Spur Giant: Soiled Dove

by Dirk Fletcher

  Spur had tied Faulkner's feet but had left his hands free.

  At ten minutes to eight by Spur's big pocket watch, the door to the back of the saloon opened and two men came out. They talked briefly, then one went back inside.

  The other one looked around. "Faulkner, you idiot, are you out here?"

  "Yes sir, right over this way."

  The shadowy figure came closer and stopped. "Idiot, why are you sitting on that box?"

  "To keep the rats from biting my ankles. You got the money?"

  "Sure, you bring me his ears?"

  "In this paper sack. Sorry, it has a few blood stains on it."

  The small man in the shadows chuckled. "Just so it's Spur McCoy's blood." The figure came forward six feet more and reached up for the sack.

  Spur McCoy stepped around the box and charged, jolting into the man's side and splatter ing him over the dirt in the alley. He skid two feet before he stopped.

  "What?" the small man yelped. Then he was down.

  Spur dropped his 185 pounds on the smaller man and pinned him to the ground. He brought his six-gun up and cocked it next to the man's ear, then pushed the muzzle into the same ear.

  "Who the hell are you?" Spur asked.

  "Just playing a trick on a friend," the man bleated.

  "Some trick. Who told you to hire Faulkner there to gun me down?"

  "McCoy?"

  "In the flesh and mad as hell. You want to keep any teeth or should I knock them all down your throat with the butt of my Colt?"

  "Easy, easy. Let me sit up and we can talk."

  Spur took a leather boot lace from his pocket and tied the small man's hands behind him, then sat him up. Spur struck a match and held it up to the man's face. He'd never seen him before.

  "Who?" Spur asked, moving the Colt's muzzle under the man's chin and pushing it upward until he got a yelp of pain.

  "Easy. Easy. First off, nobody tried to kill you. Told damn idiot Faulkner there to scare you. Just scare you."

  "That why you told him to bring back my ears? Who do you work for?"

  "Nobody. It was just a little scare job. A man said he wanted to scare you. I hire people."

  "Who was the man?"

  "He never said. Paid me in advance. Never saw his face."

  Spur knew a determined man when he met one. Not even a bullet in his thigh would convince this one. He'd done this kind of work dozens of times before and probably been caught at it. He would never give up his employer.

  "Fine, get on your feet. Faulkner, you, too. Jump down here."

  Spur knotted a four-foot long piece of leather bootlace around each man's neck and prodded them down the alley and back to the sheriff's office. He pushed them inside and was surprised to find Sheriff Booth Grimm manning the desk.

  "Short two men tonight," the sheriff said. "What do you have here?"

  A half hour later Spur had it sorted out, complaints filed and the two men jailed on attempted murder and conspiracy to murder. The small man's name was Marty Runyon. The sheriff knew him. Got into trouble now and then, but not much of a problem for the sheriff.

  Spur sat in the sheriff's office trying to sort through the whole thing again. He'd seen everyone in the case except the two sons-in-law of old man Teasdale.

  He looked up their names in the small notebook. Doug Chandler, the wild one, and Nate Emerson, evidently the one who did the work around the ranch.

  "Teasdale's sons-in-law ever come to town?" Spur asked.

  One of the deputies looked up and grinned. "Hell yes, one of them, Doug Chandler, is a regular hell bent and out of control raging bull most nights. We've had to cool him off in a cell more than a dozen times in the past year. He gets wild and crazy when he drinks too much, which is most of the time."

  Spur looked at his watch. He'd lost half the day chasing that damned tail. It was slightly after 9 p.m., early for the saloon trade.

  "Might just do a little Doug fishing tonight," Spur said. "Which saloon is his favorite?"

  "The one he hasn't been thrown out of lately. I'd suggest the Rambling Rose Saloon. It's got the best whiskey, and Doug does like his drink."

  Spur thanked him and left, watched his back on the street and walked well out beyond the boardwalk when he passed an alley. Never could tell how many assassins had been hired. He worked his way to the Rambling Rose without incident and pushed inside.

