The Gallant Outlaw

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Yes, we’ll go there,” Zach echoed her in a strong voice. “We’ll do it, or I’ll die trying.”

  ****

  Lobo and his caravan moved along slowly, the horses’ heads low. They were weary, and the people no less so. It had been a hot day. They had driven hard these last few days, knowing they had to get Lorenzo Dawkins buried as quickly as possible. Lanie was glad to see the outlines of Fort Smith shimmering just ahead so didn’t protest when Lobo muttered, “Let’s step it up and get this over with.”

  They entered the town, attracting attention from the people on the streets. Lobo rode in front with the canvas-wrapped body of the slain lawman on his travois in the back. Lanie rode close beside Wesley, who by now was reeling in the saddle from weakness.

  When they pulled up in front of the jail, a man with a star on his chest emerged promptly. “What happened?” he asked curtly.

  “We got ambushed, Jeff,” Lobo answered wearily. “They got Lorenzo.”

  The tall marshal’s eyes flew to the still form on the travois; then he turned and said to the two deputies who had followed him out, “Take him down to Robertson’s place. He’ll take care of him.”

  One of the deputies climbed up on Lobo’s horse and rode slowly down the street.

  As the deputies followed, Marshal Jeff Samuels spoke to Lobo. The marshal was deeply affected and the pain in his voice was obvious as he said, “I hate to see it. Lorenzo was a good man.”

  “He was that,” Lobo nodded.

  “Who done it?”

  Lobo stared at him, shook his head slightly, and answered in his dead-weary voice. “Can’t be sure. Most likely Perrago.”

  An ominous light glowed in the tall marshal’s eyes, and his lips drew into a thin white line. “We’ll nail his casket shut.” Turning on his high boot heel he added, “I’ll go tell Judge Parker. He’ll be sorry to hear it. Dawkins has been with him a long time.” He disappeared into the jail.

  Lobo turned and walked to Lanie and Wesley, who had somehow managed to dismount. Now Stone was clinging to his horse’s reins, holding himself up, his face ashen. “Come along with me, Stone,” Lobo ordered. “We’ll have a doctor look at you and—”

  “Lanie!”

  Lanie whirled at the familiar voice. Her eyes grew wide as she looked toward the boardwalk where a young boy was pushing a man along in a wheelchair. She blinked in shocked disbelief, then cried, “Dad!—Tom!” and ran across the dusty street.

  Lobo watched in surprise and finally he asked, “That her dad, Stone?”

  “Sure is. And her oldest brother.”

  Oblivious to the stares and remarks of those around her, Lanie rushed to her father and fell into his arms. It was awkward, leaning over the wheelchair, but Lanie didn’t care. Familiar sensations flooded her. As a little girl she had done the same thing—run to him whenever she had hurt herself. Now she held tightly to him and tears of joy and relief came unbidden to her.

  After a few moments she stood up in front of him, blinked back the tears, and held both his hands. “What in the world—”

  “I came over to straighten this mess out,” Zach announced firmly. “That right, Tom?”

  Tom Winslow, a sturdy carbon copy of his father, grinned at Lanie. “Yep, we sure did, sis. I’ve pushed Dad around in circles in this town so long, I swear I’ve done worn down two, three inches shorter!”

  “Well, don’t just stand there now, boy,” Zach growled. “Let’s get outta this blasted heat!” He glanced over to the small knot of men who were waiting, staring at them, and called out, “Come on, Wes! I need to talk to you!”

  Stone started toward them, his head low and his steps faltering. Lanie told her father anxiously, “He’s been wounded, Dad. We’ve got to get him to a doctor right away.”

  “Wounded? What happened?”

  “Let’s get Wes taken care of. Then we can go somewhere and talk.”

  “I’ve got a room in the hotel you were staying in before,” Zach nodded. “Two of them, really. One’s waiting for you.”

  “All right, Dad, but first I want you to meet someone.” She motioned to Lobo. When he walked over to the Winslows, Lanie said, “Dad, this is Lobo Smith. He’s the man we hired to get Betsy back.”

  Zach stuck out his hand to meet the hard grip of Lobo Smith. Zach studied the man carefully, and for a moment he didn’t speak. Zach Winslow sized the man up, methodically weighing the close-knit shoulders, the quick movements, the steady look in the single indigo eye. Finally he said, “No luck this time, I reckon.”

