Shawn Starbuck Double Western 1

by Ray Hogan

  Something was haywire somewhere—something that tied in directly with the rancher. He was the key, and the sooner he was confronted, forced to speak up and explain, the quicker the answers would be out.

  Moving off the porch of the Gold Dollar, Starbuck grimly turned toward the Exchange. He’d not stay the night; he’d get the chestnut and head back to the ranch immediately. The way he felt he’d not get any sleep anyway.

  His long stride slowed. A rider had turned into the south end of the street, horse limping badly. In the almost complete darkness the man looked familiar. Shawn’s head came up abruptly. It was Underwood.

  Rigid, he stepped off the board sidewalk into the dust, stalked toward the rancher in a purposeful line. A dozen paces short, Underwood recognized him, pulled up. The rancher’s face was pale, strained, and his movements as he dropped from the saddle were anxious.

  “My daughter—Holly—she all right?” he asked, hurrying forward.

  Starbuck stared at the man coldly. “She is, no thanks to you. What’s going on, mister? Speak up—I want to know—quick!”

  Underwood’s shoulders slumped in relief. He turned, led the horse to a close-by hitch rack, wrapped the reins around the bar and came slowly about.

  Resting his weight on the crosspiece, he said: “Rutter and the others—they try to stop you?”

  Shawn, holding tight to anger, nodded curtly. “You know damn well they did. Just happened I spotted them first, managed to slip by. You set up that ambush for me, didn’t you?”

  Underwood drew his handkerchief, mopped at his sweating features. “Guess you could say I did—in a way.”

  “Just what the hell does that mean?”

  Two men passing along the walk on the opposite side of the street slowed, glanced curiously across, and then continued on their way.

  “Didn’t actually set it up—that is, I didn’t tell Rutter and them to do it.”

  “You’re beating around the bush, Mr. Underwood! I want the truth—all of it!”

  The rancher again swabbed his face and neck. “Idea was to make Rutter think it was—well, valuable. The letter, I mean—the one I gave you to deliver.”

  “Then you figured he’d take out after me, set up an ambush and gun me down for it. Why, in the name of—”

  “Not you—them!” Underwood said in a sudden gust of words. “I thought you’d get them, being better with a gun—faster and with a lot of experience. None of them could even match you—alone or together. I knew that. It’s what I was banking on.”

  Starbuck was studying the rancher in astonishment. “You mean I was supposed to kill them protecting that envelope?”

  Sam Underwood bobbed his head weakly. “Seemed a good idea when I first thought it up. Was sure you could take care of yourself, come out on top.”

  “I’d probably be laying out there now, full of holes, if Holly hadn’t suggested we turn off at the spring for a drink of water.”

  “Didn’t know she was with you,” Underwood said heavily. “Not until my wife mentioned it an hour or so after you pulled out. Grabbed my horse and followed fast as I could. Damned animal pulled up lame about ten miles out, or I’d been here sooner. Never been so worried in my life as I was when I learned Holly was with you.”

  “And I was riding into a trap,” Shawn finished drily. “I’ll tell you this, you came close to getting us both shot.”

  Underwood looked up quickly. “She know who they were?”

  “She does. Was for me going straight to the sheriff about it. Told her they were your friends, that I’d leave it up to you. Getting a mite sorry I decided that way. They seem to think it’s all a big joke.”

  “You’ve seen Rutter since?”

  Starbuck jerked his thumb at the Gold Dollar. “In there, all of them. With a woman they call Vida. Tried to force them into a fight, settle a few scores, but they flat backed down.”

  ‘They say—anything special?”

  “Laughed at me when I said I was going to the law since I couldn’t even up things personally. Said I ought to tell you the whole thing because it was your property they were pulling the holdup for and your daughter who almost got hurt. Thought you ought to be the one to handle it with the sheriff. Plenty sure of themselves.”

  Underwood stirred wearily. “Guess they are.”

