“No, I didn’t find your horse, Mister Gant,” Gib Randall said with annoyance and irritation. He was pacing around his office.
After the discovery of Mister Muny and the bank robbery, Caleb had gone to Gib Randall and had told him about it. Gib had investigated the premises and interrogated Mister Muny at length. There was little to be learned except that The Whispering Bandit had made off with several thousand dollars of bank money. Much of which had already been earmarked for Bart Allen’s Ladder A payroll.
Caleb had pointed out to him the distinctive hoof prints of the horse that belonged to him. It was obvious that the horse had been picketed there while the bandit was inside the bank. The prints could only be followed as far as the bandit had ridden off and blended the prints in with the rest of the town’s normal traffic.
Caleb grinned at the lawman’s consternation. He strode over to the chair in front of the sheriff’s battle scarred desk, dropped in it and folded his arms.
“And I don’t need some wise ass drifter to hang around and bug me.” Randall continued. He swung around and glared at Caleb. Caleb only smiled. It irritated Randall even more and he came back to stand over Caleb.
“I’ll be on way just as soon as I have my horse back.” The smirk on Caleb’s face only fueled Gib’s irritation.
“Maybe you ought to try finding him, yourself,” Gib said.
“Maybe, I will,” Caleb said, unfolding his arms. “You did say there’s a reward out there for this Whispering Bandit?”
“You a bounty hunter or something like that?”
“No. But maybe something like that. A three thousand dollar reward is mighty tempting though.”
“Then have at it, mister. But once you have that nag back, I want you out of Gila Bend.”
“Just when I was just thinking about maybe settling down here,” Caleb mused.
Gib thought about that for a moment, then half grinned slyly. “If you’re thinking about that Brent girl,” he said. “Maybe, you ought to forget it.”
“You got designs on her, yourself, Sheriff?”
“No. But Dirk Bennett has and I gather he didn’t like you much out there on the trail this morning.”
“You mean that punk kid that was riding with you? By the way, I didn’t see him ride into town with you.”
“Naw. He works out at the Bar H. We left him off there when we passed by. Same as when we picked him up this morning. He had only joined us a short while before we met up with you. Good thing he didn’t ride in with us. He might have been mighty upset seeing you with his girl.”
“According to Helen, she isn’t,” Caleb retorted.
“Be that as it may, Mister Gant, I’d stay clear of Dirk Bennett, if I was you.”
“Maybe, it’s a good thing you’re not me.”
“That’s one thing, I am sure of,” Gib Randall said.
“Hey there, Mister Gant!” Mose Brillick called out as he saw the tall stranger leave the Sheriff’s Office and head out into the street. The afternoon sun was already setting and the street was now succumbing to shadows with approaching dusk.
Caleb turned and saw the old man shuffling quickly toward him. He drew up straight. “Hello Mose,” he called back. “Something wrong?”
“No, sir,” the old man said as he drew up close to Caleb. “Just headin’ over to the Chessman for the doin’s.”
“Doin’s?”
“Yeah. You’re goin’, ain’t ya?”
“Well,,,,,,,,,, I dunno,” Caleb stammered, not quite sure what the old hostler was talking about.
“You’re invited, ya know. You bein’ a friend of Dave Bishop’s and all. Didn’t he tell ya?’
“I’m afraid, I missed him,” Caleb said. “He was just leaving with his bride.”
“That’s too bad,” Mose said. “But he’ll be back on Tuesday. They’re just goin’ to Santa Fe for a few days. Bart Allen’s gonna have a big shindig out to his ranch next Saturday. But for today, drinks are free at the Chessman until nine tonight. Mister Bishop owns the Chessman Music Hall. That’s just a fancy name for saloon, but it is a very nice place. Not your usual drinking and gamblin’ place. Come along with me.”
Maybe that might be a good idea, Caleb thought. Maybe he could find out something about why this man was passing himself off as Dave Bishop. Could it be that he wasn’t? Could this just be a coincidence of same names? Caleb didn’t think so. And, if he was right what happened to the real Dave Bishop?
