“How many sticks do you want?” the man asked.
“A couple of dozen,” Dundee said. “If you’ve got ’em.”
“I’ve got ’em,” the clerk said, “but I don’t sell explosives to just anybody.”
“Why’s that?” Jake asked.
“The last time I sold somebody explosives,” the man said, “they used it on our bank vault.”
“Well,” Jake said, “we’ll be takin’ the dynamite and leavin’ town right away.”
“Not so fast,” a voice behind them said.
They turned and first saw Taco and Curly, then noticed that neither of them had their guns. Behind them stood several men, one of whom was wearing a sheriff’s badge.
“I’m gonna need your guns, gents,” the sheriff said.
“Why?” Jake asked.
“You’re buyin’ dynamite,” the lawman said, “I want to talk to you about that, at the jail. So first . . . I’ll need your guns.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
People gathered to watch as the sheriff and his unofficial deputies walked the four strangers from the mercantile to the jail.
When they entered what appeared to be a customary Old West jail, the lawman tossed their guns on top of his desk. The other men formed a semicircle around the four men, guns in hand.
“Gents, my name’s Sheriff Roy Gates. I’ll need your names.”
Jake, Dundee, Curly, and Taco said their names.
“Mr. Motley,” Gates asked, “is that Big Jake Motley, from down Brownsville way?”
“That’s right,” Jake said. “I’m surprised you’ve heard of me.”
“I’ve heard enough to know that you’re not a bank robber,” Gates said. “At least, up to now.”
“What makes you think we’re here to rob your bank?” Jake asked. “All we did was stop in your mercantile.”
“To buy dynamite,” Gates said.
“Yeah, your clerk said somethin’ about your bank vault gettin’ dynamited,” Jake said. “That still doesn’t explain why you’d suspect us.”
“I don’t suspect you,” Gates said. “I just want to talk to you. I’ve been the sheriff here longer than most men hold this job. Mr. Motley, you’re my age, you know men like us have to be careful.”
“Sheriff,” Jake said, “you’re keepin’ us from doin’ somethin’ very important. Please, go ahead and ask your questions so we can buy our dynamite and leave.”
“You still intend to buy dynamite?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
Jake had lied to the clerk about the reason, but he thought the truth would probably work better with somebody like Sheriff Gates.
“We’re not going to use the dynamite to rob a bank, Sheriff,” Jake said. “We’re gonna use it to kill a man.”
Gates looked surprised.
“You’re admittin’ to me that you intend to murder a man?” he asked.
“It ain’t murder,” Jake said, “it’s revenge.”
“Against who?”
“A man who killed my best friend.”
“I think you better explain.”
“Can we sit?” Jake asked.
“Get these men some chairs,” Gates said.
One of the men actually had to leave the office and come back with two chairs so all four of them could sit.
“I sold my ranch and drove my last herd to Dodge City,” Jake said.
“A trail drive? When?”
“We started out almost three months ago,” Jake said. “Along the way we went up against a man named Seaforth Bailey who had appointed himself a major.”
“Seaforth’s Raiders?”
“He tried to take our herd, and we fought him off,” Jake said. “But after, from a distance, he killed my best friend, a man I rode with for over forty years. Like you said, we’re the same age, Sheriff. You know what that kind of friendship means.”
“I do.”
“Well, now I’ve come back for my revenge, only Seaforth has even more raiders than he had when we fought him off before.”
“So you’re figurin’ to even up the odds with dynamite?”
“That’s it.”
Gates looked at his unofficial deputies and said, “Put your guns up, boys, and go back to your jobs.”
“You sure, Sheriff?” one of them asked.
“I’m sure,” Gates said. “These men aren’t here to rob the bank.”
The men lowered their guns and filed out of the office.
“Maybe you want your men to wait outside for a short time,” the sheriff said to Jake.
“It’s okay,” Jake told the others. “It looks like I’ll be right out.”
Taco, Dundee, and Curly all stood and followed the deputies out of the office.
“Okay, so you’re not gonna rob our bank,” the lawman said, “but you’re tellin’ me that you’re gonna kill a man.”
“Out of your jurisdiction,” Jake pointed out.
“That may be, but you’re still admittin’ that you’re gonna break the law,” Gates said. “I might have to notify the sheriff in Three Rivers.”
“Well, that would be tough, since there is no sheriff in Three Rivers.”
“I see. Then I might have to contact the sheriff wherever you do it.”
“I don’t know where I’m gonna do it,” Jake said. “Look, Sheriff, I’m not gonna ambush him, or shoot him in the back. He’ll see it comin’ and he’ll have just as good a chance of killin’ me.”
“So, a fair fight, then?”
“Well, not a dime novel shoot-out in the street,” Jake said, “but pretty fair, yeah. I’m only gonna use the dynamite to keep his raiders at bay, if we can.”
“So you’re not plannin’ on blowin’ up Three Rivers.”
