by Clive Dawson
For a moment, Frank hesitated. All of the old instincts came back in a flood, urging him to pick up the weapon. Then he thrust the Colt back. ‘Like I said, I don’t use guns.’
For a moment a look of disappointment showed on the big man’s face. Then it was replaced by an expression of malicious satisfaction. ‘Maybe you reckon you’re better with your fists.’
Reaching down, he unbuckled his gunbelt and laid it on the counter. He came forward, his hands bunched into hard fists.
‘Just teach him it ain’t wise to ride into this territory without guns,’ the Mexican said thinly. ‘Right now, we don’t want any trouble with the sheriff.’
Squaring up, Frank stepped well away from the bar. He knew the man would be a dirty fighter, one who knew all of the tricks of bar-room brawls. Moving with a swiftness that belied his bulk, he attempted to crowd Frank against the bar.
Side-stepping quickly, he let the blow slide across his left shoulder, bringing up his right fist hard against the side of the man’s face. It connected solidly and the man swayed to one side. For a moment, he seemed on the point of going down but with a savage effort, remained on his feet.
As he fought to keep his balance, Frank grabbed his arm and swung him round, slamming him hard against the bar. For a moment, he hung there, drawing in rasping breaths. Then he lurched forward, his head lowered.
The top of his skull struck Frank full in the chest, sending him back against one of the tables. It splintered under their combined weight and Frank fell to the floor with the heavier man on top of him. Grinning wolfishly, the man jabbed for his eyes.
Somehow, Frank caught his wrist, twisting savagely. Getting his right leg under him, he thrust upward with all his strength. For a moment, it seemed it wouldn’t be enough. Then, with a wild yell, his opponent fell to one side.
Pushing himself up onto one elbow, Frank brought the edge of his hand down across the man’s exposed throat. The gunhawk’s eyes rolled whitely in his head as he struggled for breath. Swaying slightly, Frank got to his feet. He knew the man wasn’t finished and he had to end it quickly.
Bringing back his foot, he kicked hard at his adversary’s head. His boot struck the right temple. The man’s head went back, hitting the floor hard. Sucking air into his lungs, Frank made to aim another blow but it was not needed.
Turning back to the bar, he glimpsed the thin man’s hand dropping towards his gun. It was almost clear of leather when a voice rasped, ‘Don’t try it! I don’t aim to have any men shot down in cold blood in my town.’
Twisting his head around, Frank saw McDonald standing just inside the doorway, both of his guns levelled on the trio. The look in the thin man’s eyes suggested he meant to make his play in spite of the guns levelled on him. A sudden movement at his back put the idea from his mind as the bartender thrust the shotgun hard between his shoulder blades. ‘Reckon you’d better do like the sheriff says,’ he said harshly.
The gunman moved his hand well away from his side. Grabbing the gunbelt from the counter, he slung it over his shoulder. ‘Now the two of you get your friend off the floor and ride out o’ town before I decide to throw all of you in jail.’
Keeping the Colts rock-steady in his hands, McDonald moved away from the door as the men advanced, carrying their unconscious companion between them. A few minutes later, there came the sound of horses moving away into the distance.
Pouching his guns, McDonald stepped across to Frank. ‘You sure know how to get into trouble, mister,’ he said mildly. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t stick around in town too long. Those gunslicks don’t like bein’ taken down like that. If you are intent on stayin’, I suggest you get yourself a pair o’ guns pronto.’
‘I’ll think about it, Sheriff.’ Frank replied. ‘And thanks for steppin’ in when you did.’
‘Just stay out o’ trouble while you’re in my town. If it weren’t for what you did for Everley and his daughter, I’d send you after those hombres.’
CHAPTER II
AMBUSH
The next morning, after breakfast, Frank stepped outside onto the boardwalk. There had been no sign of Everley or his daughter. He had enquired of the man behind the counter, to be told that the two had ridden out an hour earlier, heading west.
Before leaving, Everley had left a note for him. It simply said that if he did decide to take the job on the small ranch, two miles west of Condor, it would always be open for him.
