by John Legg
Culpepper sat in his office wondering if he had done the right thing. He finally convinced himself that he had, more or less. He had done right in refusing to split the reward money with Coakley, but he had not done it the right way. All he had done was to create an enemy where there might’ve been a friend. He felt lousy about that, and considered trying to find Coakley and apologize to him—for throwing him into the street, not for anything else. Then he decided he would wait until the next day. He would see how he felt then.
Late that afternoon, one of Luke Brown’s children—Culpepper didn’t know which one—tentatively entered Culpepper’s. office.
“Afternoon, son,” Culpepper said. “What can I do for you?”
“Ma says she’d like to see you, Sheriff. But only if you ain’t too busy.” He seemed ashamed to be asking such a thing of the important, busy county sheriff.
“I ain’t doin’ anything at the moment. Are you, Jimmy?” Cahill shook his head.
“You don’t think your ma’d mind Deputy Cahill comin’ along, too, do you, son?” Culpepper asked.
“Nah, I don’t think so.”
They walked swiftly to the Brown house and were let in. “I don’t know how to say this, Sheriff,” Cora Brown said uncomfortably.
“Just say what you got to say, ma’am,” Culpepper coaxed. “It’s about the money...you know, the money you gave me the other day?”
“The reward? Sure. Wasn’t it enough?”
“Oh, it was more than generous, Sheriff. Yessir, it was.”
“Then what’s the problem, ma’am?”
“A marshal—a federal marshal—come here a little while ago and told me he had to have that money back, since there was some kind of problem about the way it had been handled.”
“So you gave him the money?” Culpepper asked, furious. Cora nodded. “I was too scared of him to say no.”
“All right, ma’am, don’t you worry. I’ll have your money back to you in no time flat. Don’t you fret.”
“I don’t want to cause you any trouble, Sheriff.”
“No trouble at all, ma’am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Deputy Cahill and I have some business to take care of.”
Cahill knew better than to say anything to Culpepper as they marched down Eighth Street toward Greene Street. They turned left on Greene, heading for the saloon district a few blocks away. Culpepper’s face was set in stone. But he did manage to ask, “You know where that flatulent skunk’s been hangin’ around?”
“Who, Coakley?”
“Yep.”
“I ain’t sure. But I heard either Goode’s or Fatty Collins’.” They did not see him in Goode’s, and no one there had seen Coakley, so Culpepper and Cahill turned for Blair Street. In minutes, they were entering Fatty Collins’ place.
Chapter Thirteen
Coakley was leaning against the bar with one foot on the brass rail. He was talking to Fatty Collins. There were few other patrons in the saloon at the moment, and those few were drinking or gambling quietly.
Culpepper marched straight up to Coakley, who was looking toward Collitis, grabbed Coakley by the back of the neck, and shoved his head down toward the bar. With his other hand, Culpepper grabbed Coakley’s right wrist and jerked the arm up and around behind his back, spilling the whiskey as he dropped the glass.
“What the hell...?” Coakley choked out, as his nose brushed the wood bar.
“You owe Cora Brown a hundred and fifty dollars, maggot,” Culpepper said harshly. “You either fork it over now, or I’ll break your arm and then throw you in jail for robbin’ a poor widow and her children.”
“What the hell’re you talkin’ about, you asswipe?” Coakley mumbled into the bar.
“You know durn well what I’m talkin’ about. No sooner than I told you I gave some of the reward money from those three outlaws we caught to Cora Brown, you went and took that money from her by use of threats and intimidation.”
“I didn’t do no such...”
Culpepper twisted the arm a little more, making Coakley gasp. “It’s a simple thing, Marshal,” he said. “The money, now, or your arm and jail.”
“All right, all right,” Coakley said, pain in his voice. Culpepper let Coakley’s arm go, but kept his head down until he had pulled out both Coakley’s pistols and handed them to Cahill. Then he released Coakley’s head and moved back a step.
Coakley turned around, rubbing his twisted arm. His eyes blazed with hate and anger. “You’re foolin’ with dangerous stuff here, boy,” he hissed.
