Arizona Wild-Cat (Larry & Stretch Western. Book 2)

by Marshall Grover

  “Just for the hell of it,” nodded Larry placidly.

  For the first time in a long time, Al Burden smiled. It was a smile of admiration.

  “I used to be like you two,” he recalled, wistfully. “A long time ago.” He studied them a moment longer, then pushed back his chair and stood up. “If you’re dead set on buying into this thing ...”

  “We’re in it,” said Larry flatly.

  “Well, then,” nodded Burden, his eyes gleaming, “I’ll say this much. I’m a man with a lot of grief, right now, but, if you’re going to take on Endean, I wouldn’t want to be in his boots for all the grass in Arizona.”

  “Don’t rate us too high,” shrugged Larry, winking. “We’re just a couple of righteous-thinkin’, law-abidin’, clean-livin’ drifters.”

  “Who?” gasped Stretch. “Us?”

  Burden ambled over to the proprietor and paid for their food. They allowed him to do that, sensing that it would give him some satisfaction. They did not hear his brief conversation with the owner of the eatery, but Larry made a fairly accurate guess about it.

  “Dick,” muttered Burden, folding a bank bill and tucking it into the proprietor’s shirt pocket. “I haven’t been here. I never saw those two Texans in my whole life.”

  With a face completely devoid of expression, the proprietor said, “I never saw ’em before either, Mr. Mayor. And I’ve never even seen you before. I just don’t know nobody.”

  “Thanks, Dick,” nodded the mayor.

  He walked out of the place, without a backward glance.

  Five – The Hecklers

  The dance at City Hall, organized by Jay Endean as a gesture of goodwill to the people of Widow’s Peak, was a very grand affair. Ed Larchmont, at Endean’s urging, handled the catering personally. To one side of the bunting-bedecked dais, on which the seven-piece orchestra played for the dancers, a long table was piled high with a choice variety of refreshments. There were sandwiches in abundance, platters of fruit, cakes baked by the ladies of the Prairie Daughters’ Association. One of the cakes, fashioned with tender care by Mrs. Emily Childs, was lavishly iced and bore a model of a railroad locomotive, made from sugar. The jubilant guests voted it a fitting masterpiece to be displayed on such an auspicious occasion.

  Liquid refreshment was also available, most of it being surreptitiously smuggled into the hall in the hip-pockets of male guests. The atmosphere, halfway through the evening, was festive. Hardly a face in the whole gathering showed gloom, with the exception of Mayor Burden’s and old Chick Wilmont’s. Chick was jack-of-all-trades around City Hall. It would be his job to sweep the place on the morrow.

  This was Jay Endean’s night; but he was careful to assure the ladies with whom he danced, and their menfolk, that it was, in reality, their night. Soon, he kept telling them, they would be wealthy, beyond their wildest dreams. It was only fitting that they should begin, now, to acquire a taste for the better things of life. Champagne, for instance. The wily Mr. Endean had made certain that liberal quantities of that effervescent wine would be on hand. Many of his guests were making their first acquaintance of this bubbly liquor, with, in some cases, startling results. Tess Hapgood’s Uncle Dewey consumed an entire bottle of it, angrily complained of its lack of kick, then disappeared for a long time. A search-party located him at midnight, fishing for cod in the trough outside Seidlemeyer’s Emporium.

  The effects of champagne were widespread, and even extended to the members of the hard-working orchestra. The leader, Stacey Allbright, after puzzling at the discordancy of the music through five waltzes, discovered that one of his fiddle players had been playing “Turkey in the Straw” ever since his fifth tumbler of Endean’s champagne.

  Tess Hapgood was, on this night of nights, radiantly beautiful, according to the many admirers who partnered her around the floor. Men who rarely saw Tess out of her working clothes—check shirt and jeans—were pleasantly intrigued to note that, in a flowing white gown, she was vastly different from the Arizona Wild-Cat they knew so well. Her boast to Sammy Foy had not been an idle one; she was not short of partners. Jay Endean, aware of the smiling approval of the elder ladies, made a point of dancing with Widow’s Peak’s favorite daughter as often as possible. It was an integral part of his strategy.

