‘Saw a chance and took it,’ Angel said.
‘Did you find your friend?’Jess asked, glancing at Birdy.
‘I found out what happened to him. This is Birdy. He was at the camp. He was there when they killed Harry Culp.’
‘You mean he’s dead? Oh my!’ Jess shook her head. ‘Can’t you go to the law?’
Birdy grinned. ‘Don’t she know?’
‘My last visit was too short,’ Angel replied. He fished out his badge and showed it to Jess.
‘So you weren’t looking for Harry Culp because he was a friend?’
‘No,’ Angel admitted. ‘Jess, don’t take offence because I didn’t tell you who I was. It’s surprising how reluctant people become once they know I’m a lawman. One minute they’re ready to tell you everything, the next, when they see a badge, they dry up. And it could have got you hurt if Cranford’s boys had found out you’d been talking to a lawman.’
Jess reached out to touch his arm.
‘Thank you for thinking of that. Do you think Cranford has found out who you are?’
‘It’s possible. He’ll know soon enough when I tell him myself.’
‘Is that why you came back to Liberty?’ Jess frowned suddenly. ‘You don’t intend taking on the whole lot of them yourself, do you?’
‘What I’d like to do is get a message to my boss in Washington. Let him know what I’ve walked into here. Then if something happens to me there’ll be somebody else able to deal with Cranford and his bunch.’
‘I know Cranford, Frank,’ Jess said. ‘He’s a hard man. I don’t think he’d hesitate to kill you if you got in his way.’
‘They already tried once,’ Birdy said.
Angel quickly outlined the incident with the three guards from the camp. As she listened Jess moved to sit down on a wooden kitchen chair.
‘You’ll have to go slowly,’ she said. ‘I can’t keep up with it all.’
‘Don’t try,’ Angel said. ‘Listen, Jess, is there a telegraph office in town?’
‘Yes.’
‘First things first,’ Angel said. ‘Have you opened up yet?’
Jess shook her head. ‘I’m not due to open for another hour.’
‘Birdy, I want you to stay here. I’m going to try for the telegraph office.’
‘And then?’Jess asked.
‘See if Cranford will listen to reason. Try and make him give himself up.’
‘Wonderful, isn’t it!’ Birdy said.
‘What?’ asked Angel.
‘Faith in human nature.’
‘Birdy, I said I was going to ask him. I didn’t say anything about him actually agreeing.’
Jess led the way through the empty restaurant.
At the window she pointed out the telegraph office. It was across the street, some fifty yards down. Not far under normal circumstances, Angel thought, but when you were possibly walking under the threat of a bullet it seemed an awful long way. He checked the rifle he was carrying. The revolver as well.
‘Be careful,’ Jess whispered as he eased open the door.
‘My middle name.’ Angel smiled.
He paused on the boardwalk, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. That was one thing in his favor, he thought. The darkness. Though it was double-edged. It made it hard for his enemies to see him, but it also worked the other way round.
Angel walked slowly along the boardwalk, his eyes searching every pool of shadow, every doorway. He scanned the mouths of alleys, each darkened window. He stopped when he reached the spot that placed him directly opposite the telegraph office. Lamplight glowed in the small window of the squat, single-storey building. Angel stepped down on to the street and strode across. At the far end of the street he heard the unhurried step of a horse. He flicked his gaze in that direction, saw a rider dismounting outside a saloon. The man tied his horse and went inside. Angel sighed. He was getting jumpy. He was also becoming, slowly but surely, very angry. Angry at what had been done to him since coming to Liberty. He’d been framed, beaten up, tossed in jail, sentenced to hard labor. It was a pretty long list to say he’d hardly had time to take off his hat in Liberty. On top of all that he’d had to risk his life in escaping and been forced to kill to stay alive.
And it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long way!
He hesitated before going inside the telegraph office. He was putting himself in Cranford’s position. Assuming that the judge had found out Angel’s true identity, he was going to do his best to have Angel disposed of quickly. One thing the crooked judge would not want was for Angel’s superiors to hear what had been going on in Liberty. One of the ways they might hear was by telegraph. And that could mean Cranford’s men inside the office. Angel slipped into the alley beside the building. He made a quick circuit, finding no other windows or door. The only way in or out was through the front. He returned to the front and took a quick glance in through the window.
The telegraph operator was seated behind his counter, bent over his machine. Lounging against the wall near the counter was a hard-eyed, heavy man who had hired gun written all over him. A second man sat hunched over a tattered magazine, facing the door.
Angel moved to the door, eased the knob, and pushed the door open wide. As the door swung open Angel stepped back out of sight, pressing himself against the front of the telegraph office. He waited. Not for long. He heard the sound of a chair scraping on the wooden floor, then the slow tread of someone approaching the open doorway.
