The Whispering Bandit

by Franklin D. Lincoln

Dusk was already passing into the darkness of encroaching nighttime. Stars were beginning to stud the empty sky above. A few, here and there, seemed to twinkle with chiding mirth as the tired, hungry, thirsty and dirty bedraggled figure of Caleb Gant trudged forward on weary legs and burning feet, down the main street of Gila Bend.

  Without a horse, continued trailing of Kittridge and Beecham was out of the question. The only thing left for him was to return to town, and if he were ready to heed all the warnings and recommendations that had been piling up, the smart thing to do would be to leave town.

  Once again he was faced with the dilemma of no horse. Of course he could always get another horse or even buy a stage ticket out of town. But, this was not Caleb Gant’s way. No one was ever going to dictate his actions and no one was going to back him down. Besides, his curiosity would always get the best of him. He still wanted to know what had happened to the real Dave Bishop. Who was the man now using his name? Or was it just a coincidence and this was a man with the same name as the man he once knew? Caleb didn’t think so. And who were the men who had attacked him the night before? He had thought it Hal Beecham and Pete Stover, but when two men came after him that afternoon, he could no longer be sure. Were they, in fact the same ones from before? Again, Caleb didn’t think so. If they weren’t and he was right about the other pair, that would explain Doc Kittridge’s involvement. After all, Kittridge was the only man in town who had known Caleb before and would have a reason to want him out of town. But, if Kittridge was in with Beecham, then Beecham probably knew who the fake parson was too. Who was the rifleman who had first ambushed him that afternoon? Could it have been Kittridge or Beecham? They may have detected Caleb on their trail, doubled back and ambushed him. If so, were they also in cahoots with the other pair of assailants in the basin?

  The most baffling question of all was why the mysterious black rider known as The Whispering Bandit should come to his rescue? Why would the bandit also want him out of town? None of this made sense.

  What made even less sense was why his horse was now tied at the hitchrail in front of the Chessman?

  The street was empty for so early in the evening, but after all, this was a Sunday night. Light from the Chessman windows did not filter out into the street as bright as it had the night before and there were only a few horses tied up outside.

  Caleb strode up to the copper dun. “Glad to see you again, old son,” Caleb said stroking the standing horse. The dun’s coat rippled at the touch. He shook his head and neighed softly.

  Caleb ran his hand across the horse’s back. Looking him over. He didn’t seem to be any worse for wear. He examined the saddle and found no note this time. He patted the animal once more time, then stepped past him and up onto the board sidewalk outside the Chessman. The two big double doors that had been open the night before, leaving only the swinging bat wings in the open doorway were now closed for the night.

  Caleb turned the handle of the right door, pushed it open and stepped inside. Again, he noted the lighting was not as bright as the night before. It was a slow night and there was no need for extras.

  The first thing he noticed as he glanced to his right was the empty chair where Pete Stover usually sat on guard. Was that because he had, in fact, been the man that Caleb had shot? Or was it because, it was a slow night and there had been no need for him? Caleb wondered.

  It was fairly empty inside and it seemed quiet compared to the boisterous night before.

  Most of the tables were empty. Only a few diehard drinkers were scattered about with bottles and glasses in front of them. Some were alone and others were in pairs. One table had a card going on. The gaming tables were empty and silent and the professional gamblers and dealers were missing.

  The stage was empty and dark. The easel holding the placard proclaiming Lola Montaine as star attraction was still in place on the stage and out front. The orchestra pit was empty.

  Lola Montaine, herself sat at a table, nearby. Used supper dishes, a coffee cup and a coffee pot had been pushed aside while she played a lonely game of solitaire. She looked up as Caleb walked inside, closing the door behind him. When he glanced her way, she gave him an up from under smile. Caleb nodded, returned the smile warmly and strode to the bar.

  There were only three men spread out along the long bar. Only one bartender was on duty. He was leaning back against the rear counter beneath the shelves of bottles and glasses. The back of his baldhead reflected in the mirror behind him. The bartender looked bored. His black handlebar mustache periodically twitched nervously. He started to come to attention as Caleb Gant approached, but Caleb waved him off, shaking his head side to side, indicating that he was not in the market for a drink.

  What had gotten Caleb’s attention was the young man, halfway down the bar, standing alone, bent over with elbows on the flat surface and nursing a drink that he held close to his mouth, but was not drinking. He was brooding and his mind seemed to be miles away.

  Caleb stepped up close, turned his back to the bar, placing his elbow on it, to support him as he leaned back to look up into the young man’s face. He smiled broadly, tauntingly.

  Dirk Bennett bolted upright, slamming his glass to the bar. “What the Hell, you want, Gant?’ He demanded angrily with annoyance.