“The citizens there haven’t done nothin’ to me,” Jake said. “Why would I wanna blow up their town?”
Gates stood up.
“I’ll walk back to the mercantile with you so you can get your dynamite.”
* * *
* * *
They all walked back to the mercantile with the lawman while townspeople watched curiously. Jake and Dundee went inside with the sheriff, who told the clerk, “Sell ’em what they want.”
“If you say so, Sheriff.”
Gates looked at Jake.
“I don’t know if you were plannin’ on stoppin’ in one of our saloons, but I’d prefer you didn’t.”
“That’s fine,” Jake said. “Since we’ll be transportin’ dynamite I don’t want any of us to be drinkin’.”
“I don’t blame you.”
When they had the dynamite, Dundee carried it outside, put it in his two saddlebags, then gave the blasting caps to Curly and the fuses to Jake.
“We keep all that apart and we won’t have any trouble,” he said.
“Then let’s get movin’,” Jake said. He turned to the lawman. “Thanks for the hospitality.”
“You’re bein’ sarcastic,” Gates said, “but I coulda tossed you all in jail for a while.”
Jake could have argued about that, but decided to just get himself and the boys out of Pleasanton without any more trouble.
As he mounted up Sheriff Gates said, “I’m gonna wish you luck, Big Jake. I hope it all works out for you.”
“Thanks for that, Sheriff.”
The other three had already started to ride out, so Jake urged his sorrel to follow.
* * *
* * *
Because they had been delayed in Pleasanton, they camped that night some distance away from Three Rivers. It was just as well, since Jake still had to sit and ponder how he wanted to use the dynamite.
Their camp was not as hidden from view as it had been days earlier, but they still built a small fire after dark, just large enough t
o make coffee and some beans.
“Dynamite always makes me nervous,” Curly commented, looking over to where the saddlebags had been set down on the ground, away from the fire.
“Like I said,” Dundee relied, “if we just keep the dynamite away from the blasting caps and fuses, there shouldn’t be any problems.”
“I’m just stayin’ away from everythin’,” Curly said. “I’ve seen you use too much dynamite.”
“That was a onetime thing!” Dundee said.
“What happened?” Taco asked.
“Never mind,” Dundee said. “It ain’t even worth talkin’ about.”
“I don’t think we want any huge explosions,” Jake commented.
“Jake, we can use the sticks one at a time. One stick’ll take care of several men.”
“Do we have to bury the sticks, or can you throw them?” Jake asked.
“Either way,” Dundee said, “but if we bury them somebody would still have to light the fuses.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“I think we have to get Seaforth and his raiders to charge us, and then we start tossing the dynamite in among them. By the time they realize what’s goin’ on, most of them will be on the ground.”
“And who’s gonna be throwin’ dynamite?” Curly asked.
Dundee looked at his friend.
“Two of us,” Dundee said. “You and me.”
“Whoa,” Curly said, “not me.”
“I will do it,” Taco said.
“Okay,” Dundee said, “you and me, Taco. I’ll show you how to do it.”
The two men stood up, walked away from the fire to the saddlebags.
“Are we far enough away from them?” Curly asked. “In case somethin’ goes off?”
“Dundee’s your partner,” Jake said. “Don’t you think he knows what he’s doin’?”
“Usually.”
“Except for that one time?” Jake asked.
“We had a job blastin’ some boulders from a field,” Curly said. “But one of them was close to the house. Dundee just used too much dynamite and . . . boom, no more house.”
“Okay, well,” Jake said, “that was a while ago, right? And only one time?”
“Yeah, it was a while ago,” Curly said, “but it only takes one time, don’t it?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
They set two-hour watches again, the last one having the job of stomping out the fire before the sun came up, but not before having a cup of hot coffee waiting for everyone.
“Thanks,” Jake said as Curly handed him a cup.
Breakfast was just a piece of beef jerky for each. They could have a huge meal after, if they were still alive. Jake, for one, didn’t mind having an empty stomach if he was going to end up dead.
But ending up dead was a good possibility, and Jake wanted all the younger men to realize that.
“Before we get started I just wanna make sure you all know—” he started, but they cut him off.
“Yeah, yeah, we know, Jake,” Dundee said.
“We could all end up dead.”
“Señor Chance was our friend, too, señor,” Taco pointed out. “Not so good, like you, but still our amigo.”
“Yeah, like Taco says,” Curly added, “we comprende the risks.”
“That’s all I want, then,” Jake said. “Let’s get mounted.
* * *
* * *
In Three Rivers, Major Seaforth was eating his breakfast alone, as he usually did, in the saloon he had chosen to use as his headquarters. The other men could eat anywhere they wanted, but not in his place. And since no customers were allowed inside while he was there, he simply had the bartender cook his meals.
He looked up when Garfield came through the batwing doors. His segundo was the only one permitted to approach him while he was eating.
“Sit down and have some coffee,” Seaforth told him.