“Hold it right there, mister,” the big burly man growled. He had jumped up out of his chair that was placed just inside and to the left of the doorway. He barred the way with his big body as Caleb and Mose stepped through the open doors to the Chessman. He stepped forward placing himself squarely in front of Caleb, nose to nose. “This is a private party. Only guests are allowed.” The man, though a head shorter than Caleb, outweighed him considerably. He had broad shoulders and a large frame. His stomach hung out over his belt and the borrowed Sunday go to meeting jacket, he wore, was way too small for him. Only the top button was in place. The jacket then veed away from his large middle. His worn pistol belt and weapon were exposed on his thick thigh. Thick black stubble covered his face almost like fur.
“It’s okay, Pete,” Mose said. “He’s a friend of Mister Bishop’s”
Pete stepped back a step, taking a better look and measure of the newcomer. “If he’s a friend of Bishop’s, how come, I ain’t never seen him afore?” Pete asked.
“He just got into town,” old Mose said. “I’ll vouch for him.” He took Caleb by the arm and pushed his way past the guard. “This way, Caleb,” he said.
“That’s Pete Stover,” Mose explained. He’s the bouncer here. A real mean one. Don’t ever get on his bad side. I hope you don’t mind me callin’ ya by your first name. Thought it might go down better with Pete.”
“No. That’s fine. I never did cotton much to that ‘mister’ business.”
The Chessman was brightly lit and elegant, reminiscent of music halls in the larger cities, but on a smaller scale, and certainly much larger than the run of the mill saloons usually found in towns the size of Gila Bend.
The floor was spotless and the wooden planks were smooth, absent of the usual sawdust that covered most western saloon floors, but this was no ordinary cow town dive. This place was rich and had a class A shiny mahogany bar ran three quarters the length of the establishment near the left side wall. The bar was fully stocked behind it, with fine glassware, and a large bronze framed mirror reflected most of the room.
Gaming tables were centered around the right third of floor space and the floor beneath was carpeted with a dark green. Patrons usually sat at scattered tables, drinking and playing cards. Today there was less card playing than usual. With free drinks being supplied for a limited time to invited guests, there was more whooping it up than usual and the three bartenders behind the long bar were exceptionally busy pouring drinks as fast as they could be consumed.
At the far end of the hall was a performing stage. Not large, but certainly large enough to attract more than local performers. Off to the left there was a stairway of five steps leading down onto the main floor. There was a small orchestra pit in front of the stage and several musicians in suits, appeared to be setting up for a performance.
Mose led Caleb to the bar. He greeted friends along the way, not bothering to introduce Caleb to them. Caleb merely nodded as he passed them by.
“Quite a place,” Caleb mused. “I’m surprised a town this size could afford enough business to support it.”
“Oh, people come here from as far away as Alamogordo and Santa Fe. The town has grown some since Dave Bishop set up this place and the Castle Hotel down the street. He goes first class all the way and it’s proving out to be good business sense.”
“Hey, Sam!” Mose called to a tall rotund middle age man with handlebar mustache and receding forehead, tending bar. “Set ‘em up for me and my friend, will ya?”
“Just a moment,” the bartender answere
d with annoyance. He was finishing pouring a drink.
“Yeah, what’ll it be?” Sam said as he approached, wiping his hands on his apron.
“Whatever you’re pouring.” Mose quipped.
“Who’s this galoot?” The bartender asked, eyeing Caleb cautiously.
“Friend of Dave Bishop’s. He’s alright.”
“Don’t worry, friend,” Caleb said. “I’m not drinking anyways. Go ahead and take care of Mose.”
Mose downed his drink in two seconds flat. “Sam! Fill ‘er up again!” He called. Sam was already halfway down the bar by then. He shot Mose an annoyed glance and continued working the bar.
Behind him, amid the drone of laughing voices, Caleb thought he could hear an announcement of some sort being made. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see a small statured man in a gray suit backing off the stage to his left. His arm was outstretched before him as if making a presentation.
Above the din of voices, Caleb barely caught the words:
“And now for one and all, the lovely Miss Lola Montaine.”
A drumroll and a rush of sound from the orchestra pit lifted to a high crescendo. Conversation halted and a roar from the crowd rang out as a young woman with long black hair glided out onto the stage. She wore a long flowing sequined gown of light blue. A sparkling necklace encircled her throat draping into the exposed area above her plunging neckline.
Her entrance was graceful and elegant and as the applause and catcalls began to settle she burst into song, blending perfectly with the orchestra.
Caleb smiled broadly to himself as he turned and leaned back, resting his elbows against the bar. He relaxed and let himself drink in the sight and sound.