Rolling a cigarette, he thrust it between his lips and lit it, drawing the sweet-smelling smoke into his lungs. Across the street, the door of the sheriff’s office suddenly opened and McDonald stepped out. The lawman threw a swift glance along the street, narrowing his eyes against the brilliant sunlight.
Spotting Frank, he stepped down and walked over. ‘I see you’re still in town, in spite o’ my warnin’.’
‘That’s right, Sheriff.’ Frank gave a brief nod.
‘I thought so. Would you mind stepping over to my office? There are a few questions I’d like to ask.’
Shrugging, Frank followed him. Once inside the office, McDonald closed the street door and motioned him to the chair in front of the desk. There was another man there, leaning nonchalantly against the door to the cells. He was much younger than McDonald with a hard face and a cold glitter in his eyes.
Noticing the star pinned on his shirt, Frank guessed he was Clive Hawkins, the deputy Ben Sheldon had warned him about.
Walking around the desk, McDonald lowered himself into the other chair. He said evenly, ‘This is just a formality, Mister—?’
‘Kelsey.’ Frank studied both men closely from beneath lowered lids, but neither seemed to recognize the name. He knew that mentally, the lawman would be going through the names on any wanted posters he might have in his drawer.
Finally, he seemed satisfied. ‘What can you tell us about this hold-up? I sent three men out durin’ the night with a couple o’ spare horses. They’ll be bringin’ the stage back into town any time now.’
‘Seems strange to me that both Jim Everley and his daughter should have escaped and you just happened to come on it after that gang had left.’ It was the deputy who spoke and there was a hint of suspicion and menace in his tone which Frank detected immediately.
Holding down his anger at the other’s attitude, Frank said quietly, ‘I spotted those zopilote buzzards while I was some distance away. As for the two passengers who survived, my guess is they were plain lucky. Those killers figured they’d finished off everyone on that stage.’
‘You never saw anythin’ of the gang that did this?’ McDonald asked, throwing a quick, warning glance in the direction of the deputy.
Frank shook his head. ‘It must’ve happened some time before I got there.’
Hawkins pushed himself a little way from the wall. ‘How would you know that?’
‘Because I never picked up any sound o’ gunfire and from what I saw, those horses had been cut from the traces. It seems clear to me that these critters made sure that if anyone did survive, they’d never make it on foot across all that alkali.’
‘That’s the way I figure it,’ McDonald muttered.
‘There’s also the chance that this hombre is one o’ the gang.’ There was a sneering grin on the deputy’s face as he spoke. ‘Seems funny to me he should just be ridin’ by when it happened.’
McDonald swung sharply on the other, his mouth open to make a sharp retort, but Frank got in first. ‘If I was part o’ that gang, I sure wouldn’t bring Everley and his daughter back into town to testify against me.’
He almost mentioned that Everley had seen the faces of the men who had hit the stage but he bit it back quickly. If Hawkins was in with Bellamy and these outlaws, they would ensure that neither lived to tell the truth.
‘Guess not,’ McDonald said. His glance returned to his deputy. ‘Just what are you getting at, Clive?’
The deputy shrugged. ‘Just seems kinda strange to me, Sheriff. A man comes ridin’ into town, wearin’ no guns
and he sure ain’t no preacher. To me he has the look of a killer about him.’
‘I gave up carryin’ weapons some time ago,’ Frank said acidly. ‘Reckon there ain’t any law against it.’
‘No, there ain’t.’ This time there was a trace of hardness to the sheriff’s tone. ‘So I’m givin’ you fair warnin’, Kelsey. While you’re in my town, stay out o’ trouble. A man without a gun would be fair game in Condor. There are one or two men around here who won’t hesitate to shoot you, even if you ain’t carryin’ arms.’
‘Thanks for the warning, Sheriff. If there are no more questions you’d like to ask, guess I’ll take a little walk around this town o’ yours.’
‘You can go for now.’ There was a puzzled frown on McDonald’s grizzled features, as if he was completely unsure just what to make of this man who sat in front of him. ‘But I might want to ask you a few more questions.’
