by Tony Masero
‘So it wasn’t deeds or claim rights?’ asked Slade.
‘No, it was survey maps and Colonel Friday was called out to pick up the maps that Causter had found and he was killed before they became common knowledge and property values soared on the route planned. The railroad must keep that secret at all costs. You see everybody thought the railroad would come down from Santa Fe and definitely pass through Lincoln, it seemed the most obvious route but the company wanted to save themselves a small fortune by taking the sidetrack. Now the agents working for the railroad are doing all they can to keep things quiet. And that’s why I’m hiding out up here, because I know about it and that knowledge is a death warrant as far as I’m concerned.’
‘So, are you saying someone put paid to Friday before he could pick up the maps to make the whole matter go away?’
‘That would be my guess. They’ll have an agent down here somewhere acting on their behalf. A merciless, well paid assassin who will execute whoever he’s told to. It will be a man eminently suited to the task. A killer through and through.’
‘And I wonder just who the hell that might be,’ mused Slade
‘I tell you this,’ said Willows, leaning forward confidentially. ‘It is my belief that the town sheriff has a hand in this.’
‘Smith? That wimp, he couldn’t get up in the morning without having someone put on his boots for him.’
‘He’s the inside man in Lincoln, I believe. Those deputies of his are probably the messenger boys; they carry the word backwards and forwards from the man, the agent behind it all. Smith is the eyes and ears, he’s the tattle-tale who lets on if anybody gets wind of things.’
‘So that’s why Rio Palmer busted me up. They thought I was getting close and needed disposing of.’
‘Perhaps,’ shrugged Willows. ‘More likely they saw you as a potential threat and thought to strike before you found out anything substantial.’
‘Well now they’re on the run and not much use to the man, whoever he is. I guess their goose is cooked if he decides they serve no useful purpose anymore.’
‘Oh, this agent will be totally ruthless. If Rio has any idea what’s really going on, then I fear his days are numbered.’
Slade sipped his coffee and thought it through. ‘It doesn’t explain the disappearance of the maps though. If Causter still has them then he would have said something I’m sure. Word would have got out and something would have been said.’
‘It depends, doesn’t it? If he thought the maps were merely mining claims it would signify nothing to him. These would only show geology reports and diagrams of land elevation and so on, they might include nothing that says they refer to an actual route or are anything to do with a railroad company.’
‘But if he thinks that, then he may well believe they do indeed represent actual gold finds and is hanging on until all the furor dies down before presenting them as his own find and staking a claim,’ Slade extrapolated.
‘It could be so,’ Willows agreed. ‘Although if Friday wasn’t carrying them and Causter didn’t give them to Rio Palmer it would seem he is in a dangerous predicament as the last known party to hold the paper.’
‘Maybe, I should go see Mister Causter again.’
Chapter Ten
Slade left Charlie Willows in the mountains, the clerk still too afraid of the unknown killer to venture down from his hiding place. Slade wondered at such terror, that a man would risk another assault by Apache Indians rather than take the protection he offered as a lawman. But Willows had been insistent and would not budge. The Indians, he claimed, were an obvious enemy easily seen and recognized, the railroad agent, was not.
Slade was tired but determined to get over to the Freshwater Ranch and see Solon Causter before any ill befell the man. He rode on throughout the day, resting his pony and managing a snooze for an hour at noon before pressing on. By late afternoon he made it the ranch and called out at his arrival.
It was Mrs. Causter that came to the door accompanied by young Joey.
‘Afternoon, ma’am,’ said Slade as he dismounted.
‘Hiya, Marshal,’ called Joey.
Slade nodded greeting at the boy and tipped his hat to Mrs. Causter. “Come to see your man, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Is he around?’
‘Pa’s out on the range,’ Joey piped up.
‘He likely to be back soon?’
‘Might not be ‘til the morrow,’ Mrs. Causter said.
‘You know where I could find him then?’ Slade asked.
‘Lord knows, Marshal. He could be anywhere out there with the herd. But is there anything I can do to help?’
‘No, ma’am, I reckon not. I’d better see Mr. Causter personal. I should tell you though, that your husband may be in some danger.’
‘Danger!’ she gasped. ‘Oh, no. Haven’t we suffered enough just recent, what with Billy making a stand here and nigh on getting the house ruined. What is it now?’
‘I think your husband may be holding some papers that he should hand over. There are people out there who are hunting for them and they don’t care how they get ahold of them.’
‘Papers? What papers, Marshal?’
‘They’ll be maps and such. Mr. Causter said he found them on some dead prospectors up in the hills.’
The woman looked thoughtful, ‘I remember the dead miners,’ she said. ‘Solon told me about them, I thought he gave their personal things to the Lincoln town deputy.’
‘Might be he still has something that might have been overlooked,’ Slade managed to make the observation as diplomatically as possible.
‘You know anything about this, Joey?’ Mrs. Causter asked the boy.
Joey scratched his red mop and shook his head. ‘No, ma’am. Don’t know about that.’
‘Would you mind looking?’ Slade asked. ‘They’ll be in a roll maybe or a satchel of some kind.’
