The E.R. Slade Western Omnibus No.1

by E. R. Slade

  “Are there any deputies?” Lee asked him.

  “No deputies.”

  “Then who’s the law in town now?”

  “Ain’t any.” He just sat there and looked at them. They sat on the bench in the tiny, dusty waiting room, while he remained in a straight-backed chair facing them. The place smelled stale.

  “Well, who are the town fathers? Who’s going to appoint another sheriff? Or set up an election?”

  “There’s a board of selectmen that’s supposed to hire law officers. But they’re gittin’ scared. Don’t want to lose the business of the miners, don’t want trouble with the bad element. They may appoint a new sheriff, or they may not. Depends. If they think whoever killed Sheriff Tracy was just on a shooting spree, no real challenge to authority, they’ll likely make somebody sheriff. But if they figure it’s too dangerous, why, then I reckon they’ll just let it be. Then again, they may not even be able to find anybody foolish enough to be sheriff.”

  Lee could see his plan giving way under him like the trap on a gallows. Doggoned if he shouldn’t have known better than to get involved in this business.

  “Well, you take a look at the girl, see she’s patched up all right. I got to go have myself a talk with these here selectmen. Where can I find them?”

  “The chairman, Joe Kingston—yellow clear through—runs the Blue Belle Saloon next door here. He won’t be around until midday or so. The others is ranchers and shopkeepers. You might find Art Duggan over to his store this time of day. Hard to tell. Don’t keep regular hours. He’s another one’s gittin’ yellow.”

  He disappeared into his inner office with the girl, and Lee prodded the smirking Riley along with his Colt Peacemaker.

  “Reckon you’re gonna have to let me go,” Riley said. “Ain’t no sheriff to lock me up.”

  “I reckon I’ll just have to lock you up myself then, until a sheriff comes along to take you off my hands.”

  “You got no right.”

  “Just stop a-jawin’, wagon tongue.”

  Back in the sheriff’s office, Lee hunted around in the desk, the dead man’s pockets, and then finally discovered the keys to the cells hanging on a nail beside the door into the rear of the building.

  There were four cells, well built and having doors and partitions of heavy iron bars. All the cells were presently empty. Lee pushed his prisoner into the nearest one and clanged the door shut after him.

  “My hands. You gonna leave hands tied?”

  “Patience.” He found a knife in the drawer of the sheriff’s desk and reached through the bars to cut the length of rawhide lariat he’d used to bind Riley’s wrists. Then he went out and unloaded the guns and canteens, locked them in a different cell, pocketed the jail keys, and went to see to the horses.

  ~*~

  The store owner, Art Duggan, was sweeping out yesterday’s dust. He was a plump man wearing a waistcoat and a petulant expression, either of which he might have worn continuously for the last twenty years. When Lee approached, he brushed all the more furiously, as if he didn’t want to speak to anyone this early in the morning. Lee propped himself against the side of the building.

  “Mr. Duggan, I understand you do undertaking as a sideline. You got a job this morning.”

  “I know, I know. Sheriff Tracy. Good man, he was, decent. I just can’t understand why folks won’t calm down. All this shooting every night. Do you realize that Boot Hill is filling so fast that we’ll have to put up a new fence to enlarge it soon? This place is dangerous. It isn’t safe for decent folks to walk the streets.”

  “That’s the other thing I came to see you about. How soon do you selectmen get together to appoint a new sheriff?”

  The petulant little man looked him up and down distastefully. “Why, what do you care, anyway? By the looks of you, you’re just a drifter passing through. You don’t have to live with the lawlessness hereabouts.”

  “Well, now, that ain’t quite true. You see, I got a prisoner to turn over to the sheriff when he’s appointed.”

  “You have a prisoner to turn over to the sheriff?” Duggan’s mouth sagged open in amazement.

  “I guess I don’t look like a man who’d be wanting to turn over a prisoner to the sheriff, but that’s what I am.”

  “Who?” Duggan’s curiosity was piqued.

  “Chuck Riley.”

  Duggan’s face drained of color.

