Stampede at Rattlesnake Pass

by Clay More

  "Johnnie gave me this," she explained, taking a sip and offering the flask to Jake.

  Jake took the flask and raised it in the direction of the hollow, as if to toast the spirits of the dead cowboys. "Here's hoping that we can make sure that you didn’t all die in vain."

  * * *

  Silver City was a typical railhead town, complete with stock pens, cattle market, rail station and all the trappings that involved: water tower, coal dump, log warehouse, sidings, turning circle and repair houses. The ‘city’ designation had come when ‘decent’ folks arrived and the town quickly divided itself into a working end and a society end. The society end meant it was the part of the town where the respectable families lived; the grocers, printers, lawyers, doctors and other bastions of respectability. The real ‘social’ scene, however, where one could find the saloons, cat-houses, and drug dens, occupied a sort of unnamed and unspoken about (by the respectable women) hinterland to the east of the city. The defining name of the city – silver – rightly referred to the richness of the pickings in the city – which naturally pertained to all parts of the city.

  Upon entering Silver City Jake and Elly naturally passed through the stockyards and the railhead, only to find that the last train had headed north, laden with cattle, only the day before. Accordingly, the stock pens were empty, the cattle having been transferred to the slaughter-yards in the north, while the workers had scattered to the entertainment part of town. All of the attached offices were locked up.

  "I guess we had better check into a hotel first and then contact the local law," Jake suggested.

  Half an hour later when they found the sheriff’s office, Elly knocked on the door and immediately entered, waking a bleary-eyed deputy from a whiskey induced slumber. He had been slumped over the desk in the office, his head cradled on one forearm. He snapped himself upright at the sight of a lady, his expression one of confusion.

  "What can I do for you, ma’am’’ he asked as he rubbed sleep from his eyes then ran a hand over his dark stubbly jowl.

  "I would appreciate a word with your sheriff," Elly returned. "It is about a robbery – rustling to be precise – a whole herd stolen." She eyed the deputy sternly, as if to ensure that he was listening closely. "But worse than that – eight good men were murdered. My whole crew."

  The deputy blinked repeatedly, as if he was forcing his brain to take in this information. "Murder, did you say, ma’am? The sheriff will need to hear about this."

  "Then where is he?" demanded Jake, stepping past Elly and planting his palms forcefully on the desk, making all of the papers scatter and the deputy’s elbows shudder.

  "In . . . in the Busted Flush Saloon," the deputy stammered, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously at sight of the big puncher eying him belligerently.

  "We’ll go and flush him out then," said Jake, straightening up and tipping his hat. "Appreciate your help, deputy. Guess we’ll probably meet up again."

  Deputy Hank Bott hoped not. But when the tall cowboy and the pretty lady left, a sly grin spread across his dark jowls. "And maybe you won’t be seeing many more people anyways, my friend," he said softly to himself. "Not if you adopt that attitude around the sheriff." And then his thoughts turned lasciviously towards the pretty woman accompanying him. "But maybe you’ll meet a lot of fellers who take a shine to you, ma’am. Especially if you go into the Busted Flush."

  The Busted Flush Saloon was the ‘superior’ saloon in Silver City. It boasted gaming tables, a Faro wheel and the prettiest chorus line west of the Pintos. And to top it all it was run by Carmen de Menendez, reckoned by most of the cognoscenti to be the best looking saloon owner in the southwest. She was said to be a Mexican lady of good lineage, able to trace her family back to the caballeros of Old Spain. As for her ‘girls," they were all chosen for their looks, if not their morals.

  The décor of the saloon had a decided Mexican feel. That was not to say that it was like any of the cantinas found around the borders, rather that it had an ambience of gentility and of Hispanic opulence.

  The bartenders all had thick, lush moustaches, wore flamboyant wide sleeved shirts, with multi-colored bandanas about their necks. The mirrors behind the long bar were of fine gilt, and dotted about the walls were brightly colored pictures of dancing senoritas and white toothed vaqueros.

