Twelve Dead Men

by William W. Johnstone

  “And I don’t want to waste any more of the court’s time than I have to.” Ordway turned his attention back to the newspaperman. “How about it, Lee? Can you testify as to which one walloped you?”

  Emory got to his feet, looking uneasy “As a matter of fact, Your Honor . . . I can’t. They were all masked, and it happened so fast. I was taken by surprise, and all I really know for sure is that one of them hit me with his gun.” He gestured toward the bandage on his head. “I’ve got proof of that, right enough.”

  “Humph. Yes, I’d say you do.” Ordway took a deep breath. “Very well. Under the circumstances, I have no choice but to accept the guilty pleas. The charges of assault against the other three defendants will be dropped. I fine them one hundred dollars each for disturbing the peace. On the charge of assault against Laurence Dunn, I sentence the defendant to eighteen months in the territorial prison in Santa Fe.”

  Dunn winced at that, but he didn’t say anything to Horton or the judge.

  “Mr. Dunn will be returned to the jail to await transport to prison,” Ordway went on. “The other three defendants will be released as soon as they pay their fines.”

  “I’ll take care of that right now, Your Honor,” Horton said.

  “See that you do.” Ordway reached for his gavel to signal the end of the proceedings.

  “Your Honor, a moment,” Buchanan said. “I would ask that in addition to the fines you’ve levied, you also sentence these three men to one week in jail. Given the way they terrorized two of our finest citizens, it only seems fitting that they serve some time behind bars.”

  “I agree with you in principle, Counselor,” Ordway said, “but I’ve already passed sentence. The guiding principle of this court has always been not only a strict interpretation of the law but fairness as well. I’ve already levied fines that are four times the usual amount. I can’t in good conscience add jail time to that.” Ordway didn’t look happy about what he was saying.

  Ace figured the judge was annoyed with himself for not realizing in time it would be better to keep McLaren’s friends safely behind bars until after the hanging. Ordway had approached the case in his typical fashion . . . but the circumstances weren’t really typical.

  As the judge had said, it was too late. If he tried to change the sentence, Horton would set up a howl. Also, Ordway’s own stubborn pride entered into the matter as well.

  That didn’t stop Miguel from speaking up. “Your Honor—”

  Ordway lifted a hand to stop him. “Before you go on, Marshal, be advised that I won’t change my sentence.”

  Horton moved out from behind the defense table and handed some greenbacks to Miguel, who took them reluctantly.

  “I believe that satisfies the terms of your sentence, Your Honor.” Horton was back to being his smug, oily self after his defeat the day before.

  “Indeed it does. Your clients are free to go. Except for Mr. Dunn, of course.”

  “I’ll have to send word to the prison at Santa Fe,” Miguel said. “They’ll have to send a deputy U.S. marshal to pick up Dunn and take him there.”

  “I’m sure I can trust you to tend to that, Marshal.” Ordway smacked the gavel down. “Court’s adjourned.”

  A few minutes later, Ace and Chance stood on the front porch of the town hall with Emory and Meredith and watched Miguel lead Larry Dunn back toward the jail. Dunn went along meekly. That by itself was enough to bother Ace, but he didn’t like the way the whole thing had played out.

  Severs, Merritt, and Russell had disappeared quickly as soon as they were freed. Horton and Buchanan were gone as well.

  “I don’t like this,” Lee Emory said. “I suppose having three of McLaren’s friends loose is better than four, but—”

  “Surely they won’t try anything else,” Meredith said. “Nothing they’ve done to help McLaren has worked so far. In fact, you could say it’s backfired on them.”

  Ace nodded slowly. “The smartest thing for them to do would be to light a shuck out of these parts and never come back. Problem is . . . those fellas have never struck me as being all that smart.”

  Chance said, “No, but they’re plenty mean, and that varmint Severs is the cunning sort. Could be he’s got some sort of trick up his sleeve.”

  “If he does, we’ll be ready for it,” Ace said.

  “You fellows aren’t leaving town now that the trial’s over?” Lee Emory asked.

