Triple Peaks

by John Glasby

The other man pushed himself away from the upright, stepped forward. He jerked his head towards the far side of the street. ‘This way, mister,’ he said tersely.

  Turrell fell into step beside the other, his spurs raking tiny eddies of dust from the street. The other led him along the boardwalk for a little way, then paused, pushed open a door and said: ‘In here.’

  Turrell appraised him with a cool stare, then stepped inside. There was the smell of hot, curried food in the air, bringing a stab of pain to the sides of his jaws. The man at his back sang out: ‘Got a customer for you, Ah Fong.’

  A movement behind the counter and a short statured Chinese came into view. He nodded his head, pointed to one of the tables. ‘Please sit down,’ he said in a high-pitched sing-song tone. ‘I get you dinner.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Turrell found himself a table, sank down gratefully into the chair.

  The man who had brought him across said: ‘Ah Fong will get you what you want. If you’re figurin’ on stayin’ in town, I’d suggest that you check with the sheriff first. Jessup usually likes to know who’s in town.’

  ‘I’ll pay him a visit as soon as I’ve finished eatin’,’ Turrell said.

  The other hesitated for a moment, continued to stare down at him, then dropped his gaze, turned swiftly on his heel and walked out. Through the nearby window, Turrell saw him making his way across the street, back to his post at the livery stables, shaking his head a little as he went. Then he put all thought of the other out of his mind. Such men as Joe were of no significance as far as he was concerned. But this sheriff, Jessup, might be a different kind of animal altogether. Still, he had a couple of days to find out just how things were in Triple Peaks before those three men rode into town.

  *

  ‘Glad you called in to see me, Mr Smith.’ Brad Jessup stared directly at Turrell, as the other sat in the chair in front of his desk an hour later. ‘We welcome strangers here so long as they stay within the law. We have a good town and a decent community in Triple Peaks and we aim to keep it that way.’

  ‘I guess you could call yourselves very fortunate then,’ Turrell said. If the other felt any surprise at a man called Smith riding into town like this, he evinced no evidence of it, but continued to sit back in his chair, watching him closely, but not too obviously.

  ‘Well … there is a little trouble occasionally whenever some of the Bar X boys ride into town. That’s the biggest spread in these parts and they do reckon that they own the place. Mostly it’s nothin’ more ’n high spirits, but I’ve been forced to lock one or two of ’em up at times and Clem Fenton don’t like that. Still, there’s been no open war between the cattlemen and the townsfolk so far. But I always take the opportunity of checkin’ out everybody who rides into town. Just to be sure they ain’t here to start trouble.’

  ‘I understand, Sheriff.’

  There was a pause, then Jessup said quietly. ‘Just why are you here, Mr Smith? Ridin’ through, or have you got somethin’ in mind?’

  ‘Depends, Sheriff. If I like the look of the place, I might decide to stay, I’ve got a little money. Might buy myself a plot of land if there is any goin’ for sale. This looks like a prosperous community. Could be a good place in which to invest a little money. Reckon a man gets tired of ridin’ around the country with no place to set down his roots.’

  Jessup shrugged, pursed his lips. ‘I don’t know much about whether there’s any land for sale. Reckon that Wayne Thorpe is your man for that. He’s the lawyer here.’

  He spread his hands wide. ‘It might not be a bad idea to have a talk with him anyway. It’s some time since we had any real trouble in Triple Peaks.’ He wrinkled his brow in thought, then went on: ‘Nearly a year ago, I reckon. A couple of hombres rode into town and put up at the hotel along the street. Two more rode in early the next morning and joined forces with ’em. Then the four rode into the middle of town, tried to hold up the bank there. They managed to get inside and hold up the three clerks, but by the time they had the money in their saddlebags and came out, we were waitin’ for ’em. Three were shot dead as they tried to ride out of town with their loot. The fourth got clear, but we ran him down in the hills and brought him back for trial. We strung him up from the big cottonwood in the square outside the next morning after he’d been tried.’

