The Black Horse Westerns

by Abe Dancer

  Cole rode to high ground where he could, searching for sign of Quinlan, and it wasn’t long before he saw a dust cloud that brought him standing up in the stirrups. It was coming in from the right direction, maybe slightly north, but by now Quinlan would have seen their dust and swung around to follow and check it out.

  Cole rode back to the buckboard, coming up on the driving side. Mattie read his face, stiffened, and looked past him. She sucked in a sharp breath.

  ‘Are those the men?’

  ‘’Fraid so, Mattie. We left it a mite late. The boys better get in the back, you too. You can handle the reins from the tray if you crouch down.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve done it before.’ At his quizzical glance she smiled. ‘I grew up in Comanche country, in a sod hut. Several sod huts. We had to abandon them from time to time and twice I recall we had to outrun renegade bucks.’

  ‘Don’t want a job as deputy, do you?’

  She laughed and slowed the team while the boys clambered into the back. Then she handed the reins to Sam while she followed. She knelt down, the reins running over the back of the driving seat now as she experimented to make sure she could give the signals to the team smoothly.

  Winston huddled down lower; he was a man who always looked out for Number One. The boys were excited and just a little afraid. Neither wanted to show fear in front of the other, but their smiles were fixed.

  Guns started banging. Just faint whipcracks at first, the bullets puffing dust well behind the buckboard. Cole unsheathed his Winchester but didn’t return fire yet; he had no ammunition to waste.

  Quinlan was unmistakable with his huge bulk, forking a big palomino, the rifle like a toy in his hands. Red Carlin rode a few yards to Quinlan’s left, while Smoky Hill was at about the same distance to the right.

  Cole could guess Quinlan’s strategy: they would fire into the buckboard from the three different positions, likely trying for the team. Just downing one horse would be enough to wreck the buckboard – and, of course, they figured Cole would haul rein and ride back to help.

  Then he would be the target for the three rifles.

  So Cole angled away from the buckboard, trying to draw Quinlan’s fire, but the big man made no attempt to go after him or even direct the guns towards the sheriff.

  ‘You son of a bitch!’ Cole murmured, swinging back towards the racing vehicle. ‘Make targets out of women and kids!’

  Quinlan knew Cole, knew the man wouldn’t abandon the woman and boys, and also wouldn’t want them harmed. Quinlan and his men were closing in on the vehicle now and splinters flew from the sides. Winston yelled. The boys lay flat, trying to press their small bodies into the rough planks. Mattie stretched out, driving more or less blindly now, but if she stayed on her knees, she would be too easy a target.

  She guessed Quinlan would use her to draw Cole into his trap. There was little she could do about it, and she was worried the boys were in danger from the flying lead. Winston could take his chances, but the boys’ safety concerned her.

  Cole took the reins in his teeth, threw the rifle to his shoulder and quickly beaded Red Carlin, the closest rider. The gun jumped as he squeezed off his shot and a moment later, Red tumbled from the saddle.

  In that brief passage of time Quinlan and Smoky Hill had closed in. Smoky was almost close enough now to leap from his saddle into the rear of the clattering, bouncing vehicle. He was poised to try and Cole, busy dodging bullets from Quinlan’s rifle, couldn’t get a bead on Hill. Then Sammy and Donny rose up and began throwing something at the killer. Smoky lifted his arms, dodging as well as he could, then three large potatoes and a cabbage hit him. He yelled as he tumbled out of the saddle. He bounced and screamed as he skidded in under the back wheels.

  The buckboard bounced wildly and Mattie cried out as she was flung into Winston, almost losing her grip on the reins. He kicked at her but Sam had another cabbage in his fist now and slammed it down into Winston’s face, screwing and pushing. The leaves tore loose, Winston started choking.

  By then Mattie had control again.

  Quinlan was too big and awkward to make the leap across but he bared his teeth, throwing a wild glance at the racing black with Cole lifting his rifle again, before aiming his own gun at the woman.

  Cole drove home the spurs into the black’s flanks.

