The Whispering Bandit

by Franklin D. Lincoln

“Not a sound Gant. Keep your hands down but stay away from your gun. We don’t want bring attention that anything is wrong. You understand?” Mort Glick’s voice was low and menacing. Gant recognized the voice right off.

  Gant nodded, still facing forward. His eyes darted side to side, taking in a sweep of the darkened street. There didn’t seem to be anyone around who might notice what was happening.

  “Just keep walking straight ahead,” Glick ordered lowly. He pressed the gun muzzle deeper into Caleb’s spine. It hurt and Caleb arched his back, just slightly, but still holding himself ramrod straight.

  They walked the rest of the block to the end of the board sidewalk. There was an alley on the right between the barber shop and the hardware store. Glick indicated to turn in there. They stepped into the shadows. The pressure on Gant’s back released and Glick pulled him around to face him.

  There was just enough light from the sliver of moon and clear sky full of stars to filter into the alleyway, for Gant to see Glick and Johnny Leach standing before him. Glick still had his weapon pointed close to Caleb’s chin. Johnny Leach just stood back. His gun was still in his holster.

  “Wasn’t very friendly of you, Caleb,” Glick said. “Leaving us out in the hot sun without horses and making us walk all the way to town.”

  “Exercise should have done you some good. Looks to me like you’ve put on a few pounds. Not so good for you.”

  “I’m so glad you’re so concerned about my health.”

  “Too bad, we’re not so concerned about yours’,” Johnny Leach put in. “Come on, Mort. What do you say? Let’s kill him right now and get it over with.”

  “Don’t be in such a hurry, Johnny. There’s some things I want explained first.”

  “Well go ahead and ask,” Gant said calmly.

  “Dave Bishop,” Mort said. “There’s something very fishy going on here. It seems everyone around here seems to think he was on that stage this afternoon. You and I both know that guy wasn’t Bishop. Now what gives?”

  “I would have thought you’d’ve been smart enough to figure that out, Mort. He wasn’t Bishop, just pretending to be. Everyone here thought he was who he said he was.”

  “Why would he do that? And what about the real Dave Bishop?”

  “Isn’t it obvious. Apparently, the real Dave Bishop is dead.”

  “What about the money?”

  “I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “How come you didn’t tell us this guy was a fake in the first place?”

  “I didn’t know for sure, myself,” Gant lied. “Until this afternoon.”

  “You took our horses for them, didn’t you?”

  “I couldn’t leave them out there stranded. Now, could I?”

  “You left us,” Leach put in.

  Caleb ignored him. “Turned out, The Whispering Bandit got to them first. I saw him riding away and the girl told me what had happened. The man was already dead.”

  “Then you didn’t need our horses anymore,” Johnny complained.

  “Of course I did. One to carry the body and one for the girl. I took them to the Ladder A.”

  “Why didn’t you bring them to town?” Glick asked.

  “As you recall, I wasn’t too popular in town right then.”

  “That’s right. You never did tell us how you got out of jail.”

  “That’s right, I didn’t. I figured Once it’s known that the man they thought was Dave Bishop was dead, the sheriff would be all over me. I had made it known that I was looking for Bishop and since I was out there today, he just might think I was in on it.”

  “But it was that bandit, you said,” Johnny put in.

  “That’s right. And I didn’t want anyone thinking I was connected with him either. I just as soon avoid any questions.”

  Glick didn’t pursue it. He was already thinking about something else. “What about the money? What do we do now?”

  “What do you mean, what do ‘we’ do now?” Gant emphasized the ‘we’. “Looks like we’re all out of luck. I don’t know what you’re going to do, but as for me, since there’s no money to get now, I’m getting out of town, first thing in the morning. I’m hoping to be gone before the Ladder A people bring the body to town in the morning Then he added, “That is, if you don’t shoot me first.”

  Mort Glick thought about it for a moment. Then with a deep sigh, his body relaxed. He pulled his pistol away from Gant and shoved it back in its holster. His frustration was obvious. “Nah, Caleb,” he said. “I guess that wouldn’t make any difference, except get me hung for shooting you. If there is no money, I guess we should be moving on too.” Then he added, “You’re absolutely sure there is no way we can get any money on this deal?”

  “Well, Mort. Unless you’ve got some ideas, I guess not. If you can think of something, I’m with you.”

  “No, Gant,” Glick sneered. “We’re through. You and us. But you’d better not be hustling us.”

  “Hustle you? You know I’m not that smart. Besides I want to go on living. And I know you, Mort. Oh, how well I know you.”

  “Get out of here, Gant,” Mort ordered, stepping back to the side, leaving room for Caleb to pass by.

  Caleb nodded with a slight wry grin as he strode by. “I wish I could say, this has been fun, boys.” He passed one furtive glance to Johnny and walked out of the alley into the dimly lit street.

