Maverick Showdown

by Bradford Scott

  Around the bend appeared a farm wagon loaded with what looked to be sacks of grain. A man in farmer’s garb sat on the seat, lounging easily. And El Halcon understood!

  From the brush dashed five masked horsemen, guns trained on the driver.

  “Hold it!” a deep voice shouted. The driver jerked to a halt. Slade’s great voice rolled in thunder:

  “Elevate! You’re covered! In the name of the State of Texas!”

  The horsemen whirled their mounts to face him, guns jutting forward. Slade’s Winchester gushed flame and smoke. A saddle was emptied. Answering bullets stormed about him, one coming close enough to fan his cheek with its lethal breath.

  But as Slade had planned it, the advantage was with the man on the ground — rifle against sixguns at more than two hundred yards. A second outlaw fell to lie motionless. One managed to jerk a rifle from the saddle boot and fire a shot that ripped the sleeve of Slade’s shirt. Then he gave a howl of pain and the long gun dropped to the dust, the arm that had held it flopping limply and spouting blood.

  A voice boomed an order, a voice Slade thought was vaguely familiar, and the three remaining owl hoots, including the wounded man, whirled their mounts and went streaking west, Slade’s bullets speeding them on their way.

  Reloading his rifle as he did so, Slade approached the wagon. The driver, evidently badly frightened, cowered on the seat, regarding the tall Ranger with apprehension. A glance at his untanned face and hands told Slade he was no farmer or other outdoor worker.

  “Take it easy,” Slade told him. “Everything’s under control.” He glanced at the heaped wagon bed.

  “Suppose there’s quite a bit of dinero under those sacks?” he said.

  The driver hesitated, then, apparently reassured by Slade’s appearance, replied in the affirmative.

  “And I suppose your superior fixed up this little scheme of having the empty stage precede you and the wagon as a lure to possible highjackers?”

  “That’s right,” the other agreed. “Looks like it didn’t work, and if it wasn’t for you the money would be gone, and myself in all probability dead. It’s a wonder they didn’t shoot me from the brush.”

  “Didn’t want to take the unnecessary chance of frightening the horse and causing it to run away,” Slade replied. “Had you fallen forward onto its back, it might well have bolted.”

  The bank clerk, as Slade rightly guessed he was, shivered.

  “In all probability they would have killed me after taking the money,” he said, his voice quavering a little. Slade thought it not unlikely. He speculated the load of grain.

  “A rather smart scheme, but somebody evidently had a loose latigo on his jaw, with the wrong pair of ears listening,” he commented.

  “It certainly looks that way,” the clerk agreed. “And both the bank and myself are greatly in your debt, sir. How’d you manage to be so handy?”

  “Just sorta happened,” Slade replied. He ripped the masks from the faces of the dead outlaws, revealing hard-bitten countenances with nothing outstanding about them. They were, or had been undoubtedly outdoor workers. Cowhands, he judged, from the marks of rope and branding iron on their hands, but hadn’t worked at it much of late.

  With effortless ease, he picked up the bodies and tossed them onto the sacks of grain.

  “We’ll take them to town and turn them over to the sheriff,” he said. “I’ll slip the rigs off their cayuses and then fetch my horse.”

  “And if it wasn’t for you, I’d very likely be packing my own body to town,” said the clerk.

  “A novel proceeding, to put it mildly,” Slade smiled.

  “You don’t suppose there’s any danger of those three coming back?” the clerk asked nervously.

  “I certainly wish they would,” El Halcon replied grimly.

  Looking at him, the clerk thought the three outlaws would do well to keep on riding till they reached the Pacific Ocean, then bridge it and go on.

  Slade secured Shadow, over whom the clerk exclaimed admiringly, and they set out. With the sunset flaming in the west, they were still a few miles from Amarillo when they spied a body of four horsemen riding swiftly to meet them.

  “Now what?” the clerk quivered apprehensively.

  “Stage reached town, and with you long overdue, the sheriff and his deputies are riding out to learn why the delay,” Slade replied laconically.