‘I’ll still be around when you do,’ Frank replied. Scraping back his chair, he got to his feet and went out, acutely aware of the look which the deputy gave him as he brushed past him.
When he had gone, Hawkins seated himself in the chair and put his feet up onto the desk. He knew McDonald didn’t like it but would say nothing. Inwardly, he felt a deep detestation of the sheriff. The man was too old for this job, too soft.
A sheriff’s pay was a mere pittance but there was plenty to be made if you went in with the right people. You only had to turn a blind eye to some of the things that were going on.
He, himself, was aware of the talk that had been going around Condor for some time, concerning his possible connection with that band of outlaws. Whether McDonald suspected anything, he didn’t know.
Not that it mattered much what the sheriff believed, but while he was still around as the law in this town, it was possible he might stumble on something that could prove dangerous to what was happening and then all hell might break loose. Even though getting on in years, McDonald was no fool.
He was also on friendly terms with Sam Ivers, the circuit judge, which could also make things difficult.
Sooner or later, he might uncover evidence which linked himself and Bellamy to those outlaws. Before that happened, it was imperative that McDonald should be eliminated. Then, once he became sheriff….
His thoughts snapped back to the present as McDonald said sharply, ‘From what you were saying, I gather you don’t trust this man Kelsey. You know somethin’ about him that I don’t?’
Hawkins shook his head a trifle too vehemently. ‘I’ve never heard of him in my life. But his story just didn’t ring true to me. I reckon it might be best if I was to keep an eye on him while he’s in town.’
After a pause, McDonald nodded. ‘All right,’ he conceded grudgingly. ‘But don’t go accusin’ folk before you’ve got some real evidence. I think you’re wrong about him, but,’ he paused momentarily, then went on, ‘I figure that if you do start anythin’ with him, you might regret it.’
Hawkins’s lips twisted into a faint sneer. ‘I can handle him.’
‘Don’t be too sure. I’ve seen his kind before.’
Five minutes later, the deputy left the office and made his way along the boardwalk to the bank. There were a few customers standing in a line in front of the cashiers. They moved aside as Hawkins strode towards the grille.
Leaning forward, Hawkins said tersely, ‘Tell Bellamy I want to see him – pronto.’
Swallowing hard, the teller nodded. ‘Yes, sir, Mr Hawkins. I’ll let him know right away.’ Moving to the door at the rear, he knocked, then went in.
He reappeared a moment later and motioned to the deputy. ‘You can go in now.’
Going around the side of the counter, Hawkins went into the office and closed the door behind him.
Curt Bellamy was seated in the plush chair behind the polished mahogany desk. He lit a cigar as Hawkins entered, waving the flame over the end before blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. Pale-blue eyes, set in his fleshy features, surveyed the deputy with a hard stare.
Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on the desk. ‘Don’t you think it’s mighty foolish, demanding to see me like this?’ His normally loud voice was dropped a note in pitch and volume. ‘Folk might start puttin’ two and two together.’
‘I’ve told you before, Bellamy, leave the worryin’ about the townsfolk to me. I know how to handle them.’
‘Then why have you come?’
‘I figured there’s something you ought to know. It’s about the stage hold-up yesterday.’
‘What about it? As far as I’m aware, everythin’ went according to plan. We got the money and gold.’
‘Sure. Only it seems there were two survivors. Jim Everley and his daughter. My guess is that at least one of ’em might have seen the faces o’ some of those men.’
A gust of surprise flashed across Bellamy’s face as he sat back. ‘You’re tellin’ me that nosy sheriff sent out a posse and brought both of ’em in?’
‘Nope, that wasn’t the way of it at all. If they’d just been left there, I reckon they’d both be dead by now. That heat would’ve finished ’em off within a few hours. But some stranger just happened to be on the trail about an hour after it happened. He found ’em. Don’t ask me how he did it with only one mount but, somehow, they made it across all that alkali.’