‘Probably some kids playin’ about, Sam,’ came a voice from inside.
‘Yeah?’ Sam snapped back. ‘Then how come you ain’t goin’ to look?’
‘You’re nearest, old buddy!’
Sam made a low sound at the back of his throat. He eased his uncertainty by drawing his gun.
Angel watched Sam’s approaching shadow loom larger and larger. He let the gunman reach the doorway. Sam peered out into the darkness. He saw nothing at first. The moment he actually did spot something it was far too late. The solid butt of Angel’s rifle came round hard and caught him across the side of the face. Sam grunted and flew back inside the office. His legs ceased to function correctly and he stumbled to his knees. Angel was right behind him. He clouted Sam again, this time behind the ear. Sam went down without a sound. As the unconscious gunman hit the floor Angel booted the door shut, swinging his rifle round to cover the second gunman. The man was halfway through a hurried draw and he abandoned the idea when he saw Angel’s rifle aimed at his stomach.
‘Put the gun on the floor,’ Angel said. ‘Now kick it over here.’
Angel picked up the gun and stuck it in his belt. He did the same with the weapon belonging to the man called Sam.
‘Now, friend, you lie down on the floor,’ Angel told the gunman. ‘Face down. Arms and legs spread apart. And you so much as breathe heavy, mister, it’ll be the day they bury you!’
The gunman did as he was told, recognizing the harsh, deliberation in Angel’s voice.
‘You ready to send?’ Angel asked the telegrapher.
The middle-aged man behind the counter nodded. Sweat glistened on his white face and he tugged nervously at his tight shirt-collar.
‘I want you to clear the lines through to Washington,’ Angel instructed him. He pulled a message-pad to him, picked up a pencil and began to write.
‘Washington?’ the telegrapher asked.
‘Yeah. It’s that place where the President has his office,’ Angel said. ‘Get those lines clear. Priority clearance. You know the drill. Now get to it!’
‘Yessir!’ the telegrapher said. He turned to his key and began to tap out his message. ‘It’ll take time,’ he apologized.
Angel finished writing and shoved the message-pad across the counter.
‘Just do it. Then send this message.’
The telegrapher completed his first message. While he waited for the clearance he picked up the message-pad and read what Angel had put down. His eyes rounded, showing the whites, and he peered over the
rim of the paper at Angel.
‘This genuine?’
‘You figure I’m doing this for fun!’
The telegrapher smiled weakly and turned back to his key. The clearance came through ten minutes later and Angel’s message began its long journey across those endless miles, all the way to the rambling old building on Washington’s Pennsylvania Avenue. There would be an even longer wait for the reply. But it was something Angel had to receive before he left the office. He had to know that the Attorney General had read his report on the activities in Liberty. All Angel wanted was an acknowledgement.
It took almost an hour. Angel was beginning to sweat. The longer he remained in the telegraph office the more likely one or more of Cranford’s men might walk in on him.
In fact that was what more or less happened.
Angel spotted three figures coming across the street towards the telegraph office, and he moved quickly to the window, peering out. The three were strolling casually across the dusty street. Angel swore he recognized one of them as Koch, one of Sherman’s deputies.
At that precise moment the telegraph began to chatter. Angel spun away from the window. In three long strides he crossed the office and went behind the counter to peer over the telegrapher’s shoulder, reading the message as it was written down.
ANGEL. LIBERTY. ARIZONA.
YOUR REPORT ACKNOWLEDGED. STOP. ACTION UNDERTAKEN. STOP. STAY ALIVE. STOP ATTORNEY GENERAL.
Angel breathed a sigh of relief. That was the easy part over with. All he had to do now was to comply with the Attorney General’s request. He stepped from behind the counter in time to see the three men step past the window. In a few seconds they would come in through the door and all hell would break loose.
Unless …
Angel heard the door creak as someone began to open it. He lunged across the small office and went out through the window, head tucked low on his chest. He hit the boardwalk in a shower of glass and splintered wood. His momentum took him across the boardwalk and on to the street. He rolled, twisting over on to his back so that he was facing the telegraph office as he came to rest. Angel still had his gun in his hand and he flipped it up as he saw figures erupting from the office. Gunfire split the night. Bullets whacked the dirt around Angel. He forced himself to sit tight, take that much longer to aim, then he fired, feeling the big Colt revolver buck against his palm. He saw one man bounce back against the office wall, twisting crazily in pain before he went down. Then Angel was moving, half-crouching, darting along the street, away from the spill of lamplight cast out on to the street from the open office door. He felt the hot burn of a bullet sear his left arm, and he turned viciously, anger drawing his lips back from his clenched teeth in a silent snarl.