  It was one of the better drinking parlors in town. No upstairs, no soiled doves, not much gambling, mostly just a place to drink. He bought a mug of draft beer at the bar and found a table near the side.

  The barkeep told him Doug Chandler hadn't been in yet tonight.

  "He usually makes a stop here on his rounds," the apron said. "He's got red cheeks and a whiskey nose you can't miss. Little guy, not much more than five-four, skinny as a winter starved coyote."

  Spur sipped at his brew and watched. He got a deck of cards from a nearby table and laid out a game of seven card solitaire. He lost the first four games. On his second beer he won a game and then another.

  A man pushed through the bat wings and let out a screech that brought everyone's glance up.

  "Eeeeeeeeeeeeehaw... Doug is here and I want a beer!"

  It was signpost enough. The man was five-four, dressed in town clothes and a gambler's red spangled vest. He carried a pearl-handled six-gun on his hip but it was positioned too low and too far to the rear to be much good in a quick draw. The weapon was all for show. Spur wondered if it was even loaded.

  Doug Chandler downed a shot of whiskey in one gulp at the bar and it was obvious that he'd been drinking some before that. He wandered to one of two poker games going and watched for a minute. When the hand ended he pulled up a chair and pushed a roll of greenbacks on the table.

  "Make room, I'm sitting in," Doug said.

  The other five men looked at the stack of bills and nodded. It was a straight money game. No chips.

  Spur moved up and watched. Doug was no good as a poker player. He quickly lost thirty-dollars bidding against a pat hand and growled and pushed back from the table. He motioned to the apron who brought him a bottle of whiskey and a glass, took two dollars from him and went back to the bar.

  Doug Chandler seemed to be riding alone. Spur saw no one who came in with him or soon after wards who paid him any attention. He had two more shot glasses full of whiskey, then pushed the glass and bottle to one side and leaned down on the table on his arms. As he did the glass fell off the table and smashed on the floor. No one paid any attention.

  Spur thought of the close coordination it would take to stage the train robbery, to know which train to have the governor's daughter on, and to get the bonds on the same train. If that's what happened. If it did, Doug Chandler didn't look like the man to coordinate the conspiracy.

  Why would he want to? Oh, he could use the money, but Spur guessed that the $20,000 in bank cash on board had been a happenstance, a serendipity. No way to explain that. The other three elements could have been coordinated, must have been, but was Chandler the man who did the job? Spur voted that he wasn't and finished his beer.

  When Spur left the saloon, Doug Chandler was still sleeping on his arms on top of the small table.

  Spur left the Rambling Rose Saloon and went back to talk to the sheriff. They kicked around several ideas on the train robbery, and were coming to some of the same conclusions.

  "If this whole damn train robbery has something to do with the Teasdale ranch, don't see who would want to mess up a sale like that except the boys," Sheriff Grimm said. "That would mean Doug Chandler, the spoiled, wastrel of a son-in-law. But that's a problem. Never heard tell of that bastard doing anything like work. Setting up a three-way swindle like this would take a lot of planning and leg work."

  "Agreed, Sheriff. But who does that leave? Old Man Teasdale, the other son-in-law, Nate Emer son? Neither likely candidates. So we're down to the bonds."

  "Bearer bonds," the Sheriff said. "Good as cash. What was Gregory Lowell d
oing sending that many in registered mail? Seems strange to me. Hell, he could take a trip to Kansas City and bring them back himself, or get a certified bank draft made out to himself if he wanted to sell them."

  Spur sipped the county coffee and nodded. "Damn strange, especially since the Postal Inspector I talked to said the bonds were registered, but not insured. No postal insurance, I'd guess."

  The sheriff rubbed his jaw. "No postal insurance. What about the Railway Express Company? Did Lowell have any insurance with them? Would they be liable for the goods in their railway express car?"

  "I can damn well find out in a rush," Spur said. "Railway Express window should still be open down at the station."

  He waved at the sheriff, went outside and walked down to the train depot. The window was open that sold tickets and took in express and freight. The man behind the cage looked at Spur's identification and grunted.