The singer’s voice was strong, smooth and lyrical as she sang:
“Some Sunday morning, we’ll walk down the aisle. You will be nervous and I’ll try to smile.”
“Pretty good,” Caleb commented.
“We’ve had some good shows pass through,” Mose said. Avery’s been trying to get Lilly Langtree in here, but I guess she’s too big and famous for us. But just wait and see, one of these days we’ll get her.”
“Avery?”
“Yeah. Michael Avery, he manages the Chessman and the Castle hotel for Mister Bishop.”
“Some Sunday morning, you’ll see.”
The singer continued as she started to descend the stairs.
Catcalls and whistles exploded throughout the room as she stepped down on the main floor and began to thread her way between the tables managing to sashay her way around the reaching arms and pawing hands, barely missing them. She smiled coyly and swished away with a teasing flirt.
By now she was repeating the chorus:
“Some Sunday morning, we’ll…..”
She was suddenly cut off as a thin young man, obviously, already laden with too much whiskey under his belt sprang from a chair at one of the tables and leaped after her.
“Wh...what…” the girl stammered, her song cut off in mid sentence. She fell backwards step or two, but remained on her feet as the drunken man wrapped his arms around her waist and held her up as he groped her and nuzzled his baby soft cheek against her neck. She screamed.
The music stopped suddenly. Onlookers were cheering and laughing. No one seemed to be going to the girl’s rescue. Caleb Gant clenched his jaw with disgust and sprang forward toward the young man, coming up from behind him, gripping his right shoulder; pulling him back enough to let go of his grip on the girl. She fell backward landing on the floor. Onlookers stepped back to make room for her.
Caleb spun the young man around and planted his right fist against the drunk’s jaw. It snapped to the right and spittle flew from between his teeth.
With Caleb’s left hand clutching the inside of the man’s collar holding him up from falling to the floor, Caleb spun him around and pushed him forward; arms out splayed as he stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet and falling into an open chair that had been out turned away from a table. In one smooth motion, Caleb stepped forward, grasping the chair back and spun the drunk completely around, and with a foot against the back of the chair and a mighty heave, he sent it sliding across the bare floor to crash into the wall between the end of the bar and a doorway that obviously led to an office or storage room. The chair tipped over, spilling the young man out. He half rolled and fell flat, face down against the boards; out cold.
“Caleb! Watch out!”
Caleb spun instinctively; his attention turning away from the downed man. It was only a flashing vision as he came around. A big man with broad shoulders and a face as broad as a barn door was coming at him! Almost upon him! His right arm was raised and a full bottle of whiskey was clutched by the stem, in his massive mallet sized fist. His eyes were blazing with rage and his shaggy head of light brown hair flew loosely around his head and shoulders as he moved rapidly. “I’ll teach you not to hurt my pal!” He was shouting, but Caleb was too occupied to comprehend.
Caleb leaned back trying to put some space between him and his attacker, but he was too hemmed in by the excited crowd that was pushing in; cheering and jeering and getting into the excitement. Caleb bent at the waist, crouching into a gunman’s stance as his gun flashed like lightning out of its holster. Flame and thunder spouted from the pistol barrel and the acrid smell of gunsmoke filled the air.
The big man halted, stunned, as the whiskey bottle shattered and liquid spilled all over his arm and hand. He dropped the remnants of the bottle and shook off his wet hand. Eyes widened and with renewed anger, he jumped forward, growling like an injured grizzly bear.
Like magic Caleb’s pistol slid back into leather. At the same time, Caleb’s left hand shot out and gripped the giant’s right. He stepped past the man with his left foot sliding just inside his right boot and tripping him up as he twisted his arm back and up, sending him stumbling forward and past him. The man almost fell, his body bent, but managed to stay on his feet. By the time he gained his footing and turned back around toward Caleb, Caleb had moved in and threw a roundhouse right into the man’s broad face. His head snapped backward and his eyes tended to cross. He stumbled twice backward, but still did not go down. He came forward with a bellow. Caleb crouched and sank his left fist solidly into the man’s midsection.
Caleb expected him to double up at the impact, but he must have had a stomach made of steel. He hardly seemed to feel it and his massive fist came up and clipped Caleb high in his chest.