  The other’s voice was toneless, without expression, but Turrell knew that he was warning him that even here in Triple Peaks, they were ready to shoot it out with any outlaws who thought the place was an easy take.

  ‘Guess outlaws steer clear of this town,’ Turrell remarked, sitting forward in his chair.

  ‘There are a few still in the hills to the east. Those hills are ten miles long and as wide. It would take an eternity to try to flush ’em out of there. But so long as they stay there, they don’t worry me.’

  Turrell nodded comprehension. ‘You don’t anticipate any trouble then, I take it.’

  ‘None at all,’ said the other easily. ‘I reckon you’ll be quite safe to invest your money here, Mr Smith. If you find any trouble, drop in and let me know and I’ll do what I can to straighten it all out.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll do that, Sheriff.’

  *

  Carefully, Turrell adjusted the patch over his left eye. It felt strange, but it had the advantage of altering his appearance sufficiently to make it difficult for anybody to recognize him from any of the posters that might be around with his picture on them. Getting to his feet he walked over to the window of his room in the hotel. It was on the top floor and beyond the glass, Triple Peaks lay smothered in the depthless mantle of night, moon-shadows lying across the street and in the distance, just visible where the moonlight painted the rocks with a pale glow, were the tall mountains on the skyline. Kreb and the others would have left them by now. At dawn, he expected them in town. During the past two days, he had moved freely in Triple Peaks, had watched and picked up all he could of the place. Now he knew the lay out of the only bank in town, the strength of the law, and also of the long-standing feud between the Bar X cattlemen and the town. This, he reckoned, was something he might eventually turn to his advantage. But the time for that lay somewhere in the future. Before then, he would lay his plans for robbing the stage that brought the payroll for the miners that worked in the hills around the town; and once that was carried out successfully, then they would turn their attention to the bank itself. Here, the experience he had had during those days along the border with Texas would be extremely useful.

  He shifted position, moved a little closer to the window, not too close, for he wished to see but not to be seen. The terrain around this town was a hundred miles of nothing. There was desert to the east with scarcely any water and only the arid sand that stretched away to the inhospitable mountains; and beyond them, more desert. To the west, the country was a little better, open range-land where it was possible to raise cattle, the longhorned ornery beasts that could live where other cattle would have starved. He made himself a smoke, stuck it unlit between his lips and stood with his shoulders leaning against the wall. Triple Peaks was not a beautiful town, he decided, even though it did have this air of prosperity about it that he had noticed instantly. Like so many of these frontier towns that had been thrown up in a hurry and in a completely haphazard manner, as if the builders had had no time at all to make plans, and had been forced to make everything completely functional, without an eye to beauty, it lacked any warmth in the stark outlines of the buildings that had been thrown up on either side of the wide road. Square, weathered and mostly unpainted, the buildings looked gloomy in the moonlight. Shielding his face with his hands, he struck a match and lit the cigarette, dragging the smoke down into his lungs. He let the smoke out slowly through his nostrils, continued to watch the street outside. Far off, out over the desertlands to the east, there were clouds gathering over the mountains and even as he watched, he saw the sharp fork-tongued flicker of lightning sparking across the heavens. The first cloudy forerunners of the coming storm drifted a
cross the face of the moon, passed over it, followed by a clear space in which moon and stars seemed to glisten more brightly than before as if the cloud had washed them clean. Another fork of lightning and by its steely glare he saw the man who rode out of the shadows further along the street. Pressing himself back against the wall, he saw the other lift his head and stare up at the hotel for a moment as he walked his mount by in the centre of the wide street. It was the sheriff. Turrell recognized him at once. Now where was the other going at this time of night and with a storm brewing out there. Had the other become suspicious of something? Was he riding out to check the trail leading into town? For a moment a hundred burning questions ran in riotous chaos through Turrell’s mind, then he suppressed them abruptly. There could easily be some quite simple explanation for the other’s nocturnal wandering. It would not do to start jumping to conclusions like this. He had done nothing whatever to give the other cause for suspicion. During the whole of the two days he had carefully given the impression that he was a model citizen. His talk with the lawyer had proved more fruitful than he had thought. From him, he had learned that Triple Peaks would soon be expanding. Silver had been found in the hills to the south-west and once the news spread, there was every chance of the town growing swiftly. Thorpe had been confident that it would never become a ghost town as so many places had when gold or silver had been found, and then the strikes worked out.