  "This about that robbery?"

  "It is. Does the Express Agency insure or guarantee delivery of items sent in your care?"

  The man behind the window began to sweat. "Far as I know there ain't no insurance on items in the Railway Express car. That's all I can say. I got a telegram from the company and they told me not to say anything at all about the robbery. They said they'd send a man over from Atlanta, to look at things and answer questions, but I ain't seen nobody yet."

  Spur nodded. "But it stands to reason that they must guarantee delivery. If something is entrusted to them-"

  "I can't say, really, I just can't say. But it figures. It's logical. The company guarantees delivery. What if the people who owned the goods in the Railway Express car arranged to have it stolen and returned to them. Then they would have the original goods, and would be compensated for their assumed loss by the road or the Railway Express Agency."

  Spur grinned. "Yes, now I'm beginning to get a new slant on this whole thing. Thank you. You've been most helpful."

  "Like I told you, Mr. McCoy. The company told me not to say a word about this to anyone. I never even talked to you, right Mr. McCoy?"

  Spur chuckled. "Now that you mention it, I don't ever remember talking to you. Good night."

  On his way back down the dark street, Spur watched lights coming on and going out around the small town. The yellow glow of coal oil lamps showed in a lot of the houses. Here and there lamps and lanterns lit stores staying open late.

  The saloons were lighted the best. In those that offered gambling, every poker table had one or two lamps on it, and several hung in an arrangement over the bar. Spur was glad he didn't have to light all of them and keep the wicks trimmed and the chimneys washed every day to rid them of the smoke and the ever present soot.

  He was just stepping into a splash of light from the Black Bart Saloon when a man moved toward him and held up his hand.

  "Mr. McCoy, I'd like to have a word with you."

  Spur's right hand had darted to his six-gun but he didn't draw it when he saw no iron in the other hand. He relaxed and saw a well dressed man come into the full light. He was tall and slender in a suit that was not off the local general store rack. An expensive thick gold chain joined the vest pockets, with a gold fob hanging in the center. The man had on town shoes polished until they gleamed even in the faint light from the saloon.

  Spur stopped walking and eyed the man. Seemed safe enough. He nodded. "So talk."

  "Mr. McCoy, I'm up here from Little Rock, and I'd like to have a word or two with you about the Governor's missing daughter. Do you have a moment?"

  "Sure as the sun shines in the morning," Spur said. "This saloon would be the closest spot."

  They went in. Spur brought two bottles of cold beer from the bar to keep and he and the stranger sat down at a table. They sipped the beer and then the man held out his hand.

  "I'm Fiorello Alger, Attorney General of Arkansas, and sometimes messenger for Governor Hellman. I understand that you're with the U.S.Secret Service working on the robbery and kidnapping situation."

  "That's right. So far I have no clues at all to the whereabouts of the governor's daughter."

  "Ah, yes, they have covered their tracks well this time."

  Spur looked up. "You mean something like this has happened before?"

  "Once, a year ago. I never could bring charges, but I'm almost certain that Amy Lowell had a hand in the attempted extortion by means of her own kidnapping."

  "It's been done before. Were payments made?"

  "No, we nipped it before it got that far. But this time it's much different. She's out of the capitol, we've heard from the kidnappers. We're negotiating with them about money."

  "Since you're here that must mean you had some word from Fort Smith."

  "We did, a telegram. It was sent to me at my home, without any office designation. That's probably why the local telegrapher didn't figure out what it was about. I'm sure you've alerted him to bring you a copy of any wires sent to the governor or the state house or other high ranking members of the state cabinet."

  "Something like that. Do you have the wire?"

  The Attorney General reached in his suit coat inside pocket and brought out the yellow papers. Spur opened it and read it.

  "YOUR PRECIOUS GOODS SAFE. 120 POUNDS. COST $250 A POUND. RESPOND AT ONCE. REMEMBER, THESE GOODS PERISHABLE. WIRE MR. WHOLESALE, FORT WORTH, STA TION PICK UP."

