The Devil's Waltz

by Ethan J. Wolfe

After Sarah went inside, Posey said, “You know why Tom hits every two weeks?”

  “I thought on it, but no, I don’t,” Dale admitted.

  “He’s got a centralized hiding place that’s a two-week ride in any direction,” Posey said. “It’s how we did it in the old days. Plan the job around the escape route and hide out.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Do you know I read in a newspaper in Yuma Prison that they got houses in New York and Boston with the bathtubs right inside this little room?” Posey said.

  “I do. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Nothing,” Posey said. “I just want to live long enough to see one of them.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  * * *

  In the morning, Dale brought freshly laundered clothes to the guestroom where Posey slept.

  “These are my old trail clothes and hat,” Posey said.

  “I saved them after your trial,” Dale said. “Hurry up and get dressed. Breakfast is waiting.”

  Erin and John watched as their father and uncle strapped on their guns. They had watched their father put on his holster hundreds of times as he readied for work. It just seemed natural, like he was putting on his vest or hat.

  But the way their uncle put on his holster was different. He did it with such ease that the holster and gun became like a part of him. Once the holster was on, he adjusted it slightly and then gently lifted the gun up a bit as if testing the action of the holster.

  Even though they were just kids, Erin and John realized that something was different about their uncle.

  He looked at them and grinned.

  Then they realized what it was that was different.

  Their uncle was a very dangerous man.

  Sarah came out on the porch.

  “I’m taking the buggy to give your father and uncle a ride to the livery,” she said. “The dishes best be clean when I return.”

  “Yes, Ma,” Erin said.

  “John?” Sarah said.

  “Yes, Ma,” John said.

  “Well, both you men, let’s go,” Sarah said. “The livery isn’t coming to us.”

  Sarah stood beside the buggy and waited for Dale and Posey to bring their horses out of the livery.

  Old Pete was at the corral, chewing tobacco and spitting up a storm.

  “Look like we might finally get some rain,” he said with tobacco juice dribbling down his chin.

  “Shut up, you old fool,” Sarah said. “And I best see you at next Sunday service and without a mouthful of tobacco juice.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Pete said.

  Posey led his horse out first and stood beside the corral so Dale could lead his horse past him to the buggy.

  Posey watched silently while his brother and Sarah said a few words, then kissed and hugged.

  Dale mounted then, but Sarah surprised Posey by walking to him.

  “You make sure nothing happens to him,” she said.

  “I will,” Posey said.

  “Dale is a good man,” Sarah said. “His children need him. I need him. You make sure or don’t come back.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Posey said as he mounted up.

  Sarah returned to the buggy and watched as Dale and Posey rode off to catch the train to Grayson.

  After six hours on the train, Posey and Dale stretched out their backs on the Alamosa platform before getting the horses from the boxcar.

  “Let’s check in with the sheriff and grab a hot lunch,” Dale said. “It may be our last for a while.”

  Alamosa was established just a few years earlier as a railway center for train repairs. It had a population of around eight hundred citizens, of which all but around fifty worked for the railroad.

  The law was a member of the railroad police and had an office in the center of town.

  “I’m US Marshal Dale Posey,” Dale said when he entered the office.

  “Ed Davis, Chief of Railroad Police for Alamosa. My deputies are out with a repair crew.”

  “I’m after Tom Spooner and his bunch,” Dale said. “Me and my man outside there with the horses.”

  “Just the two of you after that bunch?” Davis said.

  “It’s a job for an entire company or just one or two men,” Dale said. “He robbed a bank in Grayson and killed the sheriff.”

  “He didn’t come this way, I can tell you that,” Davis said.

  “I’m heading out right after we fill our stomach,” Dale said. “Have you had lunch yet?”

  “You look up to the mark,” Davis said. He looked at Posey. “Especially you, big fellow. But Spooner is one nasty customer. Seems like he takes some kind of pleasure in killing.”

  “He does,” Posey said, slicing into a steak.

  Davis squinted at Posey. “You know him?”

  “We served together under Sherman,” Posey said. “I think that’s where he got his taste for blood.”

  “How do you know he didn’t travel east?” Dale asked.

  “Railroad scouts protecting inventory,” Davis said. “If his bunch came east, they would have spotted them.”

  “I figure we can make Grayson in three days and a bit if we leave this afternoon,” Dale said. “We’ll pick up enough supplies for the trip here and stock up there. Spooner’s trail will be cold, but we have to start somewhere.”

  “We can save you two days of riding,” Davis said. “We got track down three-quarters of the way to Alamosa for purpose of repairing busted cars and such. I can have a repair train take you out right after lunch.”

  “Our horses?” Dale asked.

  “We’ll hitch a boxcar,” Davis said.

  “As much as I was looking forward to sleeping on the hard ground, I’ll take you up on your kind offer,” Dale said.

  “No thanks needed,” Davis said. “The railroad wants that bastard as much as you do for all the trains he’s robbed.”

  Dale and Posey rode with the engineer and coalman in the locomotive. The only other car was the boxcar in tow that carried the horses.

  Once they had rolled out of town and the engineer had the speed up to fifty miles an hour, he shouted, “Best get comfortable, gents. We got two hours of hard track in front of us.”

