by John Davage
Nate had no fears about the hotel clerk obstructing him. Like a lot of other people in Weslake, the man was in the pay of Eli Pike.
He decided to wait a while and see what happened.
In the event, the young man went past the main door of the hotel and, after glancing around, disappeared up the passageway at the side of the building.
‘So where’s he goin’?’ Nate muttered to himself.
As far as he knew, the passageway led only to the rear of the hotel and a walled yard. Was the lawman meeting someone? If he was, judging by the deputy’s furtive manner, it was a meeting that either he or the other person wanted to keep confidential.
Again, Nate decided to wait and see what developed.
And again, he didn’t have to wait long. Minutes later he saw a familiar figure enter the passageway in a similarly covert manner.
The kid!
Now why was Chet Adams meeting up with the deputy? None of the answers Nate could come up with pleased him. There could only be one reason – a double-cross of some sort. Some kind of bargain to be struck? Some deal that would get the kid off the hook from the law in exchange for informing on Eli?
‘Reckon there’ll have to be two killin’s ’stead of one,’ Nate muttered to himself. He smiled at the prospect.
He drifted out from the shadows, pulling down the rim of his hat to conceal his face, and headed towards the hotel, leading his horse. After tethering the piebald to the hitching rail at the front of the building, he moved across to the passageway.
The only light in the yard behind the hotel came from one of the back rooms and, intermittently, the moon as clouds opened to reveal its face. Tom heard the footsteps in the passageway and guessed it was the kid. Even so, he was taking no chances and eased his .45 from its holster and stepped back into the shadows.
‘Walsh?’ Clay Thornton’s voice was a whisper.
Tom stepped out into the light, but only after he had checked that the other man wasn’t wielding a weapon. ‘Over here.’
The two men drew closer to each other.
‘Eli would kill me if he knew I was talkin’ to you,’ Clay said.
‘So we won’t tell him,’ Tom said.
‘An’ I ain’t sure how I can help you.’
‘Me neither, just yet,’ Tom said.
‘So how’re you plannin’ on getting Becky away from Pike?’ Clay asked. ‘Like I said, Eli keeps her pretty close most of the time. An’ he’s even more likely to do that now he knows you’re in town.’
‘Becky’s pa was in town earlier an’ he ain’t reappeared,’ Tom said. ‘Know anythin’ about that?’
Clay hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘Garrod’s dead.’
Tom sighed. ‘I’d kind’a figured that. You can explain how that happened later. First tell me about the Solace bank raid. What happened there? Why was it necessary to gun down the teller an’ the manager? An’ which one of those two killed Eli Pike’s brother Silas?’
Clay shook his head. ‘I ain’t talkin’ about the raid,’ he said. ‘That ain’t why I’m here. If’n you want to nail Eli for the robbery, you’re gonna have to do it without my help.’
‘Somethin’ went wrong, didn’t it?’ Tom persisted. ‘There wasn’t meant to be any killin’, that’s my bet.’
Clay made no reply.
‘OK, have it your way,’ Tom said after a moment or two. ‘Let’s figure out how we’re going to rescue Becky Garrod from that scumbag’s clutches. First thing you’ve got to do is let her know I’m gonna help her. Then . . .’
He broke off suddenly.
‘What is it?’ Clay whispered, suddenly tense.
Tom put a finger to his lips and withdrew his .45 from his holster. Clay saw him and replicated the action. Both men shifted into the shadow of the hotel’s back wall, their eyes on the end of the passageway, watching for movement.
‘You there, Chet?’ The rasping voice came out of the blackness.
‘Nate Morgan,’ Clay said, and even in the semi-darkness, Tom saw the kid’s face blanch at the sound of the outlaw’s menacing utterance.
‘OK, listen to me kid,’ Morgan continued. ‘Whatever it was you were plannin’ with the lawman, it ain’t gonna happen, you hear that? He’s a dead man, you can rely on it. So you’ve got a choice. Die alongside him, or use your gun on him. You’ve got thirty seconds to decide.’
It was the longest speech Clay had ever heard Nate Morgan make, but as he wavered over his decision, he saw that Tom Walsh’s gun had moved and was now aiming directly at him.
‘His choice is made, Morgan,’ Tom called to the other man. ‘He’s in no position to kill me, not whilst I’m coverin’ him with my .45.’