  “Not this time,” Lobo shrugged. “Goes that way sometimes—”

  “Let’s get Wes to the doctor,” Lanie broke in. “Then I’ll feel better.”

  It was nearly two hours later when Smith and Lanie stepped into her father’s hotel room. Zach sat by the window in his wheelchair, and Tom was perched on the bed. As soon as they appeared Zach greeted them briefly and asked, “Well? How’s Wes?”

  “Not as bad as I thought,” Lanie said with relief. She walked forward and stood close to her father, drawn to him more than she had ever thought she would be. “The doctor dressed the wound, put bandages on it. He said he most of all needed to lie down and get lots of rest.”

  “He did look tired,” Zach observed. “Now. You two sit down and tell me the whole thing. Don’t leave anything out.”

  Lanie glanced at Tom, considering if she should tell him to leave the room. But he looked back at her with mutiny in his eyes and a stubborn set to his jaw, and Lanie realized that it would be useless to tell her brother to leave. So she smiled gladly and said, “Oh, it’s good to see you, Tom! Is everyone all right at home?”

  “Everybody’s fine,” Zach interrupted impatiently. “Now, tell me about Betsy and this man Perrago.”

  Lanie began to speak, and for the next ten minutes she sketched their aborted attempt to free Betsy. When she was through she sighed deeply. “I’ve made a mess out of it, I know, Dad, but—”

  “You did fine!” Zach snapped. He slapped his hand down on the wheelchair irritably. “Blast this leg! I won’t be able to ride a horse for another month!” His eyes went to Lobo Smith and he asked gruffly, “Well? What about you, Smith?” But before Lobo could answer, a rakish grin suddenly lit up Zach Winslow’s face. “Way I hear it, you’re a rangy wolf with long teeth and whiskers of metal shavin’s! Scare little children in the night, do you? And make the girls scream and run for cover. So what’s your side of it, Smith?”

  Lobo’s grin was as roguish as Zach Winslow’s. “Isn’t any.”

  “Just as well you think so, then,” Zach nodded. Zach had an ability to make decisions about people—and when he did, he seldom changed his mind and almost never made a mistake. He had made up his mind about Lobo Smith. “I know you feel bad about your friend Marshal Dawkins,” he said soberly. “I’m sorry about him, too. He was a good man.”

  “He was straight. Never let a man down and never broke his word,” Lobo replied. Zach Winslow nodded his understanding. Lobo cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t guess you’ll be needin’ me anymore.”

  “Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy, Smith,” Zach said calmly. “We’re going back to get that girl of mine, and you’re the one who’s going to have to do it. I can’t go with this bum leg. So sit down and let’s make medicine.” Lobo awkwardly took a chair, seemingly uncomfortable with the older man’s mandate. Lanie sat on the bed beside Tom. For some time they discussed possibilities.

  Finally Zach Winslow said, “Well, there’s nothing to be done tonight. I know you two are dead tired. Tell you what. Let’s go get something to eat, and I’ll get a few more rooms here.”

  “No need in spendin’ your money on me, Mr. Winslow,” Lobo protested.

  “Got more money than I have good sense, I think sometimes. And so does my wife,” Zach replied cheerfully. “I want you to be fresh. I want something done, you’re the man that’s gonna be doing it, and I want you rested up and ready. C’mon, Tom. Get me out of this
place, and push me on along to that restaurant. See if they’ve got anything fit to eat.”

  After their supper, Zach had Tom take him to the desk where he procured a room for Lobo and Wesley. He wheeled around and ordered Lobo and Lanie, “You two go get some rest. And when you get up in the morning, we’re going to get together and decide what to do. I’m going to ask the good Lord for an answer, and if either one of you knows how to pray you might do the same. Good-night.” He wheeled back around and said, “Let’s go, Tom.”

  When Zach was gone, Lobo remarked, “He’s quite a fella, your dad. Is he always like this?”

  “He’s the kindest man I’ve ever known,” Lanie said. She bit her lip and looked after him. “It’s taken something out of him, this thing has. I know Mother’s suffering, too.”

