Two Miles to the Border (A J.T. Edson Western)

by J. T. Edson

  With a sudden, sharp jerk, Jeff plucked his arm free. All the antipathy he had formed against the young deputy came boiling up. He swung on his heel, right hand folding and driving upwards. Rock hard knuckles collided with the bottom of Briskow’s jaw. Back snapped the deputy’s head and he was flung across the room. He landed on his rump with a thud and his eyes took on a glassy expression.

  As soon as Briskow had commenced his move against Jeff, Haggerty prepared to draw his Colt. He expected no trouble, nor difficulty in quelling the stocky man. Which proved to be one hell of a mistake.

  Brady had caught the interplay of signaling glances between Cuthbertson and the sheriff, as well as observing Briskow’s suggestive look at Haggerty. He had drawn an accurate conclusion as to their meaning and was prepared for trouble. So the older deputy’s ‘unsuspected’ taking up a position to his rear had not gone unnoticed. That Jeff should have triggered off the trouble came as no surprise. While he had many good qualities, his temper tended to be quick and explosive if he felt that he was being put upon.

  With the uncanny-appearing—yet vitally necessary—instincts of a man who had lived dangerously for most of his life, Brady had sensed Haggerty’s reactions. Guessing what the other was planning to do, he had formulated what he considered ought to be a good move to counter the threat.

  Pivoting fast, Brady saw that—as he had expected—Haggerty was drawing the Colt from its holster. No gun fighter, the man still had enough sense not to cock the hammer before the barrel was pointing away from him. So it was in a harmless position when Brady made his play.

  Flashing forward, Brady’s left fist clamped hold of the deputy’s right wrist. An instant later, his right hand grasped the forearm just above it. Gliding closer, he snapped up the trapped limb with a jerk that carried the revolver out of alignment. Then Brady made an outwards turn, carrying the arm over his head.

  Seeing the assault upon his deputies, Minter let out a strangled squawk and made an unscientific grab at his Colt. Suddenly he realized the golden opportunity which had been presented to him. He could carry out his cousin’s instructions by arresting the two men and having them held in jail until it was too late for them to pay the mortgage on the ranch.

  A sly grin had twisted at Cuthbertson’s piggy features when Briskow had laid hands on Jeff. Being a shrewd judge of character, the banker had known that, of the two, the redhead was the more likely to play into his hands. Then, realizing that things were not going according to plan, he moved his hands towards the Smith & Wesson Schofield revolver which he kept in the desk’s drawer for similar emergencies. There was so much at stake that he was willing to kill one, or both, of the newcomers to Rocksprings if doing it would achieve his ends.

  Being unarmed and a naturally meek man, Dilkes backed hurriedly out of the way. He let the second of the sacks fall from his hand, retreating until his shoulders rubbed against the wall on the opposite side of the office to where Briskow was hurtling.

  Completing his turn so that he stood to the rear of the startled deputy, Brady transferred his right hand from the lower forearm to the elbow of the captured limb. By bending the forearm across the man’s back, Brady obtained a hammerlock that was both painful and effective. So much so that Haggerty let out an agonized squawk and released his still uncocked revolver.

  With the deputy disarmed, Brady thrust him towards the sheriff. Propelled with considerable force, Haggerty collided with Minter before the latter had managed to clear his gun from leather. They stumbled backwards for a few feet, with the sheriff flailing the air and forgetting his Colt in his efforts to remain on his feet.

  Stepping along the side of the desk, Barnstaple bumped the banker’s chair hard with his hip. At the same instant, his right hand dipped into the drawer. Shoving Cuthbertson’s flabby fist away from the Smith & Wesson, the distinguished-looking man appropriated it for his own use. Once again, he displayed a deftness that implied he possessed considerable knowledge of firearms and their use.

  ‘Hold it!’ Barnstaple commanded, lining the revolver at Jeff.

  Although the red-head’s right hand had passed underneath his jacket, he refrained from drawing the Colt. His head swung towards Barnstaple, taking in the calm, capable manner in which the Smith & Wesson was aimed in his direction. Deciding that the other would squeeze the trigger and operate the double-action mechanism if necessary, Jeff concluded that obedience was the wisest course.

