by Ralph Cotton
“Belonged?” Sam said, eying him closely.
“Yes,” said Sheer, “Frazier told us the colonel is dead, that these four drovers killed him.” He shrugged. “I suppose it was part of what they must have confessed to him.”
He could see he needed to talk to Bart Frazier, Sam told himself, studying the broken paper money band in his gloved hand. “I’m also searching for another man . . . a fellow named Stanton Parks,” he said.
“Buckshot Parks?” said Sheer.
“You’ve heard of him?” Sam asked.
“Oh yes, indeed,” said Sheer, “I know the name. I’ve seen his face on many wanted posters. I haven’t seen him in person, though, I’m happy to say.” He paused in reflection, then said, “But wait. I did see a lone rider approaching Fred’s shack. . . .” He considered it further. “I wondered why he was riding off the trail, through the brush and weeds, as if he did not want to be seen. I thought that was odd. You don’t suppose . . . ?” He let his words hang for a moment, then tacked on “No, I hardly think Fred Mandrin would have any dealings with a man like Buckshot Parks.”
Yep, it made sense to him, Sam thought, not replying to the naïve townsman. Parks was after the money and threw in with Mandrin, he surmised to himself. He closed his hand over the band and looked over at Frazier.
“You’ll find Bart Frazier very upset, Ranger Burrack,” said Sheer, anticipating what the ranger had in mind.
“I bet I will,” Sam replied, nudging his horse forward. He glanced at the pile of debris, then at the back of Bart Frazier’s head as the former saloon owner sat rocking back and forth slowly. The big cur loped along beside him.
“I know it’s you, Ranger Burrack,” Frazier said without turning to face him when Sam stopped his horse a few feet behind him and stepped down from his saddle. “I’m not receiving any company just now, so you can feel free to ride on.”
“I’m here on business, Frazier,” Sam said calmly, walking up behind him, the big cur at his side. “I need to know the truth about everything that happened here. I don’t want to go away searching for four innocent men.”
“Innocent? Ha! Innocent of what?” said Frazier with a bitter tone.
“You know what I’m saying, Frazier,” Sam pressed. “If these four have really broken any laws, I need to know about it. If they haven’t I need to know that too.”
“I’ve never cared much for you, Burrack,” Frazier said, still staring at the black and gray pile of ashes and debris, “and I know you have never cared much for me.”
“I’d say that’s a fair assessment both ways,” Sam replied. “But I am sorry to see the Blue Belle burnt to the ground.”
After a sigh and a pause Frazier said, “Let me ask you something, Burrack. How would you feel if you saw everything you’ve worked for go up in a black puff of smoke? Wouldn’t you want to see the ones responsible for it punished?”
“Only if they really were responsible for it, Frazier,” said Sam. “That’s why I want to know everything about this shoot-out.”
After another pause, Frazier said, “Ask away, Burrack.”
“I’m curious as to why these four drovers came to you and confessed that they had robbed the stage,” said Sam.
Frazier shook his head slowly and said without looking around at him, “You must not know much about the drinking and gambling business, Burrack. People get a little whiskey in them, they tell you everything when you own a saloon.”
“I know a bartender hears a lot, Frazier,” Sam replied. “But thieves don’t tell saloon owners their business. Thesis Sweeney was tending bar, not you.”
“So?” said Frazier.
“So tell me why these four drovers would come and confess robbing the stage to you?” Sam said firmly.
“Well, you’ve got me there,” said Frazier with the toss of a hand. “Perhaps I just have a fatherly way about me.” He finally turned and faced the ranger, his hair disheveled, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. “They burned my precious Blue Belle to the ground, Burrack,” he said grimly. “Can you not understand why I want to see them dead?” He eyed the big dog who sat staring at him intently.
Sam didn’t answer.
“That’s Colonel Tanner’s dog,” he said. “Does he bite?”
“Only when he thinks it’s necessary,” the ranger relplied. “How well do you know Davin Grissin?”
“Grissin, hmmph,” said Frazier, turning away from him and staring once again into the ashes. “Well enough, I suppose. He’s a businessman, like myself. Why do you ask?” He turned his bloodshot eyes back to the ranger in curiosity.