Mrs. Causter frowned and looked thoughtful, ‘Sure, of course but I don’t know where he would have put such a thing, I’m sure.’
She was about to turn and go inside the house when a loud halloo came from beyond the building. The three turned to see a trio of ponies riding fast across the prairie towards them. They were travelling at speed and the individual figures were lost in the dust raised by their passage.
A vaquero drew up, his pony streaked with sweat and frothing as he jerked the beast to a sudden standstill.
‘Senora!’ he called, his face a picture of distress. ‘It is your husband. The senor….’
His voice petered out as his companion drew up alongside and behind him they saw a body draped and tied across the third horse he was pulling by a lead rein.
Mrs. Causter let loose a heartfelt wail as she recognized that it was her husband’s body lying across the pony. ‘Solon!’ she called, running over and throwing herself across the hanging form. Tentatively, Joey followed stumbling a few steps then running to grab at his mother’s skirts.
‘What happened?’ asked Slade, realizing he had arrived to late to save the rancher.
‘We found him, Marshal,’ the vaquero explained, leaping down from the saddle and smacking the sweat-streamed pony out of his way. ‘Not far from the herd. He lay in a gully. It was a long rifle, maybe Sharps. A big bore anyway. Someone has killed him from distance.’
‘Did you see anything of the shooter?’
‘No, Marshal. There was no one we could find. We all heard the shot but once we had found Senor Causter the killing man had already gone.’
‘How long ago did it happen do you think?’
‘Just now. Not more than an hour. The blood is still fresh.’
‘Damn it!’ cursed Slade, swinging up into the saddle. ‘Show me.’
Leaving the sobbing woman and boy in the care of the other vaquero they rode out. The vaquero urging his tired beast to match the pace of Slade’s pony who was now almost as equally exhausted as the cowboy’s pony.
‘Come on,’ said Slade. ‘We may catch him yet.’
‘We h
ave already tried, senor. But we could not find him and now my pony is fading fast with all the running.’
‘Okay,’ said Slade in frustration, easing off as he realized they were both riding tired ponies. ‘We run, then ride a spell.’
Dismounting, the two ran alongside the pony’s Indian style and switched around from ride to run for the trip out towards the herd. Sweat ran down from both men’s brows as they came in sight and the vaquero pointed direction to the dip where they had found Causter.
‘He was here, senor,’ said the cowboy. ‘The shot must have hit him as he came over the rise and he tumbled down.’
Slade could still see blood splashed on the ground and the tracks that bore out the vaquero’s story. He climbed up the rise and stood at the lip searching the horizon.
‘It would be there,’ he said, pointing over out beyond the herd which lay gathered by the rest of the vaqueros in a broad valley below. ‘Those rocks, you see? On the rise over yonder.’
‘Si, senor,’ agreed the vaquero. ‘It would be a good place.’
They made their way down and Slade left the vaquero to get back to the other riders whilst he pushed his way on through the cattle and made it up to the rock formation he had marked as the sniper’s site.
He found the casing lying there.
Definitely a long-range Sharp’s rifle, he knew it as he rolled the .45-70 Government brass through his fingers.
The dirt was churned up all around the base of the rocks. It looked hurried to Slade. This was not a well-planned ambush, this had been a hurried job done on the fly. He followed the sign and saw how the killer had left his pony below the rocks and run up the low hillside leaving deep boot prints as he came and went. He had raced up and taken his shot then left in a hurry. It was a swiftly done expert assassination there was no doubt of that but why all the rush Slade wondered as he looked off into the distance considering where the killer had been headed. No attempt had been made to track his mark, to hit Causter somewhere more safely between the ranch and the herd, it had been here out in the open with the Freshwater vaquero’s close enough to catch him. The fact that they hadn’t, had been a risk the man had been willing to take and luck had been on his side.
There was no doubt in his mind that Causter had been killed to keep the survey maps from ever seeing the light of day. His fears for the rancher’s safety had been well founded and whether Causter had them in his possession or not the railroad killer was taking no chances.
South and west. The tracks headed in that direction but there was no point trailing him now, Slade knew it. His pony was done and so was he; both of them needed some rest. Tiredly, he mounted up and with encouraging words in the tired pony’s ear he headed back to Lincoln.
He found the town in uproar when he arrived. Night had set in and rather than the usual hullabaloo people were deep in conversation standing on the sidewalks grouped under the streetlamps and men ran from one side of the wide Main Street to the other in a fever of excitement. The whole place was humming and as he dropped off his exhausted horse at the livery Slade wondered what was going on. The stable yard was deserted and Slade guessed the owner was out with the rest of the townsfolk so he was forced to tend to his own beast. It was an effort he could well have done without, as he was tired enough himself.
When he was done he made his way over to the hotel and up to his room.
Jane was there, patiently reading a story to Peter, who was sitting up in bed and looking a lot better than Slade felt.
Jane smiled at him. ‘You looked done in, Jack. Had a hard day?’