  Starbuck crossed his arms, leaned forward slightly. Anger was still tightening his voice. “Got a hunch that’s the answer to what this is all about. What makes them so damned sure? I want to know because whatever it is just about got me killed—and far as I’m concerned, I’m not done with them yet.”

  Underwood scrubbed nervously at his chin. “You could be, if you’re willing to listen. I’ll pay you off. You can ride out, be on your way with a full month’s wages. Job I hired you for is finished anyway, and—”

  Shawn was shaking his head before the rancher had finished. “I don’t like somebody throwing lead at me—and I don’t like getting set up like a clay pigeon in a shooting gallery. I’ll pull out when I know what’s behind all this, and after I’ve done some settling.”

  Sam Underwood lifted his hands, nodded woodenly. “Figured as much—you don’t need to go on. And I reckon you’ve got a right. First off, however, I’d like to see Holly, be sure she’s—”

  “Holly’s fine,” Starbuck cut in crisply. “Staying with the Camerons like she always does. Been there ever since we hit town.”

  The rancher’s eyes traveled up and down the street, his expression desperate. Night had settled over Las Vegas and the saloons were all going full tilt with the Gold Dollar by far emitting the most racket.

  “My horse—lame. Ought to see to him—”

  Underwood was seeking escape, a way out, some excuse for delaying his explanation. Shawn eyed the man coldly.

  “There’s a stable behind the hotel. We can take him there. Make up your mind to this, Underwood, you’re not getting out of my reach until I hear what this is all about.”

  Abruptly the rancher seemed to wilt, shrink as if a tremendous weight had settled upon him. “All right,” he said tonelessly, pulling the horse’s reins free. “Let’s get this animal to the stable, then go where we won’t be bothered. What I’ve got to say has never been told to anybody—not even to my wife.”

  Sixteen

  “They’re going to rob the bank—my bank,” Sam Underwood said when, a short time later, they were in Starbuck’s room at the Exchange. “Forcing me to help them.”

  Shawn, slumped in the solitary, battered chair his quarters afforded, watched the rancher pace nervously back and forth in front of the window. Out in the street there had been no lessening in the racket emanating from the saloons.

  “Hell of it is, I can’t do a damned thing about it. Tried tricking them, using you—but that backfired. Now I’m caught.”

  Starbuck leaned back, fingers interlaced across his belly. “Force you—how?”

  Underwood’s pacing ceased. His head tipped forward as his eyes studied the ragged carpeting on the floor. He seemed to be considering the question, making up his mind whether to answer or ignore it.

  Shawn said, “If it ties in with your trying to get me shot up—I want an answer.” There was no compromise in his voice, only a hard, unrelenting insistence.

  The rancher raised his eyes, studied the tall rider for several moments, and then shrugged. “Guess I’ve got no choice,” he said resignedly. “Have to tell you the whole thing. Goes way back.”

  “To the war.”

  “To the war,” Underwood said. “We—Rutter, Mysak, Brock and another fellow named Gault—Billy Gault—he’s dead now—we were all in the same outfit. Rutter was the leader of our bunch—the five of us. Used to prowl around together when we weren’t on duty. Things had quieted down a good bit in the part of the country where we were stationed, and we had a lot of time on our hands.

  “Well, one day Rutter heard about a paymaster’s wagon passing through the area on its way to another camp. He came up with the idea of
robbing it. I was against it myself, but the war was coming to an end and we’d all be turned loose soon—dead broke, he kept telling us, and it was only right we grab what we could. Was the war’s fault we’d be in the shape we’d be in—and on top of that none of us would have a job.”

  Underwood turned, stared through the window at a group of riders passing slowly by, heading out of town. One had consumed far more than his capacity of liquor and the man next to him was struggling to hold him to his saddle.

  “Was a damned fool to listen to Guy, but you know how things are at a time like that—when you’re part of a bunch, I mean. You sort of have to go along with the rest ... Well, we ambushed the paymaster’s wagon. A couple of soldiers got killed—actually three—and we ended up with the money. Was around six thousand dollars apiece. “We stashed the money near camp and took turns keeping an eye on it. A few months later we were all discharged. We got together, dug up the sack and split the cash, then went our own way.”