Sam played a hunch just to see what Frazier might know. “Because it was Davin Grissin’s money those four drovers had on them,” he said. He studied Frazier’s eyes closely. “If you know Grissin, I figure you might have been trying to get your hands on the money for him, gain yourself some favor with him.”
“I knew it was Grissin’s money,” Frazier said. “This Mackenzie fellow told me Grissin’s name was on the money bag. He said they stole the money because Grissin bought the spread they worked and fired them,” he lied.
“So these four drovers knew Grissin’s money would be on the stage?” Sam asked, knowing there was no way the four could have known the bag of money would be in the hidden compartment.
“That’s right, Burrack,” said Frazier, “that’s what he told me.”
“I see.” Sam realized now that Frazier was lying through his teeth. There was no way for four cowhands off the grass range to know anything about Grissin’s money or his method of shipping it.
“I hope you catch them, Burrack, and I hope you bring them here, for Red Hill to deal with. They also killed a lawman, in case you don’t know it.”
As they spoke, Sam took note of a man approaching them with a rifle in his hand. Yet he continued with Frazier as if paying the man no regard.
“I heard they killed Fred Mandrin,” Sam said.
“Deputy Fred Mandin,” said Frazier, correcting him.
“Former Deputy,” said Sam, countering him. “If these men are guilty of anything, you can bet I’ll bring them in,” he added. “You can also bet that I’ll get to the truth about what happened here, and why.”
The man with the rifle stopped a few feet away and looked at the back of Frazier’s head with a cold, bitter stare. “Ask him who killed Nate Bryson,” he said.
“Mind your own damned business, Hughly!” said Frazier.
Sam only observed in silence as Frazier rose with a snap from his rocker and turned toward the man with a look of rage. “Those four murdering bandits killed him, that’s who! They killed Bryson, they killed Sadler, they killed Duffey and Yates—”
“He a lying son of a bitch, Ranger,” the man said, raising his rifle as he spoke.
“Hold it,” said Sam, his big Colt up, cocked and pointed at the man at arm’s length. “Lower that rifle.”
The man caught himself, lowered the weapon and let it hang from his hand. “We were all of us playing poker at the River Palace until this turd came in wanting to pay us to go shoot those cowhands,” he said.
“Not to shoot the cowhands, you idiot,” Frazier growled at him. “I asked all of you to capture the cowhands, did I not?”
“Shoot, capture, what’s the difference?” said the rifleman, Hughly Rhodes. “My pards are dead either way.” His anger began to rise again. “And you killed Bryson, there’s no ifs or buts about it! I all but saw you do it!”
“Let me hold that rifle for you,” said Sam. He stepped in closer, reached out and took the rifle from him as he asked, “What do you mean you ‘all but’ seen him shoot your friend Bryson?” The big cur sat watching, his head going back and forth as the men spoke, as if following their conversation.
“I didn’t exactly see him pull the trigger,” the man said, “but I heard his gunshot, and when I looked over he was lowering his pistol and Bryson was on the ground, deader than hell . . . shot in the head.”
“Don’t be ridicu
lous,” said Frazier, dismissing the man. “If you didn’t see me shoot Bryson, you’d do well to keep your mouth shut.”
Rhodes started to say more, but Sam cut him off, saying, “He’s right. Unless you can truthfully swear that you saw him shoot your friend, you’re wasting your breath.”
“And if I said I did see him do it, would you haul him off to jail?” Rhodes asked.
“Yes, but make sure you’re not lying to me, mister,” said Sam. “Murder is a very serious charge.” He stared at Rhodes expectantly, until finally the man slumped in submission and said, “Hell, I didn’t see it, even though I know he did it.”
“There you have it, Ranger, are you satisfied?” said Frazier. “Can you stop wondering about me, and get on after the real criminals?”
Sam turned and walked away toward the livery barn to join Maria. “What about my rifle, Ranger?” Rhodes asked, hurrying to catch up with him.