  It proved to be the case. A little more and Carter was bawling profane questions.

  Explanatory words fell over the clerk’s lips as he gave his version of the affair, which was far from uncomplimentary to El Halcon. Slade filled in the gaps, tersely. The sheriff swore some more.

  “You’re the limit!” he snorted. “Going up against that bunch single-handed. Why the blankety-blank-blank didn’t you tell me what you had in mind? I’d have gone along with you.”

  “I was so uncertain in my mind as to just what might develop that I hesitated to mention it,” Slade replied. “I just played a hunch that the map of the trail I fished out of that dead robber’s pocket might have a certain significance. And if I was guessing right, I figured I should be able to handle the situation by myself.”

  “And you sure did,” the bank clerk put in.

  “A wonder you didn’t get yourself killed,” grumbled Carter. “Well, guess your devil took care of you, as he usually does.”

  “He’s a nice devil to have around,” Slade said cheerfully.

  9

  As they headed for town, Slade and the sheriff fell back to where they could talk uninterrupted.

  “Station master sure had the jitters when that wagon didn’t show up per schedule,” Carter observed. “He was in on the scheme, of course.”

  “And so, evidently, were some people not supposed to be,” Slade replied.

  “Not much doubt as to that,” Carter agreed. “He came running to me and told me about it. I told him I was willing to bet you were out there looking after things and to stop bothering. Thought I’d better ride out to meet you, though, just in case you were getting lonesome.”

  “Thanks for your confidence,” Slade smiled. “For a while I was beginning to think I was pulling a real blooper.

  “I refrained from questioning the clerk as to just how the scheme was supposed to be worked,” he added. “We’ll have a talk with him when we reach the office. He may be able to tell us something of importance. I rather doubt it, though. Whoever is heading the bunch working this section is too darned smart to leave any loose ends hanging.”

  There was excitement aplenty when they reached the stage station. The bodies were removed, sacks of grain tossed aside, and a stout money pouch hauled out. The station master sighed with relief as he stowed it in his safe.

  “There’s plenty in that poke, a consignment to the Amarillo bank,” he said. “If we’d lost that, our insurance rates would have gone sky high. My company is greatly beholden to you, Mr. Slade. I venture to predict you will shortly hear from them.”

  The horses were cared for, the bodies of the slain outlaws packed to the sheriff’s office and laid out. People thronged in to view them. Several persons were confident they had seen the pair hanging around various bars. The Washout was mentioned in particular.

  After a while Carter shooed out the crowd and he and Slade and the bank clerk went into conference.

  “The whole affair was supposed to be handled with the strictest secrecy,” the clerk explained. “The money was placed in the wagon just an hour or so before daylight, when it was darkest and quietest. Guards were stationed, out of sight, to keep watch over it until the stage pulled out.”

  The sheriff turned to Slade. “Well, what do you think?” he asked.

  “It would appear,” the Ranger replied, “that somebody is able to learn things. I’d say somebody who had learned the shipment was to be made today kept watch on that bank all last night. Of course there was one glaring error made.”

  “How’s that?” Carter said.

  “In assignin
g this gentleman to drive the wagon instead of handing the chore to some trusty farmer. That was a dead giveaway were somebody keeping tabs on the bank. A single glance told me he was no farmer. Told somebody else, too, the chances are.”

  “Guess you’ve got the right of it, per usual,” said Carter. “Well, it all worked out not too bad. Now suppose we mosey over to the Trail End for a bite to eat; I’m feeling lank.

  “Come along, son,” he told the clerk. “Guess you can stand a helpin’, too; you look sorta peaked.”

  “And I feel that way,” the clerk replied with a wan smile. “But I’m mighty glad, and thanks to Mr. Slade, that I’m able to feel at all. I wouldn’t have bet on it when those devils rode out of the brush. I got a look at the eyes of one of them peering through his mask, and there was frozen murder in them.”

  “Happen to notice what color they were?” Slade asked.