“The money, maggot,” Culpepper said quietly. Then he roared, “Now!”
Coakley reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a wad of money. He carefully counted out one hundred fifty dollars and held it out.
“Add fifty for the sufferin’ you caused Mrs. Brown.” Coakley glowered, then counted out fifty more and handed it all to Culpepper.
The sheriff stuffed it into a pants pocket. “You have half an hour to get out of Silverton, Marshal Coakley. I’d advise you not to return—unless your attitude improves considerably.”
“You can’t throw me out of town, boy,” Coakley said, trying to regain a little confidence and swagger. “I’m a deputy United States marshal for this area, which gives me leave to go anywhere I damn well please and stay as long as I damn well see fit to.”
“Then go somewhere else and stay as long as you want,” Culpepper said reasonably. “Just get out of Silverton, you pukin’ scoundrel.”
“You’re in big trouble, Sheriff,” Coakley said tightly, anger still stamped on his face.
“I’m quakin’,” Culpepper said dryly. “Half an hour. Not a minute longer.” He turned, and with Bear on one side and Cahill on the other, began walking away.
“Hey,” Coakley shouted, “what about my pistols?”
Culpepper stopped and looked back. “They’ll be at my office. You can pick them up as you leave Silverton.”
Culpepper, Cahill, and the mastiff walked slowly back up to the shabby Brown house and handed Cora Brown the money—including the extra fifty dollars. “Now, you don’t give that money to anybody except when you’re buyin’ something,” Culpepper said. “I’m going to make sure that marshal leaves Silverton. But if he should come skulkin’ back here and bother you again, you tell him that I’m holdin’ the money for you, or that the money’s in the bank, or that you’ve spent it. Then get word to me.” He smiled a little. “But I don’t think he’ll be back.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Cora said gratefully. She was confused and stunned. First she’d lost her husband, then she’d had more money than she’d ever seen at one time. But that had been snatched away from her so suddenly. And now, just as suddenly, the money—and some extra—was back. She wasn’t quite sure how to react.
“You’re welcome, ma’am,” Culpepper said quietly. “Now, you come see me—or Deputy Cahill—if you have any trouble, you hear?”
Culpepper and Cahill went back to the office and waited. Twenty-eight minutes after they’d left Fatty Collins’ place, U.S. Deputy Marshal Ned Coakley walked into the office. He was still livid, and simply growled, “Give me my pistols.” Culpepper picked one revolver off the desk and tossed it to Coakley. Then he did the same with the second. “They’re empty,” he said. “You can reload them when you get out of town.” He paused, tugging at his mustache as Coakley checked the pistols and then put them in his holsters.
“And,” Culpepper finally continued, “to make sure you do leave Silverton, Deputy Cahill and Mister Reinhardt here”— he pointed to Buster Reinhardt, who was leaning against a wall—“will escort you for a way, just to make sure you don’t have some foolish change of heart and try to return.”
“Oh, I’ll be back one day, Culpepper,” Coakley said harshly.
“And when I come back, you’re gonna sure as hell regret it.”
“You come back here with that durn attitude and you’ll be in more trouble than you know how to deal with. Good-bye, Marshal Coakley,” Culpepper a
dded with finality.
Cahill and Reinhardt returned late in the afternoon. “I don’t trust that son of a bitch, Jonas,” Cahill said. “He’ll be back, sure as hell.”
“I know that,” Culpepper said. “But there’s not a darn thing I can do about it. He wants to come back, he’ll come back. I’ll deal with it then. Or you will.”
“What do you mean by that?” Cahill asked, eyes questioning.
“I’m headin’ out in the mornin’,” Culpepper said flatly. He had been planning to all along, but hadn’t gotten around to saying anything about it to Cahill until now.
“After Ellsworth again?”
Culpepper nodded.
“The trail’s gone cold, Jonas,” Reinhardt said. “It’s been a week and a half or so.”
“Buster’s right,” Cahill added. “Besides, we’ve had rain twice. That’d be sure to wipe out any trail they might’ve left.”
“That all might be true, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Mack Ellsworth and his pukin’ scoundrels run roughshod over the folks in San Juan County like they did last summer.”