  “No, I reckon we’ll be around here for a while yet, just to see how things play out,” Ace said.

  His brother nodded in unhesitating agreement.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Ace and Chance spent most of the day at the Melodian, Ace nursing a beer at one of the tables, Chance partaking of a poker game with an assortment of players, most of them ranchers or mine owners from the area. The pots were fairly large, but Ace watched enough of the game to know that Chance was holding his own. It was unlikely he would lose their stake. In fact, he would probably come out of the game a good deal ahead.

  That would allow them to move on whenever they were ready, but Ace wasn’t sure when that was going to be. Lone Pine was a pleasant place, or at least he thought it would be once Pete McLaren ascended the gallows and dropped through the trap the next morning. Ace knew he wouldn’t mind having the opportunity to get to know Meredith Emory better, and he was sure his brother felt the same way about Fontana Dupree.

  They weren’t going to put down roots or anything, Ace was certain of that, but at the same time, he didn’t think they were in any hurry to leave, either.

  At suppertime, they headed for the Lone Pine Café and more of that good cooking from Mrs. Hilfstrom.

  * * *

  Perry Severs frowned into the glass of tequila in his hand. Outside the cantina, the last light of day was fading. He had been drinking all day, since leaving the town hall, but it hadn’t helped. His mind was still wracked with indecision.

  “It’s gonna be dark soon, Perry,” Lew Merritt said. “If we’re gonna do something—”

  “If we’re going to do anything, it’ll be better to wait until later,” Severs said, his voice sharp with irritation. “You fellas said you’d let me do the thinking.”

  “Well, sure,” Vic Russell agreed. “We know you’re better suited to that than we are.”

  That was part of the problem, Severs mused. If he and his companions got their horses and rode away from Lone Pine, never to come back, he would be the leader of the group, no doubt about that. Pete had been the boss, taking charge by the sheer force of his arrogant self-confidence and hair-trigger temper. Severs had never been convinced that Pete was smarter than he was . . . but he had never cared to buck the other man’s command.

  Now, things could be different.

  Merritt wouldn’t let it go. “Last night in the jail, we said—”

  “I know what we said,” Severs interrupted again.

  Actually, it was a pretty good plan. Not foolproof, by any means, but at least it gave them a chance to help McLaren. And it had worked. Although Dunn had pled guilty to the assault change, it had been Severs who had walloped Lee Emory, but the judge didn’t have to know that.

  Dunn was willing to risk a prison sentence to please his friends, and Severs, Merritt, and Russell were free to help their friends who were still locked up.

  Or not, Severs mused. Merritt and Russell wouldn’t like it if they abandoned McLaren and Dunn to their fates, but he could talk them into it. He was sure of that. The question was whether or not he really wanted to.

  José came over to the table where the three men sat, carrying a tray with tortillas, beans, beef, and chili peppers on it. “Some supper for you.” The cantina owner was still trying to make amends for his part in the debacle that ultimately had doomed McLaren to the gallows. “With my compliments, of course.”

  Merritt grinned. “José, if you ain’t careful you’re gonna wind up feedin’ us from now on.”

  “It is the least I can do, señor,” José assured him. “A
moment of weakness on my part, and a lifetime of regret. I fear this is my fate.”

  “That’s the way life is,” Severs said. “Folks never know what they’re getting into, but it’s usually bad.” He tossed back the rest of the tequila and reached for the jug.

  For a few minutes, the men contented themselves with eating the food José had provided.

  Then Merritt said, “So what’s the plan, Perry? How’re we gonna get Pete and Larry outta that jail?”

  “Yeah,” Russell said around a mouthful of beans and tortilla. “We got to figure it out. They’re gonna be hangin’ Pete in the mornin’!”

  The hell with it, Severs decided. If he let McLaren hang, he would have to continue doing the thinking for those two, and they were dumb as stumps. Severs didn’t want that responsibility. He would rather go back to the way things used to be, just drifting along and letting McLaren do the thinking for him, too.