Caleb stumbled backward as the big man attacked again, but he regained his balance quickly, and came back like a shot out of a gun with his right smashing into the giant’s nose, drawing blood that gushed and streaked down his face and chin. He was momentarily stunned and Caleb followed up with a left to his face and another right. Then another left and right again. The man staggered a bit and Caleb stepped in hammering the face with slug after slug. The man faltered, leaning backward, and Caleb advanced again, swinging hard right and left while the giant just took it until his eyes rolled back in his head and then he tipped over backward to the floor like a fallen timber.
“Thanks for the warning, Mose,” Caleb said without turning to see the old hostler standing close behind him. He was breathing hard from the exertion and was still standing over the fallen man, watching to see if he was going to get back up and continue the fight. He didn’t move, however. Apparently out cold.
“I knew you were trouble, when you first came in here.” Pete Stover had stepped up beside Caleb and grasped the muscle of his upper right arm with his big dirty paw.
“Wait a minute,” Old Mose put in. “He was just doin’ what should have been your job.” He indicated Lola Montaine, who was just now being helped up off the floor by a burly but dapper, well dressed man that had come out of the door next to the bar. He had a ruffled white shirt with black string tie and a fancy vest without his suitcoat. He had a wide florid face and coal black hair was combed straight back and slicked with bay rum. He had coal black eyes.
�
�That’s right, Stover,” the man said as helped the girl steady herself. “Where were you when this all happened?” He didn’t expect nor was he waiting for an answer. It was more of an indictment.
“You all right?” He asked turning his attention to the woman.
“I’m okay, Mister Avery,” she said. She was brushing off her gown and looking around at the aftermath of the mayhem. Her eyes drifted toward Caleb, but registered nothing. She was still shaken.
“Good. Go get yourself together. We’ll talk later.”
“Now Stover,” Avery said striding to within a foot of his bouncer. His face was grim. “Get back to your post. We’ll talk later, too.”
Pete Stover only grunted, spun on his heel and stalked back to his chair.
“What’s going on here?” Gib Randall demanded as he came into the Chessman, striding across the floor passing Stover on his way and paying him no heed. He approached Avery and Caleb.
“I should have known you’d’ve been in the middle of whatever this was,” Randall said to Caleb. His eyes were blazing with anger and disgust. “I knew you were trouble the I first time I laid eyes on you.” He noticed the two men lying prone and unconscious on the floor.
“Wait a minute, Sheriff,” Avery put in. “This man just stepped in to put down trouble that was already happening. Those two on the floor started it. That one,” he indicated the smaller man accosted Miss Montaine and this man stopped him. The other one mixed in and got what he deserved.”
“Well, okay, Mister Avery,” Randall acquiesced. “You want me to run these two in?”
“That won’t be necessary,” a voice from behind them said. “I’ll send them back to the ranch and keep them there for a while. I’ll make sure they won’t give you any more trouble,”
“That’s alright with me Mister Allen,” Randall said to the newcomer. “But if Mister Avery wants to prefer charges, I’ll run them in.”
“No,” Avery said. “However you want to handle it, Bart,”
“Okay, some of you hands,” Allen gazed around the room, his eyes picking out the ones he wanted. “Get these two up off the floor and get them out of here. Now!”
Four men came forward and started to lift the fallen men who were already starting to return to consciousness.
“Muley Jones and Buster Spragg,” Allen muttered with disgust as the two men were dragged away. “Not a trace of brains between them. They’re always getting into trouble.”
Then to Caleb, he said. “You handle yourself very well, sir. I could use a man of your talents and ability if you’re looking for work. Oh, and I’d get rid of those two troublemakers if you’re interested. Might not be a good idea you getting too close to them after what you just did.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be the cause of them two losing their jobs.” He glanced at Gib Randall and saw the apprehension in his eyes. “Besides, I’m just passing through.”
Randall nodded approvingly. “That’s right, Bart. Mister Gant will be moving on soon.”
Caleb returned a slight, wry and knowing grin to the lawman. ‘Maybe.’ it said.
Randall fully understood the meaning. “Then, I guess you don’t me anymore,” he addressed the two older men. He tipped his hat to them, threw one last warning glance in Caleb’s direction. Again, Caleb only smiled. Randall turned and strode out.
