Shawn Starbuck Double Western 3

by Ray Hogan

  “It would be the thing to do if there was some way. Dallman won’t drop it here, and the best place for him and the rest would be behind bars somewhere. But we can’t handle it ... You got any rope in your gear?”

  “Lasso.”

  “Let’s get it. I want to cut it up into three-or-four-foot lengths.”

  “My rope?”

  Shawn grinned at the redhead’s pained tone. “I’ll see the town of Babylon buys you a new one. We got to have things all set to tie that bunch up with once we’re inside. We can make gags out of stuff we’ll find laying around.”

  Red turned, started for the brush. “Think I’ll move the horses a mite closer, too. Won’t hurt to have them a little handier.”

  Shawn nodded. “Just so they won’t be seen.”

  The husky man paused. “What about something for the women to ride?”

  Starbuck glanced to the distant corral. Getting from that point was out of the question. “I expect they’ll have to ride double with us.”

  Red gave that thought. “Be all right, I reckon, long as there ain’t half the town at our heels when we leave here.”

  “Aim to be sure there’s not,” Shawn replied, and watched his friend move off through the rubble.

  Near sunset two riders came into the camp. They rode straight to Buffalo Brady’s store, dismounted, and entered. A short time later they reappeared, evidently having made satisfactory arrangements, and led their horses to the corral where they turned them loose with the others. That done, they retraced their steps to the saloon.

  Other than the newcomers, and with the exception of Dallman and his followers, there had been no signs of life in Brewer’s Flat. It would seem that it was customary for tenants to stay under cover even while the protective wing of Brady was spread over them.

  The last of the sun’s golden flare faded in the west, and darkness, cool and hushed, fell over the land. A light wind sprang up, rustling the dead leaves and stirring the brush. A man came out of the store and, trailed by a rangy hound, walked to the corral where he forked a quantity of hay to the animals. Both he and the dog then disappeared in the shadows stretching out from the rear of the shacks.

  Shawn rose to his feet, gathered up a share of the rope lengths they had prepared, and glanced at the house occupied by Hake Dallman and his crowd. Lamplight now glowed in its windows. The shack to its right was yet dark, but the one on the opposite side, as well as the saloon and several others in the upper area, were also lit up.

  “Let’s go,” Starbuck said, and turning, doubled back toward the lower end of the clearing.

  Keeping low, they crossed well below the last shack and came into the irregular line from the rear. Paying scant attention to the first, they moved in to the larger house. At once the sound of voices came to them; working their way to a window, they peered in.

  The small amount of furniture that had graced the room had been pushed aside. A blanket covered the floor, and the outlaws, in a circle upon it, were engaged in a game of poker. Stacks of currency and piles of coins before each attested to the varying luck of each player. The split of the Palace’s twenty thousand dollars had evidently already been made.

  The bottles of whiskey, near empty, were close by, and the men, seeking greater comfort, had removed their boots and laid their gun belts on a table. The woman called Jenny watched from a chair placed against a wall; Dolly, crouched beside Al and leaning upon his shoulder, was showing a more avid interest in the game.

  Red touched Shawn on the arm and pointed to the adjacent door, indicating he would make his entrance through it. Starbuck nodded.

  “Give me time to reach the front,” he whispered.

  “I’ll count to thirty,” the redhead murmured.

  Shawn moved off, hunched low and walking hurriedly but quietly, mentally taking up the count so that he would throw back the door and perfect an entry at the identical moment as Red.

  He reached the corner of the shack at fifteen, gave the open ground to either side a quick scanning, and stepped up onto the landing. Drawing his pistol, he paused there, ticking off the seconds. Someone inside cursed angrily, and down in Buffalo Brady’s saloon a woman began to sing in a high, unsteady voice. He hadn’t given it thought, but evidently Brady spared no effort in providing conveniences for his customers—even to the point of female companionship.

  Twenty-eight ... Twenty-nine ... Thirty ...

  Starbuck raised his leg, drove his booted foot against the door, and sent it crashing inward. As he plunged into the smoky, stale-smelling confines of the room, the back entrance burst wide, also. Red leaped into view.

