The Black Horse Westerns

by Abe Dancer

  Three men were pacing into the firelight. Jim recognized two of them as being from the group who had tried to overcome them back on the trail. He glanced at his gun, but it was twenty yards away and all three men had already drawn their guns.

  ‘Obliged that you made all that noise to tell us where you were,’ the lead man said, ‘or we might just have headed on by.’

  CHAPTER 12

  ‘Have you seen this before?’ Sheriff Price asked, fingering the length of metal that hadn’t been far from his hand since he’d found it last night.

  Billy looked up from his cot to consider the gleaming object through the bars.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he murmured, then returned to staring at his feet.

  Price gripped a bar with one hand and waved the metal with the other.

  ‘Think!’ he urged.

  Billy must have caught Price’s change of tone, for he swung his legs down from his cot and looked at the metal more closely.

  ‘Orson used it to move those letter blocks into the right positions. He didn’t trust me to do it, but he often held it. Is it important?’

  ‘Was he holding it when he got shot? Did he drop it?’ Price took a deep breath before he asked the question that had resonated in his mind since last night. ‘Did you pick it up?’

  Billy narrowed his eyes, then got to his feet and paced across the cell to face Price. He considered him, his head cocked to one side, sizing him up. Then he closed his eyes and kneaded his forehead, appearing as if he was concentrating. When he opened his eyes he shook his head.

  ‘I could lie and say I heard someone behind me in the office and I was holding that, but I have to stick to the truth. That’s what my pa said I should do, and I will.’

  ‘But can you remember Orson holding it on the day he died?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Billy frowned, then returned to his cot where he sat and turned round to face Price. ‘He was working on an important article so I kept out of his way.’

  ‘What article?’ Price asked, an inkling of an idea coming to him.

  ‘I don’t know, but I do know he was using that and I do know I wasn’t holding a gun.’

  ‘I believe you.’

  ‘Enough to free me?’

  ‘I’m not so sure about—’

  ‘He will,’ a clear voice uttered from the doorway behind him.

  Price turned on his heel, his heart beating faster at the thought of being discovered discussing such a risky subject, but found that he faced Isaiah Jones.

  ‘You were listening?’ he asked, lost for anything else to say.

  ‘To you and to everyone else in town. And I now know what’s going on in White Ridge.’ Isaiah smiled. ‘And what you’re thinking is right. You should free Billy right away.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Price murmured. ‘I need Nixon’s permission to do that.’

  ‘Then get it,’ Isaiah said. He paced into the law office, letting Price see that he had a roll of posters under his arm. ‘I’ve heard that Jim McGuire and Barney Dale should arrive in White Ridge soon, one way or the other. Then the quest to bring the real killer to justice will begin.’

  ‘But how can I prove anything? Knowing that Billy is innocent is one thing, proving who is guilty is another. There’s no evidence, nothing to go on other than suspicions.’

  Isaiah came across the office, then peeled off the outermost poster from beneath his arm. He held it out.

  ‘Would it help if Orson Brown wrote out the name of his murderer before he died?’

  ‘He didn’t do that. I saw him die and he wasn’t doing no writing.’

  ‘I don’t mean he revealed the name of the man who murdered him. I mean he was murdered because he revealed that name.’

  Price took the offered paper and opened it out. Presented to him was a fragmented jumble of printed letters. Some formed themselves into completed words and some sense was probably in there if he were to stare at it hard enough, but to save time he looked up at Isaiah.

  ‘Where? What is this?’

  ‘It’s the reason he died. For eight years Orson Brown supported Mayor Nixon, but his conscience plagued him. On the eve of the election campaign he planned to publish an article exposing everything Nixon had done.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Price cried, pleased that he’d already suspected that that was the case. ‘Billy told me he was working on something important, something that had made him jumpy.’

  ‘So he had to die. Afterwards, the text he’d put together got obliterated, but it looks like a jumble anyhow and whoever destroyed it wasn’t careful enough to finish the job. When I printed off what remained, some of its original content survived.’