“I’ll start gettin’ some supplies and stuff, and roundin’ up some men,” Reinhardt said, pushing off the wall on which he’d been leaning.
“No, Buster,” Culpepper said with a shake of the head. “I’ll be going alone this time. Just me and Bear.”
“But, Jonas, you said...” Reinhardt started.
“I changed my mind, Buster. I won’t put any more men at risk.”
“You’re bound and determined to do this, ain’t you?” Cahill asked.
Culpepper nodded.
“Then let us go with you,” Cahill said. “Or at least me.”
“No, Jimmy. I need you to stay here and keep an eye on things. I have a feelin’ I’m going to be gone awhile this time, and I’m not leavin’ the county without a lawman around.”
“You’re a pain in the ass, Jonas, you know that?” Cahill said sourly.
Reinhardt chuckled. “Better watch what you say, Jimmy,” he laughed. “Or he’ll be runnin’ you out of town, too.”
Despite being in a foul mood because of the trouble with Coakley, Culpepper had to smile at that. “Now, that sounds like a durn good idea.” He released an exaggerated sigh. “But it wouldn’t do no good.”
“Why not?” Reinhardt asked, fighting back laughter. “There’s a certain June Ladimere that’d go straight out and drag him back here,” Culpepper said, beginning to laugh. “And worse, she’d come after me for tossin’ him out in the first place.”
Cahill’s face remained stoic for a few seconds. Then his sour facade cracked and finally broke completely. He joined his two friends in laughter. “You ain’t far from the truth on either of those things, Jonas,” he said.
“I still say you ought to ask that gal to marry you, Jimmy,” Culpepper said. “She might even make an honest man of you.”
“Hell, I marry June, she’ll make me quit bein’ your deputy. Too damned dangerous, she’d say. She’s told me so already.”
“Well, there’s a heap of truth in that, Jimmy,” Reinhardt said soberly.
“Oh, hell, I know that. But what’s life without a little danger and excitement? Why in hell do you keep signin’ on whenever Jonas asks you?”
“I think it’s my duty,” Reinhardt said stiffly.
Both Culpepper and Cahill laughed. “Like hell,” Cahill said. “You do it ’cause you like to get your blood pumpin’ chasin’ some goddamn outlaw.”
“Well,” Reinhardt admitted, “I suppose there’s a little truth in that.” He, too, started laughing again.
“Well,” Culpepper said, standing, “all this talk about marryin’ and danger and such has got me thinkin’ about my Merry. So I think I’ll just mosey on home.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of...” Cahill asked, his face suddenly turning red.
“Hell, no,” Culpepper said, the sentiment echoed by Reinhardt. Both laughed.
“Not when I have a woman like Merry as my wife,” Culpepper said seriously. “Every minute with her is special.”
“I’d like that feelin’,” Cahill said.
“Don’t you feel like that when you’re with June?” Culpepper asked.
“Well, yeah, of course, but she and I, well, you know, we’ve never been...never done...”
“That don’t matter so much before you’re married, though it’s nice to know before takin’ the vows that you’ll be compatible that way, I suppose,” Culpepper said. “But if you enjoy each other’s company, just like bein’ with each other, then the other’ll work itself out somehow.”
Cahill smiled just a little. “Maybe I will have to give some serious thought to askin’ June to marry me.”
“Well,” Culpepper said heading for the door, “while you’re thinkin’ about it, I’ve got some business to take care of. Come on, Bear.”
Instead of going straight home, though, Culpepper went to the livery and told Art Cassidy to have his horse saddled and waiting around dawn the next day.
“You want a mule, too, Jonas?” Cassidy asked.
Culpepper nodded. “I expect I’ll be gone a while this time, so I’d best be prepared. Why?”
“You get the supplies and bring them over here, I’ll have the mule loaded as well as the horse saddled.” He grinned. “For an extra twenty cents, I’ll even bring ’em over to your house in the morning.”
“Sounds fair enough,” Culpepper said. “Make sure you give me twenty, thirty pounds of horse grain, too.” He paid Cassidy.
