Rocky Mountain Lawmen Series Box Set: Four John Legg Westerns

by John Legg

  Rhodes’s powerful back and shoulder muscles drove the pitchfork’s tines through Thorndyke, impaling him on the wood wall of Claver’s store.

  Chapter Two

  Mercy Crawford stood, the back of one slim, pale hand pressed against her lips. She stared in horrified wonder at Carl Thorndyke’s body, which was still pinned to the wall by the long, thin tines of the pitchfork.

  Rhodes had turned, eyes sweeping the boardwalk and the area just off it. Frank Thorndyke lay on the boards as if dead, though his slow, heavy breathing showed that he was still alive. Phil Thorndyke remained in the dirt, emitting pitiable weeping sounds.

  Rhodes straightened and turned to Mercy. She had dropped her hand, though her pert lips were still rounded in wonder at all that had happened.

  She was looking at Rhodes now. She was confused. Rhodes had been as ruthless as the three Thorndykes had been, maybe even more so. Yet, Mercy was attracted to him. She thought that wrong, and she hoped it did not show in her face. It would not do for a genteel flower of the South to openly display affection for any man, let alone one she had met less than two minutes ago, even if he had saved both her life and her chastity.

  Rhodes brushed off his shirt, though it did not really need it. He pulled a bandanna out of his pocket and wiped his sweating forehead with it. Then he looked around for his hat. Spotting it, he started toward it. As he knelt and picked it up, someone said, “Stop where you are, son.” The voice was a rich, deep baritone.

  Rhodes rose and turned slowly, cautious but unworried.

  A tall, thin, leathery-faced man stood at the edge of the boardwalk. In his hands was a 10-gauge shotgun, on his chest a German silver five-pointed star inside a circle. Iron-gray hair poked haphazardly from under his bowler, matching the thick mustache that sagged over both his lips. He wore a weathered brown suit, including vest and string tie, all brown, except for the white boiled shirt. He looked tough as rawhide.

  “Looks like you had yourself quite a time here, son,” the lawman said.

  “Reckon so,” Rhodes allowed.

  “Name’s Sam Crown, town marshal for Clearwater.”

  “Marshal,” Rhodes said agreeably. He paused, trying to decide whether to give the marshal his own name. He shrugged mentally. There would be no harm in doing so, he figured. After all, Crown could have just shot him, yet he hadn’t. “I’m Travis Rhodes.”

  “You mind tellin’ me just what went on here, Mr. Rhodes?” Crown asked.

  Rhodes shrugged. “Not much to tell, Marshal. I came out of the store there and found these things…gentlemen harassin’ the young lady here.”

  Crown looked at Mercy and bobbed his head. “Miss Crawford,” he said politely.

  Mercy smiled wanly, “Marshal Crown.”

  The lawman looked back at Rhodes. “So they were harassin’ Miss Crawford,” he said. “Then what?”

  Rhodes explained it short and fast, ending with “I expect Miss Crawford here’ll back up what I’ve said.” He had not showed it, but his interest in Mercy had risen considerably when Crown had addressed her as “Miss.” He wondered what the possibilities of getting to know her well were.

  “That right, Miss Crawford?”

  “Oh yes, sir, Marshal,” Mercy drawled. Though there was still fright in her voice, it still conjured visions of slow, warm days and cold mint juleps for Rhodes.

  “All of it?”

  “Yes, sir. If it wasn’t for Mister Rhodes here, I’d have been...” She flushed prettily and hid her embarrassment behind her ghostly hands. She had known as soon as they had moved up here from Louisiana that there would be nothing but trouble in the hated North. But there wasn’t much left of the old homestead and so here she was.

  “No need to go on, Miss Crawford,” Crown said. He had never taken his eyes off Rhodes. “You armed, Mr. Rhodes?”

  “No,” Rhodes said, voice unchanged. He sounded bored almost. “If I was carryin’, there’d be three dead now, ’stead of just one.”

  “No arms at all?”

  “Not unless you consider this a weapon.” He turned slowly and patted the knife in the sheath at the small of his back.

  “Ease it out, Mr. Rhodes, and drop it.”