  In two mighty, whickering leaps the big horse smashed into Quinlan’s palomino and both mounts went down, all a-tangle, throwing the riders.

  Cole rolled maybe a dozen times, losing the rifle, digging in his boot heels in an attempt to slow his slide. Quinlan was rolling, too, but his large bulk didn’t slide so far and he spun onto his side, teeth bared white against his jet-black beard, as he brought up his Colt.

  He fired twice and stones leapt against Cole’s face as he kicked away, spun and came up to one knee. Quinlan’s six-gun swung around towards him, but it was Cole’s Colt that blasted three fast shots. The lead knocked Quinlan flat but he tried to rise on his elbow, even though already choking on blood from a neck wound. He brought his gun up, holding it awkwardly in both his huge hands, eyes crazy and bulging with hate.

  But the effort was just too much and he fell back, dead.

  Linus Charlton knew something had gone wrong.

  The ransom should have been paid over by now and young Donny returned. He didn’t want any real harm to come to the boy but he couldn’t help feeling pleased at the fright the kid would have had. He hoped Quinlan and the others hadn’t been too tough with him.

  But it was important that the ransom was paid over quickly – that was his masterstroke.

  For weeks he had sweated and felt his ulcer burning holes in his stomach over the debt he owed Brack Devlin – via Mannering, curse his hide! If he had realized that Mannering at the Delta was part of Devlin’s group he would never have turned a card or thrown a dice … No – he would have, just the same. When the gambling fever gripped him, he would have bet his own mother’s wedding ring if there was just that slim chance of his luck turning….

  He was lucky in one way, being president of the local bank, but in another it caused him more worry than he had ever known in his life before.

  ‘We gave you all that credit, Linus, because you run the bank, you damn fool!’ Mannering had told him.

  As soon as the words were spoken, Linus felt sick and faint. ‘The – the bank has nothing to do with it!’

  ‘You think not? You think you have such a winnning personality – combined with a losing streak – that I would extend you all that credit? Wake up, Linus! You owe money, a lot of money, and you run the local bank. Doesn’t that set ideas running around in that porridge you use for brains?’

  He almost did faint then. ‘No! It – it’s ridiculous! I can’t use the bank’s money! It’s – it’s more than my job is worth.’

  Mannering had looked at him bleakly. ‘Wrong, Linus. It could be more than your life is worth.’

  It was only a matter of time, of course. Pressure, relentless pressure – the threat of losing his house, his job, Bess – and he was driven into the hell of embezzlement.

  Surprisingly, after the first time – and doing it successfully – it became easier. Twice more, and then the amount he had stolen from the bank reached 5,000 dollars.

  He almost died of fright; it was such a large amount to account for that the first audit, due in a month or so, would pick it up almost immediately.

  That was when Mannering informed him that he actually owed the money to Brack Devlin’s group. A few days later Quick Quinlan arrived, and when he left Linus was nursing two broken fingers, with the promise that they were only the beginning.

  They gave him a week to come up with the money, or find some way to get it. They were demanding 10,000 dollars! Some stupid talk about high expenses and interest on the principal. As if he couldn’t see it was straight-out robbery, with him cast as the robber!

  But his life was worth more than 20,000 dollars, which was a combination of his gambling debt (15,000
by now) and what he had embezzled. And that money had to be paid back into the bank’s records immediately!

  Then, after yet another clash with that blasted kid, and Bess, as usual, taking Donny’s side, Linus had the bitter thought: I wish he’d have an accident – or someone would abduct the little swine….

  That was when the magnificent idea had struck him, fully formed, no less!

  Arrange a kidnapping, demand a ransom – enough to cover the gambling debt and the embezzled money – and all his worries would be over.

  The biggest problem would be getting the ransom together. How could he do it? The bank might lend him the money because of his service and position, but there would be close scrutiny of his personal accounts and spending and … No, that was out; his embezzlement would soon be discovered.

  If he forgot about approaching the bank, that only left Bess and her inheritance. But brother-in-law Carl was the problem there. Tight-fisted, dollar signs where his heart should be.

