Rocky Mountain Lawmen Series Box Set: Four John Legg Westerns

by John Legg

  “Back off, Bear,” Culpepper said. When the mastiff reluctantly backed up and sat next to Culpepper, the sheriff aimed his pistol at Adler. “Mornin’, Mister Adler. I’m San Juan County Sheriff Jonas Culpepper, and you are under arrest, maggot. Get up.”

  “I can’t,” Adler said, pointing to his leg.

  The leg was bloody just above the knee, and Culpepper figured the bone was broken. “I weep for you, maggot. Now get up, you pukin’ scoundrel, or I’ll drag you all the way back to Silverton.”

  “You’re a cold-hearted son of a bitch, Sheriff,” Adler said.

  “That I am, especially to mewlin’ pukes like you who’ve abused a poor woman like you’ve done.”

  “Hell, Sheriff, she ain’t nothin’ but a strumpet.”

  “Even a trollop deserves some respect. Now get up.”

  “I need some help.”

  “The only help you’re going to get from me is to have Bear here bite you on the tail to get you movin’.”

  Adler struggled to get up, but finally made it.

  “Put your hands up and turn around.”

  It took some hopping, but Adler did so. Culpepper set his rifle down and put his Remington back into the holster. Then he searched Adler, finding nothing but a folding knife in one pocket. He took that and tossed it in a corner.

  “Put your hands behind you,” Culpepper ordered. When Adler did, Culpepper locked handcuffs on him, then picked up his rifle. “Outside,” he said.

  “Bastard,” Adler muttered. He hopped around until he was facing the door. Then he moved forward, trying not to put too much weight on his leg.

  Outside, Culpepper said, “Head for the horses.”

  Adler turned right, staggered a few yards, and stopped where three horses were tightly hobbled.

  “Which one’s yours?”

  “The pinto.”

  “You want saddled or not, maggot?” Culpepper asked.

  “Saddled.”

  Culpepper nodded. “You stand there and be nice. You try anything and Bear’ll start ripping off your flesh.” Culpepper swiftly saddled the pinto and then helped Adler onto it. He tied Adler’s legs under the horse’s belly with rope taken from inside the cabin, much as he had done with Tucker Reynolds a while back. Holding the reins to the horse, Culpepper walked up the hill, sidestepping the two bodies, sending the buzzards flapping away in squawking protest. The two corpses had been fairly well gone over by coyotes last night, and the buzzards were well on their way to finishing off the job.

  A frightened-looking Daisy Greenwalt was waiting at the top of the hill. Now that the sun was up, she looked hot and decidedly uncomfortable in the heavy coat.

  “You have any clothes down there in the cabin, Miss Greenwalt?” Culpepper asked.

  Daisy shook her head. It was the first good look Culpepper had really had of her. Swamped by the huge coat, she looked tiny. Her long, dirty-blond hair was matted and stringy. Her face was small and well formed, with a thin, straight nose and a slightly pointed chin.

  “You didn’t have a dress or anything?”

  “I did,” Daisy said quietly. “But those ...those animals, they cut it to shreds.”

  Culpepper nodded. “Those scoundrels have any extra clothes down there?”

  “Maybe. I ain’t sure.”

  “Go on down there and find out. Take Bear with you.”

  Daisy nodded. She took a few steps, but then stopped. “They’ve got a fire goin’ down there. A hot meal’d do us both some good, Sheriff,” she said.

  Culpepper smiled. “By golly, I believe you’re right, Miss Greenwalt.”

  “My name’s Daisy, Sheriff.”

  Culpepper nodded. “And my name’s Jonas.” He paused. “Go on down there and see if you can find something to wear. Give a holler when you’re ready.”

  Accompanied by Bear, Daisy moved down the hill toward the house. She seemed to move with more assurance, and barely noticed the two scavenger-ravaged bodies. Ten minutes later, she stepped outside the cabin and called up to Culpepper.

  The sheriff looked down the hill and saw Daisy waving at him to come down. He nodded, smiling a little. Daisy was wearing a man’s pants and a man’s shirt. The trousers were wool, the shirt cotton, and both were far too large for her small frame.

  Culpepper had loaded the mule and saddled his horse while waiting, and now walked both animals—plus Adler, on his horse—down to the cabin. He hobbled all three animals and then went inside.

