by Ralph Cotton
Summers and Ted Ford looked at each other.
“Soon as you can, Dr. Laboe, you need to ride out and check on Ansil,” Summers said. “I’m afraid he’s awfully ill.”
“Oh?” said the doctor, looking around at Summers, seeing the concern in his eyes. “Then I will ride out there first thing come morning, now that I know you hombres aren’t going to be shooting each other all over town.”
“Obliged, Doctor,” said Summers. He stepped in closer when he heard Rena moan and saw her open her eyes. “Is she going to be all right?”
“She is,” the doctor said. “Sometimes the impact of a bullet graze to the head can keep a person addled for a few days—not to mention bleeding from a knife wound. I’ve seen folks go a day or two like normal, then suddenly come off their feet and go unconscious off and on for a week.” He nodded at Rena. “She’s lost blood, but she’s showing good signs. Right now she needs to rest, let her head clear. Come morning I believe she’ll be much better—a little bit more each day until she’s over it.”
Summers gave a sigh of relief; so did Little Ted.
“Meanwhile,” the doctor said, “why don’t the two of you go to the kitchen and find yourselves something to eat while you wait? You can rest on the sofa and chairs in the waiting parlor.”
“If it’s all the same with you, Doctor,” Summers said, “I’d like to be right here when she wakes up, keep her from being frightened by her new surroundings.”
The doctor nodded.
“Sounds good to me,” he said. “Get yourselves fed. We’ll discuss her condition when I’m through here.” He nodded at an empty gurney against the far wall. “Then you can make yourself at home.” He turned back to his patient and continued cleaning her wounds.
Chapter 22
In the gray hour of dawn, Summers, dozing, opened his eyes and sat up on the gurney when he heard Rena Reyes murmuring under her breath. Standing, he stepped over beside her, took her hand and stood quietly looking on her face when her eyes opened. He felt her tense up slightly at the sight of him in the dim-lit room, at the touch of his hand on hers.
“Rena, it’s me, Will Summers,” he said quietly. “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here with you.”
She took a second to look around the shadowy darkness, already calming herself as she recognized his voice.
“Where—where are we?” she asked sleepily.
Summers could tell she was having difficulty gathering her thoughts.
“We’re at Dr. Laboe’s in Dark Horses,” he said. He watched and waited while she looked around the room some more. She touched her fingertips to the bandage the doctor had placed high up on the side of her head, above her ear. “He told me you’re doing fine. You might not remember much right now, but he says you’ll come back with a little rest.”
“But I do remember,” she said. “I remember my father’s death, the men who killed him. They made me dress their wounds. . . .” She paused, then said, “I remember the Belltraes. They said they would sell me in Mexico City.”
Summers clenched his teeth, but he managed to keep his anger to himself. Bailey Swann had been willing to leave Rena with the Belltraes without batting an eye.
“They’re all gone now, Rena, so put them out of your mind,” he said.
“You said you would stay with me . . . and you did,” Rena said, clasping both of her hands in his.
In a corner in a cushioned chair, the doctor stirred from dozing at the sound of their voices. He leaned to a small table beside him and lit a lamp.
“Well, now, what have we here?” he said in a tired voice. He stuck his socked feet into a pair of battered leather house slippers, stood up and hooked his suspenders over his shoulders. “How are you feeling, young lady?”
Before Rena could answer, a quiet knock caused them to turn their attention to the closed door.
“Will . . . ?” Little Ted said from the other side of the oak door. Summers stepped over and opened the door a few inches. He saw a worried look in Little Ted’s eyes.
“I think you’d better come look out here,” Little Ted said almost in a whisper.
Summers eased through the door, keeping it closed as much as possible, and walked with Little Ted to the front window and peeped out between the long curtains.
Sheriff Endo Clifford stood in front of the empty hay wagon, rubbing his hand on one of the team horses’ muzzles. Red Warren stood a few feet away, a rifle in his hand. Summers and Little Ted watched Clifford walk slowly around the wagon, inspecting it closely in the grainy morning light. When he got to Summers’ dapple gray, he looked it over and laid a hand up behind the saddle as if taking note that there were no saddlebags there.