  A piano player was tinkling away below the raised stage, across which the curtains had been drawn, presumably in a break between chorus line numbers. The square dance area was similarly free. Apart from that, the saloon was already pretty well packed and the air was thick with a tobacco haze. Saloon girls dashed between tables dexterously carrying trays of beer and whiskey, while others just stood by various gamblers supposedly to bring them luck. Every now and then some fortunate gambler would gather in his winnings and leave the game to reward his luck-bringer in one or another of the upstairs rooms.

  Elly took no notice of the curious stares that she and Scudder received from the customers, the saloon girls, and the bar staff. She strode purposefully towards the bar where a swarthy, grinning bartender was polishing glasses.

  "We're looking for the sheriff," Jake said.

  The bartender laughed. "An unusual request, señor. Most people in Silver City prefer not to meet the sheriff." And then seeing that neither Elly nor Jake saw any humor in his remark he pointed to the far corner of the saloon where a card game was going on. "Sheriff Slim Parfitt is right over there playing poker with the boss, Miss Carmen de Menendez."

  Weaving through the crowd they made their way to the card table where five people were playing. They stood waiting for an opportunity to interrupt the play.

  The sheriff’s nickname of ‘Slim’ was far from apt, since he was a man of more than ample girth, with at least two chins. His clothes hugged him and their aged look suggested that he had slowly been expanding in width. As he sat cradling his cards a thin film of perspiration covered his face and his receding hairline. Bloodshot eyes and a half-consumed bottle of whiskey at his elbow indicated a fondness for liquor. As Jake watched him he wondered whether his perspiration was due to his physical condition or to his gambling prowess, or lack of it.

  Across the table from the sheriff sat a woman of remarkable beauty. Olive skinned, full ruby red lips and raven black hair, she was dressed in a yellow silk dress that revealed her feminine curves to perfection. About her neck was a black choker that favorably emphasized her long neck. Unlike the sheriff she seemed to be the very personification of calmness. No one would have any idea what sort of hand she held from the expression on her face.

  And there was a sizeable pot in the center of the table. As the game went on the other three players caved in, leaving only the sheriff and the saloon owner. Finally, the sheriff took a gulp of whiskey from his glass, belched loudly, and then threw a fistful of dollar bills into the pot. "Think I’ll see you, Carmen. There’s no way you’re going to beat my hand today."

  Only then did Carmen de Menendez speak. "Let’s see, Slim," she said, laying her cards down one by one. "Only, how do you think you can beat four aces?"

  The sheriff stared in wide-eyed disbelief, then tossed his cards down and guffawed. "Darn! That cleans me out again. The least you could do is buy me a drink."

  But Elly could keep quiet no longer. "Am I seeing things, or are you the sheriff of Silver City?" she asked, her eyes smoldering and her jaw set firm. "What sort of law officer can be drinking and gambling at this time of the day when he should be on duty?"

  Sheriff Parfitt was not one to sit and take insults from anyone, yet as he turned his bleary eyes on Elly he was all too conscious of the tall, capable looking man with a tied down Remington standing at her right side. "Something troubling you, ma’am?" he asked.

  "There certainly is. I have been robbed. A whole herd belonging to the Rocking H ranch was stolen and my men were murdered. Massacred!"

  Carmen de Menendez gasped. "But that is terrible. When did this awful thing happen, Miss - ?"

  Elly t
ore her eyes away from the sheriff. "Horrocks. Elly Horrocks. It happened at Rattlesnake Pass a couple of days ago."

  The Silver City sheriff shrugged his shoulders. "So why are you telling me? Rattlesnake Pass is nothing to do with me."

  Jake had been quiet till now, but felt his hackles rise. "What is it with lawmen in this part of the country? They don’t seem to care about what happens outside their towns. Now look here, you miserable piece of – "

  Slim Parfitt sat forward, his face hardening. "Now you just back off, mister. I don’t take kindly to – "

  Carmen de Menendez suddenly stood up. "Sheriff Slim, perhaps the least you could do is to hear the lady out." She turned and smiled at Elly. "My name is Carmen de Menendez. I own the Busted Flush and I think it would be a good idea, perhaps, if we all adjourned to my private office."

  Without more ado she led the way through the saloon, past an alcove where Hog Fleming, Cole Lancing, and Rubal Cage were drinking whiskey, each with a saloon girl on his knee. Rubal Cage had been listening to the exchange with great interest. He smacked his girl on her butt, much to her irritation, and stood up.