“I’ll give it to you as soon as you’re a safe distance from Bart Frazier,” Sam replied. “I’ve got enough to do without keeping you two from each other’s throats.” Beside Sam the big cur walked along, observing the dirt street in both directions.
Chapter 13
Maria met the ranger at the livery barn where she had just finished watering and graining her horse. Sam turned his horse’s reins over to a stable boy. He noted that neither Art Mullens nor Thesis Sweeney was present. He gave Maria a curious look.
“I sent them to the River Palace,” she said, without him having to ask.
“They were easier for you to get rid of than I thought they would be,” Sam remarked.
“I gave them enough money to buy themselves a drink,” she said, “after I convinced them of how much help they’ve been.”
Sam gave a thin smile. “Did they have anything else to say worth hearing?”
“No, they didn’t,” Maria said. “But I thought it would be worth a drink to keep them out of the way while you finished talking to Sheer. Did he have anything else to say?”
“Not much,” said Sam. “He did say that he saw a stranger riding through Red Hill. Said the man avoided the trail and rode in the weeds and brush, like he didn’t want anybody seeing him.”
“Stanton Parks?” Maria asked.
“I’ve got a feeling it was.”
“Why didn’t he simply keep an eye on the saloon if he wanted to keep track of the drovers?” she asked.
“I figure he didn’t want to start any trouble in Red Hill,” said the ranger. “I also figure he didn’t want to tangle with these four young men alone. He was looking up Fred Mandrin, knowing Mandrin carried a badge—or that he used to anyway. I can think of lots of schemes those two could’ve cooked up with a badge on their side.”
“You don’t think the drovers killed Mandrin up at Three Forks,” Maria said, “you think Parks killed him.”
“Yep.” Sam nodded. “Parks killed him, once he saw the drovers had made out of Red Hill with the money, and he figured he’d no longer need Mandrin and his badge.”
“Interesting,” said Maria. “It sounds like all the four drovers are doing is trying to stay alive.”
“That’s the way I’m calling it,” said Sam. “Unless something shows me otherwise, I think the drovers are the only honest players in a dangerous game.”
“Sí, and they are the ones holding the money,” Maria mused.
“Yep,” said Sam, “and I bet they have no idea Buckshot Parks is trailing them.”
“Which puts them in a bad position, honest players or not,” Maria added.
“Oh yes,” said the ranger. He took out the broken paper money band and examined it again. “Parks is not the only person out for their hides. I imagine that by now Davin Grissin is spitting fire over this, if Peyton Quinn and his two pals had the nerve to go back and face him after we took away their guns.”
“We need to catch up to these young men before somebody else does,” Maria offered, looking toward the livery boy as he grained the ranger’s horse. “Do you think Frazier will send any more men after the drovers?”
“No, I think Frazier has learned his lesson, and so have the men he hired to capture the drovers,” said Sam. “Whoever these young men are, they seem to know how to look out for one another.” He gestured toward the door. “Let’s go get some food ourselves, while these horses rest awhile.”
Three blocks from the livery barn, the two found a small restaurant and ate a hot meal of eggs, biscuits and gravy and thick-sliced bacon. When they had finished and paid for their meal, they walked back to the livery barn, saddled their horses and rode away. As they passed the spot where Bart Frazier sat rocking, he didn’t so much as glance in their direction.
The pair rode upward along the high-reaching trail, following the newer hoofprints Sheer and his party had left when they’d ridden up and discovered Fred Mandrin’s body. Reaching the Three Forks in the trail, Sam and Maria sat their horses for a moment, looking from one trail to another. “This is the perfect place for a group of riders to part company and lie low for a spell,” said the ranger.
“The question is, which riders went in which direction?” Maria stepped down and walked her horse from left to right, looking in turn out along each trail.
Examining the trail to the right, Sam noted the dark patch of dried blood on a rock and on the ground. He nudged his horse over, stepped down and gazed out along the meandering trail leading away from it. “It looks like one of the cowhands might’ve taken a bullet.”
“Sí,” said Maria, studying the dark bloody spot alongside him. “From the looks of it, this one was bleeding bad.”