Garfield sat and the bartender hurried over with the coffeepot and another cup.
“Tell me,” Seaforth said.
“Sequoia came back in last night,” Garfield said. “Nothing to report.”
“Either he’s losing his eyesight, or Big Jake’s not here yet.”
“There’s another possibility,” Garfield pointed out.
“What’s that?”
“Motley’s being real careful, making sure Sequoia doesn’t see him.”
“You think he’s that good?” Seaforth asked.
“I didn’t think he was good enough to fight us off when we went for his herd,” Garfield said. “So now I don’t know what to believe.”
“Have Walker go out with the breed tomorrow,” Seaforth said. “I want two scouts. If Big Jake is that good, I don’t want him sneaking up on us.”
“Walker’s no scout.”
“He can learn,” Seaforth said. “What about the other men?”
“They all did their jobs when we took that payroll,” Garfield said.
“They were sloppy,” Seaforth said. “I was almost sorry I let you talk me into doing that job.”
“We got the money,” Garfield said.
“I want you to work with those men and get them sharp,” Seaforth said. “If we’re thinking that Jake Motley might be more than an old drover, we better be ready. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t ‘yessir’ me, Gar,” Seaforth said. “Just get it done.”
“Right.”
Garfield drank down his coffee and stood up.
“And get Walker and the breed out there.”
“Right.”
Garfield turned and left the saloon, leaving the batwings swinging behind him.
Seaforth continued to eat his ham and eggs, but was having second thoughts about the way he was handling this Jake Motley thing. Maybe he should just take all his men out there and hunt the man down rather than waiting for the man to hunt him down. But what if he was wrong? What if Motley was too much of a coward to come after him? Then he would be wasting a good portion of his time that could be spent more profitably.
* * *
* * *
Taco handed Jake his spyglass.
They were once again on their bellies, looking down at the quiet streets of Three Rivers.
“Where’d you get this?”
“I always carry it, señor,” Taco said.
“And keepin’ it to yourself!”
“And now you have it,” Taco said, with a big smile.
Jake aimed the glass at the town and peered through it. At that moment a man came out of a building and started across the street. He was recognizable as the man who had been sitting his horse right next to Major Seaforth, probably his second in command. At the time, he had looked like a confident man.
But if he was in town, were they all there?
“That’s one of ’em,” he said, handing the glass back to Taco.
Dundee and Curly were waiting at the base of the rise, with the horses, keeping the animals quiet.
“Sí, señor,” Taco said, “I recognize him.”
“But just because he’s there doesn’t mean they all are,” Jake reasoned.
“I could go down, Señor Jake,” Taco offered. “Have a look around. Perhaps their horses are in the livery.”
“You’d be takin’ a big risk, Taco,” Jake said. “If they catch you they won’t kill you. They’ll try to make you tell ’em where I am.”
“They will not catch me, jefe,” Taco said. “I promise you.”
“Let’s get off this hill before somebody spots us,” Jake said, and they backed down.
“So?” Dundee asked.
“We saw one of them down there.”
“Where there’s one there’s more, I’ll bet,” Dundee said.
“Ta
co wants to go down and have a look.”
Dundee and Curly looked at the Mexican.
“If you do that,” Curly said, “you better not let that breed get wind of you.”
“I realize that, señor,” Taco said.
“Curly,” Jake said, “why don’t you take Taco’s spyglass and keep an eye on the town. Let us know if anythin’ happens.”
“Right.”
Curly grabbed the glass from Taco’s hand and scurried up the hill.
“Jake, why don’t we just drop some dynamite on that town and see who comes scurryin’ out?” Dundee suggested.
“There are innocent people in that town, Dundee,” Jake reminded him.
“How innocent can they be if they let somebody like Seaforth operate from there?”
“They’re afraid of him and his men,” Jake said. “I think you might be too young to understand that kind of fear.”
“You might be right,” Dundee said.
“Señor?” Taco said.
Jake looked at the man he now considered to be his oldest friend.
“All right,” he said, “but be careful. I’m not lookin’ to lose another friend.”
“I will be careful, amigo,” Taco said. “But I do not think they would even recognize me if they did catch me. I do not think they saw me that clearly the last time we met.”
“You might be right,” Jake said. “But be careful anyway.”
Taco smiled broadly.
“Always, amigo!”
* * *
* * *
There was only one other saloon in Three Rivers. It was the smallest one, but it was the one the raiders used for their headquarters. The owner/bartender there actually didn’t mind much, because there were a dozen of them, and at least they paid for drinks.
Garfield entered the saloon, looked around, and saw Sequoia sitting in a corner, alone. Walker was sitting with three of the new men he seemed to have managed to bond with. Garfield left him there, got two beers, and went to talk to Sequoia.
He sat across from the breed and pushed the fresh beer across to him.
Sequoia nodded to him and accepted the beer.
Ralph Compton Big Jake's Last Drive Page 18