The Outlaws of Salty's Notch

by Will Keen

  The two lawmen had broken into a run when the first shots rang out. They bore down on the hotel, drawing their six-guns. As the window shattered, their boots were hammering on the three rickety steps leading on to the gallery. Both men ducked their heads as glass rained down, glittering shards falling on them through gaping holes in the roof. The stocky deputy, Dave Ames, had pulled ahead of Jim Grey. He made straight for the hotel’s open front door and charged into the dark interior.

  Paladin, still on the other side of the street, hugged the shadows and kept his eyes on the upstairs window. He’d drawn his six-gun. As yet there was no sign of movement. Just the shots, the loud roar that could have been anger, fear, or pain. Paladin needed a target, but was prepared to wait. The dangerous life he had led as a bounty hunter had left him with infinite patience.

  Before Grey could reach the front door, there was another shot. Again Paladin saw the upstairs room brightly lit by a muzzle flash. Then, explosively, a man fell backwards through the shattered window. He took the frame with him. It was a short drop to the gallery roof. He hit it with his shoulders and neck. Under his weight the wood splintered with a crackling like the breaking of thin ice on a cold winter lake. Then he hit the board floor with a sickening crunch. Still caught in remnants of the wooden frame, he twitched, moaned, then lay still.

  Jim Grey had spun as the man fell through the window, instinctively jumping away with his arms raised defensively as he crashed through the roof. Now he stepped close to him and dropped on one knee. With an effort he rolled him over, disentangled him from the frame.

  Then he stood up and looked straight across the street at Paladin.

  ‘The older Mexican,’ he called. ‘Broken neck – but he was dead before he fell, ugly knife wound in—’

  A rattle of gunfire from the inside the hotel snapped his head around. He spun, brought his six-gun level as a man appeared out of the shadows. But he was walking backwards – and not doing it well. His stocky body was too slack, his legs wobbling. He reached the single step down, and it was his undoing. One boot touched the gallery’s boards, but the leg could no longer take the man’s weight. It collapsed under him. As he began to fall, Jim Grey sprang forward. He thrust both hands under the man’s arms. For a second he tried to hold him. Then he too stumbled backwards and went down. Both men crumpled to the boards, Grey underneath. As they fell, the six-gun inside the hotel opened up again. Bullets whistled through the space where, seconds earlier, the two defenceless men had been standing.

  Paladin had set off in a weaving run across the street before Jim Grey had finished calling to him. He was approaching the hotel when the two men fell, mounting the three steps while Grey was wriggling free of the dead weight. The bullets meant for Grey forced Paladin to throw himself desperately sideways. He rolled, came up as Grey was climbing to his feet. When the marshal looked across at Paladin, his face was grim.

  ‘Dave Ames, my deputy,’ he said. ‘A fine man cut down—’

  ‘Look out,’ Paladin snapped, then again he leaped to one side as yet more shots sprayed the gallery.

  Grey had also flung himself out of the line of fire. Now, for the first time he began to use his six-gun. He snapped a couple of fast shots into the shadowy passageway. Then, with a solid boom, the big heavy door slammed shut. Grey’s next shot splintered the dark wood. There was a soft laugh from inside the hotel, then the sound of a bolt being driven home hard.

  Without hesitation, Paladin made for the nearest downstairs window. He used the butt of his six-gun to shatter the glass and clear jagged fragments from the frame. Then he threw a leg over the sill and dropped into the dark room.

  Too much furniture, ill lit by light from the street. The smell of dust and mildew, unwashed bedding, stale sweat and cigarette smoke. The strong reek of cordite seeping in from the passageway.

  The light from the street was barely strong enough to reach the room’s closed door. Paladin could make out its panels, faintly gleaming. He blundered his way towards it, cursing out loud as he barked his shins on a low stool, then clamping his teeth shut to prevent the same mistake.

  When he reached the door he pressed his ear to it; held his breath; listened. There was no sound in the passageway. Behind him, on the other side of the shattered window, the gallery was silent. Grey was either waiting for the front door to be opened, or had run down the steps and into the alley leading to the rear of the building. That would make sense. The gunman had emptied his six-gun to keep heads down, then bolted the door. If he was going to make his escape, he’d do it by the back way.