  “Oh my God,” he said, and disappeared into his store.

  ~*~

  Being without water or weapons, the ten men, Pirate leading, made a beeline for Golden Gap. They did not stop, except for short periods to rest their mounts. They could not afford to wait around in the desert.

  “We’re all right when Chuck is here,” Baldy Al explained unnecessarily. “He’s part Apache, and they know him, and he can talk their language. But I ain’t familiar with them Injuns myself. I’m only a half brother to Chuck. He was raised by his Injun uncle. Injun ma died, you know. But I was Pa’s real family. The one he raised himself. Only now I almost wish I was part Apache, so’s we wouldn’t have to worry about gettin’ kilt by ’em.”

  Nobody answered. Nobody needed to.

  “What do you reckon happened?” Baldy Al asked Pirate as they rode along.

  “Hard to say. Possible that stranger jumped him, but with him being half Indian, I can’t hardly see how. That leaves a double-cross.”

  “Yeah, it figures,” Baldy said resentfully.

  “Wasn’t but just a little while ago you was sayin’ you didn’t believe Chuck would double-cross us. Now you’ve changed your mind?”

  “Well, he always was hard to figure. And he never goes out of his way to take my part in anything. You said that yourself. I just don’t trust him anymore.”

  “I never did.”

  It was not long after sunup the second day that Baldy Al recognized the twin hills between which lay Golden Gap. Pirate swung their heading west. Now they were headed for the long side of the nearest hill, rather than the pass between it and the other.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Baldy asked after some time.

  “We can’t just go ridin’ in there like we owned the place. Something’s fishy about all this. We’ll go up over the hill, and have us a good look from the top. Maybe there’ll be a ranch further down the valley where we can hole up until we got the way of it figured.”

  Baldy did not argue with the wisdom of this, and the others hardly said anything. There was enough to wonder about on this thing to make them cautious. Most of them had been around long enough to have been double-crossed once or twice.

  Thus it was that they rode their tired mounts up the north slope of the nearest hill and began to sweat in the heat of the new day. When they gained the top, Pirate reached into his saddlebag and got out a seaman’s glass. He began to take a look up and down the valley.

  Chapter Five

  Lee watched Duggan disappear into the dim reaches of his store and decided it might be more profitable to pursue some other member of the Board of Selectman. He went across and down the street to the Blue Belle and found it shut up with no signs of life, so he headed back to the doctor’s office. There was still no activity on the street to speak of. You might have thought the place was a ghost town, or maybe under some sort of evil spell.

  He shook off the feeling as he stepped into the evil-smelling waiting room. The girl was just coming out.

  “I shall be at Millie’s, just down the street,” she told Doctor Morris, then went sidling past Lee as if he were a dangerous animal. It bothered him that she acted that way. And it surprised and unsettled him that it bothered him.

  “Miss Haversam is quite a lady,” Doctor Morris said from the doorway joining his waiting room to his office. There might have been the faintest of smiles on his tired, beaten face.

  “How’s that?”

  “Mother was Dona Maria Luis Barbosa-Lima, whose husband was given a hundred thousand acres hereabouts by the Spanish king, years ago when
Barbosa-Lima was young.”

  “How come she’s named Haversam then? And she speaks good English.”

  “Her mother had no children by old Barbosa-Lima, and he died of old age, leaving her just a girl. She lost title to all the land in a court battle. Then this English country gentleman named Haversam came through here, looking, believe it or not, for the fountain of youth, which he devoutly believed in. He found Dona Maria instead and married her, buying back some of the old Barbosa-Lima grant to set up a comfortable little ranch. Dona Maria died not long after giving birth to Carmen.” He stopped, as if he hadn’t finished the tale and wasn’t sure whether to continue or not. He looked closely at Lee.

  “So, then, where is the old man? I’ll make sure she gets to him safe.”

  The doctor nodded slightly, as if something he’d wondered about had been settled.