Bellamy ran his finger down his puffy cheek. ‘That could be awkward,’ he admitted. ‘You got any idea where these three are now?’
‘This man Kelsey is still in town. McDonald’s just had a talk with him less than five minutes ago. Far as I know, Everley left town headin’ for his spread first thing this mornin’.’
‘You know anythin’ about this stranger?’
‘Only that he carries no guns.’
Bellamy’s initial look of surprise was immediately overlaid with one of suspicion. ‘Then he could be a federal marshal workin’ under cover.’ Taking out a cigar, Bellamy offered it across the desk and waited for Hawkins to reply.
Finally, Hawkins said, speaking around the smoke, ‘That was the way I saw it at first. But no marshal would ride into this territory without a weapon o’ some kind. I tell you, there’s something mighty odd about this hombre. It’s somethin’ we’d better find out before it’s too late.’
‘Then what do you suggest? You reckon you could take him if it came to a gunfight?’
‘Sure, I could take him and I’ve got no feelings about killin’ a man whether he’s armed or not. But it ain’t going to sit well with McDonald, shootin’ down someone who can’t defend themselves.’
Placing the tips of his fingers together, the banker eyed Hawkins over the fleshy pyramid. ‘Then I suggest we leave this hombre for a couple o’ days until we find out what he has in mind. Just keep a close watch on him but not enough to make him suspicious. As for the sheriff, he’s been a thorn in my hide too long. Perhaps it’s time he was removed from his post. You understand me?’
The deputy grinned viciously. ‘I get you.’
‘Then see to it. Once he’s gone, I’ll make sure you’re elected in his place.’
The stage rolled into Condor shortly before midday with the heat lying like a blanket over the dusty street. Seated on his mount just in front of the hotel, Frank watched as it drew up in front of the jail.
The men who had ridden out some hours earlier had somehow replaced the smashed wheels and put two fresh horses into the traces. Now several of the men were taking down the driver’s body and those of the two passengers. McDonald had come out of his office and was watching the proceedings from the boardwalk.
Further away, Frank noticed the tall figure of the deputy standing beside a stout man in a black frock coat whom he guessed to be Bellamy. If those two had had a hand in this hold-up, it seemed only natural they should be there, making certain that all three who had been on that stage were really dead and couldn’t do any talking.
Not until the three bodies were being taken to the mortuary did Frank touch spurs to his mount’s flank
s. He deliberately allowed the stallion to pick its own pace, heading for the trail he had followed the previous night. Somehow, he doubted if those men who had gone to pick up the stage would have searched the surrounding area for any sign of tracks made by the outlaws.
As he rode, he reflected on these sudden events which had so dramatically changed his plans. He knew he could just turn west and head the way he had intended, but in doing that, suspicion would immediately fall on him and it would not be long before there was a posse on his trail. From what he had seen of the man, he didn’t doubt that Hawkins was itching to pin this hold-up on him.
Two hours later, he came upon the spot where the stage had been attacked. The broken wheels still lay where they had fallen. Dismounting, he searched the area thoroughly, his keen gaze missing nothing. After a few moments, he realized it was pointless looking for anything on the trail. Any evidence of which way the outlaws had left had been destroyed by the men McDonald had sent out.
Shading his eyes against the stabbing sunglare, he realized he would have to extend his area of search if he was to find anything of importance. It was unlikely the gang would have taken the trail back into town. If that old groom had been right, it was more likely they had headed towards the range of hills along the southern horizon.
Pulling himself into the saddle again, he edged his mount off the trail into the treacherous alkali, moving in a wide circle. At first, he found nothing. Then, clear and unmistakable, he came upon the line of tracks leading away from the trail.
Easing himself in the saddle, he studied them closely. From the number of hoofprints in the soft dust, he estimated that at least six horses had passed this way recently. Either there were six men in the gang or, more likely, four of them and they had taken the two horses from the stage with them.
Edging the stallion forward, he followed the tracks. It was soon evident that no attempt had been made to hide the trail. Clearly, these men had been confident no one would follow them.