  Paladin stepped back from the door. As he did so, something wet dripped on to his face. Wet, and warm. He touched it with his finger; turned to what little light there was in the room. It was blood. He looked up. The ceiling was nothing more than the bare boards of the next floor. Through the cracks, dark blood oozed.

  The room Paladin had booked with Breaker was directly overhead. The elder Rodriguez was lying dead on the gallery. Guillermo Rodriguez – it had to be him – had shot Dave Ames and then bolted the door. He was out there, somewhere. Putting two and two together it wasn’t difficult to put a name to the man lying upstairs bleeding to death.

  A voice called out from the street. There was a quiver in it, and Paladin knew the rattle of gunfire had disturbed someone’s sleep. Then, as he stood listening, he heard a woman’s voice. Her words were indistinguishable, but she was obviously distressed. Then she cried out, and Paladin heard a door at the rear of the hotel slam hard enough to shake rafters. It was followed seconds later by the rattle of horses’ hoofs, rapidly fading into the distance.

  In the seconds it took for that unseen drama to unfold, Paladin had been struggling with the door. Desperate to get out of the room, to help the woman, he had tugged at a door warped and swollen by damp. Abruptly it came free of the jamb, throwing him off balance. Then, with the sound of the back door’s slamming a haunting echo in his ears, knowing he was far too late, he walked out into darkness. A left turn took him to the front door. He drew the bolt, pulled the door open.

  The gallery was empty but for the body of Dave Ames. An old man was walking slowly across the street. A woman was watching from the far plankwalk.

  ‘Go home, both of you,’ Paladin called, ‘it’s all over.’

  Then, pulling the wide door open to give himself some light, he went back down the passageway. There was a small reception area, a low counter. The register Paladin had signed lay open, a brass bell gleamed. In the faint light from the front door the blood glistened like wet paint on the bald head of the man lying on the worn carpet. He was breathing in ragged snorts, but strong enough to suggest to Paladin that he’d been knocked cold with the butt of a six-gun.

  Then the back door banged open. Jim Grey stomped in.

  ‘Gone,’ he said. ‘I got around there too late. He must have had a horse waiting, he was out of sight before—’

  He broke off as he saw the man on the floor.

  ‘Al Benson,’ he said. ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘Out cold.’

  ‘According to Dave it was Ellie reported this. His daughter. Where the hell’s she got to?’

  And there was a strained silence as he stared at Paladin with a distant look in his eyes. Paladin looked away, thought about what he’d heard and what it told him, knew that knowledge would keep.

  ‘Someone’s upstairs, bleeding through the ceiling,’ he said, and headed for the stairs.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jim Grey had walked the few yards down to the livery barn, found Curly Johnson looking phlegmatically up the street and told him what was needed. The hostler moved swiftly. When Paladin came down the stairs a buckboard had pulled up alongside the hotel’s gallery and Grey and the hostler were struggling down the steps with the body of Dave Ames.

  The hotel’s owner had recovered consciousness. He was up on his feet, sagging against the counter. His face was sickly, his eyes unfocused.

  Best they stay that way for a wh
ile, Paladin thought, and he walked outside.

  ‘Another body upstairs,’ he told Grey. ‘Jack Breaker. Shot several times in the guts. It was him doing all the bleeding.’

  Grey turned from the buckboard, hands on hips, catching his breath.

  ‘So it was the Mexican kid I heard riding away?’

  ‘Not just the kid.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I was a while getting out of that front room. From what I could hear, he’s got a woman with him.’

  ‘That’ll be Ellie Benson,’ Grey said, and he banged his fist on the buckboard in sudden fury. ‘If you knew that,’ he said, glaring at Paladin, ‘you must have been close, and if you were close, why the hell—?’

  ‘You’re wasting time. They’re gone. If we’re to catch them—’

  ‘Come down to the jail,’ Grey snapped. ‘Curly, there’s another body upstairs and I reckon Al needs the doc.’

  And leaving the hostler looking up at the shattered upstairs window he strode briskly across the street.