  “She’s an orphan,” Cousin Ed had told him when he first arrived. “A hot-tempered, loud-mouthed little she-wolf; but the locals all feel sorry for her, on account of the only kin she’s got is her old Uncle Dewey. If you want to make these folks admire you, act nice to the Arizona Wild-Cat. Then they’ll figure you’re a real kind-hearted gentleman.”

  Endean had adopted Larchmont’s suggestion, and it was paying off. Many of the men who had paid out their life savings had done so at the urging of their wives, sentimental Widow’s Peak women who believed that a fine-mannered stranger who paid court to a parentless waif like Tess must be a “mighty trustworthy gentleman”.

  In a corner Sad Sammy sat alone, bemoaning the failure of his suit for Tess’ hand. Yesterday he had been a hero. Tonight? Well—no sense in kidding himself. Endean was the big success, with his fancy manners, and Tess was obviously captivated with the man. So far she had refused to dance with the hapless deputy. He sat alone, in a brand new black suit and snow-white shirt, looking like a love-sick penguin.

  But Jay Endean and Sad Sammy Foy were not the only heroes in attendance. Larry and Stretch had, at the last moment, decided to grace the function with their presence. Up until six-thirty, they were resolved to stay away. The only clothing they possessed was the dust-stained range apparel they had worn on arrival. Larry Valentine’s shirt wore a large patch of a contrasting material across his broad chest. Stretch’s jeans had a three-inch tear in the seat. In such garb, they were reluctant to tread stately measures with sweet-smelling townswomen in fine silk gowns. However, at the eleventh hour, Stretch had overcome their sartorial crisis by his uncanny skill at poker. An hour-long game in a back room of the Salted Mine had won him a hundred dollars and portion of the stock carried by two drummers from Burrowsville. The drummers, when their money ran low, offered a couple of best quality black broadcloth suits as a stake. Larry and Stretch took the precaution of trying the garments on, then agreed.

  Later, the drummers hired a rig for their return run to Burrowsville with money loaned them by Larry and Stretch. They were down a hundred and fifty dollars and two sample suits, and the Texans were ready to go dancing.

  Solly Stryker met them at the entrance of City Hall, complimented them on their improved appearance, muttered a morose warning about the quality of Endean’s champagne, and drew them into a side-alley for a shot from the bottle beneath his coat. Thus reinforced, the Texans descended upon the ladies.

  A long time ago, a lean old Texan rancher had imparted wise counsel to his equally-lean son. “When you’re at a shindig, boy, make damn sure to dance with every female in the house. That’s the only sure way of keepin’ ’em all happy.”

  Stretch Emerson had always remembered his father’s advice, and had long since passed it on to Larry. They followed the advice now. Every woman present found herself, at bewildering speed, whisked away in the arms of one or other of the Texans. There was, naturally, a possibility that the function would close before Larry and Stretch had run the full gamut. They overcame the danger by swapping partners, after several turns about the floor, and interchanging them with some who were still seated. The results, whilst causing some chaos, were accepted with good-humored indulgence by the ladies.

  And it was solely because of the Texans’ energetic changing of partners, that Sad Sammy was able to dance with Tess. Time was drawing near for Endean to make his speech and, although he was dancing with Tess at the time, he was sneaking an occasional glance at his watch. Then he felt a hand tap him on the shoulder. With a smooth apology, he turned to face the man accosting him.

  “’Scuse me,” beamed Stretch Emerson. “I’m a stranger here. Could you tell me where I can locate the gents’ privvy?”
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  Endean made a grimace of annoyance and jerked a thumb towards the rear of the hall.

  “Did you have to come out onto the floor and interrupt me?” he growled. “Couldn’t you ask somebody else?”

  “You got a kind face,” Stretch explained. “I figured you wouldn’t mind tellin’ me.”

  Endean scowled at him and turned to resume his waltz with Tess, only to find her gone. For a moment, he stood there, striving to hide his chagrin. Then he caught sight of her being whirled towards a corner in the arms of a tough-looking hombre who seemed almost as tall as the one who had accosted him. The tough-looking hombre was Larry Valentine, and he was dancing Tess towards the corner where Sad Sammy sat alone.

  “What in tarnation ...?” Tess was gasping, almost out of breath from trying to keep step with Larry. “One minute I was dancing with Mr. Endean—then—how come I got grabbed by you?”

  "Quien sabe?” grinned Larry. “Don’t try to figure it out, Miss Tess. It’ll only make your purty head ache. You got an appointment to dance with a good friend of yours. I’m just makin’ sure he don’t miss out on that dance.”