  "Mr. McCoy, that's a thirty-thousand dollar ransom note. I'm here to try to catch Mr. Wholesale. I wired that I was considering the price with my committee and would wire our decision by tomorrow. I hope to catch him at the station when he picks up this second wire."

  Spur put down his bottle. "Might not be that easy. He'll have someone else pick up the message. You need to have a signal set up with the telegrapher so you'll know someone is accepting the wire sent to Mr. Wholesaler, even if it's a woman. Then we'll follow the person who picks it up and hope it leads to the kidnapper."

  "Hope it works. We have no idea who it is this time, but we strongly suggest that whoever it is, is acting with the cooperation, if not in league with, Amy Hellman. The girl is an anchor that's dragging down her father's good works."

  "I'll help you all I can. I'm glad for your information. I've been running with a blindfold on concerning most of this case. I have an idea the whole thing is tied together but so far, no solid proof. There's a strong chance the robbers of the Railway Express car are the same ones who set up the kidnapping. How else could the robbers know to go to the passenger car to kidnap Miss Hellman? They must have known she would be on board. The ranch sale and cash and the bank money on board could have been mere chance.

  "I never believe in chance until it's proven. Right now it looks like one big conspiracy. If we can unravel one aspect of it, we should be able to take down the whole thing."

  The Attorney General sat back. "Well now. I heard about the robbery, but didn't tie it in that much with Miss Hellman's abduction. Thinking on it, you're right. It has to be connected. It would be simple enough to know which train she was taking out of Kansas City and when it would be at that spot on the tracks. Yes, yes, we do have a real bucketful of rattlesnakes here, don't we?"

  Spur held out his identification. "Just a formality, but I'd appreciate it if you could show me some identification. I hope I haven't been talking to the wrong man."

  "Not at all. I had already checked you out with Sheriff Grimm. He vouched for you. Only right that I do the same."

  He passed over a printed card with his name and office, as well as a letter signed by the governor on official stationery with the state's seal, all notorized by a notary public. Spur handed them back.

  "You give the culprit any time when the wire would be there?"

  "I told him by noon."

  "You have any men with you?"

  "One, my best man."

  "Good, we can do a three layer shadow. One of us starts following the pickup person, then you follow him and I'll follow you. Each block or so we drop off the lead man and the next one moves up. The subject n
ever sees the same person behind him and doesn't think he's being followed."

  "Should work. How are you coming along on the rest of this case?"

  "Slowly. Not much to go on yet. Still trying to gather facts. I haven't even met one man who may be involved, although it looks doubtful now. I have mostly loose ends and promising suspects."

  "More than I have." The Attorney General finished his beer and put down the bottle. "Let's meet at the far end of the train station at eleven o'clock tomorrow. That way we should be in plenty of time. I see you're armed. I am, too." He stood and so did Spur.

  "See you tomorrow at ten," Spur said. They walked out of the saloon together.

  Spur kept thinking about the rich man in the big house on the small hill. If he was involved, the robbers would have had plenty of time to deliver the bonds to him. His next step would be to launch a claim with the Railway Express Agency and the Atcheson, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway for the lost bonds in the amount of $100,000. He would probably have to sue to get a sum like that back, even if the railroad did agree that it was in part responsible for the loss through negligence.

  Spur headed toward the big house on the hill. Why couldn't things be simple like they used to be? A man robbed a bank. You chased him, tracked him, found him, shot it out with him, and took him or his body back with the stolen money. End of case. Nothing was simple any more.

  He found a good place to sit down 50 yards from the Gregory Lowell mansion and waited. There still could be some contact between the rich man and the robbers. At least Spur hoped there would be. He held his chin in his hands and watched another light flare in a second story window of the rich man's mansion. What was going on up there?

  Doug Chandler was only a little drunk. He had built up a tremendous tolerance to alcohol over the past three years of working at it almost every day. He left the shadows around the small house on Fourth Street and slipped up to the back door. After checking behind him to be sure no one was watching, he eased the door open and stepped inside.

  "You take one more step and I'll blow your guts out," a raspy voice challenged.