  But, at who knew what cost to his health, he had eventually persuaded Bess to prevail upon Carl to allow her access to the trust fund. After all, Donny was Carl’s nephew.

  Devlin was agreeable, and that told Linus that the idea must have merit; Devlin was too smart to get involved in anything that could easily go wrong.

  He had it all worked out: get the money together, 20,000 dollars, which would allow him to pay off Devlin and put the embezzled money back. Then, write a series of ransom notes, and….

  But who would pay the money over? Not Linus! Oh, no, he couldn’t get involved in that part, but there was Sheriff Cole! A friend, a man handy with a gun in case of unforeseen trouble….

  That was the answer and, thankfully, Cole had agreed to do the job. A tough man, but still a soft touch in some ways.

  But why hadn’t it worked? He was certain something must have gone wrong. There should have been word by now, and the boy should have been returned. He should have been notified and….

  With trembling hand, he reached for the whiskey bottle, surprised to see how little remained. How many bottles did that make since this horror had started? What did it matter? He drank it down straight from the neck, jumped when his office door opened and Sheriff Cole strode in, closing the door behind him.

  One look at the lawman’s face and Linus knew it was all over.

  But he had to brazen it out; there was no other way, and anyway, while he protested his innocence, he might find a solution that would let him off the hook. After all, Cole was a friend, wasn’t he, not just a lawman who went blindly by the book…?

  And he was a man of honour. Linus had played upon this trait, taken advantage of it, and he would again if he could just find a way to do it.

  ‘What news, Cole?’ he rasped, aware that his voice was shaky and that he still held the whiskey bottle by the neck. He gave a fleeting grin, waving the bottle. ‘I – I’ve been worried sick, waiting to hear if everything’s all right. It is all right, isn’t it?’

  Cole dropped into the chair opposite the desk, thumbed back his battered hat, hooked a boot over one leg and took out tobacco sack and papers. He began to make a cigarette.

  ‘Donny’s home safe with your wife, Linus.’

  The banker sighed and his mouth twitched as a laugh of relief wanted to burst out of him. ‘Oh, thank God! You don’t know how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me, Cole. And Donny is safe and sound? They didn’t – harm him?’

  Cole shook his head. ‘No, he’s fine.’

  ‘Good! I admit I don’t like the boy very much, but I wouldn’t’ve wished him any real harm.’

  ‘But you took the risk just the same.’ Cole cupped a hand around the match flame and glanced across at the banker as he lit the cigarette.

  Linus looked grey, sitting stiffly in his chair, frowning now. ‘I don’t understand. I took the risk? What risk are you talking about?’

  ‘You took the risk that Quinlan and the others wouldn’t do Donny any real hurt while the ransom was gathered and paid over.’

  Linus ran a tongue across dry lips and nodded slowly. ‘Well … that couldn’t be helped. I mean, I don’t see how you can think I’m to blame in any way. I had no choice. I was rawhided into finding the ransom money, which I did – as fast as possible. Yes, I suppose, in a way, I did take the risk of Donny getting rough treatment, but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it, Cole, you must see that.’

  Cole exhaled smoke. ‘There would have been no risk at all if you hadn’t arranged Donny’s kidnapping in the first place, Linus.’

  The banker was very still now, eyes almost glazed as he stared unseeingly across his office. It seemed a long time before his gaze focused on Cole’s sober face.

  ‘I … don’t believe I heard you aright, Cole. I arranged Donny’s kidnapping?’ He stood, outraged. ‘In the name of God, what’re you saying?’

  ‘Sit down, Linus. It’s all over now. Almost all over, I guess, is what I mean. It could’ve worked, but Devlin’s men made a mistake. They didn’t have a good description of Donny, and identified him by his tow-coloured hair, but mostly by the jacket he was wearing. Only he’d given it to Sammy Bale after he fell in the river.’

  Linus, frowning and trying not to show the trembling that now possessed him, sat down slowly, staring.

  ‘Are you saying … do you mean Sammy Bale was abducted istead of Donny?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  Linus blinked. ‘Well, what … The ransom … They wouldn’t’ve known they had the wrong boy: They’d have believed they had Donny, just taken the ransom and….’