  She was on the point of uttering a protest, but it was too late. They had reached the corner. Larry got Sammy onto his feet, simply by seizing him by his coat-collar and jerking him upright.

  “Now bow to the lady,” he instructed, “and make like a gentleman.”

  Obediently, Sammy bobbed his head, extended an arm, and said, “Could I—uh—have the pleasure of …?”

  “Sure you can!” beamed Larry. “Grab her and start a-whirlin’.”

  Much against her will, a fuming Tess Hapgood waltzed away with red-faced Sammy Foy. Larry watched them for a while, smiling benignly, then wandered off to link up with Stretch and seek out more refreshments. He found his partner at the laden table beside the orchestra-dais, making inroads on the food laid out for the guests.

  “It’s for free,” he told Larry, with his mouth full. “We oughtn’t miss out on a chance like this. No tellin’ how long it’ll be ’fore we git our next free vittles.”

  Stretch had a strong point there. Larry joined him. Women seated nearby ceased fluttering fans and paused to gape at the quantity of food being consumed by the men from Texas. Widow’s Peak County had its quota of lusty eaters, but the Texans were the owners of gargantuan appetites, and cast-iron digestions.

  In another corner, Mayor Burden dug out his watch and examined it worriedly, while pretending to listen to the conversation of his old friend, Buck Trumble.

  “Big night for Widow’s Peak,” Trumble was saying. “Must make you feel mighty proud, Al.”

  “Proud?” Burden blinked at him as he returned his watch to his pocket.

  “Why, sure!” grinned the old lawman. “Bein’ associated with an important man like Jay Endean. I sure hope he appreciates all the support you’ve been givin’ him. That’s a fine thing you did for him, Al. Makin’ speeches, explainin’ why folks ought to invest in the new railroad.”

  Burden, sick with shame and bitterness, didn’t reply at once, and when he did mutter a rejoinder all he could think of to say was, “Yeah, Buck. A man has to do what he thinks is best.”

  “What a miserable hypocrite fear has made me!” he thought, staring across the dance-floor at the urbane and smiling Jay Endean. “If only I had the nerve, Endean! If only I dared face Carrie and Rose with the real truth about myself. But you picked your mark well—you thieving rat.” The dancing ceased. The orchestra sounded a loud chord. A burst of delighted applause arose from the people on the floor. Endean, flashing his benign smile to right and left, was moving up to the dais. For a brief moment he caught Burden’s eyes and frowned meaningly. Thus summoned, the mayor came away from his corner and stepped onto the dais. He, too, drew a round of applause—applause that curdled the blood in his veins. As Endean stepped up to join him, Burden raised his arms for silence and made a terse introductory speech.

  “I know you’re all waiting to hear a few words from our—er—good friend, Jay Endean,” he told the people.

  They signified their eagerness to hear Endean by another burst of applause.

  “So I won’t delay things,” Burden went on. “Friends, I give you Mr. Jay Endean—advance agent of the Taylor-Ames Railroad Corporation.”

  He remembered to offer his hand to the man from San Francisco. Endean shook it warmly. He was an astute showman and had always insisted on this little pantomime; it kept the people happy. Their benefactor, publicly endorsed by their leading citizen—a sure indication that Mr. Endean’s bona fides were above reproach. Burden stepped down and returned to his corner. From the center of the floor his wife watched him, worriedly, then nudged her daughter.

  “Has it occurred to you, Rose,” she whispered, “that your father seems a little—er—quiet lately?”

  “Quiet?” Rose raised her eyebrows, but without great concern. She was more absorbed with examining the handsome Mr. Endean. “I hadn’t noticed, Mother.”

  “I’ve noticed it,” frowned Carrie Burden. “He was never a talkative man, but, for some time now, he’s hardly said a word at mealtimes.”

  “I guess he’s been busy with helping Mr. Endean,” shrugged Rose.

  “Maybe that’s it,” agreed her mother.

  The applause was very satisfactory from Endean’s point of view. He permitted it to continue for a while, enjoying the beaming smiles on the faces of his admirers, all the time thinking, “Fools! Imbeciles! No wonder it’s been easy. I certainly made a smart choice, picking this town. Of all the rubes I’ve ever seen ...”