  “Up ahead is a loop where we turn around,” the engineer said. “You fellows get off here, and good luck.”

  “Thanks for the ride,” Dale said. “You saved us a lot of backaches.”

  Posey and Dale retrieved their horses from the boxcar and held them away from the track until the train had safely moved ahead and turned around. Once it had started back to Alamosa, Dale said, “We have six hours or so in the saddle to Grayson. We can ride for two hours until dark and get a fresh start in the morning or find a spot and camp here for the night. Which?”

  Posey rubbed the large neck of his massive horse. “These boys have been sitting around for days. They need to run.”

  “Run it is,” Dale said and got into the saddle.

  After a light supper of bacon, beans, and cornbread and coffee, they rinsed and packed away the gear, opened the bedrolls, and settled in for the night. The hobbled horses nibbled on grass a few feet from the now extinguished campfire.

  Posey rolled a cigarette, lit it, and looked up at the million stars covering the night sky.

  “You have a good life, brother,” Posey said. “Nice wife and kids, a home. How many more years are you going to break your back chasing outlaws?”

  “Me and Sarah discussed it many times,” Dale said. “In five years, I will have enough money socked away to return to the farm and start it up again. She can minister at the local church in town. My boy will be old enough by then to help with the work some after school.”

  “Pa was twenty-five or -six when he started the farm, and the work damn near killed him,” Posey said. “You’ll be what, forty-five? That’s a hard age to take up such a rough life, Dale.”

  “Not if I hire a full-time man and grow potatoes,” Dale said. “Potatoes will grow just about anywhere in an
y soil. Some hogs and horses on the side. It won’t be so bad a life, Jack. Maybe I’ll hire you.”

  “No, thanks,” Posey said. “I had my share of busting rocks.”

  “If you had a good woman, a wife, maybe you’d feel different,” Dale said.

  “Maybe.”

  “All those years running around, hiding, working two-bit ranch jobs, you never came across a woman that struck your fancy?”

  “The only thing that struck my fancy was keeping my neck out of a rope,” Posey said.

  “I’m asking you to think some on my offer, Jack,” Dale said. “We’ll be together again, and we can build a second house on the extra acres Pa never worked. There’s a stream there, remember?”

  “I remember, but it’s all a lick and a promise if you ask me,” Posey said.

  “You’re all balled up right now, I see that,” Dale said. “When this business is finished, you’ll feel different.”

  “Maybe,” Posey said softly.

  “Maybe nothing, Jack,” Dale said. “It doesn’t matter, your past. We’re still brothers, and that can’t be changed. Last year I hired an architect from Saint Louis to design a new farmhouse and barn. They start building it next spring. You could get a head start on me and go there until I retire. Remember, Jack, the farm is half yours. We split the crops, hogs, horses, everything right down the middle. How does that suit you, little brother?”

  When Posey didn’t answer, Dale rolled over and looked at his brother.

  He was sound asleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  Grayson was a small town that made its living mining minerals from the hills and mountains in Bryce Canyon.

  A few hundred citizens, of which ninety percent worked digging minerals out of the ground. The sheriff had been only part-time, spending most of his time busting rock. The only reason the town even had the need of a sheriff was to protect the once-a-month payroll money, which was delivered by the mine owners from back east and locked up in the small safe at the bank.

  Telegraph lines did run through the town out of necessity for the mining company.

  On the delivery day, the sheriff deputized a few men as guards and a watch was set up overnight until the workers were paid the following day.

  Shortly before dawn, Spooner and his men rode into Grayson and shot the two deputies standing watch in front of the bank. They kicked in the door of the bank and discovered the safe had a broken lock and, according to several witnesses, Spooner was laughing when he rode out of town after gunning down the half-dressed sheriff as he ran across the street, holding a shotgun.

  According to the mining company, eight thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars in payroll cash was stolen.

  “That was the report sent to me by the county sheriff,” Dale said as he and Posey rode into the deserted streets of the small town.

  “Sounds like Tom has grown even more bloody over the years,” Posey said.

  “The county sheriff is supposed to meet us here,” Dale said. “Let’s check the jail.”

  They dismounted and walked the horses along the wide, main boulevard that divided the tiny town in half.

  Three horses were tethered to the post outside the building bearing a sign: Town Jail and Sheriff’s Office.

  Two county deputies sat in chairs, each with a tin mug of coffee and a shotgun.

  “US Marshal Dale Posey,” Dale said.

  “Sheriff’s expecting you,” one of the deputies said.

  “Any more of that coffee?” Posey said. “We rode all morning after a cold camp.”

  “Fresh pot,” the deputy said.

  Dale and Posey opened the door and entered the small office where the county sheriff sat behind a desk. A territorial map was spread out across the desk.

  “US Marshal Dale Posey,” Dale said.

  “County Sheriff Sam Fey.”

  Posey walked to the small woodstove where a pot rested. “Okay?” he said.

  “Help yourself,” Fey said. “Cups are on the counter against the wall.”

  “We’re going to try and pick up Spooner’s tracks,” Dale said. “Are you riding with us?”