  Rhodes did as he was told, then turned back around. He kicked it lightly toward Crown when told to do so. Crown picked it up, still not taking his eyes off Rhodes. He figured that if Rhodes was carrying a gun, it would be a pocket pistol or a belly gun, which meant it was hidden under his clothing somewhere. That would make it difficult for Rhodes to get at it. He was not really worried about Rhodes, though he was a cautious man. Seeing how Rhodes had driven the pitchfork so easily through Carl Thorndyke did give the marshal pause, though.

  Crown glanced down at the knife in his right hand. It was a no-nonsense piece of equipment. It had a blade Crown figured to be ten or eleven inches long. The tang was burned into a simple wood hilt. There was nothing fancy about it. He flipped it easily back to Rhodes.

  Though he was a bit startled by the marshal’s move, Rhodes caught the knife by the hilt and slipped it away. He knew now that Crown was not about to arrest him. That was a relief.

  “What’re you doing in Clearwater, Mr. Rhodes?” Crown asked. He was completely at ease, scattergun cradled in the crook of his left arm, right hand curled around the twin hammers and the triggers, ready.

  “Lookin’ for work.”

  Crown sized Rhodes up. He decided that Rhodes was basically a decent man, but one hardened by the recent troubles between North and South. Normally, Crown would not mind having a. man like Travis Rhodes around town, but after this display of violence, that was not feasible. Not when it involved the Thorndykes. They were enough trouble at the best of times. Now the five living brothers—Frank and Phil here, as well as Lyle, Will, and Dick—would go on the rampage if Crown allowed Rhodes to linger.

  “Best look for it elsewhere, Mr. Rhodes,” Crown said quietly.

  “You runnin’ me out, Marshal?” Rhodes asked. He was sure of it, but wanted Crown to make it official.

  “I am.” There was no apology in Crown’s voice. Nor was there any condemnation.

  “After I helped Miss Crawford?” Rhodes wasn’t all that worried about being run out of town, but he thought it only proper that he present at least some sort of protest.

  “Yes, Marshal, what about that?” Mercy asked. She had considered not saying anything, thinking that perhaps she would be considered too forward, but then she decided it would not be improper. After all, Rhodes had saved her honor.

  Crown shrugged. He was not afraid of the Thorndykes, or anyone else. He was just a man trying to do his job for the fifty bucks a month they paid him. If he could prevent a bloodbath by running one drifter out of town, the choice was not all that difficult for him.

  “A shrug isn’t much of an answer,” Mercy said boldly, surprising herself a little.

  “Be that as it may, Miss Crawford,” Crown said, unfazed, “it’s got to be.”

  “You damn Yankee,” she snapped, hazel eyes blazing in anger. “Take the side of those animals”—she pointed from one Thorndyke to the other —“while you run a good Southern gentleman out of town.”

  “I don’t much give a hoot, Miss Crawford,” Crown said levelly, “what side anyone was on in that war. It’s over now, and should be laid to rest. All I’m doin’ is sendin’ a troublemaker on his way.”

  “He wasn’t the troublemaker, Marshal,” Mercy said, still angry, as she aimed a thin finger at Rhodes. “It was those others.”

  “Don’t matter none, miss,” Crown said. He was not fond of explaining himself to people, especially those who disliked him from the start, but he figured that in this case, an explanation might prevent problems later. “There’re some folks who just attract troubles. Maybe Mr. Rhodes here ain’t such a man, but I don’t aim to find out.” He looked at Rhodes. “So I’d be obliged if you was to be on your way, son.”

  “I understand, Marshal,” Rhodes said quietly. “I’d be obliged for a
favor though.”

  “What’s that?” Crown asked, looking at Rhodes.

  “I just rode into Clearwater this mornin’. I ain’t slept in a proper bed in a long time, and I got a few pieces of business to take care of.” He smiled a little. “I’d be grateful if I was to be allowed to leave tomorrow mornin’, instead of right now.”

  “I catch your drift, Mr. Rhodes,” Crown said. He paused, thinking. He looked at Phil and Frank Thorndyke. The two were still lying in the dirt, but they were displaying some signs of life. Then Crown looked up at the sky. It would be dark in perhaps an hour and a quarter. He nodded. “I expect that’ll be all right,” he said, flatly. “But,” he added, holding up his right hand, “you got to stay in your room—you do have a room, don’t you?”

  Rhodes nodded. “Over at Grelb’s. But, like I said, I got business to see to.”