  “Best thing to do would be to get twenty marshals and throw a chain around that bunch,” Lobo growled. “Pull Perrago up in a chokehold.”

  “But what would happen to Betsy?” Lanie asked quietly. “Couldn’t she get hurt?”

  “She can get hurt any way we go about it,” he said. “But you’re right, Lanie. First sight of something like that, and Perrago’s going to threaten to kill her.” He noted her weariness. “You’re wore out, Lanie. Go to bed.”

  “Yes,” she readily agreed. “I’ll see you in the morning, Lobo. Good-night.”

  Lobo nodded and turned to go, but she caught his sleeve. “I know it didn’t work out as we wanted it to,” she said softly, “but you did get us out of there. And now—do you think we have another chance, Lobo?”

  He studied her face, the lines of fatigue deep at the corners of her mouth, her eyes darkly shadowed. Her vitality seemed to have drained away. Still, he felt admiration for Lanie; she had borne days of hardship and heartbreak in a way few city girls ever could have. “Always a chance,” he told her, then added, “Your dad said something about praying. He’s a praying man?”

  “Yes, he is, and my mother! She’s more for prayer than anybody I know of!” Lanie was watching Lobo steadily. “Do you ever pray, Lobo?”

  “Nope. Wouldn’t be right.”

  “Not right? What do you mean?”

  “Fella like me,” he shrugged. “Never think of God, never do anything for God; then out of the blue I start beggin’. Seems pretty small to me.”

  Lanie chose her words carefully before she spoke. “I think all of us have to reach some point where the only thing we can do is ask God. Until we get there, we’re pretty likely to stay stubborn and go our own way. At least that’s what I’ve found.” She smiled at him as she rose. “Now I’d better get some rest. Good-night, Lobo.”

  Lobo watched as she disappeared down the hall. What a woman! After a few minutes, he sighed, got up, and walked to his room, pondering her words all the way. He took off his boots, shirt, and trousers and scrubbed the dust from his face and arms in the washbasin in the corner, then dropped onto the bed and was asleep instantly.

  ****

  “What do you think about this fellow, Lobo Smith?” Zach asked.

  He and Lanie were alone. She had come to her father’s room early the next morning; Tom had gone on an errand. “Think about him? Why—I don’t know.”

  “You must have had some thoughts about him, girl! You trusted him enough to go off gallivantin’ around the desert with him!” Zach said, frustrated at her silence. “C’mon, speak up!”

  Lanie found herself awkwardly trying to define her feelings to her father. “I—I don’t really—know. He’s—a strange man,” she stammered. She dropped her eyes to the floor, confused by her own muddled feelings as her father studied her.

  Zach Winslow knew his eldest daughter. Lanie had never acted like this about a man before, and her difficulty in speaking of Lobo Smith made him want to ask more, but he decided not to press her. I’ll just keep my eyes open and find out for myself, he thought silently. Aloud he said, “Well, I’ve discovered one thing. Smith’s tough as a bootheel. And as far as I know he’s not vicious. On the borderline,” he added thoughtfully, “but so far even Judge Parker thinks enough of him to put in a good word.”

  “He’s had a hard life,” Lanie said. “I think if he’d had more chances he’d have made something out of himself. He’s very quick. Not educated, but he—he—knows things, learned things by himself. What you used to call ‘country smart,’ Dad.”

  “He’s quick-witted, all right. And looks kind of like a wolf, huh? That one eye of his so sharp, looking right through you. Funniest shade of blue I ever saw. How’d he lose that other eye?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered, wondering to herself. “He never told me.”

  “Nothing simple, I bet,” Zach observed. “All right, let’s go to that dining room. I’m going to tackle another one of those tough steaks.”

  They went down the hall into the spacious lobby, Lanie pushing the wheelchair. There was a saloon on one side and a dining hall on the other. Lanie and her father found a table, and ten minutes later Lobo came in, accompanied by Tom. The two had evidently met somewhere.

  Something about Tom’s attitude alerted both Zach and Lanie. The way the boy was acting toward Lobo. It was the same way he acted whenever he was around men he admired—furtive sideways glance and inordinate attention to what Lobo said; indeed, the boy was hanging breathlessly on every word. Tom had even begun to walk like Lobo Smith. Next thing, Lanie thought, he’ll be wanting to strap on a gun, just like Lobo. Her amusement faded as she thought of the dangerous path her brother could follow.