  “Your hands up—all of you!” Starbuck barked in a harsh voice.

  Ten

  A scream burst from Dolly’s lips. Starbuck kicked the door shut with his heel as Hake Dallman leaped upright. The outlaw clawed for his hip, then remembered suddenly that he was not wearing his gun, that it was on the table.

  Shawn lunged at the outlaw, swung his pistol. It caught Hake on the forehead and drove him to his knees. In that same fragment of time the other men jerked back, began to scramble to their feet. Red lashed out with his weapon, clubbed the nearest, and drove his foot into the face of another reaching for him.

  The smoky room was filled with the sounds of thrashing bodies, cursing, of men heaving for breath. Hands gripped Starbuck’s legs. He swung a balled fist at the dark head at his knees, winced as his knuckles came in contact with flesh and bone. He felt the man’s grip slack off, saw the dark head loll to one side.

  It was Al, he noted, and spun to grab the Kid struggling to reach the guns on the table. His fingers missed their objective as one of the outlaws butted into him, knocking him off balance.

  The Kid, pistol in hand, wheeled. Red surged forward. His arms encircled the young outlaw and crushed the weapon into the Kid’s body. There was a muffled explosion. The Kid jolted violently. His mouth popped open as his eyes spread wide, and then he buckled.

  Red, tearing the weapon from the Kid’s grasp, shoved the limp body at the confused milling in front of him and stepped back. The dead outlaw fell upon one body, slid off, and come to rest across the still-conscious Dallman.

  An abrupt hush, broken only by the harsh wheezing of the men sucking for wind, settled over the room. Smoke drifted lazily about, the odor sharpened by the smell of the Kid’s smoldering shirt, set on fire by the closeness of the gunshot.

  The outlaws, faced by Starbuck on one side, Red on the other, cowed by the sudden death of the Kid, settled back, their hard eyes staring up into the muzzles of the pistols pointed at them.

  “Anybody else got a notion?” the redhead asked softly.

  There was no response. Shawn, worried not only about the gunshot but Dolly’s piercing scream as well, backed to the door. With his free hand he opened it a narrow distance and looked out into the clearing. There was no one on the hard-pack. Evidently both sounds had gone unnoticed.

  Closing the door, he centered his eyes on the outlaws. “On your bellies—quick!” he ordered, and as the men began to comply, he shifted his attention to the women. “Get that money collected—every dime of it. Put it in that flour sack.”

  Jenny came forward at once and began to pick up the scattered currency and coins. Dolly, pressed flat against the wall, did not move. Shawn shook his head at her in warning.

  “Don’t yell again—unless you want to get hurt.”

  She only stared at him from round, shocked eyes. Evidently she had never before been in such proximity to violence and death. He turned then to assist Red, working steadily at binding the wrists of the outlaws behind their backs and connecting them to a loop of rope encircling their ankles.

  With the two of them at it, the task was finished quickly. Starbuck jerked a rag from a hook on the wall near the stove and began to rip it into strips for gags. An urgency to complete what must be done and be gone was pushing at him relentlessly; someone, an old trail acquaintance perhaps, could appear at the door at any moment,
dropping by for a drink and to pass the time. If such occurred, he and Red would be forced to fight their way out, for the visitor would certainly sound an alarm before they could stop him.

  Tossing half the strips to the redhead, Shawn began to apply those he had to the muttering, cursing outlaws, taking no pains to be gentle, only be thorough. When it was finished, he straightened up and faced Jenny. Wordless, she handed him the sack.

  “That all of it?”

  She nodded. He glanced about the room, tucked the sack inside his shirt. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, motioning toward the rear door where Red waited.

  Jenny stepped hurriedly over the prone figures of the outlaws. Dolly remained rigid against the wall. Starbuck reached for her.

  “No time to waste—”

  She drew away. “I’m not going with you—not back there. I’ve had all of McGraw and that place that I want.”

  Starbuck swore under his breath. Leaning over, he snatched up a piece of rope. “Suit yourself—I won’t force you, but you’ll have to be trussed up same as the others.”