  “The whole thing comes down to those new deputies the greaser’s taken on,” Severs said in a low, confidential tone as he leaned forward. “Before now they were just layabouts. They’ve let themselves get all puffed up since they pinned on badges, but they’re really not much count and everybody knows it. Soriano can’t stay at the jail all the time. He’s got to leave the others there sooner or later . . . and that’s when we’ll make our move.”

  “How are we gonna know when that is?” Merritt asked.

  “That’s where you come in, Lew. You go and keep an eye on the jail. When you see Soriano leave, you hurry back here and fetch Vic and me. We’ll go in, get the drop on those deputies, and let Pete and Larry out. We’ll have horses saddled and ready to go for all of us. Before anybody knows what’s happening, we’ll put Lone Pine a long way behind us.”

  Russell frowned. “I don’t know if Pete will go along with that. He’s plenty mad about the whole deal. He’s liable to want to shoot the town up first, before we light a shuck.”

  “He’s not that big a fool,” Severs said. “First we get away. Then, when the time is right . . . we come back here and raise hell.”

  The other two men began to grin at that prospect. Lone Pine was in for all kinds of trouble . . . and the poor fools who lived there didn’t even know it yet.

  * * *

  As Ace and Chance left the café pleasantly full, they saw Miguel coming toward them along the boardwalk.

  “Evening,” he greeted them as he stopped on the boardwalk.

  “And good evening to you, Acting Marshal Soriano,” Chance said with a smile.

  With a bit of a sheepish smile himself, Miguel said, “Actually, it’s not acting marshal anymore. The town council offered me the job full-time and permanent-like this afternoon, and I accepted.”

  “Congratulations,” Ace said. “I don’t reckon it’ll come as a surprise to anybody. You’re the most qualified candidate for the job.”

  “Norm Sutherland has more experience”—Miguel shrugged—“but he would be the first to admit that he’d run screaming from that much responsibility. With that big family of his, he’s got enough to take care of at home. I’m on my own and can devote all my time to keeping law and order around here.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do a fine job,” Ace told him.

  “Well, I’d like for my first official act to be hiring you two fellas as real deputies. Ed Boulden and Matt Farmer have been helping me out, but I’d rather have the Jensen brothers backing me up.”

  “We’ve talked about this,” Chance said. “Ace and I have no interest in settling down and becoming real lawmen.”

  “That’s true,” Ace agreed. “I expect we’ll be around here for a while, but one of these days we’ll get the urge to move on again.”

  “I’d be glad to hire you until that day comes,” Miguel said.

  Chance shook his head. “Sorry. I intend to spend my days playing poker and watching and listening to Miss Dupree sing.” He grinned. “There was some talk about a picnic, too, as I recall.”

  Miguel sighed and nodded. “Well, I tried. Can’t blame me for that.”

  “Are those other fellas you mentioned watching the jail?” Ace asked.

  “That’s right. I’m still in the habit of making evening rounds.”

  “McLaren and Dunn haven’t given you any trouble?”

  “They’ve both been meek as lambs. McLaren’s pretty quiet. I imagine he’s thinking about what’s going to happen in the morning. I told him he could talk to the priest if he wanted to, or the Baptist or Methodist preacher, but he just shook his head.”

  “He’ll probably change his mind, come the dawn tomorrow.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. It must be a terrible thing to know the hour of your death. I reckon most folks would rather just be surprised. I know I would be.” Miguel moved on to continue his rounds. Night had fallen, although many of the businesses in Lone Pine were just now closing up for the night. That didn’t include the Melodian or the other saloons, which would be going strong for hours yet.

  “Coming with me to listen to Fontana?” Chance asked.

  “No, I reckon I might turn in early,” Ace said. “Anyway, you don’t need me around.”

  “You wouldn’t be figuring on moseying down to the newspaper office, would you?” Chance squinted in that direction. “Place looks dark to me.”

  “Yes, I’m sure Lee and Meredith have gone home for the day.”

  “Too bad. You might have a future as a newspaper reporter, the way you’re going.”

  Ace snorted. “Not hardly.” He lifted a hand in farewell. “I’ll see you later.”