  "Where you going, Rubal?" the porcine Hog Fleming asked.

  Rubal Cage frowned. "I reckon we’ve got business that might need attending to. Come outside and let’s get some fresh air. I’ll tell you what you need to do."

  Carmen de Menendez handed Elly and Jake glasses of wine while Sheriff Parfitt helped himself to a sizeable measure of whiskey from a decanter on a side table in the office.

  Elly described all that had happened and Jake told them about his encounter with the man who had been cold-bloodedly shooting the bodies in the gully.

  "In my opinion, you won’t find any of these men this side of the Pintos by now," said the sheriff.

  "That means it's likely they sold the herd here in Silver City," said Elly. "And in that case, there will be a record of the transaction."

  Slim Parfitt nodded. "Guess so. The cattle buyer for C & SW, the Central and South West Cattle Company will have it all documented."

  "Will you take me to see him, sheriff?" Elly asked.

  The lawman seemed to hesitate, but on prompting from Carmen de Menendez he heaved himself to his feet. "I reckon I can do that."

  Elly looked at Jake. "Will you come too?"

  Scudder shook his head. "No, ma’am. You and the sheriff can do that just fine. I think I will maybe have another drink in the bar before I head back to the hotel and clean up."

  Two patches of color formed on Elly’s cheeks, but she said nothing more. Instead, she nodded to Carmen de Menendez and followed the sheriff out.

  Once they had gone, Carmen de Menendez shook her head. "I am afraid for your friend. I have my doubts that she will get her herd or her money back."

  Jake drained his wine and laid it on the table. "I must say, I had much the same thought. Thank you for the wine and hospitality, ma’am." He smiled. "It isn’t exactly my kind of drink, though, so I think I’ll have a beer and then go clean up."

  She smiled at him. "You’ll find this one of the best saloons, Mr. Scudder. Enjoy yourself while you are here."

  The piano player began to play just as he put a hand on the door handle, and a moment later the sound of the chorus line started up, to much raucous laughter. "You know, ma’am. It sounds a fun place, right enough. I think I may just do that."

  * * *

  Elly Horrocks felt frustrated. Sheriff Slim Parfitt had sent his deputy Hank Bott to find and bring the C & SW Cattle Company agent to his office. To her dismay she was shown the documentation in the ledger confirming the sale of the Rocking H stock to the C & SW Cattle Company.

  "There you are, ma’am," said Nat Tooking, the myopic cattle agent over the top of his half moon spectacles. "All legally signed, witnessed, and dated. There’s your representative Bill Coburn’s signature."

  Elly had gone pale at sight of the clear but patently forged signature. "But that isn’t Ben’s signature," she protested. "He was lying dead in Rattlesnake Pass when whoever signed that."

  Nat Tooking looked at her in amazement. "Did you say he was dead? What are you saying, ma’am?"

  Sheriff Parfitt interrupted, "It looks as if you were duped, Nat."

  The cattle agent stared at the ledger for a moment, then he emphatically shook his head. "No way! I paid good dollar in good faith for that herd. How do I know that this lady is telling the truth?"

  Elly felt her temper rise. "How dare you. All of my crew have been murdered and my – my fiancé is lying seriously wounded at our ranch." She stabbed the ledger with a finger. "This deception is illegal and we shall insist on being reimbursed."

  Nat Tooking’s lips had twisted into a sneer of contempt. "I can assure you, ma’am, that the C & SW Cattle Company will not pay out twice."

  Sheriff Parfitt raised his hand. "And before you say anything more, ma’am – this rustling that you allege is totally out of my jurisdiction. Rattlesnake Pass and anything that happens there is nothing whatever to do with Silver City or with me."

  Elly glared at him. "How did I know you were going to say something like that?" she asked sarcastically. She bid the two men good day then strode out of the office and crossed the street to the Silver City Classic Hotel, where she and Scudder had booked rooms earlier.

  It was not until she was alone in her room with the door closed and locked that she sank onto the bed, covered her face and dissolved into tears.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Elly was not in her room when Jake got back to the hotel, so he cleaned up then went for a walk in order to think things over. He strolled around the town to try and get a feel for the place. But something kept telling him that the most likely place he’d get answers would be the Busted Flush. By the time he pushed the bat-wing doors open again it was dark outside and the chandeliers had been lit, making it seem even more inviting.