Silence.
‘It’s make-your-mind-up time, kid.’ Tom pulled the youngster deeper into the shadows. ‘You’re either with me, or you’re with Morgan. Although I wouldn’t give a plugged nickel for your chances with Morgan now, whatever happens, so make your mind up fast.’
Clay looked like a trapped animal as he pondered. He swallowed. ‘I . . . I guess I’m with you.’
At the same moment there was a burst of sound as Morgan threw himself out of the passageway in a roll, firing in the direction of Tom’s voice. His broad-brimmed hat skittered across the yard.
Tom felt a burning sensation in his arm as one of Nate’s bullets winged him. Even so, he pushed Clay to the ground and threw himself after him, rolling over and returning a rattle of shots, aiming at the orange flame from Morgan’s gun.
He was rewarded with the sound of an agonized grunt and the clatter of a dropped firearm.
Silence.
‘Morgan?’ Tom yelled.
At that moment, the clouds parted and a shaft of moonlight revealed the slumped form of Nate Morgan, his sightless eyes staring into the sky, blood seeping from wounds in his neck and chest and from the corners of his mouth.
Tom let out a long breath, then turned his attention to his companion, holstering his six-shooter. ‘Seems you made the right decision, kid,’ he said. He used his free hand and his teeth to tie his neckerchief around the wound on his arm, wincing with pain. The youngster made no move to help him. ‘You reckon?’
Clay Thornton holstered his own .45. ‘I guess it does,’ he said.
Tom wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm. ‘To my reckonin’, that only leaves Eli Pike to contend with. Am I right?’
Clay nodded. ‘Yeah, you are. But there’s still Becky to get away safely. How’re you gonna do that, ’specially now you’re injured?’
Tom tried to arrange his thoughts. Then he spotted Nate Morgan’s hat, resting on its crown near the outlaw’s body, and an idea began to form in his mind. ‘OK, first I’m gonna go find the local doc to fix my arm,’ he said. ‘Then . . .’
The sound of approaching footsteps stopped him. Moments later, Cord Lewis and two other figures emerged hesitantly from the passageway. Tom recognized Smokey Harrison as one of them, but not the bearded man beside the old-timer. The three of them took in the scene, then the sheriff swore and ran his hand over his face.
‘Jeeze, is that who I think it is,’ he said, looking at Morgan’s body.
The bearded man moved swiftly across to the recumbent form. ‘Don’t need me to tell you he’s dead, Cord,’ he said, after a moment. ‘There’s nothing I can do for him.’ He glanced across at Tom and took in the bloodstained neckerchief. ‘I’m a doctor, and it looks like I need to tend to your arm, mister.’
Tom nodded. ‘Yeah, thanks.’
‘Not ’til I’ve finished with him, you ain’t, Doc,’ the sheriff growled. ‘I wanna know what’s been happenin’ here.’
‘Looks pretty damn obvious to me, Cord,’ Smokey Harrison put in, a twinkle in his eye. ‘Seems like our friend here has done us the favour of puttin’ one more of Pike’s henchmen out of action. Town’ll be that much safer without that varmint.’
Cord turned his attention to Clay. �
��What’s your part in all this, kid? Looks to me like you’ve changed sides all of a damn sudden!’
Clay stared back without speaking.
Cord shrugged. ‘OK, have it your way. Smokey, you go fetch Abe Lucre to see to the body, an’ . . .’
‘Hang on, sheriff,’ Tom said. ‘I’ve got plans for Morgan, soon as the doc here has fixed my arm.’
‘Plans?’
‘Thought I might let Eli Pike decide what to do with Morgan’s body,’ Tom said.
‘You mean you’re plannin’ to take him to the Lazy O?’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Tom said. ‘You got any objection?’
‘Are you crazy?’ Cord sighed. ‘Oh, hell! Do what you damn well please. Eli’s gonna blame me anyways. Reckon I’m finished in this damn town! Time I moved on.’
And with that, he turned and walked away.
‘Reckon it is, Cord,’ Smokey said, to the sheriff’s retreating back. ‘An’ that ain’t no bad thing, either. What d’you say, Doc?’