  The clerk shook his head. “I’m afraid not,” he admitted. “I just got the general effect. But I think I’d know them if I saw them again. Hope I never do.”

  The sheriff chuckled. “Let’s go eat,” he said.

  The balked robbery was the chief topic of discussion at the Trail End, and it was some time before Slade and his companions were permitted to eat without interruption.

  “A pity Norman and Griswold weren’t around to hear about it,” observed the sheriff. “Griswold said something about riding in later this evening, maybe he will. And when Norman hears about it, the chances are he’ll come piling in, too, to get details. And Jerry along with him, of course. She wasn’t at all anxious to return to the spread this morning, but figured she’d better. Wouldn’t have been bad to have had her along with you when the ruckus started. She’s a darn dependable gal.”

  “Yes, she’s all of that,” Slade agreed, “but I’m glad she wasn’t there when those blue whistlers were fanning my face — was a rather warm go for a while. Fortunately, the devils were using their sixguns to hold up the wagon. If they’d been packing rifles the story might have had a different ending.”

  “Guess you figured they’d do just that,” the sheriff guessed shrewdly.

  “Yes, I did,” Slade admitted. “That’s why I kept well back from where I estimated they’d hit the stage. Sure had me puzzled for a little while when they allowed the coach to pass.”

  “But not for long,” put in the bank clerk.

  “And is there ever anything you don’t think of!” snorted the sheriff.

  “Plenty,” Slade replied, “but it is fairly obvious that as a rule men use hand guns for close work. I gambled on them doing just that.”

  Neither Carter nor the clerk appeared much impressed by the explanation.

  “Now what?” asked the former.

  “I think that after another cup of coffee, I’ll go down to the Washout for a while,” Slade said. “I wish to have a talk with Yates.”

  “Guess you can do that safely,” said Carter. “Figured those hellions will hardly show up in town tonight. Hello! Here comes Clifton Hart. Looks like he’s been doing some riding.”

  The Boojer-H owner did give that impression. His clothes were dusty and, Slade thought, he appeared tired. He waved to the occupants and made his way to the bar, where he downed his first drink at a gulp, ordered a second, and consumed it more slowly, staring moodily into the back-bar mirror.

  “I’ve a notion something happened that don’t set well with him,” remarked Carter. “Expect he’ll be ambling over to tell us about it.”

  However, Hart did not at once approach the table. Slade decided to wait a while before leaving on the chance that he would.

  He did, and slumped wearily in a chair. The others glanced at him questioningly.

  “Lost more cows last night,” he announced. “Rather big bunch, too.”

  “Any notion where they went?” Carter asked.

  “We traced them to not far from that blasted river valley, then lost the trail on the heavy grass,” Hart replied. “I figure they must have gone into the valley then on to New Mexico. So we hightailed west until we figured we should be ahead of them, holed up and waited. They never showed. Guess they traveled faster than we thought they would, or maybe had more of a start than we thought. Anyhow, they didn’t show up. When we got back to the casa, I grabbed a fresh cayuse and headed for town. Yep, reckon they made it to New Mexico, all right.”

  “Past Tascosa and all the plazas at the upper end of the valley!” Carter said incredulously.

  “Where else?” Hart countered. The sheriff didn’t have the answer.

  For a long moment, Slade studied the rancher.

  Abruptly he arrived at a conclusion.

  “Brian,” he said, “like to play another hunch?”

  “I’ll play anything you have in mind,” Carter instantly replied.

  “Okay,” Slade said, shoving his cup aside and rising to his feet, “haul your deputies away from the bar and let’s go get our cayuses. Like to come along, Mr. Hart?”

  “Of course I’ll come along — my cows, weren’t they? I reckon you’re after the hellions that ran them off.”

  “Those gentlemen may be an incidental,” Slade answered. “My foremost objective is your stock. Come along, I’ll explain while we ride. I figure we have no time to waste.”

  “You’ve already had one helluva busy day,” growled Carter, downing his snort and standing up.

  “Nice night for a ride,” Slade countered smilingly. “Shadow and I both need exercise. Let’s go!”

