Valley of the Gun (9781101607480)

by Cotton, Ralph W.

  “Anybody who wants to come out of there alive had better answer up now,” he called out, taking the same position against the wall beside the doors.

  “The man you shot is dead,” a woman’s voice called out. “I’m the only one here alive.”

  “What are you doing in there?” Sam asked.

  “I’m the owner of the Desert Inn,” came her reply.

  “Who is he?” Sam called out.

  “He was Bertrim Moore, or so he said,” the woman replied, sounding closer to the door. “Can I come out? There’s blood all over everything in here. I’m getting the willies.”

  “Come on out,” Sam said. But he stayed in place until she walked out the door and looked up and down the street, her hands raised chest high. “Where is he?” she murmured to herself.

  “I’m here, ma’am,” Sam said quietly behind her, not wanting to startle her.

  The woman made a gasp of surprise and turned quickly. She looked him up and down.

  “My goodness, Marshal!” she said. “I’m guessing you don’t get caught unawares much.”

  “I try not to. It’s Ranger, ma’am,” he said, correcting her. “Arizona Territory Ranger Samuel Burrack.” As he spoke, he raised his hand from his rifle long enough to touch his hat respectfully. “You can lower your arms,” he added.

  “Well, thank you, Ranger,” the woman said. She folded her arms in front of her in a stately pose. “I’m Miss Adele . . . Adele Simpson. This is my place, such as it is these days.” She gestured a nod toward the inside of the saloon.

  Sam looked closely at her. She was a tall, strong-looking woman, busty, wearing a dust-streaked but clearly expensive-looking dress. Over the full-skirted dress, she had donned a baggy, battered denim miner’s coat. A slouch hat hung from a rawhide string behind her shoulders. Beneath the ground level hem of her dress, Sam saw the scuffed toes of what looked to be black English-style riding boots.

  “Would you like to gather your prisoner and come inside, Ranger Burrack?” she asked, gesturing toward Lang who stood grinning at the hitch rail. “Maybe the two of you will drag Moore out and bury him somewhere?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sam said. “We can do that, straightaway.” He looked back and forth along the empty street, seeing a ball of sage roll and bounce out of sight on a passing gust of wind. “Is there a restaurant left here, and a livery?”

  “There’s a barn out back,” she said. “Nobody’s tending it though. You’ll find some hay, maybe some grain left.”

  “Good,” said Sam. “What about a place to eat? After we bury the deceased, that is.”

  The woman just looked at him as she unfolded her arms and placed one hand on her hip.

  “I hear you, Ranger,” she said in a flat tone. “I’ll fire up the stove while you get the ‘deceased’ underground.” She looked down the street at Lang. “Maybe he can wash out some of the blood and guts when he’s finished eating. I saw a couple of miners headed this way down the high trail a while ago. That could mean more miners on their way.” She gave a tired smile. “I sure need the business.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be happy to clean up for you, ma’am,” Sam said, cradling his rifle in the crook of his arm.

  “Moore’s black barb is tied out back,” the woman said. “Any objections to me keeping him?”

  “No, ma’am,” Sam said. “Better you keep him than for me to turn him loose. These wild herds up here can get real testy with newcomers.”

  “Thank you, Ranger,” Miss Adele said. “Go get your prisoner. I’ll kindle the stove.” She stopped as if in afterthought. “Who is your prisoner, anyway?”

  “Harvey Lang, ma’am,” said Sam. “Do you know him?”

  “Cisco Lang. Sure, I know him,” she said, an unpleasant look coming to her face. “Running a saloon like the Desert Inn, I expect I know every worthless reptile who’s ever trekked the high desert.” She gave a shrug of her shoulders. “But that’s all right. I’ll kindle the stove anyway. Even a reptile has to eat.”