  The woman shook her head. “No, you won’t need to. I’ll keep quiet—I’ll wait until you’re gone—”

  “The hell she will,” Jenny said blandly. “We won’t get out of the door before she’ll start yelling.”

  Shawn reached for Dolly’s arm and pulled her to the floor with the outlaws. Working swiftly, he secured her wrists and ankles and pulled a strip of the rag tight over her lips. Then, with her burning eyes following him, he crossed to the door where Red and Jenny had paused.

  “Let me have a look first,” he said.

  Drawing in the slab panel carefully, he glanced along the rear of the shacks and Brady’s larger building. The area was deserted. Stepping out, he beckoned to Jenny and the redhead and, bent low, led the way at a run to the brush at the lower end of the cleared ground.

  The hardpack fronting the structures was also deserted. They hurried on, crossed over and circled around behind the old barn to where the horses waited. At that moment a shout went up from somewhere near the saloon. Shawn wheeled, ran the dozen steps necessary to reach the forward wall of the abandoned stable, and threw his glance to Brady’s place.

  In the pale flare of the weak lamplight two men had come into the street. Both were staggering from the load of liquor they had consumed, adding to that unsteadiness with periodic gulps from the bottles each held by the neck in his hand. Laughing, shouting, they moved off slowly along the shacks, pointing for those at the lower end.

  Starbuck wheeled at once, returned to Red and the girl. Reaching into his shirt, he obtained the sack of money and passed it to the husky rider.

  “Take this—her, too,” he said, jerking his head at Jenny. “Light out for Babylon.”

  The redhead jammed the flour sack into a pocket of his saddlebags. Swinging onto the saddle, he reached down, took Jenny’s hand, and with Shawn’s help, lifted her into place behind him. Only then did he speak.

  “What’s the trouble?”

  “Two drunks—headed for Dallman’s maybe. I want you gone if that’s what they’ve got in mind.”

  “What about you?”

  “I aim to be right behind you. If they find Hake and the others and set up a yell, I want to be able to stall them.”

  “We’ve got a little spare time. It’ll take them a few minutes to get horses.”

  “I’m counting on that—but you’re carrying double ... I don’t want to press things too close.”

  Red nodded. “Are you going to wait here?”

  “No use in that. I’ll pull out with you—then drop back so’s I can watch.”

  Shawn turned to his horse, went to the saddle. At once Red spurred away and, with Starbuck close behind, began a wide circle of the camp. They reached the far side with no warning cry rising from the shacks and drew to a halt. Shawn pulled to a small rise from which he could look down at the settlement.

  “Expect it’ll be smart for me to stall around here for a bit while you go on. If they start to follow, I’ll sucker them off into the wrong direction. Just don’t think they’re going to give up that twenty thousand dollars without a fight.”

  “No sign of that so far,” Red said. “And them two should’ve reached Dallman’s shack by now.”

  “Looks like we’re running in luck,” Starbuck admitted, “but I aim to play it safe.”

  Jenny, silent since they left the shack, shook her head, smiled. “Bart sure knew what he was doing when he hired you. Pity is, you’re too dumb to know what it’s all about.”

  Shawn stared at the woman. “There something about my job I don’t savvy?”

  She shifted on her perch behind Red. “You was hired to be the marshal, sure, but that ain’t the big reason he hung that star on you. There’s a dozen hanging around the Palace he could have had. But he was looking for somebody special—somebody better’n usual. When he seen you take on Dallman and his bunch, he figured he’d found who he was looking for.”

  Starbuck, arms folded across his chest, eyes narrowed, waited for Jenny to continue.

  “He’s not wanting you just to keep things peaceful in the Palace. Your main job is to protect McGraw—he’s holed up right now. There’s somebody out to kill him, and you’ve been picked to stand in front of him, keep him alive!”

  A faint yell drifted up from Brewer’s Flat. Shawn wheeled and threw his glance down the long slope to the collection of shacks. A half a dozen dimly outlined figures were running toward Dallman’s house. Without turning, he jerked his head at Red.