  Isaiah pointed and with his help Price was able to make out words in a line of abbreviated text appearing about halfway down the page.

  ‘Funds,’ he read, ‘… something, then … have then misapp … misappr….’

  ‘Misappropriated.’ Isaiah smiled when Price furrowed his brow. ‘Stolen if you prefer.’

  Now finding it easier to make sense of the jumble, Price carried on.

  ‘Town … eight years … fear and … and … murder … Overton … and Mayor Jake Nixon.’ Price received an encouraging nod from Isaiah and now that he’d worked out that Nixon’s name was there he saw that parts of his name were all over the page. ‘Have you worked out the whole story?’

  ‘No, but I’ve worked out enough to decide it was an article that would ruin Nixon.’

  ‘And so he killed Orson, or had him killed?’

  ‘I am just a candidate for mayor. You are the lawman. That is for you to work out.’

  Price gulped. ‘So what should I do?’

  ‘I would have thought it was obvious. First, you need to collect the evidence of the original text from Orson’s cupboard and bring it here for safekeeping. Then you need to decide whether it is significant enough to make an arrest. Then you need to make that arrest.’ Isaiah slapped him on the shoulder. ‘But whatever you do, I have every confidence in you.’

  ‘And what will you be doing while I get myself killed?’

  ‘I believe others should see this information and reach their own conclusions.’ Isaiah patted the roll of paper beneath his arm. ‘I ran off enough copies to post up everywhere around town.’

  ‘A heap of trouble sure is heading our way,’ Price murmured.

  With that resigned comment he headed to the door. When he got there he stopped to take what he hoped would not be his last look around the office. Isaiah had the key to the cells and was approaching Billy’s cell.

  ‘You really going to free me?’ Billy asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Isaiah said, putting the key in the lock. ‘And while we wait for Sheriff Price to do his duty we can have ourselves a little talk.’

  ‘About what?’

  Isaiah threw open the cell door as Price left the office.

  ‘I’d like to talk,’ he said, ‘about Jim McGuire.’

  ‘So, Barney,’ Jim demanded, ‘when will you and your famous mouth start talking our way out this?’

  Barney glared back at him. ‘Be quiet or I’ll only speak for myself and leave you here to get shot up.’

  ‘Do that and I’ll track you down and—’

  ‘Be quiet!’ a strident voice barked out.

  One of their two captors came over to stand before them. He waited until they’d both quietened, then gestured at the other man to check their bonds. His rough tugging on their ropes removed most of their willingness to argue and once they’d been left alone they opted for sullen silence.

  Daylight had now come and both men had spent an uncomfortable and largely sleepless night, trussed up at the wrists and ankles with heavy coils of rope. Jim had noted that the three men who had accosted them had taken part in the failed ambush further upriver.

  During the night one of their number had left, but the reduction in the number of people guarding them gave Jim no comfort as he presumed he had gone in search of Pike. As the morning wore on, their captors’ frequen
t glancing around and muttered conversations confirmed this.

  The sun had poked above the ridge when their captors started acting in an animated manner while looking upriver. Jim tensed, hoping that if someone was coming it might distract them and let him escape. But one man kept an eye on them at all times while the other moved out of sight to shout out a barking cry.

  The returning holler came from Pike and removed Jim’s last shred of hope. He glanced at Barney who hunched further into himself as he awaited the inevitable.

  When Pike came into view he dismounted, then took in the forlorn sight of the burnt-up pile of bills before he paced over to stand before them.

  ‘You did well,’ he said to their captors. ‘For your trouble take any money that didn’t get burnt.’

  ‘Obliged. What do we do with them?’

  Pike looked at each prisoner in turn and gave a sneering shrug.

  ‘I have no use for either man. Kill them, then throw the bodies in the river.’ Pike turned to leave, letting their guard pace in and draw his gun, confirming that there would be no change of heart.

  Jim darted his gaze to the river, then up the ravine slope, hoping he might see some chance for a distraction, but saw nothing. He struggled, but his bonds were as tight as they had ever been, so he raised his chin, determined to die sitting as tall as he could.