  “Hey, I’m hungry, too, damn it all,” Adler shouted.

  Culpepper stepped back through the door and glared at Adler. “You stop your hollerin’, maggot, or I’ll stop it for you.”

  Daisy was a far better cook than Culpepper would have ever thought, not that she could compare with Merry in cooking or anything else. But it was an edible meal, and a heap better than anything Culpepper would have been able to make for himself. The sheriff and the young woman ate swiftly and quietly, more interested in getting on the trail than in making polite conversation.

  As Daisy began to clean up a little—not that there was much to clean up in the hovel of a cabin—Culpepper brought a plate of food out to Adler. Undoing the cuff from Adler’s left hand, he pulled the right around to the front and handcuffed that to one of Adler’s belt loops. He could move the right hand, but not far. It was enough to allow him to balance the tin plate in the saddle horn, and he could eat with his left hand.

  When Adler had finished eating, Culpepper gave him a cup of coffee, and then allowed him to roll and light a cigarette. Then Culpepper cuffed Adler’s hands behind his back again. Culpepper mounted his buckskin and Daisy mounted one of the other outlaws’ horses, which Culpepper had saddled for her, and they were off.

  With Daisy around, Culpepper was real careful at making sure that Adler was handcuffed almost every moment of the day and night. And when the outlaw was not on the horse, his legs were shackled. Culpepper had to get fairly inventive sometimes in the four days to San Miguel to find ways of keeping Adler chained to something fairly immovable.

  They rode north the first day. The next morning they turned east, heading toward Gypsum Gap. They moved through the low gap the next afternoon, and that night set camp along Gypsum Creek, which was nearabout bone dry.

  The heat was, more often than not, almost unbearable, the far expanse of sky unbroken by clouds, the landscape unmarred by shade. The nights were still rather chill, and after a full day of perspiring heavily, the three were often uncomfortable once the sun dropped. Adding to the oppressiveness of traveling out here, water was scarce as shade, if not more so.

  Daisy proved to be a rather resilient young woman, despite it all, and one who was fairly inventive in making their meals as appealing as could be expected under the circumstances. By the night they camped on Gypsum Creek, she had opened up some, though Culpepper noticed that she kept a wary eye on Adler at all times. Worse, Culpepper noted that Adler rarely took his eyes off the young woman when they were in camp. Culpepper did not worry too much about Adler trying anything with Daisy. Not with Bear there to keep an eye on the young woman.

  Each night, Culpepper would pump Adler for information, but the outlaw was being close-mouthed. He would say nothing about where Mack Ellsworth and the other members of the gang were, nor would he say anything about where the loot from the train robbery was. He wouldn’t even so much as admit he knew Ellsworth. His reticence did nothing to endear him to Culpepper.

  The night on Gypsum Creek, Culpepper was just spreading out his bedroll when Daisy came up to him. “You have a few minutes, Sheriff...Jonas?” she asked tentatively.

  Surprised, Culpepper nodded. “Sure. Sit.” They both sat on the bedroll, Culpepper uncomfortably cross-legged, Daisy with her legs folded under her. “What’s wrong?” Culpepper asked, puzzled.

  “Nothin’s wrong so much, Jonas. It’s just that I...I…” She paused while the tip of her tongue searched the perimeters of her lips.

  Culpepper waited her out. He could see
no reason to rush whatever it was Daisy had to say.

  “Well, Jonas, dang it, I’d like to thank you for what you’ve done for me.”

  “There’s no need for thanks, Miss Greenwalt. It’s my job.”

  “Be that as it may, Jonas,” Daisy said practically, “I’d still like to do something to thank you.”

  “Like what?” Culpepper was almost amused.

  Daisy stared straight into his piercing blue eyes. “Considerin’ the kind of woman I am, just what the hell do you think I mean?” she countered brazenly.

  Culpepper was no longer amused. He was flustered, though, but he managed to hide it pretty well. “I’m obliged for the offer, Miss Greenwalt, but I’m afraid that’s out of the question.” Daisy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Don’t you find me appealin’?” she demanded.

  “On the contrary, Miss Greenwalt, I find you highly appealing, dirty face, men’s clothes, and all.”