  Crown sighed. “Can you finish your business before dark?”

  “I expect.”

  “As soon as it’s dark, I want you back in your room and stay there till you pull out in the morning.”

  “Why’re you so anxious to keep me out of sight, Marshal?” Rhodes asked. It did seem odd to him.

  “Phil and Frank there have three brothers. Not a one of ’em is the kind to let go what you done to these boys today. Soon’s these two get home and tell the other three, they’re gonna be lookin’ for blood. Your blood, Mr. Rhodes.”

  Rhodes nodded, then smiled. “Why don’t you lock those two up?” he asked.

  Crown bit off his retort, and instead pondered the suggestion. The Thorndykes were a vicious, ill-mannered lot, a group that individually or collectively had little intelligence. But for some reason, they had taken to Marshal Sam Crown. They would not be too angry at him for locking up Frank and Phil, especially if he said he did it to protect them, or gave them some other story. It would, he decided, stave off a lot of trouble. He nodded.

  “Very well, Mr. Rhodes,” Crown said slowly. “But I still want you in your room after dark. The other brothers might be comin’ into town for a whoop-up.”

  “Thanks, Marshal,” Rhodes said quietly. He was glad the lawman had taken his suggestion, but he did not think it worth gloating over. “If there’s anything I can do for you...”

  “Be gone by first light,” Crown said flatly. He spun and started mouthing orders. Within minutes, citizens of Clearwater were taking down Carl Thorndyke’s body. Others were carting his two brothers off toward the jail.

  Rhodes watched. When the body was gone, and one of Claver’s boys was washing down the wall to remove the blood, Rhodes turned to Mercy. He smiled at her.

  She returned it, the brightness and warmth dazzling. “I don’t know how to show my gratitude for what you did for me today, Mr. Rhodes,” she drawled, batting her eyelashes a little and favoring Rhodes with another sparkling, inviting smile.

  Rhodes smiled back and twirled his hat in his hands. Mercy’s allure was powerful, but, Rhodes knew, empty. He had met such women before, and it was always the same: their faces, eyes, bodies held out great promises that the women would not—could not—keep. It was, he thought, a pity. “It was nothing, Miss Crawford,” Rhodes said. There was no need to chide her for the falsity of her warm persona.

  “Nothing?” Mercy said, her eyes widening. “Why, those damn Yankees”— she did not even flinch at the oath, for it was not considered as such—“would’ve abused me something powerful if you hadn’t of come along. I am deeply grateful, sir, for your timely appearance and your most thoughtful actions on my behalf. You are, sir, a true Southern gentleman, and I pray to God that there were more of you. Had there been, the glorious South would’ve never...” She stopped and smiled again. “My apologies, sir, for running off like that.”

  “No need to apologize, miss,” Rhodes said. He paused. “Well, I must be on my way.” He clapped his hat on. “Good day to you, miss.”

  “Good day, sir.” Mercy opened her parasol and leaned it on one shoulder. She turned and began walking away.

  Rhodes watched for a moment, then he called softly to her. When she stopped and looked at him, questioning him with her eyes, he said, “I’m a damn Yankee, miss.” He paused a heartbeat. “And I’m damn proud of it, too.” He smiled and walked off.

  Chapter Three

  Travis Rhodes stopped his sturdy palomino horse on a small ridge and turned it to face Clearwater, half a mile away. He wasn’t sure where he would be going from here, but he had made the only night in Clearwater a memorable one for himself.

  He actually had no business to complete in the town. He had just told the marshal that so he could have at least one night under a roof. He had gone to one of the saloons—he hadn’t even bothered to find out the name of the place—and cut the dust in his throat. After a filling meal at the restaurant next to the saloon, he went to the line of cribs behind the saloon and hired one of the girls. She was the best looking one he could find there, out of a poor lot.

  “Well, come on in here, then, sweetheart,” the brassy brunette with too much face paint said, taking Rhodes’s arm.

  “That ain’t my style, sweetheart,” he responded.

  The woman—who had given her name only as Annie—looked up at him in surprise. “Just what’s that mean, sweetheart?” she asked suspiciously.

  “It means, missy,” Rhodes said quietly, “that I’m not fixing to spend five sweaty minutes in that damn shack of yours.”