  He ordered a beer with a whiskey chaser from the same bartender who had directed Elly and himself to the card game where they met the sheriff and Carmen de Menendez. After paying and chatting for a few moments he headed towards a spare table in an alcove. Like a wasp honing in on a honey pot, he was soon joined by an attractive young woman in a gaudy and slightly ill-fitting purple dress.

  "Need some company, mister?" she asked, taking a draw on a thin quirley that she held between her second and third fingers. Almost immediately, she bent over with a rasping cough. "The name is Rosalind," she said, recovering quickly and coloring with embarrassment.

  Jake indicated the chair beside him. "Be glad of it, Rosalind," he replied. Then pointing to her cigarette: "You are mighty young to have a cough as bad as that. Those gaspers are not good for the lungs, you know."

  "Preacher man, are you?" she returned coyly, raising an eyebrow with mock sarcasm.

  Scudder shook his head. "Just a simple man with simple tastes."

  She giggled. "That’s not the way most men talk when they come to the Busted Flush. Some of them have very – complicated – tastes. Care to buy me a drink?"

  Jake signaled to the nearest bartender who sent another smiling saloon girl over with a tray and Rosalind’s usual, a mint julep. She sipped it, took another puff on her acrid quirley and coughed again.

  Jake shook his head. "How old are you, Rosalind?"

  "Twenty," she replied swiftly.

  "More like sixteen or seventeen, I reckon." He reached over and removed the quirley from her hand and ground it on the floor under his heel. "Come on, I think some fresh air would do you more good than that drink and those coffin nails."

  Rosalind shook her head vigorously. "But I can’t. I have to – "

  "Yes, you can," Jake replied. "I’ll pay you for your time. All I want is to just walk around a little. Have a chat."

  And without further protest Rosalind felt herself being gently propelled through the busy saloon and out of the bat-wing doors onto the boardwalk.

  "A walk in the moonlight, how romantic," she giggled.

  "Tell me about
yourself, Rosalind. Where are you from?"

  One thing about Rosalind was clear. She could talk. By the time they had strolled to the end of a long boardwalk she had told him what he was sure was a pack of lies. She claimed to have been at college back east, to have fallen in love with an engineer and to have come west with him.

  He proffered her his arm as they stepped down from the boardwalk into the dusty street and began to cross the mouth of a darkened alleyway.

  "But then he had an accident and I – "

  Neither of them had expected the burst of activity to erupt from the darkened alley. Jake heard a rustling noise and immediately moved sideways. His right hand darted for his Remington. But he had started at too much of a disadvantage. Before he could clear leather he felt a searing pain on the top of his right shoulder, which shot down his arm. Instantly, he realized he had been struck a glancing blow with some kind of bludgeon that had been meant to kill rather than just maim. With his right arm temporarily out of commission he knew that he was vulnerable.

  As was Rosalind! Jake heard her scream and chancing a glance to his left he saw a man wearing a bandana over his face dragging her into the alleyway.

  Another flurry of movement alerted him to the fact that his own assailant had regrouped and was in the act of re-attempting to stove in his head. He could not dodge aside again, so he dropped, and at the same time threw himself sideways, sweeping his legs in a scissors movement. He made contact and heard a howl as a body fell on top of his legs. Immediately, Jake grabbed the plank of wood that had been used on him and wrenched it free with his left hand.

  The assailant rolled free and leaped to his feet, a hand reaching for a gun at his side. Jake lashed out with the plank and caught the man’s gunhand before he could draw the weapon. Then as the other cried in pain he changed the direction of his swing and struck for all he was worth at the man’s groin. There was a shriek of pain, then a rasped command. Jake could not make out what name the man called out, but it was clear that it was a cry for help from the other.

  Jake was struggling to his feet when Rosalind was thrown at him and he was bowled over onto his back, with her landing on top of him. He shoved her gently aside, his right arm now reflexively going for the Remington at his side. It came up, not quite as smoothly as usual, and he let off two shots in the direction of the two assailants as they departed into the greater darkness.