  Barney showed no such fortitude.

  ‘Wait!’ he screeched.

  The guard ignored him and levelled his gun on him.

  ‘Everyone, wait!’ Barney called out again. ‘You need to hear this.’

  This did make the guard glance at Pike for instructions. Pike paced to a halt then slowly turned.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Tell me what I need to hear before you die.’

  Barney took a deep breath, composing himself for what would be an important statement.

  ‘I’m more valuable to you alive than dead,’ he said.

  ‘How?’ Pike demanded in a clipped tone that showed he was in no mood to listen to any half-baked pleas for clemency or obvious delaying tactics.

  ‘Killing me won’t still any rumours, but if I’m alive I can tell everyone what I saw.’ Barney widened his eyes. ‘And that can be whatever Nixon tells me to say. There must be someone he wants to get rid of.’

  Pike nodded slowly. ‘That’s an interesting idea. I’ll think about it while we’re disposing of Jim’s body.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Barney urged, as the guard turned his gun on to Jim. ‘He’s valuable too, but in a whole different way. He has money. That’s why Sherman Donner wanted his backing, but I’m sure Nixon could have it instead.’

  Jim sighed in exasperation. He’d lost count of the number of men he’d tracked down who, when they were staring down the barrel of his gun, had remembered they had a buried stash of money. It had never helped any of them and he didn’t believe Pike was gullible enough to believe this tale either.

  Sure enough Pike narrowed his eyes with scepticism, but there was also a suggestion from his lengthy pause before he replied that he might be seriously considering the bait.

  ‘I find it odd,’ he said, his tone sarcastic, ‘that you came up with a reason why neither of you should die when you’re sitting on the wrong end of a gun. I have my orders. You’ll both die.’

  ‘Don’t!’ Barney screeched, losing his calm manner for the second time. ‘That’s the problem for you, ain’t it?’

  ‘What problem?’ Pike snapped.

  ‘That you take orders. Men who only take orders are doomed to get nothing more than the pay their master gives them. All that ever happens to them is they end up dead like Hyde did. Men who can think, who can show they’re more useful than the gun they wield, can achieve so much more.’

  ‘Nixon likes people who follow orders.’

  ‘Then follow them and never get anything from the set-up in White Ridge, until you end up dead and forgotten like Hyde.’

  For long moments Pike considered Barney, then gave a nod.

  ‘I’ll take you two to Nixon and he can decide your fate.’ He pointed a firm finger at Barney. ‘But give me one moment’s trouble and I’ll risk following orders.’

  ‘Much obliged.’ Barney held out his hands. ‘And cutting through these would show your good faith.’

  As Pike snorted his breath and advanced a pace on Barney, Jim sighed in exasperation.

  ‘Barney,’ he urged from the corner of his mouth, ‘be quiet.’

  ‘I see no need,’ Barney said, smiling at Pike. ‘We’ve established we’re on the same side. You can keep Jim tied up if you want but I’m no gunslinger. I’ll be no trouble, no trouble at all.’

  ‘You’ve been plenty all ready,’ Pike grunted.

  ‘Not as much as I will be when Nixon finds out that you’ve mistreated a valuable ally. With Jim’s money and my—’

  ‘I ain’t listening,’ Pike said. He grabbed Barney’s collar and yanked him to his feet.

  ‘You should. If you want to become more than you are right now, you should learn to think about—’

  ‘Be quiet!’ Pike demanded, tugging Barney a few inches higher. ‘I’ve never known anyone to talk so much for so little reason.’

  ‘People have told me that I talk too much, I agree, but I prefer to say that I—’

  An aggrieved roar tore from Pike’s lips and with a round-armed slug he hammered Barney’s jaw, sending him reeling. Barney came to a halt on his side, then tried to get to his feet, but Pike was already on him. He hoisted Barney up again and thumped him in the guts, making him fold. Then he yanked him upright and punched him a third time.