  “Then why...?”

  “Because I’m a married man.”

  Daisy laughed hollowly, more than a little confused. “That’s never stopped most of the men I’ve met. Hell, most married men come to girls like me because their wives don’t...” She stopped, mouth making a sudden “O” of surprise. “Your wife is one of those who likes to...?”

  “That’s none of your concern, Miss,” Culpepper said, suddenly very ill at ease at the turn this conversation had taken.

  “Maybe not,” Daisy said with a laugh—a real laugh, full of joy as well as humor—“but if it’s true, which I suspect it is, you’re one lucky hombre, Jonas.”

  “I am, yes,” Culpepper said with quiet dignity. “Does that surprise or shock you?”

  Daisy shrugged. “Both, in some ways. I know there’re women out there who like to po...to be intimate with men. I’ve just never known one—or a man fortunate enough to be married to one.” She laughed a little, then saddened. “That’s the kind of wife I’d be to some man,” she said in a faraway voice. “If I could find a man to marry me after all I’ve done and”—she glanced at Adler—“all what’s been done to me.”

  “Plenty of girls in your...profession wind up marryin’ respectable men.”

  “I suppose. I’ve never met one who I’d want to be married to, even if he asked me,” Daisy said bluntly. “Most of what I’ve seen’re barflies and drunks, cowboys, rowdies, soldiers, and outlaws. There ain’t much to pick from when you got a clientele like that.”

  “Maybe not,” Culpepper said in reassuring tones, “but things happen in strange ways sometimes. You keep your eyes and ears open, and”—he added with a shrug—“you never can tell, something good might happen when you don’t expect it.”

  “I think you’ve gone loco,” Daisy said, chuckling, her spirits mostly restored. “You must love your wife very much.”

  “I do,” Culpepper said, without apology. He felt no sense of shame that he loved his wife dearly, and so he didn’t care who knew.

  “That’s unusual, too,” Daisy noted. “What’s her name?”

  “Merriam. I call her Merry.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “A little taller than you, maybe not as full-figured. Prettiest face I ever saw, and hair that hangs all the way down to her rump when she lets it. She loves that hair, all dark brown and shiny. And so do I.” He was not ashamed of his feelings for his wife, but he felt a little odd voicing them to a stranger. Particularly a female stranger.

  Daisy smiled softly and warmly at Culpepper. “I’ll say this, Jonas—not only are you one lucky man, she’s one lucky woman to have someone like you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Daisy pushed herself up. “One last chance, Jonas,” she said with a grin.

  He smiled back. “It’ll pass, Miss Greenwalt. But if it’s any comfort to you, if my wife leaves me, I just might come look you up.”

  Daisy walked away, feeling a lot better about herself.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They rode into the town of San Miguel shortly after noon the next day. Culpepper stopped right off and asked directions to the doctor’s office—if there was a physician in town.

  The town resident nodded, pointed, and said, “Go two blocks down that way. Turn right there. Halfway down that block is an alley. The entrance to Doc Parmenter’s is in the alley, leadin’ up to the second floor.”

  Culpepper touched the brim of his hat at the man and rode on. “You know, maggot,” he said, as he was helping Adler down off the horse, “it never made no sense to me to have a doctor put his office on the second floor. You’re going to have a devil of a time gettin’ up those stairs.”

  “Eat shit, ya fat-ass bag of wind,” Adler snarled.

  “Watch your mouth, you pukin’ scoundrel,” Culpepper said evenly. “Or I’ll break your other leg for you. You’ll be real interestin’ to watch tryin’ to get up the stairs then.”

  Adler growled but said nothing as he started easing himself up the steps. He was rather pleased when he realized that Culpepper was directly behind him. All he figured he’d have to do now was to plan carefully, and then set himself just right. The small balcony at the top of the stairs was nearing, and Adler began to steel his mind. He was sure it was going to hurt, but if he did this the right way, Sheriff Jonas Culpepper would get pitched over the railing and be dashed to death on the ground.

  Finally he made his move, planting his left foot on a plank step, then half turning, bringing his shoulder and bent arm around to pound Culpepper off the stairs. He hit Culpepper somewhere between chest and face. Culpepper did not move, but Adler thought he had broken his own shoulder.