  Annie swung in front of Rhodes and planted her feet wide, her arms akimbo. “And what’ve you got planned for us, sweetheart?” she asked, her interest piqued.

  “My room for the night.”

  “Hoo, boy,” Annie whistled, the possibilities bouncing around in her head, “that’s gonna cost you a heap more’n two bucks.”

  “I figured.” He held out a twenty-dollar gold piece. “That do you?” he asked.

  “That it would, sweetheart,” Annie said, reaching for the glittering coin.

  Rhodes yanked it out of her reach.

  “Hey, what’s the big idea?” Annie demanded. She was angry and bewildered.

  “The big idea is that I don’t favor the idea of consortin’ with such a painted woman.”

  Annie broke into a coarse laugh. “Well, hell, sweetheart, that’s what I am.”

  Rhodes nodded. “I know, but you don’t have to go out of your way to prove it.”

  “I think I’ve been insulted.” Annie was confused again.

  “Just statin’ a fact, ma’am,” Rhodes said easily. “You want the twenty, I want you cleaned up. We should be able to deal.”

  “You mean, I should take a bath?” Annie asked incredulously.

  “Precisely.”

  Annie looked askance at him, wondering if he was on the up and up. “How do I know you’re just not gonna have me do somethin’ so foolish as that and then sit there laughin’ at me?” she asked, voice growing more raspy.

  Rhodes reached out, took Annie’s right hand in his left, and turned it palm upward. He dropped the gold eagle into her hand, and then closed her palm over it. He released her hand.

  Annie opened her fist and looked down. She wanted to make sure he hadn’t pulled some sleight of hand on her. But the coin shone dully in the late afternoon sun.

  “I want you to get yourself cleaned up, and good. Then you come on over to Grelb’s. Room 15.”

  “All right, sweetheart,” she said, trying to fight down her excitement. This fool was going to let her go off and bathe when she had the money already in hand. She’d lay low for a couple hours, maybe a day, and he most likely would ride out of town, leaving her with the money while he got nothing in recompense.

  “Oh, and Annie,” Rhodes said evenly, “don’t think of running off with my cash.”

  She looked into the flat gray eyes and felt a shudder of worry ripple up her spine. “You the one did in Carl with the pitchfork, ain’t you?” she asked. Her fear was a pulsing knot in her intestines, trying to break free.

  “News travels fast ar
ound here.” He paused. “I’m not aimin’ to hurt you, girl,” he said, still in his quiet voice. That soft, pleasant voice had been considered more than once as a sign of weakness in Travis Rhodes. Most who made that mistake did not live long enough to regret the error.

  Annie nodded, her fear not lessened any.

  “Go on now,” Rhodes said. “Be there in one hour.” He grinned a little. “Hell, missy, you might even like it.”

  Annie smiled wanly before turning and shuffling off. Darkness was coming as Rhodes strolled away, heading for Claver’s Mercantile again. Since he would be leaving so early in the morning, he needed some more supplies. As he headed for the hotel, Rhodes stopped at the livery. He paid the owner and told him to have his horse ready early. The liveryman growled a surly assent and went back to his work.

  Rhodes shrugged at the man’s rudeness. Once, long ago, he would have taken offense at such a thing. But he had learned during the war that if he tried to take on every man he met who was rude or coarse or contrary, that he would go crazy in a very short time. Now, he tended to shrug such things off—unless the other grew too ornery.

  In his room, Rhodes set his supplies down, broke out his straight razor, mug of shaving soap and a brush, and a small metal mirror. He filled the small basin with water and then proceeded to shave. When done, he tossed the dirty water out the window and then put his things away. He looked at his pocket watch and nodded.

  Annie finally arrived, only four minutes late. Rhodes did not criticize her for her tardiness. Instead, he grinned, nodding his head. “My, but don’t you look fine,” he said enthusiastically.

  Annie blushed, shocking herself. She hadn’t done that in a dog’s age. “Aw, you’re just sayin’ that, sweet—um, mister,” she offered lamely.

  Always gallant when he could be, Rhodes shook his head. “No, ma’am, I’m not. Gospel truth.” He would never admit that he was exaggerating, but it was not completely untrue. With the mounds of face paint gone, her hair clean and brushed, wearing a simple, modest wool dress, she was not unattractive. He was not lying in that, just stretching things a tad.