‘I say this young deputy’s got a whole heap of trouble coming to him if he goes to the Lazy O with Nate Morgan’s body draped over his horse.’ The medical man looked at Clay. ‘You planning to go with him, kid?’
Tom and Clay exchanged glances.
‘Yeah, I guess I’m going with him,’ Clay said. ‘He’s gonna need me to get anywhere near the ranch house, once Eli’s seen Nate’s body.’
‘Matter of fact,’ Tom said. ‘You’ll be goin’ on ahead of me, kid.’
‘I will?’ Clay said.
Tom nodded. ‘You’ve got a story to tell afore I put in an appearance at the ranch. I just hope you can be convincin’, ’cause I reckon Becky’s life may depend on it.’
Smokey smiled. ‘Seems like this here lawman’s got a plan, Doc,’ he said.
‘I just need a few directions to get me to the ranch,’ Tom said.
Smokey grinned. ‘No problem there, son.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Becky watched as Eli paced up and down the room of the ranch house, chewing on a cheroot and cursing savagely under his breath. She had never seen him like this, so distracted and ill at ease. But then, he had never before lost two of his men in such quick succession. It didn’t bode well for her later, when he became less preoccupied.
The loot from the bank raid still lay in the saddle-bags and bulging canvas moneybags on the large oak desk in the corner. This in itself was a sure sign Eli had more important things on his mind than bedding Becky.
For the past hour she had tried to keep herself as inconspicuous as possible, and for once, he seemed almost totally unaware of her presence. Which was just as well, as she was still numb from the news of her father’s death. Every time she thought of it a sharp pain seemed to gnaw at her insides and tears threatened to spring from her eyes.
What had really happened at Checker Pass? Not for a minute did she believe the story Eli had told her – that her father had pulled a gun on Chet and Ray, and that the latter had shot her pa in self-defence. Although she supposed it was just possible a lucky stray bullet from her pa’s gun had killed Ray Riggens. Unfortunately there had been no opportunity since then for her to get Chet alone and extract the true story from him.
Where he was at this moment, she had no idea. Still in Weslake? Eli clearly expected him to return sometime soon. A thought struck her that set her heart palpitating. Was it possible Chet had somehow managed to make a break? That he wasn’t coming back? She could hardly blame him, even though he had given her the impression that, if he did make a break for it, he would take her with him.
Nor, for that matter, could she guess where Nate had got to. The only thing she could be sure of was that, wherever he was and whatever instructions Eli may have given him, it wouldn’t bode well for Tom Walsh, the young deputy from Solace.
Becky had been shocked to see him at Silas’ funeral. Momentarily her spirits had risen. Would he be able to help her? Could he get her away from this place? But as soon as she considered the odds, she discounted the possibility. They were all in Eli’s favour, she decided. Even allowing for Chet’s feelings for her and his desire to help her, there was always Nate Morgan. He did Eli’s every bidding and would kill Chet without question. That had been her thoughts after the funeral. But now. . . .
Abruptly, Eli ceased his pacing and moved towards the door. Becky listened, and heard the sound of an approaching rider.
Just the one.
Nate? Was it a case of ‘job done’? Was Tom Walsh dead?
She followed Eli out on to the porch, keeping into the background. After a minute her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she was able to discern the identity of the rider – and heaved a sigh of relief.
It was Chet. At least he was still alive.
She watched the young man dismount slowly as Eli hurried from the porch to meet him.
‘Where’n hell’ve you been?’ Eli snarled.
‘In town,’ Clay replied. ‘I was . . . er . . . enjoyin’ the delights of Maisie in her room at the Holed Ace. Got kinda carried away an’ stayed longer than I’d planned.’
‘Have you seen Nate?’
Clay nodded. ‘I was about to tell you. I saw him as I was comin’ out of the saloon. He told me that you’d told him to get rid of that deputy.’
‘So what happened?’ Eli towered over the youngster. ‘Is Nate all right? Spit it out, for chris’sakes!’
‘Yeah, he’s fine. Well, ’cept for a flesh wound which he’s gettin’ fixed by the doc right now.’
‘Flesh wound? What about the lawman from Solace? Nate was supposed to deal with him without anyone knowin’ it was him.’