As the ranger spoke, the dog trotted purposefully back and forth, its muzzle to the dirt, picking up the familiar scent of Stanton Parks. “If they split up here, you can bet it won’t be for long. These young men are going to stick together. They’ve learned the hard way that four guns are better than one.”
“They have themselves to be the bundle of sticks that cannot be broken . . . ,” Maria said with contemplation. “When the time comes, let’s hope they will allow us to get close enough to show them that we are not their enemy.”
“Yes, let’s hope,” Sam said. He watched the dog sniff out the various scents in the dirt beneath his busy nostrils. After a moment, the dog stopped and concentrated intently on one spot. “It looks like Sergeant Tom Haines has found something of interest.”
When the dog raised his nose from the ground he turned, facing the ranger and Maria, and barked as he bounced slightly on his front paws. He spun in the dirt, faced them and barked again, this time with more urgency.
“All right, boy, we’re coming,” said Sam. To Maria he said, “I don’t know if he’s following the drovers or Buckshot Parks, but it doesn’t matter. As long as these young men have Grissin’s money, their trail and Parks’ will be one and the same.” They turned and mounted and rode forward, seeing the big cur disappear around a turn in the trail.
In Creasy, a small half-abandoned mining town that appeared to be clinging to a steep mountain-side, Mackenzie helped Holly Thorpe down from his saddle and to the door of a doctor’s office along a dusty boardwalk. Thorpe had weakened with the loss of blood. He stood with an arm looped over Mackenzie’s shoulder as Mackenzie beat urgently on a wooden door where a sign read DR. HIRAM ROSS, PHYSICIAN.
“Am I going to die on you, Mac?” Thorpe asked dreamily.
“No, you better not die on me,” said Mackenzie. “We’re going to get you looked after by the doctor. You’re going to be feeling better before you know it.”
“All right, boss. . . .” Thorpe’s head lolled back and forth. He gave a weak half-conscious smile, a smear of blood on one spectacle lens. “Whatever you say.”
Before Mackenzie could knock again, a young woman opened the door. She only glanced at Mackenzie. But she looked Thorpe up and down closely.
Mackenzie spoke quickly. “Ma’am, my pard here has been shot. We’ve rode all the way here to see the—”
“Brin
g him in,” the young woman said just as quickly, before Mackenzie could finish his words. She reached out to Thorpe as she spoke, helping Mackenzie get him through the doorway. “My father isn’t here, but he’ll be back shortly.”
“Much obliged, ma’am,” said Mackenzie as she looped Thorpe’s left arm over her shoulder.
“Right in here.” The young woman guided them across a parlor and straight into the doctor’s treatment room.
“Who—who are you?” Thorpe asked, giving her a weak sidelong glance.
“I’m Beth Ann . . . Beth Ann Ross,” the young woman replied as she and Mackenzie eased the wounded man onto a canvas surgical table.
“Like the woman who made the flag?” Thorpe asked, dreamily.
“Yes, only her name was Betsy, mine is Beth Ann,” she replied cordially. Yet as she spoke she deftly went to work. She plucked his spectacles from his face and laid them in a metal tray beside the surgical table. Crossing the room, she returned with a pan of water and a clean washcloth. She set the pan and washcloth down beside the metal instrument tray and began unbuttoning Thorpe’s shirt. “Please remove his boots,” she said sidelong to Mackenzie.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Mackenzie, immediately doing as she instructed. “You said your father will be home real soon?” He took Thorpe’s right boot toe and heel between his hands and pulled the boat from his foot.
“Please to meet you, Miss Beth Ann,” Thorpe said in a thick incoherent tone.
“And I you, sir,” Beth Ann said quietly, patting Thorpe’s shoulder. To Mackenzie she replied, “Yes, he should be home soon. But not soon enough, I’m afraid.” She picked up a packet of gauze from the metal instrument tray. “Your friend has lost a lot of blood. I have to stop this bleeding right away.”
“You?” Mackenzie looked at her.
“Yes, me,” said Beth Ann.
“No offense, ma’am,” said Mackenzie, “but I brought Holly here to see a doctor.”