  One quick glance at his uncle confirmed Jeff’s conclusions. Brady gave a quick, warning and negative head-shake to the unasked question. While the stocky man did not know why Barnstaple had taken cards, he was willing to accept that it had been for a very good reason.

  ‘All right, you pair!’ Minter yelled, shaking himself free from his deputy and hauling his Colt from its holster. ‘You’re under arrest for...’

  ‘Threatening behavior to a citizen,’ Cuthbertson supplied for his kinsman. ‘And assaulting officers of the law.’

  ‘That’s it!’ the sheriff boomed, hoping that he would not have to repeat the charges. ‘I’m taking you both to jail.’

  ‘You reckon you can do it?’ Jeff challenged, and his right hand moved slightly in the direction of the jacket’s front.

  ‘He’s a duly appointed and sworn peace officer, Mr. Trade,’ Barnstaple pointed out, making a small yet significant gesture with the Smith & Wesson. ‘If you resist, he would be within his rights to shoot you down. So would any private citizen, in helping him against you under the circumstances.’

  Then Brady saw it all and so did Jeff. Despite his hot temper, the red-head had a shrewd brain.

  Seeing that Cuthbertson had the revolver available and was clearly planning to use it, Barnstaple had intervened. The distinguished-looking man was acting to save Jeff—and most likely Brady—from being shot down under the pretence that they were resisting arrest.

  ‘And that’s the legal law,’ Minter declared, then wondered why the banker glowered savagely at him.

  ‘It is,’ Barnstaple confirmed. ‘While you might think that your conduct was justified—’

  ‘That’s just what I think...’ Jeff put in angrily.

  The point is that you have assaulted a peace officer, Barnstaple interrupted firmly but in a friendly manner. ‘So the sheriff has no other course but to arrest you. I’d advise you to go along with him and not to cause any trouble. It would be the wisest line to take.’

  ‘How about it, Uncle Brady?’ Jeff asked. ‘Do we do it?’

  ‘I reckon we do,’ Brady decided, without hesitation, and his right hand curled back under the right side of his jacket. It tugged forward to emerge holding the butt of the short-barreled Colt Thunderer, but his forefinger was not inside the trigger guard. ‘Give him your gun, nephew, and we’ll go quietly.’

  Chapter Seven – Here’s Your Wife, Nephew

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing, nephew,’ Brady Anchor remarked, sitting comfortably on one of the bunks in the centre cell. ‘I’ve been in worse jails.’

  ‘We didn’t have to come to it,’ Jeff protested as he paused in his restless pacing up and down. ‘You could’ve ... ’

  ‘Thrown down on Barnstaple while he was covering you,’ Brady finished for him. ‘Maybe. Only I wouldn’t’ve wanted to chance doing it. He’s handled a gun plenty, nephew, or I’ve never seen a man who has.’

  ‘I’m not gainsaying it.’

  ‘And, even had I gotten away with it, we’d only have dropped deeper into that lard-gutted banker’s trap.’

  ‘Damn it!’ Jeff ejaculated bitterly. ‘I sure let him slicker us into a box canyon.’

  ‘It could’ve been worse,’ Brady pointed out. ‘If Barnstaple hadn’t got to that Smith & Wesson ahead of Cuthbert-son, one, or both, of us would most likely have wound up dead.’

  ‘That ranch sure must be worth plenty for him to be willing to kill us to get hold of it.’

  ‘It must. Enough for us to set up Uncle Ephraim’s place so’s it will be the fanciest saloon in El Paso.
’

  ‘We can’t do that sitting on our butts in the pokey,’ Jeff objected.

  ‘Or by getting killed foolishly,’ Brady countered and continued with a warning. ‘So, no matter how they’ve been treating us, you talk polite and act real careful around those tin-stars. You can bet that by now the banker’s told them he’d rather we didn’t walk out of here alive, happen it can be rigged some other way.’

  ‘Minter’s too scared of Barnstaple to make any such play,’ Jeff guessed.

  ‘I’d’s soon not gamble on it,’ Brady contradicted. ‘And even if he is, that young cuss, Briskow, might take a chance. He’s a pushy cuss with his eye on the sheriff’s star, unless I miss my guess.’