“Good thing we hid our bags on the way here,” Little Ted said to Summers. “I wouldn’t trust Endo Clifford with a steel bolt.” He stared for a second longer, then said, “What do you think, Will? Are these two going to give us trouble?”
“I don’t know,” Summers said, “but we’re going to find out.” He started to turn and walk to the door.
“Wait, Will,” said Little Ted. “Endo Clifford wanted to kill you when we showed up that day. Don’t forget you kicked the man in his rack.”
“I know,” said Summers. “But he was in the wrong. He saw my paperwork. Now I’ve even got a statement from Ansil Swann that I was bringing him horses.” He patted his duster where he’d stuck the bill of sales and the letter Bailey Swann had given him with Ansil’s signature on it. He realized Bailey Swann had forged her husband’s signature. But it would have to do.
“That might not cut it with Endo,” said Ted. “He’s a bully, always was. Only now, he’s a bully with a badge, maybe even a sore rack still.”
“I’m in the right, Ted,” Summers replied. “When I’m in the right I tend to stand my ground, bully or no.”
“Then I’m going with you,” Little Ted said, “to keep the sides even. It never hurts to have a rifle cocked, no matter how right you are.”
“I can’t argue with that,” said Summers. He considered things, then looked back out the window, at an alley across the street behind Endo and Warren. “Think you can go out the back door, circle around behind them into the alley?”
“I know I can, if that’s what you want,” said Ted.
“It is,” said Summers. “When you get a signal from me, I want you to cock your rifle in one hand, then count to three and cock your Colt.”
“You got it,” Ted said, already headed for the back door. “I’ll be right there.” He tugged his hat down on his head and walked on. Summers waited, judging the minutes he knew it would take for Ted to get in place.
• • •
On the street, Red Warren looked around as he heard the front door begin to swing open. He raised his rifle into both hands and laid a thumb over the hammer.
“Uh-oh. We’ve got company coming, Sheriff Endo,” he said under his breath.
“Suits me,” said Endo, stepping around to face Will Summers as Summers walked down off the porch toward him. Summers stopped ten feet away. He saw the shadowy outline of Little Ted in the darkened alleyway across the street behind the two men.
“Morning, Sheriff,” Summers said in a flat, no-nonsense tone. His hand rested poised near his holstered Colt, Summers letting Clifford know from the start that he wasn’t going to take any guff.
Endo gave Summers a sly, menacing grin. Then he let the grin drop as if the memory of their last harsh encounter came to his mind.
“Well, now,” he said, staring coldly at Summers. “We meet again, just like I hoped we would.” Without looking at Red Warren he said over his shoulder, “Deputy Red, you remember Will Summers, the horse trader, don’t you?”
“I do,” said Red. He stood ready for whatever happened next. “I remember him from riding with those two horse thieves, Collard and Ezra Belltrae.”
Summe
rs let it go. He knew this was nothing to do with the Belltraes anymore, nothing to do with horse-thieving either. There was a gunfight coming, right here and now, whether he liked it or not. There was no ducking it, no putting it off. Here goes. . . .
“Are you still sore, Sheriff,” he said flatly, “from me kicking your balls into your belly?”
Endo Clifford’s face flared with rage. He tensed all over.
“You’re making killing you too easy, Summers,” he said. Over his shoulder he said to Red Warren, “Get ready, Red. Let’s start shooting.” He started to slap leather. But he froze as he heard Summers call out to the alley across the street behind him.
“All right, boys,” Summers said, “are you ready to take them down?”
Red Warren’s eyes widened at the sound of Ted’s rifle cocking; so did Clifford’s. Then they both froze when the sound of the Colt cocking followed right behind the rifle.