  ‘Guillermo Rodriguez must have had this planned from the start,’ Paladin said. ‘Breaker being in the same hotel made it easy for him. Him and his brother, they must have burst into Breaker’s room. Breaker would have reacted, maybe got a couple of wild shots off, but reality is he was caught cold. One of the brothers – at a guess I’d say it was Alvaro – didn’t risk going for a head shot but played safe and punched bullet holes in Breaker’s middle. An ugly way to die.’ He shook his head. ‘And you say Alvaro was knifed?’

  ‘Broke his neck in the fall, but he was bleeding from a knife wound.’

  ‘Then I reckon the kid had come in behind his brother. Alvaro, a flashy Mexican, was probably preening himself on the way he’d downed Breaker. Then he sensed something was wrong, turned, got one shot off. Too wild, too late. Guillermo knifed him in the gut, then pushed him through the window. I told you about the leather case stuffed with money. That’ll have gone with Guillermo.’

  ‘That, and Ellie Benson,’ Grey said.

  ‘And that’s the only bit I don’t understand. Couldn’t have been planned, had to be spur of the moment. A hostage must have seemed like a good idea, but it could be a fatal mistake.’

  Grey nodded. ‘Taking Ellie means the hunt won’t give up till that kid’s hanging from a tall tree.’

  ‘His youthful looks are misleading. I keep calling him kid,’ Paladin said, ‘but according to Breaker he’s pushing thirty. We should remember that, and take care.’

  Grey had left the roll-top desk and was by the stove pouring coffee. With his back to Paladin he said, ‘If I’m any judge of character, I’d say you’ve been taking too much care for too damn long.’

  ‘Is that why you left the keys in the lock?’

  Grey handed him his coffee, sat down.

  ‘You heard Dave say there was trouble over at the hotel. I had no real reason to keep you locked up, and I wanted to see which way you’d run. You surprised me by not lighting out for distant parts, but confirmed what was just a hunch by doing damn all when the bullets started flying.’

  ‘That hunch being?’

  ‘You were a bounty hunter. Says a lot about the kind of man you were, but I guess it wore you out. All you can do now when there’s trouble is stand well back and watch and dream about what used to be.’

  ‘Harsh words, Grey.’

  ‘And maybe I’ll live to eat them,’ Jim Grey said. ‘I’m a pretty good town marshal, but I don’t kid myself. Most men with nerve and commonsense and a liking for a boring daily routine in a quiet town could do my job. You have’ – he grinned wryly – ‘had skills it’d take me a lifetime to acquire. You’re a worn out bounty hunter too fond of strong drink, Paladin – that’s another hunch – but I’m relying on you to stay sober long enough to hunt down this Mexican killer. And, while we’re into the business of hunches, I reckon you’ll do it for reasons you haven’t yet mentioned.’

  ‘Oh, there’s more to my story than a couple of Mexes stealing a bagful of cash. This Guillermo kills for the fun of it, but this time he’s—’

  Grey’s chair hit the desk with a bang as he sprang to his feet. Paladin swung round, his hand dropping to his gun.

  ‘Ellie,’ Jim Grey said softly, ‘you just about stopped my heart walkin’ in here like that. Where in the world have you been, girl?’

  She was a pretty young woman with loose dark-hair, her plain clothing mostly hidden by a flowered smock. She took the cup of coffee Grey offered her, and sat down in his swivel chair smiling her thanks.

  ‘I thought you knew,’ she said. ‘Dad told me there was trouble, so I called in here to warn you before taking the short walk to Mary Illingworth’s home.

  Grey rolled his eyes, spread his hands. ‘I’m getting forgetful in my old age. Isn’t Mary’s first child due round about now?’

  ‘A couple of days overdue,’ Ellie said, pulling a face, ‘which is why I was over there so late at night, and wearing a smock over my clothes.’

  Grey nodded, but his thoughts were already moving on. His face turned grave, and he shook his head. ‘That trouble your dad mentioned got out of hand, Ellie. Dave Ames is dead. A couple more bodies have been taken away by Curly, and your dad got a nasty bang on the head.’

  The young woman’s eyes widened. ‘Oh my goodness. Is Pa all right?’

  ‘He’ll have a headache for a while, but the doc reckons he’ll be fine. You’ll probably find him snoring in his bed.’