  He began his speech of welcome then, smoothly complimenting the ladies of Widow’s Peak on their beauty, and their grace in the waltz. He added a few remarks about the sterling quality of Widow’s Peak menfolk, their vision, their progressive instincts, their commendable ability for looking to the future.

  “And the future of this fine little town,” he boomed on, “will be a great future; Within eighteen months of the railroad’s beginning operation, Widow’s Peak will be a city! And a mighty important city at that!”

  More and louder applause. The citizens were almost delirious with anticipation.

  “That’s what the coming of a railroad can do for a small town,” Endean continued. “Widow’s Peak will be prosperous. It will grow—faster than you could possibly imagine. I know, friends. I’ve seen it happen. And you good people of Widow’s Peak, you will aid that swift growth, that great march towards prosperity and security, by your contributions, by investing your money wisely, in my company’s project. The Taylor-Ames Corporation rarely extends such a gracious gesture to far-flung communities like this one. The Corporation already has all the capital it needs. But, on this occasion, they decided to give—er—ordinary people, the good, hard-working citizens of this fair county—a chance to participate, to share in the immense profits ...!”

  He broke off, frowning, striving to conceal his anger at the interruption now taking place. People were exchanging startled glances. None of them had ever heard the great Mr. Endean interrupted before. Yet, that was exactly what was happening now. Those two tall hombres in black suits, over by the food-table, were calmly calling questions at Mr. Endean.

  “It sure sounds fine, mister,” Larry Valentine was saying. “But what me and my pard wants to know is how about the soot?”

  “Soot?” frowned Endean. “I—ah—fail to follow your meaning, friend?”

  “What?” wondered Larry. “And you a railroad man? Hell! Uh—I mean shucks! Don’t you know what the soot from them engine stacks does to feed-graze?” He included the crowd in his impromptu speech, nodding to them, in grim warning. “Me and my pard’re cattlemen. We’ve seen it happen! After a couple months of havin’ one of them there locomotives screamin’ across cow country, the grass dies! Then, with their feed all gone, the cattle die! It sure is a sad sight, folks.”

  Endean beamed a reassuring smile at the crowd, and said, “Pay no attention to our worried friend. I fear he’s a
little—ah—overcome by champagne.”

  A certain amount of nervous laughter greeted that remark.

  “And now,” smiled Endean, “as I was about to say …”

  “Just one thing I cain’t figure,” frowned Stretch Emerson.

  Endean sighed with good-humored impatience and turned to look at the second heckler.

  “Something bothering you, too?” he enquired politely.

  “Yup,” nodded Stretch, thoughtfully. “I’d like to know why you’re so blamed sure folks’re gonna use your railroad.”

  “Pardon?” Endean, for once, was taken off-guard.

  “Seems to me,” Stretch pointed out, “this town’s got a fine stage-line. Why should folks do their travellin’ on your trains, when they already got a stage?”

  “Now just a minute.” Endean raised a hand and gave Stretch a patronizing smile.

  “And, another thing,” Stretch went on, unabashed. “Them trains chase away all the fresh air.”

  “That’s a lot of tomfoolery!” flared Ed Larchmont.

  The hotel-owner had taken up a position near the dais, and was ready to assist his cousin in shouting down the two Texans.

  “It’s no tomfoolery, mister,” contradicted Larry. “My pard knows what he’s talkin’ about.”

  “Damn right I do,” affirmed Stretch. “I already seen that disease—and the way it kills folks off.”

  “Disease?” It was Doc Leeds, buying into the debate, his professional curiosity aroused. “What disease’re you talking about? I never heard of a railroad locomotive causing an illness!”

  “Who,” asked Larry, mildly, “are you, mister?”

  “This gentleman,” boomed Endean, gesturing proudly towards the medico, “is Widow’s Peak’s doctor, and a very fine doctor he is. Dr. Byron Leeds.”

  “Howdy, Doc,” greeted Larry, politely offering his hand.

  “Howdy, Doc,” echoed Stretch, extending his own lean paw.

  Leeds, not quite sure of himself, shook hands with them. The crowd pressed closer. Endean flashed a quick glance at his cousin. He was working hard to stifle the chagrin boiling within him. These drifters in store suits, these laconic Texans, were becoming a dangerous nuisance. If the simple-minded citizens took note of what they were saying ... !