  ‘Having the banker grateful to him’d be a right good start to getting it,’ Jeff admitted. ‘And the banker’d be real grateful was we to be shot “trying to escape”.’

  ‘You’re right enough about that, nephew. And Briskow’s the boy who’d try to do it. All in all, I’m not sorry that Barnstaple was in the bank.’

  ‘Or me, I reckon,’ Jeff conceded. ‘Even if it was him who got us so’s we could be fetched here.’

  ‘The way he did it likely saved our lives,’ Brady drawled. ‘And he let them all know where he stands, which’s saved us from having trouble with them.’

  Once Brady and Jeff had surrendered their weapons to the peace officers, Barnstaple had done some straight talking which had sounded most impressive and discreetly menacing. He had stated that the Texas Bankers’ Protective Association did not countenance the bullying or abuse of prisoners. Making certain that even the obtuse Sheriff Minter could appreciate what he was driving at, he had hinted at complaints being lodged with the Governor if Brady and Jeff should be ill-treated whilst held in custody.

  Leaving the still dazed Briskow in Dilkes’ care, Minter and Haggerty had escorted their prisoners to the one-storey stone building which housed the sheriff’s office and the jail’s three cells. Whoever had designed the structure had clearly known more about law enforcement than its present occupant. It was a strong, well-made building, with sturdy steel bars for the cells’ walls. One thing was for sure, it would be human error and not structural weakness which would have permitted any prisoner to escape.

  Brady and Jeff had been somewhat amused by Minter’s behavior and amazed at his apparent ignorance of basic peace officer precautions. Although he had placed their revolvers in a drawer of his desk, he had not bothered to search them for other weapons. Instead, he had taken the key ring from its hook on the side of the desk and asked them to go into the rear section of the building. He had given them the choice of cells. Showing that he had taken Barnstaple’s warning very much to heart, he had done almost everything except apologies for the formality of locking them up.

  Having assured them that they would be well looked after during their incarceration, the sheriff had promised that he would have them taken before the local justice of the peace in the morning. Then he had offered to have food brought in for them. Not just the ordinary jail-house meal, he had hastened to explain, but the best that the hotel could supply. This had been forthcoming and Minter had departed, showing his relief when his prisoners had declared they were satisfied and had no complaints regarding their accommodation.

  After eating, Brady and Jeff had been left in peace. They were separated from the front portion of the building by a solid stone wall. Two lamps gave adequate illumination to their quarters and they had made themselves as comfortable as possible.

  At first, the connecting door had been left open, allowing them to see and hear at least something of what went on in the office.

  Nursing a swollen lower jaw and clearly in an evil humor, Briskow had stormed in shortly after they had finished eating. Apparently, from his profane comments, Barnstaple had warned him about his future conduct; especially where it touched the two prisoners. So, although Minter and Haggerty had left him in charge while they went for their suppers, he had contented himself with slamming the connecting door and ignoring the occupants of the cells.

  That had suited Brady and Jeff, for they had wished to discuss their affairs in private. Both had been very concerned about the missing money. Neither had believed that it might have been in the sacks. Not even Cuthbertson would have imagined that he could get away with such a blatant piece of skullduggery. So the gang must have been carrying it on their persons.

  Jeff had suggested that maybe the hold-up had been rigged for their benefit, but Brady had not agreed. There had been no way in which the banker could have known they would return at that particular time. Nor would pretending owl-hoots have bothered with making the demands on the teller for exactly fifty thousand dollars, or having him split open the packets.

  Everything, they had concluded, now depended upon what arrangements they could make with the banker regarding an extension of time which could allow them to hunt down the gang and recover the money. Left to his own devices, Cuthbertson would not be so obliging. Perhaps Barnstaple would exert his influence to persuade the banker to act in an honorable manner. Despite his intervention, which had been done with the best of intentions, Brady and Jeff believed that the distinguished-looking man might be willing to take their side in the issue.

  Brady had removed his jacket on entering the cell. Sitting in his shirtsleeves, he displayed the manner in which he carried his weapon.