  “You should have shot him, Mort,” Johnny said dejectedly.

  “Just be patient, Johnny, my boy,” Mort smiled broadly. “Let’s just see what our friend Mister Gant is really up to. Maybe we’ll kill him yet.”

  There were no lights on in the little church. Nor were there any in the small living quarters that was attached out back. It was just a square wooden affair with a one-sided slanted roof. Just big enough for the meager housing of a lone member of the clergy.

  Doc Kittridge, the man known to the rest of the town as the reverend Paul Black was either not there or had turned in for the night. There was no reason for him to still be up with the lights out, but Gant was a cautious man and he approached the rear of the church with caution and silent stealth, keeping to shadows as much as possible.

  The small residence had two small windows, covered with closed curtains. One on each side of the door that was both entrance and exit for the meager abode. There was a screen door covering it.

  Further back from the church stood a makeshift stable. Just a lean to sort, with sloping roof, full back and side walls. The front was open to the air. The so called parson’s buggy was parked in front of the structure almost hiding from view the sight of the carriage pulling horse. Or was it horses? Caleb thought. The other day there had been only one horse harnessed to the buggy. But tonight, Gant noticed the movement of a second horse inside the structure. Perhaps, Kittridge had a saddle horse, also, but Caleb didn’t think so. At least, he didn’t think it was Doc’s saddle horse.

  Caleb made his way around the parked carriage and stepped into the stable. As he thought there were two horses stabled in there. He stepped softly between the two animals, rubbing his hand on each horse’s flank in a soothing motion. In the deep shadow and the dark of night both horses appeared black, but even in the gloom he could see that one was a saddle horse. He ran his palm over the animal’s slick, satiny coat. It was coal black. Caleb knew right off this was the black stallion ridden by The Whispering Bandit.

  With extra caution now, Caleb backed out of the makeshift stable and approached the back door of the residence. Silently, he withdrew his six gun from the holster. He held it at mid-level, out in front of him as he reached for the screen door. It creaked a little and there was a slight twang of the door spring that normally allowed the door to flap shut without extra effort. The floorboard of the wooden step beneath his boot creaked. In the silence of the night, all of these sounds echoed loudly in Gant’s ears, although he knew that in reality, the noise was miniscule. He slowed his advance, listening intently for any sound of stirring fro
m inside. If his presence had been noted, he had to be ready for retaliation. After a moment, he decided he had not been heard. He reached out and grasped the door knob of the wooden door. He was half expecting the door to be locked, but surprisingly, the knob turned easily in his grasp.

  With a light shove, he pushed the door open. At first just a crack. Just enough to peek inside. In the meager light, he could see a table in the middle of the room and three wooden chairs around it. On a far wall was a cot. The blankets were bunched high. Kittridge appeared to be beneath them and asleep.

  Gant pushed the door a little further open just enough to slide through. He pressed the door silently closed behind him. No movement came from the bed. Carefully, tiptoeing forward, Gant approached the bed. He lowered the muzzle of his weapon close the blankets at the head of the bed. Then, with a sudden flurry, he grasped the blanket and flung it back.

  There was that familiar feel of cold steel against his neck at the very same instant, he discovered the bed was empty. He froze.

  “Just drop the gun, friend,” a familiar voice said behind him. It definitely didn’t sound friendly.

  Gant dropped his weapon into the bedding and straightened his body to stand erect. The pressure of the gun and a firm lifting motion behind him seemed to direct his movement.

  “Now turn around,” Kittridge ordered.

  Caleb turned slowly.

  “I should have known it was you, Gant,” the fake minister said. “For a while I almost started to believe you had forgotten about me. Let me go. Why now? The bounty? I told you that was no good anymore.”

  “I didn’t come here to harm you, Doc,” Caleb said calmly.

  “You just go around waking people up in the middle of the night with a gun?”

  “Just being cautious, Doc. I couldn’t take a chance on you flying off the handle. I just came here to talk. I swear it.”

  “Talk? What about?” The pistol barrel didn’t waver.

  “I wanted to tell you that Dave Bishop is dead.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “No. Hal Beecham did.”

  “What? Why would he do that?”

  “It’s a long story and I think you should know about it.”

  “And just why should I care?” Kittridge was becoming increasingly impatient.

  “Because now that Dave Bishop is dead, I don’t think there is any need for The Whispering Bandit to ride anymore.”

  “The Whispering Bandit? You think I’m The Whispering Bandit?”

  “The bandit’s black stallion is stabled out back,” Gant came back flatly.

  “That doesn’t prove I’m the bandit,” Doc protested.

  “No it doesn’t,” Caleb agreed. “Just the same, I think it’s time for The Whispering Bandit to gather up the loot taken so far and go someplace to start over. Just listen to me and I’ll tell you what’s been going on.”

  ****

  Chapter Twenty