  The other had also let fall several hints that the feud between the Bar X and the town went deeper than Jessup had indicated. The place was almost on the point of open range war at the moment, an uneasy peace brooded over the area. Everything seemed right for a band of ruthless men to move in and take everything in front of them.

  He finished the cigarette, stubbed it out in the tray on the small table, moved position slightly and tried to see along the street. But it was quiet now and there was no sign of Jessup. The other had vanished somewhere in the shadows.

  Well, he told himself, within the next few days, Triple Peaks would suddenly discover that trouble had arrived there in a big way. How the townsfolk would react to the situation was something he was not sure of. The thought brought a little smile to his lips. Then he went back to the bed, stretched himself out on it, relaxing every muscle in his body. It was good to be able to lie like this after all those weary days on the trail. He let his lids fully down and after what seemed no more than a moment but which was actually several hours, he opened them again, awake with the pale light of dawn streaming in through the window. Pulling on his jacket, he tightened his gunbelt around his middle, checked that the cylinders of the twin Colts were loaded, then jammed his hat on top of his head, stepped out into the corridor, locking his door behind him. A sleepy clerk behind the desk, taking the key from him, said: ‘You goin’ out before breakfast, Mr Smith? Won’t be ready for another hour or so.’

  ‘That’s right. Don’t save any for me. I may be gone all mornin’.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ muttered the other. There was a puzzled frown on his face as he sat down in his chair again, tilting it away from the desk with his legs braced out in front of him.

  Outside in the street, he stood on the boardwalk and looked about him in both directions. The air that sighed along the street still bore the bitter chill of the night on its breath and he pulled the collar of his coat higher around his neck, shivering a little. The street was empty as far as he could see up and down it. Stepping down into the dust, he began to walk slowly in the direction of the livery stables, then paused as two riders came around the corner of one of the narrower side streets, turned into the main street and moved their mounts in his direction. He hesitated for a moment, then quickened his pace as he recognized Kreb and Dufray.

  The two men reined up as he came alongside them. He said tightly: ‘Where is Tragge? What happened to him? I thought the three of you were to be here at first light.’

  ‘Relax, Turrell,’ said Kreb harshly. ‘He’s here. He’s checkin’ on the way station. Ain’t no sense holdin’ up that stage unless we know what’s in the strong box.’

  Turrell let his breath go in small pinches through his nostrils, nodded slowly. ‘Sure. Guess bein’ here all this time, tryin’ to work things out has made me a little edgy.’

  A moment later, Tragge came riding around the corner. He reined up as he saw the others, said sharply: ‘They’re loading up now at the way station. The strongbox went aboard while I was there. No doubt about what’s in it.’

  ‘Gold?’ said Dufray tightly.

  Tragge nodded. ‘They’re takin’ three passengers and a man ridin’ shotgun.’

  ‘We can take care of him all right,’ Turrell said. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder in the direction of the sheriffs office. ‘But I reckon we’d better ride out of town before we attract any attention.’

  *

  They rode off the trail half an hour later, cut up into the scattered boulders which overlooked it, forming a wide ledge, from where it would be possible to see for several miles, but without being seen themselves from below. It was now past dawn and the sun had lifted clear of the horizon, was throwing long shadows across the trail where it narrowed slightly at this point, and here the stage would have to climb up over the ridge through what was virtually a pass in the rocks. It was undoubtedly the best place along the whole of the trail between Triple Peaks and the mountains for a hold-up; and because of this fact, the men accompanying the stage would be more wary at this point than anywhere else. But to Turrell’s mind, this was more than outweighed by the advantages of the position.