“Hold off!” shouted Clifford over his shoulder. “You’re letting this horse trader get you into bad trouble! I’m the sheriff here, damn it!” He glared at Summers. “So this is a damn setup? An ambush? You dry-gulching—”
“It’s all that,” said Summers. His Colt came up and barked loud in his hand. Endo Clifford flipped backward and landed facedown on the hard tile street. Blood slung high from the exit hole in his back. Then it melted to a halt. Red Warren had started to throw his rifle to his shoulder, but he saw it was too late as Summers swung his smoking Colt toward him, cocking it, pointing, ready.
“Stop! Stop right here!” Red Warren shouted. He pitched his rifle forward onto the street and threw his hands high. “That was Endo’s play, not mine!” As he spoke he walked backward step after step, each one getting quicker until he turned and bolted away in a dead run.
Summers fired a shot into the air, causing the fleeing gunman to speed up even more. He disappeared from sight as he veered sharply from the grainy morning light into the shadows still draping the front of the hotel.
“Come on out, Ted,” Summers said, walking over to Endo Clifford’s body and standing over it, his Colt still out, still smoking in his hand. “That looks like the end of it, for now anyway.”
“That’s the slickest ambush I ever heard of,” Ted said, stepping out from the alley, looking off along the street. “I don’t think Red Warren’s going to stop running till his boots wear out.” He looked at Summers as he walked over. “I never saw a man get so small so fast in my life. He wasn’t an inch tall when he turned into the hotel.”
Summers turned Endo Clifford onto his back with the tip of his boot. Clifford’s stunned eyes stared blankly into the gray sky.
“You didn’t put much time into it, did you?” Little Ted said, looking greatly impressed.
“As much as it took,” said Summers. He dropped the two spent rounds from the gate of the Colt and replaced them with fresh bullets from his gun belt. He closed the Colt’s gate, spun the cylinder free of smoke and slipped the gun into its holster.
On the front porch, the doctor stepped out with his medical bag in hand. He hurried down, then stopped when he looked down at Endo Clifford’s gaping chest and wide-open eyes. He sighed and stooped down anyway and felt for a pulse. Then he stood up and stared at Summers.
“I thought you said the worst of it’s over,” he said.
“I thought it was,” Summers said. “I missed it by a little.”
The doctor shook his head.
“We’re going to have visitors any minute,” he said.
Summers nodded in agreement.
“Why don’t you take the wagon around back for us?” he said to Little Ted.
“What are you going to do, Will?” said Little Ted, already climbing into the wagon seat. Dr. Laboe looked back and forth between them.
“I’m going to wait right here, see who shows up,” Summers said. “I shot the sheriff. Now we’ll find out who’s running this town and what he thinks of it.”
“I can tell you who’s running Dark Horses,” the doctor said. “It’s Evert Crawley. If I were you I would not stick around to explain anything. You already buckshot his son, Darren. You need to get the hell out of here.”
“What about Rena traveling?” Summers asked.
“Wherever you’re going, she’s better off with you than she is in Dark Horses,” the doctor replied, “especially with her father dead.”
Summers looked off along the street for a second.
“Have you got a buggy we can use, Doctor?” he said.
“It’s back there in my horse barn,” the doctor said. “Take it and get out of here. Send it back to me when you can.”
“Obliged, Doctor,” Summers said. Before Little Ted rode the wagon around the corner of the house, Summers unhitched his dapple gray and led it hurriedly toward the doctor’s small barn behind his house.
“What’re you doing, Will?” Little Ted asked, ready to put the wagon forward.
“Take the wagon around back,” Summers said. “Get Rena out on the back door onto the porch. Be ready when I get there.”
“All right, but where are you going, Will?” Ted called out as Summers hurried away.
The old doctor shook his disheveled gray head and waved everything away dismissingly. “I wouldn’t be young again for nothing in the world,” he murmured to himself. Up and down the street he saw curious faces venture out from doorways onto the street. He watched people walk along the boardwalks toward the front of his house, eager to see what the shooting was about.
• • •
At the Dark Horses Hotel, Red Warren spilled into Evert Crayley’s office, out of breath, his face flushed, his hands no longer holding the rifle he’d been carrying when he and Endo Clifford walked past only moments earlier.