  ‘But what was all that about when I walked in here?’ Ellie said, both hands clasping her cup. ‘You looked as if you’d seen a ghost, Jim.’

  Grey flashed a glance at Paladin. ‘The man doing most of the killing over at your place is a Mexican. When all the shooting was done he locked your front door, got away out the back. He moved fast. I was too late to catch him, or even set eyes on him. But before he left the hotel Paladin here thought he heard a woman talking, maybe crying out.’

  ‘And you thought that was me? That this Mexican had taken me with him?’

  ‘That seemed likely, but I guess Paladin was wrong.’

  ‘No.’ Paladin was emphatic. ‘I know what I heard, Grey.’

  ‘What you heard must have been the other woman,’ Ellie said. ‘She was by the counter talking to my dad when I came over here.’

  Paladin spun on his heel, walked to the window, stood looking out at the street. His gaze was unseeing. He was remembering La Belle Commune and the look in Brad Corrigan’s eyes, the message that was there to be read – and which Paladin had read, and misunderstood. And he was remembering his later dark foreboding, the frequent looks over his shoulder every time the back of his neck began to itch.

  ‘All the way from Louisiana,’ he said, ‘I had a feeling we were being followed.’

  There was a heavy silence behind him. It was broken by Grey.

  ‘Are you saying it was this woman?’

  ‘That’s not possible,’ Ellie said. ‘She was old, fragile, a thin stick of a woman.’

  Paladin swung around. ‘There was a lot of dirty, night-time fighting back in La Belle Commune. Emma Bowman-Laing was prowling around in the woods watching most of it, ready to ride in and pick up the pieces. The town marshal, Brad Corrigan, was one of those pieces; he’s alive because of her.’ Paladin laughed harshly. ‘Hell, after the courage she showed a little old ride of a couple of hundred miles wouldn’t faze her.’

  ‘Whether it did or it didn’t,’ Grey said quietly, ‘if you’ve got it right she’s now in the hands of a Mexican killer. Nothing’s changed except the name of the woman, Paladin.’

  Ellie had turned a little pale, perhaps thinking of what might have been if she had lingered in the hotel just a few minutes longer. She put down her cup and rose to her feet. ‘Thanks for the drink, Jim. I’ll go and see Pa and leave you two to sort this out. I hope you do. I feel so sorry for that poor old woman.’

  ‘But you don’t, do you?’ Grey said to Paladin as the door closed behind the young woman.
<
br />   ‘Mixed feelings. I’ve known her a while now, and common sense tells me she’s in danger. But she’s a tough old bird, and I’m wondering what went on between her and that Mexican. Has she been taken against her will? Or did she come up with some story that persuaded him to take her along?’

  ‘Why the hell would she do that?’

  ‘For the same reason she followed me and Breaker. She knew Breaker was behind most of the killing in La Belle Commune, but it was bullets from Rodriguez’s six-gun that did all the damage. I told her the Rodriguez brothers had double-crossed him – the kid had told Breaker a phoney story from the start – but it made no difference: far as Bowman-Laing was concerned, Breaker was a no-good outlaw and could never be trusted. As for me, she watched me in action and wasn’t impressed.’

  ‘Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,’ Grey said softly. Knowing shrewdly what Paladin was suggesting, there was a frown of utter disbelief furrowing his brow.

  ‘You and me both,’ Paladin said. ‘There were two Mexicans when we started out on the trail. Now there’s just the one. Bowman-Laing saw the way the wind was blowing, and seized her chance. I think there’s a real possibility she intends taking him all on her own.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Rodriguez, I think we should stop and bed down for what’s left of the night,’ Emma Bowman-Laing called.

  They had ridden due north out of Bay City, putting the gulf coast behind them and heading at breakneck speed into a flat, moonlit landscape of tangled scrub and parched trees with gnarled trunks. It seemed to Bowman-Laing that the Mexican must know that part of Texas, for he rode steadily and without hesitation across rough terrain without landmarks or any point of reference. She quickly came to the realization that the ability to find their way unerringly in a strange land was a skill honed to perfection in Rodriguez and his fellow outlaws. All too often they were fleeing from pursuing posses, running into an impenetrable wilderness in a desperate attempt to save their lives.