  “He’s dead. You see, he had a mine on his ranch from which he hauled out a good many million tons of ore, some of it quite high grade. Silver, copper, nickel, and gold. But this Haversam was a queer old duck. Never did anything with most of the gold. Once it was processed into ingots, why, he just stashed it away in some hiding place on his ranch. Or so the story goes. Well, you know that rough-looking character you brought in here? Chuck Riley?” The old doctor grinned in a grim sort of crooked way that made his mouth look as if someone had caught a fish hook in one corner and was yanking on it. “Well, Riley and his gang tortured Haversam, in front of his daughter. Neither one gave in. Haversam later attempted to escape while Riley and his men were trying to figure out how to make him talk, was noticed and shot dead. Carmen saw that too.

  “That was when Sheriff Tracy broke up the party, or rather tried to. He came in with his guns roaring, but they cut and ran, taking Carmen with them, and got away, or most of them did. Nobody knows how many there are working with Riley. That’s partly why the shopkeepers and ranchers hereabouts may not want to mess with another sheriff. Anyway, Sheriff Tracy followed them out into the desert, lost ’em and came back. Then last night he got himself shot.”

  “And nobody knows who done it,” Lee surmised aloud. “Maybe one of Riley’s men left behind here, or maybe just somebody who felt like shooting up the sheriff for some other reason. What do you figure?”

  The doctor shrugged.

  “Want something to eat? No? Coffee? Got some on the stove that looks like it came from a tar pit.” He chuckled hoarsely. “Maybe it did, I don’t know. I just keep adding to it. I don’t ever quite empty it.”

  Lee, having had a long two days of it and realizing fully that this might very well not be much more than the beginning of his troubles, suddenly felt very tired. A cup of coffee would do him good. Might at least keep him going long enough to find out one way or the other whether there would be a new sheriff. If the answer was no, as he was beginning to suspect it might be, then he had a whole pile of thinking to do, and he’d want some sleep before doing it.

  The coffee was strong, black and hot. The little stove, on which the pot was kept simmering, heated the doctor’s living quarters beyond the inner office to an almost unbearable temperature, so they went back to the waiting room to sit down.

  “Tell me about yourself,” Doctor Morris said. “You’re a breath of fresh air around this stale place. Sure, there’re a lot of people drifting in and out, and a lot of noise and night life, and great expectations of wealth, but it’s all the same scum that’s been to most every other digging in the southwest, maybe the entire west. They hear of a strike, and the whole passel of them descend like locusts or the plague or worse. It’s all loud, drunken, violent—enough to make a body disgusted with the human race. You don’t strike me as more of the same.”

  Lee quickly gave him the story of how he had been mistaken for Chuck Riley and convicted of murder, and how he had escaped, and then how he had bought trouble in the desert.

  “It was a stupid thing to do,” Lee finished. “But now I’m in it.”

  “Well, it might seem stupid, but it was certainly something that most men wouldn’t have done out there for fear. Shows you’ve got character and courage. You may have saved Carmen’s life. You’re a hero.”

  Lee couldn’t be sure if the doctor was trying to make a joke or be serious. It didn’t matter anyway, he decided.

  “Look,” he said, “I’ve got to go talk to the people on this Board of Selectmen. Somebody has to make sure they appoint a sheriff. Or I’m left with one foot in quicksand and the other in the grave. So tell me who’s on it and where I can find them. All of them.”

  “Well, aside from the two I already mentioned, there’s Philip Clay, Walter Bingham and Spike Littleton. Clay owns the livery. He drinks pretty heavy, and he won’t be up and around much before midday. The other two are ranchers, have spreads to the west of here, down the valley.”

  “When would they be getting together about this thing?”

  “First, somebody has to notify them all. That’ll probably be Duggan sending his delivery boy. He won’t bother until at least noon, when Clay and Kingston are likely to be up and around. I should guess it’ll be nightfall before anything happens. Them ranchers is likely out checking cattle or some such thing. Hard to get ’em away until the day’s work is done.”

  “I’ll use the time to work on them.”

  “Good luck.”

  “One other thing. Where is this Millie’s where Carmen said she was going to be?”