  ‘Had enough?’ Pike asked with his fist drawn back.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re hitting me,’ Barney whined. ‘I was just trying to explain that—’

  ‘Because,’ Pike roared, punctuating every word with another punch that sent Barney stumbling backwards, ‘you talk too damn much.’

  His final punch sent Barney spinning into the saddlebags the guards had piled up, giving him a soft landing. Despite that he lay, gasping for breath, until Pike went over and kicked him in the side.

  ‘Had enough?’ he asked.

  Barney made an obvious show of clamping his lips together while nodding.

  ‘Then that lesson was worth giving,’ Pike said. ‘Any more talk from you and I’ll batter you from here to White Ridge and let Nixon pick over whatever remains, understood?’

  Pike waited until Barney gave another silent nod, then he left. The guard dragged Barney to his feet and marched him over to Jim. He threw him to the ground and the battered Barney could do nothing to stay his fall. He tumbled heavily against Jim and lay propped against him, moaning.

  Jim waited until he was sure that Pike wouldn’t change his mind and that the guards had returned to their steady patrol before he thanked Barney.

  ‘Your mouth did well there,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Barney murmured, wincing as he shifted position. ‘I talked us out of trouble better than your gun would have done, didn’t I?’

  ‘I guess you did, but you have to learn when to be quiet.’

  ‘Why? I did all right.’

  Barney sat up straighter and the motion pushed something cold and metallic against Jim’s wrist. Jim tensed then looked down to see that clutched in Barney’s hands behind his back was a small knife, something he’d obviously purloined from the saddlebags.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Jim said approvingly, ‘you should carry on talking too much, after all.’

  CHAPTER 13

  Sheriff Price stopped at the back door of the newspaper office. Isaiah hadn’t boarded up the office after he’d printed off the posters and Price slipped inside without difficulty.

  He paced across the room to the cupboard where Orson Brown kept the block of incriminating text, but the door had been broken.

  He looked on the floor then began rummaging, hoping he could find it, then stepped back to survey the scene.

  ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ a voice
demanded from behind him.

  Price swirled round to see Mayor Nixon standing in the doorway. Nixon glared at Price, then threw a tray of brass letters to the floor where they landed with a crash, scattering the remnants of Brown’s article in all directions.

  Despite the shock of Nixon’s unexpected arrival Price was pleased he didn’t feel as nervous as he’d thought he would be.

  ‘I came here to collect that,’ he said, ‘but it seems you’ve destroyed it.’

  Nixon pointed at the scattered letters. ‘Why would this interest you?’

  ‘Because it could be important evidence in proving who killed Orson Brown.’

  Nixon tutted, then gestured behind him. Deputy Carter walked in to join him. Slowly both men came across the room to stand before Price.

  ‘Now, Price,’ Nixon said with steady menace, ‘didn’t I warn you about what would happen if you continued to pretend you were a lawman? Why haven’t you heeded that warning?’

  ‘Because I am a lawman.’

  Nixon narrowed his eyes as he considered him, but Price met that gaze.

  ‘You sound different today, Price,’ Nixon said. He glanced at Carter, who uttered a surly warning grunt. ‘It’s almost as if you’ve got yourself a backbone. I don’t like it.’

  ‘I haven’t changed. I’m still the man I was eight years ago when I was Sheriff Overton’s deputy. I’ve just been behaving differently for a while, but no longer.’

  The mention of Overton’s name made Nixon snort his breath and when he spoke again all sign of his previous conversational demeanour had gone.

  ‘You’ve gone too far this time, Price.’

  Price smiled. ‘The same as Martin Overton did, and Orson Brown, and Sherman Donner, and perhaps even the same as Ronald Malone, or did he really leave town like you claimed?’

  Nixon’s glare confirmed that his guess was probably correct.

  ‘You’ve been useful to me, Price, so I’ll make this easy for you. You’ll get to die real quick. I’ll even give you a choice of whether it happens here, or we take you out of town.’

  Deputy Carter moved in, meaning to grab his arms but Price took a quick pace backwards and raised a hand.