  Ten minutes later they were riding north under the stars, at a fast pace.

  Slade knew of another way across the valley, east of the route he usually followed. It was one that was very little traveled, for at that point fording the Canadian was dangerous, the quicksands being formidable if the water was at all high.

  However, at the present stage of the river, he believed it could be negotiated without too much risk. At any rate, he decided to chance it. As they rode, he explained what he had in mind.

  “When I rode into the valley from the north,” he said, “I was struck by the evidence that a short time before, cows were run out of the valley by way of that slope where I entered the valley. After thinking about it a while, I recalled that the poor devil of a valley dweller mumbled something about talking before he died. Then later I learned that Keith Norman had lost some stock just a few nights before. It wasn’t difficult to deduce that the fellow had somehow stumbled onto them and had mentioned the fact to somebody. That was why he was murdered, to shut his mouth. Beginning to understand?”

  “Go on,” growled Carter. “Let’s hear the rest of it.”

  “There isn’t much ‘rest’,” Slade replied. “Just this, in my opinion the wideloopers ran Hart’s cows into the valley and hid them there during the day, not hard to do at the point, where hardly anybody lives. After giving the impression that they were run into the valley, and then, presumably, to New Mexico, they’d slip them out under cover of darkness and run them north to the Oklahoma hills, where there are always buyers glad to get stolen stock. Now do you understand?”

  “Blast it! I’ve a notion you have the right of it,” said the sheriff. “And — ”

  “And if we can get there before the cows are moved on, I believe there’s a chance to recover the stock and at the same time, with luck, to perhaps drop a loop on the rustlers. I don’t think they’ll move the critters until well past dark, for there are a couple of trails they’d have to cross that are traveled in the early evening. It’s a long drive to Oklahoma, but in the broken country to the north, a real wasteland where nobody lives, there are places where they could hole up for another day, if necessary.”

  “By gosh! I believe it will work!” exclaimed Carter. “Sure worth a try. Say! It means the sidewinders pulled one last night and then made another try, for the bank money, today. They sure move around.”

  “There were but five in the bunch that endeavored to tie onto the bank money,” Slade pointed out. “I’m confident the outfi
t is larger, perhaps a dozen members, or close to it. Four or five men could easily handle the wide-looping; for their sort that is in the nature of a routine chore. I’d say they split up to pull the two jobs.”

  “Quite likely,” agreed the sheriff.

  They rode on, north with a veering to the east, Slade studying the brush fringed lip of the valley, which steadily drew nearer.

  “Right ahead is where we’re making for,” he finally announced. “Okay, down we go, and let’s hope the river behaves itself. A little too much water and somebody may be a goner.”

  The down slope was not too difficult to negotiate. When they reached the river, Slade called a halt and for some moments sat studying the unpredictable stream. Finally he said:

  “The rest of you stay here while I make a try at it alone.”

  “Say,” began the sheriff.

  “Do as I tell you,” Slade interrupted. “Shadow will warn me if there is danger ahead. Stay here.”

  Carter subsided to growls and grumbling, but obeyed orders. Slade put the great black to the water.

  Shadow was suspicious of what was ahead of him, but he stepped out steadily, Slade’s gaze sweeping over the star dimpled surface. The posse watched him apprehensively. Shadow moved on and without mishap reached the far bank, although twice he hesitated, lifting his hoofs gingerly.

  “Okay, come ahead,” Slade called in low tones. “Pears to be all right, but don’t push your horses; let them do the choosing.”

  Slade proved right in his surmise that the river was low enough to render the crossing feasible, but it was a ticklish business, facing the constant threat of the quicksands, and there was a general sigh of relief when the posse reached the far shore without mishap and continued on their way across the Valley to the north slope, which posed no difficulty.

  “Now west,” Slade said. “We’ll soon know if we’re on a fool’s errand. Hug the brush and keep your eyes and ears open.”

  As they rode, he constantly scanned the terrain ahead. After a bit he slowed the pace, his vigilance increasing.