  “It’s the one decent boardinghouse in town. It’s on your right, if you go down the street, four doors from here. Can’t miss it. Got a big sign out.” The doctor’s eyes became mischievous. “You sure do seem to be concerned about that one, for a man who claims he only wants out a jam.”

  “I don’t believe in doing anything by halves. If I do a thing, I do it. All the way. Brought up that way, I guess. The Maine coast, where I grew up, is no place to dillydally around. That’s one thing about it.”

  “I wish you luck,” the doctor said, nodding in understanding. “I really do.”

  ~*~

  “Well,” Pirate Olberg said finally, after watching the two figures on horseback heading west down the valley from the town, “I sure don’t see no signs of Chuck. That there’s the stranger all right. I recognize the hat. And the girl.”

  “You reckon he really did get the jump on Chuck?” Baldy asked. “And the sheriff has him in jail?”

  Pirate pondered this, looking down at the little town and the ranches spread out down the valley. The sun was getting hot, and everyone was restless and thirsty.

  “I don’t know,” he said finally.

  “I can’t believe it, not really. So, supposin’ Chuck has double-crossed us?” Baldy asked. “What do you think we oughter to do then?”

  “I reckon we’ll just have to catch up with the girl ourselves and then get to the gold first, if we can.” Pirate Olberg went back to watching through the glass.

  “How we gonna tell if’n he’s double-crossed us? We cain’t just go ridin’ into town and risk gettin’ shot up.”

  “No, we can’t.” Pirate took the glass down from his single eye and turned it on Baldy. “I reckon we’ll have to find out from the stranger and the girl. Come on, let’s go.”

  Chapter Six

  Lee, with Carmen riding along next to him, arrived in the yard of the Rocking B Ranch a little over an hour after leaving Millie’s. Lee was still irritable from the scene he’d had to be part of at the boardinghouse, when he insisted that Carmen come with him.

  He’d been let into the parlor by Millie Bracket and told to wait. A few minutes later Carmen came to the door of the room, which, besides Lee, was occupied by two girls and an older, reserved gentleman. Carmen halted, drew herself up very erect, and looked at him fiercely.

  “You!” she said loudly. “What do you want here? Can’t you leave me alone?”

  “I’m afraid not, ma’am,” he said, feeling the red heat climbing his neck. “I have to leave town for a while. I don’t want you here unprotected.” />
  “I can take care of myself,” she said firmly.

  “Just get some riding clothes on. I’ll wait.”

  The two girls sitting across the room giggled a little. The older gentleman looked over his newspaper at them reproachfully. Lee felt acutely uncomfortable.

  Now they reined up at a hitching rail in the front yard of the main ranch building. The place was built of adobe and was quite elaborate.

  A short, heavyset Mexican woman opened the door.

  “I want to see Mr. Bingham,” Lee said to her. “Is he here?”

  “Ah, sí, you want the Señor Bingham, no? He is not here.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He is not here.” She seemed to have some difficulty with English. Lee wished he knew Spanish. He tried again.

  “Where did he go?” he asked.

  “Ah, sí, Señor! Comprendo. Go up the hill.” She bustled outside and pointed south. “Find, how-you-say ... cows.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled and touched his hat hoping to make his thanks clearer.

  Lee eyed the hill to the south for some moments after he and Carmen had gotten back aboard their horses. He wondered how long it would take to find Bingham up there. Probably quite a while. He had just decided that it would be wiser to first check the Lazy L Ranch, when some sixth sense made him look around.

  He was startled to see ten mighty hard-looking men sitting their horses thirty feet away, rifles pointed at himself and Carmen. Carmen observed them with a withering gaze as they approached. Lee would have made a run for it, had he been alone, but was not willing to take the risk with Carmen involved. Not without first reducing the risk as much as possible. So he merely shifted the position of his Stetson on his brow and waited. He had little doubt that they had found the weapons they were carrying in the bunkhouse. It would be empty this time of day, the men all having plenty of work to do. The hands would have left behind any rifles or extra pistols they might own.