  “Didn’t the army look into the robbery, make an investigation or anything?” Starbuck asked, frowning.

  “Oh, sure. There was a hell of a ruckus over it. For a while we had more brass in camp than we had regular soldiers. Then somebody came up with the information that Rebs had been seen in the neighborhood about the time it all happened, so everybody just assumed they were the ones who did it, and it all blew over ... Never did know for sure but I always had a hunch it was Rutter who started that rumor about the Rebs.

  “I headed out west, ended up in this country. I used my six thousand to buy up a ranch, get myself started in the cattle business. Always told myself I’d send that six thousand back to the government someday, with a letter explaining where it came from—”

  “Were you signing your name to it?” Underwood shook his head. “No, couldn’t very well do that, of course. There was those men killed trying to protect the wagon—I wasn’t one of them that pulled a trigger, but I was in on it just the same ... Thing’s bothered me a lot in the last few years. Should have sent the money back—things went good for me and I could spare it easy, but somehow I just never did. Now, I sure wish—”

  “Wouldn’t have meant much without your name to it,” Starbuck said.

  “Would’ve had it off my conscience—”

  “The money, maybe, but not the killing of those soldiers—or the thing itself. You ever see Rutter and the others again after that?”

  “Not until they rode into my place a couple of days ago. Thought they were behind me for good, but seems they heard my name mentioned somewhere. Natural, me being boosted for governor and all that, and then owning a big ranch and part owner of a bank, and so on.

  “They’d run through their share of the money a long time ago and had evidently been getting more by pulling off small-time holdups and robberies. When they got a line on me, Rutter come up with one of his smart ideas. They’d blackmail me into helping them rob my own bank.” He reached into his pocket, produced a thick gold watch and looked at it. He peered out the window, wiping the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief.

  “Anyway, Guy’s plenty sly. When he found out where I stood in the Territory, he knew he had me by the short hair. He wrote a letter confessing to the robbery of that paymaster wagon, telling all about it—naming names—the whole works. Even dug up some of the old newspaper clippings that told when and where it took place, put it all in an envelope and addressed it to the U.S. Marshal.

  “Then they came to the ranch, same day you showed up, told me if I didn’t string along with their plan or tried to double-cross them, the letter would be handed over to the law. .. . That would fix me for good.”

  “That when you got this idea of sending me up against them, using that letter to Cameron as bait?”

  The rancher looked anxiously again through the window and nodded. “Was a fool thing to do, suck you into it, but I reckon I wasn’t thinking straight. All I could see was what it would do to me politically—and how it would ruin my family. Felt I had to stop Rutter somehow.

  “I couldn’t go to the law, of course. Guy had given the confession and clippings to his woman to hold—expect she’s the one you saw—told her to hand it over to the sheriff if anything goes wrong during the robbery and they don’t come out of it alive.”

  “Could be a bluff.”

  “No chance. There’s a letter. I know Guy Rutter—his mind works that way. If he got himself killed robbing the bank, he’d get even by dragging me down. He’s that kind of a man. That’s the reason why I’ve had to go along with him and the others. Scared not to. Like I said, they’ve got me right where they want me. All I can do is squirm. They figure to pull off this bank robbery, lay low on my place for a time. I’m their protection. It happens somebody spots any of them pulling the job, I’ve got to say they’re hired hands of mine, that I know for a fact they haven’t been off the ranch.”

  Underwood moved to the bed and sank heavily upon its edge. Hands clasped, shoulders slumped, he stared at the floor in complete dejection. Shawn considered the rancher thoughtfully. He could hold no good feeling for this man, for the things he had done, yet a thread of pity stirred through him.

  “When’s the robbery coming off?” he asked.

  “Tonight,” Underwood said in a flat, helpless voice. “It’s almost time now. Lot of money in the safe this part of the month. Probably near a hundred thousand dollars.”

  Starbuck swore under his breath. Why in heaven’s name was he getting himself involved in situations like this? All he wanted to do was find Ben, clear up some problems concerning his own life. . . .