  “You through playin’ now, maggot?” Culpepper asked calmly.

  Defeated, Adler sucked in a breath through his teeth, turned, and lurched up the last two steps and then inside.

  Dr. Curtis Parmenter looked up from the large medical book he was reading. Peering over his half-frame glasses, he asked, “Can I do something for you folks?”

  “You Doctor Parmenter?” Culpepper asked.

  “I am.”

  Culpepper went to the man and shook his hand. “San Juan County Sheriff Jonas Culpepper. That gimpy maggot over there is my prisoner, Milt Adler. The young lady is Miss Daisy Greenwalt. She was ill-used by Adler and some of the pukin’ scoundrels he was runnin’ with.”

  Parmenter nodded. “I take it you want the gimp’s leg fixed?” Culpepper nodded. “Soon’s possible. I’d like to get back on the trail.”

  Parmenter shrugged. “I can have him out of here in less than an hour, if you’re in a real rush. But if you have any sense, you’ll listen to your friendly neighborhood doctor—spend the night in San Miguel. You look like you could use a decent night’s sleep. You can lock the gimp there up in the jail. Marshal Childress is pretty accommodating.”

  “I suspect you’re right, Doc.” Culpepper sighed. “Well, get him fixed up, so’s I can go make arrangements.”

  “No need for you to wait around, Sheriff. We’ll strap the culprit to my examining table, and then I’ll administer a dose of ether—that’s an anesthetic.”

  Both Culpepper and Daisy looked at the doctor in some puzzlement.

  “It’ll knock him out and, depending on the dose and the frequency with which I administer it, will keep him out as long as I want.”

  “You ain’t usin’ that shit on me, you butcher,” Adler snapped.

  “Aha,” Parmenter said, “an unwilling participant. Always one of my favorites.”

  Culpepper grinned, deciding that he liked the doctor. “All right, Doc,” he said. “Where do you want him?”

  “In here,” Parmenter said, heading toward a room in the back.

  “After you, maggot,” Culpepper said.

  “Eat shit, you...”

  Culpepper stepped up and calmly kicked Adler’s good leg out from under him. Adler fell on his seat and groaned as pain tore through his injured leg. Culpepper reached down and hauled him back up. “Now move it, you pukin’ scoundrel,” he said easily.

/>   Adler shuffled and hopped into the examining room. Between Parmenter and Culpepper, it was but a few moments before Adler was lying on his back on the table, several thick leather straps holding him firmly to the table. His hands were now handcuffed in front of him, and under two of the straps.

  “You go on now, Sheriff,” Parmenter said. “You and the young lady. This jasper won’t give me any more trouble. And take your time. Go talk to Marshal Childress, maybe have yourselves a bite to eat.”

  “Where’s the marshal’s office?” Culpepper asked. “And the livery?”

  “Both on Center Street. Go out of the alley to the north, turn left, two blocks up is Center. Turn right there for the marshal’s office. The livery’s across the street and a little farther on.”

  Minutes later Culpepper and Daisy walked into the town marshal’s office. A tall, lean man with a long, flowing mustache looked up at them from his work. “Somethin’ I can do for you folks?” he asked. Then he spotted the star on Culpepper’s shirt. “Sheriff?”

  Culpepper nodded and introduced himself “San Miguel Marshal Stan Childress.” The men shook hands.

  Then Culpepper nodded toward Daisy. “And this here’s Miss Daisy Greenwalt. She’s from down around Alamosa way,” he said easily. “She and her parents were movin’ to Durango a couple weeks ago when they were set upon by Mack Ellsworth and his gang.”

  “Nasty bunch, those boys,” Childress said flatly.

  “You’re acquainted with them, then?” Culpepper asked. “Damn right...pardon me, Miss...darn right I am. But that’s neither here nor there. You were saying?”

  “Ellsworth and his men killed Daisy’s ma and pa,” Culpepper continued, ignoring Daisy’s look of shocked surprise. “And they spirited the poor girl off with them. Kept her their prisoner for a couple of weeks, till I come on the small cabin where they had her. Wasn’t but three of them left at that point, and they seemed like they were gettin’ tired of the unfortunate miss. I ended up killin’ two of them maggots.”