‘That’s a fact,’ he agreed, shedding his jacket and a silt of dust as he did so. ‘A long one too. What the hell’s going on in town? It looks like war’s been declared down there.’
‘You haven’t heard? There’s been some excitement here right enough. William Bonney made a breakout. That fellow is one daring rascal alright. Someone here in town got him a gun and hid it in the jail privy.’
‘You don’t say,’ Slade knew the privy was situated across from the jailhouse and prisoners had to be released from their cells long enough to do their business in there.
‘Well he laid out the deputy James Bell, took his shotgun and waited on Deputy Ollinger who was getting his lunchtime fill at a restaurant over the way, when he came running Bonney let him have it and killed him dead in the street. The brass of the man is unbelievable, you know he next spent an hour speechifying to the crowd before lighting out of town.’
‘Nobody stopped him? Where was Sheriff Smith all this time?’
Jane shrugged and gave a cynical snort, ‘Gone fishing, I guess. No one was about to stop Bonney, they either like him too well or are half scared to death of him.’
‘Garrett’s sure going to be pissed,’ Slade observed.
‘We heard the shots,’ Peter said, his eyes rounded in excitement. ‘Bang! Bang! They were right loud.’
‘They surely were,’ agreed Jane. ‘Now you settle down and get some shuteye, Petey. I have to go talk to Mister Slade. Alright?’
‘Okay,’ the boy agreed willingly enough, his eyelids already heavy with sleep. ‘ ‘Night, Jane,’ he said. ‘ ‘Night, Mister Slade.’
‘Good night, Petey. You sleep tight now.’
Jane got up and moved the oil lamp away from the bedside leaving the boy’s bed in shadow.
‘You look like you’re enjoying this,’ Slade observed quietly, with a nod at the boy as she passed him and placed the lamp on the room table.
She smiled at him, put her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘I do,’ she admitted. ‘Surprises the hell out of me but I do. You all tuckered out, big man?’
He caught her drift and smiled back at her. ‘How’d you make out on another room?’
‘Down the hall,’ she said. ‘It’s all arranged. Big cozy double sized bed with clean linen and the drapes are already drawn, the place just needs two humble souls to occupy it.’
‘Well, you sort me out some chow, as I ain’t eaten since breakfast time and I’ll take a shave and get cleaned up then just maybe we can see if this new accommodation is to our liking.’
‘It will be,’ she promised, leaning in towards him. ‘You know? I damned well missed you today, left me horny as hell,’ she whispered the last in his ear before spinning away and going to get him some supper.
Slade looked across from the sleeping boy to the closed door and shook his head. ‘What in the Sam Hill have I gotten myself into?’ he murmured, as he unbuckled his gun belt and laid it down next to the nightstand washbowl.
Chapter Eleven
It was Garrett pounding on his door early next morning that woke him.
Blearily, Slade allowed the Marshal entry into the salon and stood shivering in his long john’s whilst Garrett strode up and down the room in an agitated fashion.
‘Dadblast it!’ he cursed angrily. ‘Can’t be away one damned minute and things go to hell. Two deputies shot dead in the street and the Kid on the loose again. Beats all, it really does.’ He whirled on Slade. ‘And where the fuck were you when all this was going down?’
‘Trying to chase down Causter’s killer,’ Slade muttered resentfully, irritated by being berated and forced from his comfortable bed.
‘What! What’d you say? Speak up, don’t stand there mumbling like some goddamned schoolboy.’ Garrett’s anger was spilling over into his reserve and Slade could see the killer streak in him coming to life as the Marshal turned icy eyes on him.
‘Solon Causter was shot dead out on his range,’ he said in precise terms. ‘I was out there doing what I could to find the killer.’
‘Causter? Killed? What the hell has that to do with anything?’ Garrett fumed.
Slade explained from the beginning in a patient voice, ‘It has everything to do with it. Colonel Friday’s death is a part of it all too. I tracked down his clerk, Charlie Willows. He reckons it’s a setup by the railroad company, they have an alternative route planned that bypasses
Lincoln and Causter had the plans that proved it. So, Charlie reckons they have an agent hereabouts bent on recovering the surveyor’s plans to keep the whole matter secret. And he’s doing it by foul means rather than fair.’
Garrett paused as he took in the information. ‘Shit!’ he spat. ‘As if there isn’t enough going on with the Kid and his damned renegades. Now we have railroad agents on the loose as well.’
‘Looks that way,’ Slade agreed.
Garrett drew a deep breath and slowly collected himself. ‘I’m sorry, Jack. Guess I blew off a little too much steam there. You want to get some duds on? Looks like you’re suffering from the chill a mite.’
‘I’d be grateful,’ Slade said making his way to the bedroom to collect his pants.
‘What you doing in here anyway?’ Garrett called after him. ‘Thought you had another room, then the desk clerk said you had moved house.’
‘Morning, Marshal,’ Jane called impishly from the bedroom. Slade was struggling into his pants and gave her a warning look.
‘Oh!’ Garrett hesitated in the other room at the sound of her voice. ‘I see. Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t realize. I do beg pardon. Unforgiveable. Busting in like that.’