  The Jensen brothers parted company. Chance headed for the saloon while Ace drifted toward the hotel. He had been telling the truth about intending to turn in early. A lot had happened since he and Chance had ridden into Lone Pine several days earlier, and none of it had been particularly restful.

  But that old saying about good intentions and the road to hell leaped into his mind as he caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows near the marshal’s office and jail. That didn’t have to be anything suspicious, but it was too soon for Miguel to be winding up his rounds. Ace frowned as he saw a man glide along the boardwalk and pause just long enough to blow out the flame in the lantern hanging near the marshal’s door.

  Ace veered from his course and headed for the jail. Maybe what he had seen was nothing . . . but maybe it wasn’t. Either way, he intended to find out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Severs didn’t trust either of his companions to take the lead. Merritt and Russell were followers, at best . . . although Merritt had carried out his job assignment just fine. He had hurried back to the cantina and let the other two know just as soon as Miguel Soriano set out on his evening rounds.

  It was just a matter of going in, throwing down on the two new deputies, and forcing them to unlock the cells. As soon as McLaren and Dunn were free, Severs intended to cut the deputies’ throats to ensure there wouldn’t be any outcry until the fugitives were long gone. Five fast horses, saddled and ready to go, waited in an alley less than fifty feet away.

  Severs’s right hand was wrapped tightly around the butt of his gun as he gripped the doorknob with his left. The knob turned and he thrust the door back as he stepped through the opening.

  From the desk, Ed Boulden asked, “What can I do for—”, then stopped short as he looked up and saw the gun in the newcomer’s fist.

  Severs’s face was bare under his hat brim. No point in masks as everybody would know who had busted the prisoners out of jail. He pointed his Colt at Boulden and snapped, “Don’t reach for your gun, Deputy. I can find the keys and open those doors just as good as you can, so I don’t need you alive.”

  What the escape needed was silence. Gunshots would draw the attention of the townspeople right away. Severs didn’t explain that to Boulden. Let the deputy think he was on the verge of being shot.

  He was going to wind up dead before the night was over, anyway.

  “Don’t shoot, mister,” the baldin
g Boulden said as beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He kept his hands in plain sight on the desk.

  Merritt and Russell came into the office behind Severs. Russell eased the door closed behind them.

  “Where’s the other one?” Severs wanted to know. “Where’s Farmer?”

  “He . . . he ain’t here. He went home to eat supper.”

  “Soriano left you here to watch the jail by yourself?”

  “That’s right.” Boulden swallowed. “He said you fellas would be fools to try anything so soon after you dodged prison.”

  “He’s the fool,” Severs said as his upper lip curled. “Get the keys. We’re going in the cell block.”

  “You’re gonna let McLaren and Dunn loose, aren’t you?”

  Severs grinned. “You’re not as dumb as you look, Deputy.”

  Boulden opened a drawer in the desk, took out a ring of keys, and stood up. Almost too scared to move, he forced his muscles to work and walked toward the cell block door, which was closed and locked. He fumbled some with the lock but got it open and swung the door back.

  In cells across the aisle from each other, McLaren and Dunn hurried to the cell doors and gripped the bars as Boulden came in with Severs right behind him, prodding him in the back with a gun barrel.

  Dunn grinned hugely. “You came back for me, just like you promised you would!”

  “Did you think I’d go back on my word, Larry?” Without waiting for an answer, Severs stared at the deputy. “Unlock those doors, pronto.”

  If it had been up to Severs, he would have freed McLaren first, but Boulden turned first toward the cell where Dunn was. Again, Boulden fumbled with the keys, and the delay chafed at Severs. He was thinking about knocking the stupid deputy on the head and taking over himself when he heard Merritt exclaim, “What the hell!”

  That was all the warning Severs had before the air was filled with the roar of guns going off.

  * * *

  Matt Farmer had worked as a hostler at Crackerjack Sawyer’s stable, a freight wagon driver, and a cowhand, and he hadn’t been particularly good at any of those jobs. He’d hoped he had finally found something that suited him, when he’d volunteered to help out as a temporary deputy.