  “Move out!” he said in a tight voice. “I’ll catch up later.”

  Eleven

  Starbuck waited until Red and Jenny had disappeared into the pale night, then, with the girl’s words still running through his mind, cut away and rode down the slope to where he had a better view of the camp.

  Quite a few men had gathered in the lamplight flare fronting Buffalo Brady’s saloon. The distance was too great to be certain, but Starbuck thought he could distinguish Hake Dallman in the crowd; he was not sure, however.

  The outlaws milled about and conversed for a time, seemingly undecided as to what course they should follow. Apparently a decision was finally made that pursuit was useless since so much time had elapsed, and the entire group swung about and entered the saloon.

  Starbuck shrugged in relief. There would be no trouble for the rest of that night. That Dallman would wait and seek his revenge another time when conditions were more favorable was a foregone conclusion, but that was an emergency best considered when it presented itself.

  Wheeling about, Shawn struck for Babylon, Jenny’s words still occupying his thoughts and building anger within him with each passing mile.

  He rode into the settlement well before dawn. The Palace blazed with lights; that, coupled with a continuing rumble of sound, gave indication that activities were in full swing. Going direct to the stable, he turned the weary sorrel over to a sleepy hostler and headed back to the gambling hall.

  His features were set to grim angles as he walked through the doorway. A few shouts of welcome greeted him. He acknowledged them with a slight nod and continued on to the casino area. Halting there, he glanced over the restless crowd, settled his attention finally on one of the dealers standing nearby.

  “Where’s Fisher?”

  The man jerked a thumb at the red door in the rear of the sprawling room. “Office.”

  Starbuck spun on a heel, crossed to the panel, and entered. Fisher, sitting at a desk, glanced up, frowning at the precipitous entry. His eyes held for a brief time, and then he nodded.

  “Glad to see you’re back.”

  Shawn waited out a few moments. When the information he expected was not forthcoming, he said, “Red get here with your money?”

  “About an hour ago. What happened to the other girl?”

  “She said she didn’t want to come back.”

  The gambler leaned back in his chair. “You could have brought her anyway
. We’ve sunk a lot of money into finding these women and bringing them here. Big investment.”

  Temper flared through Starbuck. “The hell with your investment! And as far as forcing her was concerned, we didn’t have time to argue. I figured it was the money you were most interested in.”

  Thoughtfully, Bart Fisher drummed on the top of the desk with his finger tips. Finally he shrugged. “Guess it’s just as well. Dolly was trouble. Not the first time she’d tried ... There anything else?”

  Starbuck’s head bobbed sharply. “Yeah, a little something you forgot to mention when you hired me.”

  A coldness came into the gambler’s eyes. “Go on.”

  “Jenny tells me my main job around here is to keep your partner alive—that some gunslinger’s looking to kill him. That true?”

  The gambler studied Shawn for a long minute. “Yes, it is.”

  Anger flared through Starbuck. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about it at the start?”

  “Easy. I was afraid you’d turn down my offer.”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference,” Shawn snapped. “Keeping me in the dark is a good way to get me killed! I haven’t been looking for anybody in particular. Do you know who it is?”

  Fisher frowned. “You mean this doesn’t change anything?”

  Starbuck stirred impatiently. “Nothing. Just that it riles me to be led off on a snipe hunt. A man needs to know what he’s up against so’s he can be ready.”

  Bart Fisher relaxed gently. “I’m asking your pardon, Starbuck. I’m not used to dealing with your kind, and I’m hoping you’ll overlook it and stay with us.”

  “I’m giving it some thought ... Where’s McGraw? I was told he’d holed up somewhere.”

  “Jenny tell you that, too?”

  “She did.”

  Fisher’s jaw hardened. “It seems she did quite a bit of running off at the mouth ... It’s true. Been hiding out ever since we got word that somebody was coming to kill him. I sent word to him yesterday morning—he’s in Dodge—that I had a good man on the job now and that it’d be safe to come back. I expect he’ll be here by to night.”