  “I am,” Fey said. “I’m leaving my two men to guard the next payroll delivery.”

  Bringing two cups to the desk, Posey handed one to Dale and said, “Hell, Spooner’s long gone.”

  “I know, but that murdering bastard may just be crafty enough to realize the payroll needs to be replaced and come back, figuring on another easy meal,” Fey said.

  “If that’s the case, you and two men aren’t enough to stop his bunch,” Dale said.

  “We armed the whole damn town,” Fey said. “It will be like Jesse James riding into Northfield in ’seventy-six.”

  “Spooner’s smart enough to know that,” Posey said. “He’ll stay free and clear for a while, hole up, and plan another job hell and gone from here.”

  Fey scrutinized Posey for a few seconds. “You talk like you know the man.”

  “We rode together under Sherman during the war,” Posey said. “He’s smarter than Jesse, Frank, and the Younger brothers combined. I’ll bet he cut the telegraph lines so the town couldn’t wire for help until they were repaired.”

  “He did,” Fey admitted.

  “I’d like to load up on supplies and fill our stomachs before we head out,” Dale said. “Where can we do that in this town?”

  Turned out that Grayson had a first-rate hotel and general store, both owned and operated by the mining company. When executives from back east traveled to check on mining operations, they needed a decent place to stay and had the hotel built. They invested in a good general store because they knew the townsfolk would spend their money in it, and the money would simply come back to them.

  “I’d like to send a wire to my wife before we head out,” Dale said.

  “Lines are repaired,” Fey said.

  “Good,” Dale said.

  Posey looked around the dining hall in the hotel lobby for the waitress. They had just finished a large lunch of steak, potatoes, and gravy and biscuits, and he wanted coffee before they left.

  He caught her eyes and she came to the table.

  “Coffee and . . . Dale, what was that cake you got me a week ago?” Posey said.

  “Danish,” Dale said.

  “I’ve never heard of Danish,” the waitress said. “What is it?”

  “Sort of a cake,” Posey said.

  “We have excellent apple pie and peach pie made from canned fruit, but still very good,” the waitress said.

  “We take that two ways,” Posey said.

  “Which pie?” the waitress said.

  “One of each,” Posey said.

  Dale led the way out of town following the northern route Spooner took as described by witnesses. Fey and Posey rode directly behind Dale. Each man’s horse was loaded down with a week’s worth of fresh supplies.

  “Any townspeople follow this route since the robbery?” Dale asked.

  “They mine northwest of town, so I’d guess not,” Fey said.

  “Jack,” Dale said.

  Posey nodded and rode ahead.

  Fey looked at Dale.

  “He used to scout for Sherman,” Dale said.

  Posey rode for several miles before picking up any signs of horses. It hadn’t rained for weeks, and the land was dry enough for tracks to stay in the soft ground. They led toward the canyons no doubt.

  Once they got to the rocks the trail would be difficult to follow.

  From the saddle, Posey spotted something unusual and dismounted. He got low to the ground and inspected the tracks carefully. He put the number of horses at nine. Spooner and eight of his men.

  One horse had a busted rear right shoe. Because of that, the horse’s stride was off just a bit. Posey mounted up and kept close watch on the busted shoe, which made it a bit easier to follow.

  He rode for several more miles, stopping to check every once in a while, keeping an eye on the busted sh
oe.

  The horse was going lame. The busted shoe probably picked up a stone and was causing the horse a lot of discomfort, especially since they were still riding hard at this point.

  Posey didn’t have a pocket watch, but he didn’t need one. He knew by the placement of the sun in the sky how much daylight was left. There was about an hour, time to ride another mile or so before stopping to make camp.

  Posey rode a half mile and stopped when he noticed the horse with the busted shoe was lagging behind.

  He dismounted to check the tracks.

  Spooner and the remaining seven riders didn’t even bother to stop to check on the rider with the lame horse.

  Posey walked his horse a bit, checking the tracks, and then decided on a spot to make camp. Come morning, the trail would be easy enough to pick up and follow.

  He removed the saddle from his horse and immediately hobbled front and rear legs with leather strips. Then he gathered wood and built a campfire. He dug out the brush from a saddlebag and was brushing his horse when Dale and Fey arrived.

  “No coffee?” Dale said.

  “I got the sack of coffee, you got the pot,” Posey said.

  Supper was beans flavored with molasses, bacon, and hunks of cornbread, with coffee to wash it all down with.

  “I can’t say for sure at this point if they’re headed directly to the canyons, but Spooner’s definitely riding to higher ground,” Posey said.

  “Without any law pursuing him, I wouldn’t be surprised if they holed up in those canyons for a while,” Fey said.

  “I doubt it,” Posey said.

  They were seated around the crackling campfire and flickering light reflected off Posey’s face.

  “Why do you say that?” Fey asked.

  “I studied the recent jobs he pulled,” Posey said. “Every two weeks he strikes. I believe he has a centralized hideout that’s never more than two weeks’ ride in any direction. He might hole up in the canyons for a day or two to rest the horses, but he won’t stay. These canyons aren’t centralized to the robberies he’s pulled.”

  “Why didn’t you say that earlier?” Dale asked.