  ‘Guess we can sit it out and wait for a while,’ Turrell said, getting down from his mount. ‘That stage won’t be here yet. We got plenty of time to get ready for it.’

  The rocks that jutted up from the ground all about them were clean and clear in the morning light, but the floor of the valley that stretched away to their left was still in deep shadow. Turrell could hear the shrill cries of the birds in the distance where a small clump of trees sprouted from the arid earth. The rocks beneath him were cold and hard and he thought to himself, feeling a little of the dampness of the early morning mist rise about him and the cool early morning stillness of the valley: As soon as the sun has lifted to its zenith, enough to warm the rocks, this will be over and they would have struck the first blow on their way to taking over this territory.

  At that same moment, five miles away to the west, Wayne Thorpe leaned his back against the seat of the rattling stage and tried to make himself comfortable. It would be a long ride out to Culver City and once the sun rose and the heat head increased its piled-up intensity, things were going to be even worse. The springs of the coach creaked ominously as they swayed from side to side of the trail and he could hear the driver, cracking the long whip and yelling at the horses as they began a long pull up a steep incline.

  From beneath lowered lids he eyed the other two passengers seated opposite him. He knew them both vaguely. Carnford, a nervous little man whose adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his skinny throat every time there was an untoward sound outside. Clearly he was expecting the stage to be held up at any moment, in spite of the fact that it had made this run every other day for the past year without any trouble. Jordan, broad, redfaced, was asleep, his head lolling against the corner of the coach, his breathing harsh and stertorous.

  Carnford dug into his pocket and pulled out a large gold watch, stared down at it for a long moment before thrusting it back. He lifted his gaze and stared across at Thorpe. ‘We seem to be making excellent time, Wayne,’ he said softly. ‘Do you often travel with the stage?’

  Thorpe recognized that the other was seeking assurance in opening this conversation. He shrugged. ‘Quite often.’

  Carnford sat very still for a long while, glancing through the open window near him. Without looking back, he said: ‘This is the first time for me in almost a year. It seems such a long way and there could be trouble before we hit the desert.’

  ‘What kind of trouble are
you anticipating, Mr Carnford?’

  ‘Well, it could be anything, couldn’t it? There are still outlaws in those hills yonder.’ He inclined his head as he spoke towards the towering hills that had just drifted into view as the trail turned sharply to the right. ‘I reckon it’s no secret what we’re carrying in the strongbox on this trip. They’d do anything to get their hands on that.’

  ‘There’s a guard riding shotgun,’ Thorpe pointed out.

  ‘Sure, one man against how many?’ He rubbed his chin nervously with his fingers. ‘Maybe I’m talking foolishly. But it’s difficult not to think of this right now.’

  ‘Guess it would be better if you could sleep like Jordan here. Nothing seems to bother him.’

  Thorpe glanced out of the window. They were crossing some barren country now and the dust, kicked up by the flying hooves of the horses, hung around them in a yellow cloud, settling everywhere. Maybe once they got the railroad through to Triple Peaks, they could make the journey in comfort, without being forced to suffer the blistering heat, the flies and the dust. Gently, he let his hand fall to the pocket of his coat, felt the comforting weight of the Derringer there. In spite of himself, Garnford’s talk had had an effect on him, had made him feel a trifle nervous. He knew this trail well, knew that less than three miles ahead, they had to ride through that narrow canyon with the rocks piled high on either side. There, the trail twisted sharply and it was impossible to drive the horses through it at any speed. If there were any outlaws waiting to get their hands on the gold they were carrying in the strongbox, that was undoubtedly where they would be lying in wait.

  His thoughts went on ahead as he sat there, peering through the window of the stage as it swayed precariously around a bend in the trail. He could imagine the news of the gold getting around Triple Peaks. And news like that had a way of travelling fast and reaching the wrong ears in spite of attempts to keep it a secret. He freed himself from his speculations though; they were probably not pertinent anyway. Vaguely, he could hear the driver and the guard talking between themselves on top of the stage and the continual thunder of hooves on the hard ground.