  His words faded slowly as Cole began to shake his head. Linus slumped.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said with sudden resignation.

  So Cole told him.

  Tears squeezed from Linus Charlton’s eyes and rolled down his fat cheeks – no longer pink and healthy looking, but now resembling the gaunt face found on a day-old corpse.

  Cole smoked his cigarette down, thumbed it out in the metal ashtray on the desk.

  The banker remained silent, looking down at his finger-locked hands in his lap. Slowly, his haunted eyes lifted to Cole’s face and his voice seemed considerably steadier and stronger.

  ‘You killed Quinlan?’

  ‘A bullet was too quick for that son of a bitch, but, yeah, he’s dead now. So are some others who worked for Devlin.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘I’ll ride down and see him. I reckon there’re a few charges I can hang on him.’

  Linus scoffed. ‘Not with the lawyers he’ll hire.’

  ‘Then I’ll burn down his saloon … casino, or whatever he likes to call it.’

  ‘You – you’d do that?’

  ‘Not for you, Linus. But because it’s time someone put a stop to Devlin, one way or another.’

  ‘Yes – well, I believe you’re probably the only man who could do it, Cole. I suppose Bess knows everything?’

  ‘I didn’t tell her.’

  Linus smiled ruefully. ‘That damn Donny will! Funny thing is, I believe I’m more afraid of Bess than – the bank or even the law.’

  ‘She did say she’d be going to California, and probably staying there.’

  The banker almost laughed. ‘And just how would she leave me? She’s mighty vindictive, Cole. She’ll leave my life in utter ruins before she goes, you mark my words. She’ll have me humiliated, made a figure of fun and shame….’

  Cole realized that Linus was probably right and he felt a surge of sympathy for the banker.

  ‘You’ve been a damn fool, Linus.’

  The banker sighed, sat back and spread his hands. He looked at them; the trembling had stopped

  ‘Yes, I have. And I only have myself to blame.’

  Cole stood. ‘I won’t do you the indignity of putting the manacles on you, Linus, but I want you to come with me. Now.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He started to open a desk drawer, saying, ‘I’ll just get a few things and—’
/>   Cole dropped a hand to his gun butt. ‘Let’s just go, Linus. Get your coat and hat and we’ll stroll on down to the law office, just as we’ve done fifty times in the past. No one needs to know anything’s wrong at this stage.’

  ‘Thanks, Cole. You’re – considerate.’

  The banker went to a closet, put on his grey coat and took down his hat, setting it squarely on his head.

  ‘Do I look my usual smug self?’ he asked with a sad smile.

  ‘You look OK.’

  Cole held the office door open and Linus pushed past him, pausing to glance around at the clerks working at their desks and behind the counters. He nodded curtly to himself as Cole closed the door.

  ‘One more favour, Cole…?’

  ‘Don’t push it, Linus.’

  The banker smiled. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it. Look, I know I have to face Bess. I’ve got just one shot of whiskey left in my desk bottle. Let me take that one more slug, and then I’ll be ready to – to face the music.’

  Cole studied his face soberly. Linus met his gaze and smiled faintly.

  ‘For old times’ sake, Cole….’

  A brief hesitation, then the sheriff nodded. ‘OK. Don’t take too long.’

  ‘No. I won’t keep you waiting. Promise.’

  He opened the office door and went in quickly, closing the door after him.

  Cole leaned his wide shoulders against the office wall, thinking of Bess Charlton and her utter vindictiveness.

  What the hell did people, men or women, get out of making life so miserable for so many others? he wondered.

  Through the wall, he heard a desk drawer open and, at the same time, remembered seeing the whiskey bottle on Linus’s desk.

  It had been empty!

  He lunged for the door and had it part-way open when the pistol shot cracked against his ears.

  He was just in time to see Linus falling forward across his desk, the small, pearl-handled derringer dropping from his lifeless fingers.

  Cole was behind his own desk, struggling to make out his report for the records, when there was a soft knock on the street door a moment before it opened.