“Dad! All of yas! Come quick!” he shouted, skidding to a halt in front of Crayley’s desk before any of the six men lounging around were quick enough to stop him. “The horse trader is down at the doctor’s! He’s driving Swann’s hay wagon! He’s killed Sheriff Endo!”
“The horse trader?” said Darren Crayley, standing up with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. His face was pockmarked red by buckshot Summers had put there. Beside him Tubbs stood up too, his chest bandage showing between the tight buttons on his shirt.
Dad Crayley looked up from his cigar and a thick mug of bourbon-laced black coffee. He eyed Red Warren skeptically, then looked at his son, Darren, and Tubbs.
“The two of you sit down,” he demanded with a growl, “unless you’re going to do something besides embarrass yourselves.” As he stood up he said to Red Warren, “I couldn’t care less about Endo Clifford, but Rizale said they’ve been moving goods from the Swann hacienda in a hay wagon.”
“It’s sitting there, plain as day,” said Warren.
Dad picked up his hat from the edge of the desk, and a rifle leaning near his chair. He looked at Darren and Tubbs.
“Well, my idiot son,” he said to Darren, “if you do want to put a bullet or two in him, you can’t do it sitting here.”
“You told us to sit down,” Darren said.
“Well, now I’m telling you to stand up,” said Dad.
Darren and Tubbs sprang to their feet. Darren jerked his Colt from its holster, checked it and held it in his hand.
“Here’s fair notice to you, Dad,” he said. “If I get Summers in my sights, he’s a dead man.”
“Let’s go,” Dad said, waving his son’s threat aside. “I expect it’s time we kill the horse trader and be done with it. He’s starting to get in everybody’s way.”
The men followed Dad Crayley out the hotel door and up the street to the doctor’s, where a small group of onlookers had gathered. Instead of seeing the wagon, Dad and his men saw the wagon tracks turn off the stone tiles and down a wide dirt path that ran alongside the doctor’s house, back to his barn and to a long alleyway that reached
out onto a sandy stretch of flatlands.
“Tell me straight up, Laboe,” Dad said to the doctor, “where’s Swann’s hay wagon and what was it doing here?”
The doctor stood over the body of Endo Clifford while the town barber, Raul Mijares, measured the dead sheriff for a coffin.
“What was the wagon doing here?” the doctor said, addressing the questions in reverse order. “The horse trader brought the Swanns’ house servant here in the wagon. Your gunman Rizale shot her. Dallas Tate stabbed her.” He held a fierce stare on Dad Crayley. “Where is it? The last I saw it, the horse trader was driving it right along that path to my back door, to pick the young woman up and get her out of town.” Still the fierce stare. “Might have thought your hombres would shoot her or stab her again.”
“Don’t get mouthy with me, Doctor,” said Dad. “My men and I are interested in gathering the Swanns’ assets. We’re not out to shoot anybody unless they get in our way.”
“Maybe you could have told Gilbert Rizale,” the doctor said. “Him and Dallas Tate headed back to the Swanns’ the minute I was through patching them up.”
Dad looked surprised.
“Anybody seen Rizale and Tate?” he asked his men.
Buster Saggert stepped forward.
“Not since they went to the doctor’s last evening,” he said.
“Damn it,” said Dad. He looked at Darren, who stood off the tile street, he and Tubbs stooped slightly, studying the wagon tracks leading back to the barn and alleyway. “Darren, you and the rest of your men get your horses. We’re going to track this horse trader down, take care of him once and for all. Nothing’s gone right since I started hearing his name.”
Chapter 23
Little Ted rode alongside the doctor’s buggy in the early-morning sunlight. Will Summers drove the buggy, his dapple gray’s reins hitched to its rear. Rena Reyes lay leaning against his side, still coming in and out of consciousness. Summers had started the buggy ride with his arm up around her shoulders in order to steady her. Yet, at one point when he saw her awake and went to remove his arm, she held on to him.