Bart Allen watched him go for a moment, then stepped away from Caleb, Mose, and Michael Avery. His arms lifted shoulder high and he announced to the crowd. “All over, folks. Get back to having fun.” He then turned and left the Chessman also. Festivities resumed and the room was filled with the sound of conversation and mirth
“Just how is it, Mister… Gant, is it? I heard the sheriff say,” Avery started, “ …that you’re here? This is a private party, after all. I’m not complaining, you understand, but I am curious.”
“He’s a friend of Dave Bishop. Just got into town this afternoon,” Mose put in. “Mister Avery, meet Caleb Gant.” Then to Caleb, “Caleb, this is Michael Avery. I told you about him.”
Avery pushed his hand forward to shake. Caleb took it and noticed how soft it was for such a big man. “Well, if you’re a friend of Dave’s.” There was something in his tone that indicated a wariness. “Did..did you see him?”
“No,” Caleb drawled. “I just missed him. He was riding off in a carriage when I got here.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. But, he’ll be back Tuesday, ….if you’re still around.” The wariness was still there.
“Maybe,” Caleb said. Something was telling him to test the waters. Avery seemed a bit disappointed at the possibility. Did he know the man was an imposter?
“Well, I hope so,” Avery said. “I’m sure Dave will be disappointed if he finds that he missed you. How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”
“A few years. He seems to be doing all right for himself around here,” Caleb said.
“Yes,” Avery gushed. “He certainly has a good head for business and everybody around here likes him.”
“That’s strange,” Caleb mused. “He always was an irresponsible cuss and most folks couldn’t stand him.”
“W..well,” Avery stammered. “I guess some people change as they get older.”
“That’s hard to believe, but I guess you must be right.”
“You found a place to stay yet?” Avery asked, changing the subject.
Caleb noticed. “Not yet,” he answered. “Haven’t really had time to think about it.” He glanced toward the open doorway and the darkness of night beyond. “I guess, I’d better be looking into that soon or might just wind up sleeping in the hay at your livery, Mose.”
“I wouldn’t have any problem with that, but I think you’d find it much more comfortable in a hotel.”
Beads of perspiration were beginning to form on Avery’s brow. “Well, at least for as long as you’re here,” Avery said. “I think Dave would be much displeased if I didn’t offer you hospitality. Tell you what. When you’re ready, go down the street to the Castle Hotel. Dave owns it. Tell the desk clerk that I said to give you his best room. And don’t worry about the cost. It’s on the house.”
“I really shouldn’t,” Caleb began to protest weakly.
“Nonsense. What are friends for?” Avery quipped.
“All right,” Caleb agreed. “I’d appreciate that. I am tired. It’s been a long day and I should get to it.”
Then as if just remembering he said, “I need to get my gear. I left it at the stable, Mose. Will you be staying here long?”
“Well, I would like to stay a bit longer,” Mose said. “But, you don’t need me to go with you. I closed up, but I didn’t lock up. Just slide the crossbar open and close her back up when you leave. Pablo’s already left for the day, but I’ll be along later.”
“Well then, Mister Gant..or can I call you Caleb?” Avery said.
“Sure. What are friends for?”
Avery rubbed his nose nervously, “Then have a good night, Caleb.” He emphasized ‘Caleb’. “Hope to see you again before you leave town.” He turned and headed back toward his office. On the way, he stopped at a table. Four men were playing cards. Avery had a short conversation with a slim, swarthy man. He wore a battered Stetson with a broad brim that shaded beady eyes that glistened like steel. The man shot a quick glance at Caleb and then back to Avery. He nodded and Avery moved away into his office and closed the door.
“Who’s that man Avery just talked to?” Caleb asked Mose. He was sure he had recognized the man and the man had recognized him.
“Oh, that’s Hal Beecham,” Mose answered. “He’s a quiet gent, but I’d keep a wide berth of him. I hear he’s a gunfighter.
“I think you’re right there, Mose,” Caleb said. He was right. Caleb had ridden with Hal Beecham in Montana some years back. Both of them had hired their guns out in a range feud.
Beecham refrained from glancing in Caleb’s direction as he walked past him and toward the open doorway to the street. He sto
pped and said something to Pete Stover, then went out. A minute or two later, when Caleb glanced toward the doorway, he noticed that Pete Stover’s chair was empty and the bouncer was nowhere to be seen.
****
Chapter Six
The Whispering Bandit Page 5