  Carefully cut and wet-fit to the shape of the Colt Thunderer’s two-and-a-half-inch-long barrel, frame and cylinder, iii the shoulder holster hung horizontally instead of in the more usual vertical position. Its figure-eight supporting strap passed across his broad shoulders and around the left armpit, so there was no sign of it when he wore his jacket. The revolver was held in place by straps, equipped with a press-stud, iv passing on either side of the trigger guard. That basically simple device retained the weapon securely, yet allowed it to be snapped free easily and without delay should the need for extreme rapidity arise.

  Low voices coming from the office reached Brady’s and Jeff’s ears. With the connecting door closed, they could not hear what was being said. All they managed to make out was that a woman had arrived and Briskow appeared to be surprised by what she was telling him. Then the door swung open and the deputy stepped through.

  ‘Here’s your wife, nephew’ Briskow announced, leering at the red-head. ‘She’s come asking to see you and Uncle Brady.’

  Before Brady, or especially Jeff, could respond to the remarkable statement, a young woman followed the deputy into the cells’ section. They looked at her with considerable interest, although displaying less than the amount of approval they would have afforded her in less puzzling circumstances.

  Slim, yet shapely, about five feet seven inches in height, the young woman was quietly, but tastefully attired in a respectable fashion. A dainty gray jockey hat, with a black silk ribbon, bow and twin tassels, perched on her piled-up blonde hair. Her face had a sweet, unspoiled, almost elfin charm and beauty. The figure under the severely cut gray jacket and long, flared tweed skirt was good without being blatant in its feminine contours. A neatly-knotted black silk bow set off the frilly-bosomed white blouse. She had thin black leather gloves on her hands, concealing her marital status, and a medium-sized vanity bag dangled by its strings from her left wrist.

  While the newcomer was the kind of girl in whom Jeff might have taken an interest, provided her parents did not object—which he suspected they certainly would have—he had never seen her before.

  Despite that, the girl advanced towards the door of the cell with her hands held out and a warm smile on her face.

  ‘Jefferson-honey!’ she greeted in a piping, slightly lisping, ‘little-girl-in-need-of-protection’ kind of voice that went well with her angelic features. ‘Whatever in the world have you and Uncle Brady been doing to get yourselves thrown into prison?’

  ‘We wasn’t thrown in, ma’am,’ Jeff objected. ‘We walked. But I...’

  ‘Stand back there, Mrs. Trade!’ Briskow ord
ered, before the girl reached the cell. ‘Don’t you go reaching through them bars.’

  ‘Why, officer,’ cooed the girl, turning and looking as if butter would be hard put to melt in her mouth. She returned in his direction, raising her arms outwards at shoulder level. ‘Surely you don’t think that I’d be carrying concealed weapons?’

  ‘Well, I...’ Briskow began.

  ‘As if I’d do such a terrible thing!’ the girl protested, with simple and injured dignity in her soft tones. ‘You can search me, if you’re so minded.’

  A grin twisted at Briskow’s lips and he darted a mocking stare in Jeff’s direction. To start pawing at the girl in front of her husband would be a sweet revenge for the blow under his jaw. The longer he prolonged the searching, the more angry Trade would grow. Yet the prisoner would be unable to do anything, other than glower helplessly, unless it was to yell at Briskow to quit. Handled properly, the situation might be developed to produce a result which Banker Cuthbertson had told the deputy was desirable and would meet with his full approval.

  Savoring in anticipation the pleasures of mauling the attractive girl, at the cost of considerable distress to her ‘husband’, and maybe setting himself in a position to earn the banker’s approbation, Briskow reached towards the smiling and apparently unsuspecting, submissive blonde.

  Slowly, hesitantly it seemed, the girl’s hands moved inwards. They closed on the lapels of the deputy’s calfskin vest. With a sudden jerk, she opened the vest and dragged it down to elbow-level so that his arms were trapped. Still looking as innocuous as the fairy on top of a Christmas tree, she stepped aside a pace. Inserting her left foot between his ankles, she twisted her torso and tugged forward with her hands. By doing so, she caused him to lose his balance and propelled him across the passage between the connecting door and the cells.

  Such was the girl’s strength, taken with the leverage she exerted and her amazing change of character, that Briskow was unable to resist. He could not prevent himself from plunging forward and, with his arms trapped, was unable to regain his equilibrium. So he went towards the steel bars at a speed that would be dangerous, or could even prove fatal, unless it was checked.