  One thing was clear. He knew now why Guy Rutter and his two friends were so cocksure, why they were unafraid of repercussions from the law. They had Sam Underwood in a position where he must either go along with their plans, or else bare his past to the world and thereby commit political as well as personal suicide.

  But there was more to it than that. Robbing the Las Vegas bank meant disaster to others—businessmen, ranchers, homesteaders, ordinary persons who kept their hard-earned money in its vault. To stand by and permit that to happen was to countenance a crime that would have far-reaching effects—and Shawn knew he could not have that on his conscience.

  Sam Underwood had a duty to perform, an accounting to face. It would be bad, especially for Holly and Mrs. Underwood, but there was no other way out; one thing every man had to do eventually was pay for bed and board—and Underwood’s time had come.

  “You got only one choice,” Starbuck said. “To go to the sheriff, bring him in on the deal.”

  The rancher’s head came up slowly. “I’d have to admit—tell—”

  “Yes. But down deep you knew someday you’d have to answer for that holdup.”

  “Yes—I guess I did. Only, there’s my family—all my big plans for the Territory—”

  “Be tough, not denying that, but I can’t see where there’s anything else you can do. Robbery was a long time ago—during wartime. That might change the way the law will look at it some. And you’ll get credit for the good things you’ve done. Far as your family’s concerned they’ll stand by you. But you’d better forget about being governor, even if they turn you loose. Folks like to think their statesmen are without fault—and I reckon they’re right.”

  “They won’t turn me loose. You’re forgetting about those men that got killed. They’d send me to prison for that—maybe hang me.”

  “Risk you’ll have to take. Point is, you can’t let Rutter and them go through with the robbery.”

  Underwood shifted nervously. ‘There must be some way of stopping them and still not ruin everything,” he said in a desperate voice.

  “Don’t see how you’re going to do anything without owning up to—”

  “Wait!” the rancher exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “Just come to me—!”

  Starbuck eyed the man coldly. “If you’re figuring on me—don’t.”

  “But I’ll have to. Only way I can keep them from doing it!”
Underwood reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch again. “Got about a half hour before they start.”

  Shawn was studying the rancher’s flushed face. He was into Underwood’s problems just about as deep as he was going to go, and the thought of how the man had used him, deliberately set him up, still irked. But if there was going to be an attempt made to rob the bank within thirty minutes, he was obligated to do what he could to stop it—like it or not.

  “What’s this idea of yours?”

  “We’ll keep them from doing it,” Underwood said in a sudden rush of words. “You and me. We can slip in the bank by the back door—”

  Starbuck’s hands came up angrily. “No! We get the sheriff—bring him in—”

  “There isn’t time! I don’t think Abrams is even in town, and I don’t want to fool with a deputy. No time to do any organizing, have an armed party waiting. The two of us will be enough, anyway. Just three of them, and we’ll have surprise on our side.”

  Wary, Shawn said, “We catch them, then what? You’re still going to have to tell the law the whole story, because Rutter sure as hell will.”

  The rancher nodded slowly. “Guess there’s no way around that. Like you said, I’ll just have to take my chances, hope everything doesn’t go down a rat hole. You willing to give me a hand?”

  Starbuck got to his feet “I’ll help, long as you aim to square yourself. Not much time left. We’d better be getting over there. Rutter’ll probably be keeping an eye on the place in case you’ve changed your mind. There a back way to the bank?”

  “He won’t be watching—not Rutter,” Underwood said, moving toward the door. “He’s dead sure of me. Figures I’ll do exactly what he told me to. But we can use the side entrance to the hotel, go down the alley. Nobody’ll see us.”

  Starbuck hitched at his gun belt. “Let’s get over there.”

  Seventeen

  Underwood led the way down the almost totally black alley to the rear of the bank. It was not difficult for Shawn to understand why the others had chosen that hour of the evening for the robbery. The noise along the street was of such volume that little else, including gunfire, would be heard.