‘Things didn’t quite work out like that,’ Clay said. ‘The lawman’s dead all right. Stretched out in an alleyway at the side of the hotel, last I saw. But he managed to get off the shot that winged Nate before Nate plugged him.’
As Becky heard this she gave a gasp and put a hand to her mouth. Tom Walsh was dead! Poor Meg Thornton, she thought, for once harbouring no jealous thoughts against the young woman. There would be no wedding now.
She watched the tension drain from Eli’s body as he received the news. ‘Good,’ he said after a moment. ‘When does Nate reckon he’ll be back?’
‘Within the next hour, I’d guess,’ Clay said. ‘His wound was nothin’ much. The doc’ll fix it in no time.’ He made a great show of rubbing his forehead and staggering slightly on his feet. ‘Jeeze, Eli, I need to lie down. What with Maisie’s enthusiastic lovin’ an’ that gutrot whiskey they serve in the Holed Ace, I’m jiggered.’
Eli looked him up and down. ‘Get yourself off to the bunkhouse, kid,’ he told him. ‘I’ll send Becky across with some coffee.’
‘Yeah, thanks Eli,’ Clay said. ‘I could sure use some.’ And he led his horse away.
Eli turned to Becky. ‘You heard what I said. Get the kid some coffee.’
‘Sure, Eli,’ Becky said.
At about the same time Clay was heading towards the bunkhouse, Floyd Wickes rode into Weslake. His first port of call was the local sheriff’s office.
Cord Lewis was sleeping on the bunk in an open cell, snoring and grunting spasmodically. With a look of distaste, Floyd moved into the cell and shook the other man’s shoulder.
‘Whaaat! Jeeze, I . . .’ Cord blinked and peered at the figure standing over him. ‘Who in hell are you?’ he growled.
‘Floyd Wickes. Sheriff of Solace,’ Floyd informed him.
‘Jeeze, another damn lawman from that town!’ Cord said. His head felt as though he’d been kicked by a mule, and he was having trouble straightening his thoughts.
‘So you’ve met my deputy,’ Floyd said.
‘Damn right I have,’ Cord said, heaving himself from the bunk and standing unsteadily. ‘Caused a whole heap of trouble since he hit town.’
‘So maybe you’ll tell me where I can find him,’ Floyd said.
‘Well, I won’t,’ Cord told him. ‘He ain’t my responsibility when he goes pokin’
his nose into other people’s. . . .’ his voice trailed away as he realized he was recklessly shooting his mouth off.
Floyd nodded. ‘By that you mean he was askin’ about the Pike gang.’
‘I ain’t sayin’ nothin’, Cord said.
‘That figures,’ Floyd said. ‘I reckoned Eli Pike would need an accommodatin’ sheriff. One who’d look the other way when necessary.’
‘Now listen here. . . !’ Cord began.
Floyd waved his protest away. ‘Forget it. Guess I’ll just have to ask around, startin’ with the saloon, then maybe the hotel.’
Fifteen minutes later, having found Smokey Harrison telling anyone who’d listen about the demise of Morgan, and the intentions of ‘that crazy deputy from Solace’, Floyd headed out of town in a hurry.
‘Watch out for yourself!’ Smokey called after him. ‘You an’ that kid are about to start tanglin’ with a rattlesnake!’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Clay was sitting on the edge of his bunk when Becky arrived with a pot of coffee and a mug.
‘I was sure worried about you, Chet.’ She was surprised to see him looking so alert after the way he’d acted outside. Now he spoke briskly and it took her no more than a moment to realize he’d been play-acting earlier.
‘Help’s comin’, Becky,’ he said.
‘Help?’ She looked startled.
‘Any luck, an’ we’ll both be out’a here afore sun-up,’ Clay said.
‘How d’you mean?’ She poured some coffee into the mug and handed it to him, her hand shaking with excitement.
Clay gulped it down. ‘Where’s Eli?’
‘Sittin’ with a bottle of bourbon, waitin’ for Nate to come back,’ she said.
‘He’ll have a long wait. Nate ain’t comin’ back,’ Clay told her. ‘He’s dead.’
‘But you told Eli . . .’
‘Yeah, I know what I told him. It was all lies. Tom Walsh killed Nate. It’s Walsh who’s gettin’ his arm fixed by the doc, not Nate. It’s Walsh who’ll be here within the hour.’