  They had breakfast, eating enormous amounts of food and speaking little during the meal. When they had shoved back from the table Lobo said abruptly, “I’ve thought of something that might work.” He looked directly at Zach Winslow; an air of fatalism seemed to be reflected in the gleam of his single eye and the set of his shoulders. “But it might not work, either.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Zach demanded.

  Lobo leaned forward and said slowly, “If you send a big herd of marshals in after Betsy, she’s got maybe a fifty-fifty chance. First thing Vic Perrago will do if he sees a star flash is use her as a hostage.”

  Zach nodded in agreement. “Yep. That’s the way I figure it too. I talked about it to some of the marshals, and they said it’d be real dangerous for my girl.”

  “Go on, Lobo,” Lanie urged him. “What’s your idea?”

  Lobo ran his hand through his crisp brown hair. He was obviously reluctant to speak; but then he sighed, seemingly resolved to tell his plan. “I’ve been thinking. If somebody was there—you know, on the inside, right there with Perrago—well, he could make a chance to get your daughter away, Mr. Winslow.”

  “You thinking about yourself?” Zach’s voice was quick and sharp.

  “Can’t think of anybody else,” Lobo replied offhandedly. “I know Vic a little bit. And all he really knows about me is that I’ve had my share of run-ins with the marshals. Matter of fact, he made me an offer a coupla times to join up with him, and I did ride with him for a while. Seemed kinda anxious to have me.”

  Zach leaned back in his wheelchair and studied the smooth countenance of the young man lounging across the table. “Be a bit dangerous,” he idly remarked. “If they found out what you’re there for, I guess they’d kill you before your next blink. You think he knows you were in the shootout when Dawkins got shot?”

  Lobo straightened up, crossed his arms, then grinned impudently. “No, it was pretty dark—I was hid good in the brush. I’d just have to keep ’em from finding out my real intentions is all.”

  Lanie ignored his lightness. “But, Lobo,” she asked plaintively, her voice troubled, “how could you do it? I mean, even if you were there, they’d be watching you. They’d be suspicious, wouldn’t they?”

  “They’re suspicious of everybody, that bunch is,” Lobo shrugged. “But, like I say, if I was right there I could make a chance for Betsy. They’d ride out sometime, leave just a man or two with her, like before. I might just be one of the men they’d l
eave! Then I’d just take Betsy, and ride out with her. Once Woman Killer comes in with word of their whereabouts, I can ride out. You can bet they didn’t stay in that shack after we found them out.”

  Silence fell around the table. Every face—except Lobo’s—was troubled. After a while Zach sighed with exasperation and said, “I’ve thought of everything in the world, Lobo. And not one idea would work. Maybe, just maybe this would.” His eyes grew sharp as they met Lobo’s. “But this is dangerous, real dangerous. I’d pay you well for it, though.”

  Lobo didn’t answer.

  “How could the rest of us help?” Lanie questioned him. “You can’t go out there alone.”

  “Better that way.” Lobo looked at Lanie, then at her father and drawled, “So if you agree to it, I’ll pull out. Soon as Woman Killer comes. Probably a couple more days. Besides, I need to get my horse shod anyway.”

  “But we’ve got to make a better plan than this,” Lanie protested. “You propose to just disappear into the desert. You can’t get in touch with us, we won’t know what’s happening—” The vehement flow of words stopped and her eyes narrowed.

  Zach Winslow studied his daughter’s determined expression and demanded, “What’s going on in that head of yours, girl? I know that look, and I want you to give it up right now!”

  “I just had an idea. But—I have to think about it a little bit.” She got up and left the table without another word. The men watched her as she walked outside and paced along the sidewalk.

  “Well, there she goes,” Zach said with resignation. “We’ve seen her look like that before, haven’t we, Tom?”

  “Yep, sure have!” Tom grinned at Lobo and told him with admiration in his voice, “Whenever Lanie gets to looking like that, she’s hatchin’ something, you can be sure of it! Usually some devilment!”

  Lobo said warily, “I don’t know what she’d be able to think up in this kind of situation.”