  “Don’t know much of anyone around here,” Caleb drawled. “But I know you. Thought I’d stop by for some conversation.”

  “Well go get acquainted with somebody else,” Dirk said. He picked up his glass, tossed off the drink, slapped the empty back to the bar and started to turn away.

  Caleb’s hand clamped on the boy’s arm like a vise. “Wait a minute! I’ve got something to say to you.”

  Dirk’s gaze went to the hand on his arm, then back to Caleb. Anger blazed in his dark eyes, “I got nothin’ to say to you. You’re to blame for it all.”

  “To blame? For what?” Caleb didn’t let up on his grip.

  “You playing up to Helen. Making her turn sour on me. She called me im...immature,” he said.

  Caleb released his grip and sighed. “Maybe that was your own doing, son. Maybe if you grew up a little.”

  “I ain’t your son. And I’m grown up enough to take you anytime.”

  “That’s right. You said if we weren’t in church and weren’t carrying a gun, you’d teach me a thing or two. Well, we’re not in church now and you are wearing a gun.” Caleb released his grip and the boy stepped back.

  His body stiffened. He tried to hide the fear that was suddenly rolling over him. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously, then in defense, blurted, “But you’re not?” He forced a smile as if sizing up Caleb. He could have said Caleb could get one, but he let it lay.

  “I guess that’s a good thing, again,” Caleb uttered softly.

  “Just stay out of my way!” Dirk warned as he started to walk away. His back was to Caleb, when Gant said, “What I want to know, is how come every time my horse disappears and reappears, you’re always around?”

  Dirk halted in his tracks. He paused a second before turning around. Then he whirled and snapped, “What are you trying to say? I ain’t no horse thief. Besides, you said yourself, it was The Whispering Bandit what stole your horse.”

  “That’s right. But maybe, just maybe you are The Whispering Bandit.”

  Dirk threw his head back and laughed. “Now how could that be? You saw me with the posse. We were tracking the bandit.”

  “I understand you had just joined the posse. You had time to dispose of your outfit and then filter in.”

  “You’re crazy!” Dirk said. “If I were the bandit, I wouldn’t have saved your worthless hide out there today.” He stomped off across the floor and out the door.

  “Now, that’s very interesting,” Caleb mused to himself as he watched the young man leave.

  He started to push himself away from the bar when he saw Lola Montaine with an inviting smile on her face. She nodded at him with a ‘come here’ look.

  He crossed the floor to
ward her table. He ran his splayed fingers like a comb through his hair, trying to put it in some semblance of order. The sweat had dried now and hair felt bristly and like hay.

  “Ma’am,” he said gallantly, as he half bowed and smiled broadly.

  “Sit down, Mister Gant,” the singer said. Her speaking voice was just as pleasant as her singing voice; inviting, but much more of a demand than a request.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Caleb said as he folded his long body into the chair and hugged it closer to the table. “How is it you know my name?”

  “Come now, Mister Gant, or can I call you Caleb?” She fingered the golden locket that hung around her neck. “It’s not every day that a lady gets rescued by a knight in shining armor. Of course I’d want to know his name.”

  “Well I don’t quite see myself in shining armor,” Caleb chuckled. “Maybe, a mite tarnished, though. And yes, you can call me Caleb, Miss Montaine.”

  “And you can call me Callie.”

  “Callie? But I thought….” He glanced toward the placard on the stage.

  “Yes, Callie Parker. That’s my name. My true name. That Lola Montaine business just sounds good to the patrons.”

  “I see. Well glad to know you, Callie.” He was searching for something else to say.

  The girl’s smile told him that she knew he was at a loss for words. She was amused when he went for the old tired line. “So, Callie,” he started. “Tell me what….”

  “What a girl like me is doing in a place like this.” She finished for him.

  He grinned sheepishly. “Well, yes. Something like that. I guess you hear that all the time.”

  “Yes,” she laughed. “But, I don’t mind. Besides this is one of the nicer places, I’ve played.” I don’t like singing in lower class saloons. I’m always looking for better venues.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it,” Caleb apologized. “I just thought, well.., I just thought a pretty girl like you, should be out looking for a man instead of a place to sing.”

  “A girl belongs in the home, is that what you mean?” Putting Caleb on the defensive. “Who says I’m not looking for a man.” She rested her chin on her fist and leaned closer. A tight, coy smile as she gazed up into his eyes.

  “I just meant,” Caleb retorted uneasily. “I just meant, I don’t think you’re going to find a man in places like these.”

  “I don’t know,” she said flatly. “Maybe, I already have.”

  Caleb shifted uneasy in his chair. He didn’t notice the singer’s gaze pass over his shoulder as Michael Avery came out of his office behind him.

  ****

  Chapter Ten