locke didn’t know. Cooper himself had been drinking the night before, and for some time. His insides were jittery, and his hands were shaking.He told Locke he wanted to take the men in with no gunplay but that according to what the foreman had told him, it was going to be up to them.

  John Locke would stand by his friend and back his play, no matter what …

  When they reached the north end of Main Street, Locke saw the five cowboys standing abreast. As he got closer, he could see by the looks on their faces that some of them were nervous. What bothered him was that he could also feel Cooper’s nerves. As long as he’d known Marshal Dale Cooper, he’d had nerves of steel. Why was today different?

  “You men need to give yourselves up without any fuss,” Cooper announced to the five cowboys.