Culpepper sauntered to Maguire’s store, where Caroline Maguire was back at work. She seemed as cheerful as ever, but Culpepper could see in her eyes and the stiff way she moved that she was still in deep pain over the loss of her husband. Culpepper hoped she’d be able to overcome her grief eventually. Caroline was too fine a woman in all ways to not live life to the fullest.
He picked out all his supplies and made arrangements for Caroline to have them delivered to the livery later that afternoon.
Merry said nothing about his leaving again, but he could tell that she was upset about it. Culpepper wondered why. She’d never been this way before. Or if she had, he hadn’t been able to tell it.
Still, she tried not to let her feelings in the matter get the better of her, and she treated him as well as ever. She knew she could not tell him she was more worried about him than usual because of the two deaths on the last posse he’d led out of Silverton. John Maguire’s death had shaken her far more than she was willing to admit, and she wasn’t sure why. She figured it was because Culpepper, Maguire, and Buster Reinhardt had done much work together, and they’d seemed invincible. Now one of the three was dead, the other had been wounded while trying to take Ferd Wiley to the penitentiary. And if that could happen to those two, it could also happen to her husband.
No, she could not tell him any of this. That would only make him worried about her, and that, in turn, would not allow him to keep his mind fully on the job he had to do. Because of that, his chances of getting injured or killed were sharply increased. So, by telling him, she would raise the chances of having what she feared so much come true. Better to keep her thoughts to herself, she figured. She just hoped he didn’t suspect that anything was bothering her.
Culpepper slept soundly that night, but Merry could not. Naked, she rose and slipped on a nightshirt. She went into the kitchen, made herself some tea, and drank it quietly. Then she sat, unable to sleep and trying to keep from thinking about her fears too much. Two hours before dawn, she finally cast off her nightshirt again and slid back into bed with Culpepper.
She managed to sleep at last, but she was exhausted when the cocks crowed soon after, waking Culpepper. She was tempted to spurn his rough advances, but she did not. There was still the fear in her that something might happen to him on the trail, and that this might be the last time they ever made love. Still, she got little enjoyment out of it. Then, feeling listless, she got up and made breakfast.
&n
bsp; Chapter Fourteen
Culpepper sat at the opposite side of the boxcar from his horse and mule. He had never told anyone, but he hated the trip from Silverton to Durango—and back—on the narrow-gauge train. It hugged the cliff on one side and overlooked precipitous drops on the other far too often for him. It wasn’t so much that he was afraid of heights; it was more that he had absolutely no control over the train. One loose rail somewhere could pitch him into eternity without so much as him having a howdy-do about it. At least when he was facing an outlaw he generally had some say in the outcome.
Still, taking the train meant a journey to Durango of only about five hours instead of two or three times that. And right now, time was of the essence. Since he’d decided yesterday that he’d leave this morning, he’d felt pushed to hurry, as if he’d miss something important if he didn’t make the best time he could to...to where, was the big question. Culpepper had no idea where he was going to look for Mack Ellsworth and his gang of cutthroats. So he decided that he’d figure that out when he got to Durango. Or maybe later.
As the train neared Durango, Culpepper loaded the mule and then saddled his horse—a sturdy, patient buckskin gelding. As soon as the train came to a halt in a hissing screech of steam and brakes, Culpepper opened the boxcar door, kicked down the ramp, and rode out on the opposite side of the station. With Bear right beside him, he crossed the tracks around the rear of the train and spotted Marshal Ed Hernandez standing nearby, watching the few people who got off the train. Culpepper stopped next to Hernandez.
“What’re you doing back here, Jonas?” Hernandez asked, looking up and shading his eyes against the bright sun. “Still on Ellsworth’s trail?”
Culpepper nodded. “Yep. I spent too long back in Silverton, settlin’ things and seein’ that my men were buried and all. I should’ve been back after them a couple days ago.”
“Trail’s probably gone cold, all right,” Hernandez agreed. “They haven’t been through here, have they, Ed?”
“No. I’m kind of surprised about that, too. Maybe you and your men put a scare into him.”