Angel’s big fist held the Colt steady. He triggered two shots, heard a man scream in agony, clutching both hands to a bloody, ruined face. Blotting out the hideous sounds of pain Angel ran, cutting across the empty street, consciously moving away from the restaurant. He didn’t want to draw Cranford’s men near the place if he could help it. So where else did he go? At that precise moment Angel didn’t really know or care, he simply ran. Only now did he realize that he had left the rifle behind in the telegraph office. There hadn’t been time to grab it in his hurry to leave. But he did have the two guns he’d taken from Cranford’s men tucked in his belt, plus the Colt he was carrying. He figured he would have to make the best of what he had.
He spotted an alley ahead and went into the darkness. Guns were still firing. He heard a bullet clunk into the wood of the building to his right. White splinters of timber showered him. Angel ran on, stumbling in the darkness. He reached the far end of the alley, turned, and saw dark figures framed in the opening at the far end. Red flickers of flame darted into life. Gunshots rang heavily in the confines of the narrow alley. Angel ducked low, took out one of the other guns, and loosed off a volley of shots. The dark shapes melted away from the mouth of the alley, cursing wildly, but not before one of their number went down howling in agony.
Angel turned along the littered back lots. He moved fast, almost without purpose, and it was with a certain amount of surprise that he found himself crouching in the shadow of Liberty’s jail.
As his fingers fed fresh loads into the chambers of his guns Angel’s mind was working overtime. Perhaps he hadn’t just arrived here at the jail by pure chance. Maybe his subconscious had guided him. After all, the jail was at the center of this mess. This was where Cranford and Sherman ran their little racket from. So maybe this was where Angel should concentrate his attention. It was a damn good place to hide!
Angel moved swiftly along the side of the jail. As he reached the street frontage he hugged the shadows. Far up the street he could see men moving back and forth. He took a look up at the jail. The boardwalk was empty. Oddly the door stood partway open. Angel climbed up on to the boardwalk. He stepped quickly to the door, pushed it further open and peered into the office. It looked the same as the last time he’d been in the place.
Except for one thing.
The last time Angel had been in the place, Liberty’s Sheriff Phil Sherman had been standing beside the big desk, assisting Judge Cranford.
Sherman was in the office again. But he wasn’t standing beside his desk this time. He was on the floor beside the desk, hunched over in an ungainly sprawl. And he was quietly bleeding all over the floor. The blood was coming from a large, pulpy hole in his left shoulder. It didn’t take a genius to see that the hole had been caused by a bullet. Which meant that Sherman had been shot. But why—and by whom?
Angel closed the jail door and locked it. He also slid home the heavy bolts provided. Then he began to check the jail from one end to the other to see if there was anyone else in the building. His search proved fruitless. The cell area was deserted. While he was back there Angel made sure that the jail’s rear door was well and truly secured. Then he returned to the office, put down his guns and went to see what he could do for Sherman.
Chapter Eleven
‘It was Cranford! Double-crossing bastard! He would have killed me, Angel! Christ, he will kill me if he gets a chance! I tell you, he’s crazy! All because of that money we found in Harry Culp’s saddlebags!’
‘You figure that’s why he shot you, Sherman?’ Angel asked. ‘Because of the money? He wants it all?’
Sherman groaned softly as Angel finished tying the crude bandage over the ragged bullet wound. Angel had done what he could to stop the bleeding and clean up the wound. Luck had been on Sherman’s side. The bullet had gone clean through his shoulder without touching a bone or major nerves.
‘That and the fact I wanted to finish what we got ourselves into. Look, Angel, I was over my head. Cranford was greedy and getting greedier all the time. Even when I told him I’d found out who you were he just laughed it off. Said it was nothing to worry about. He figures he could get us off the hook even if we killed you.’ Sherman, his bald head gleaming in the lamplight, stared at Angel. ‘Listen, Angel, we ain’t going to get out of here alive! Cranford will tear this place apart to get at us.’
‘He can try,’ Angel murmured. He stood up and crossed the office to inspect the rifles in the rack on the wall behind Sherman’s desk.
Sherman had struggled to his feet. He moved slowly to sag heavily into his chair. He watched Angel prowling restlessly around the office.
‘No way out, Angel,’ he said. ‘All the money in the world and it won’t do us a damn bit of good!’
Angel spun on his heel. ‘What do you mean?’
A frown creased Sherman’s drawn face. Then he grinned, showing his large teeth.
‘You wouldn’t know! I hadn’t realized.’ He leaned forward. ‘Over there in the corner. In that safe!’ Sherman almost crowed with delight at his revelation. ‘All the goddamn money Cranford and me took is in that safe. Including the pile we got from that Culp feller.’
Angel stood before the safe and studied it. A squat, heavy shape, painted dark green and bolted to the flo
or. Thick metal strong enough to withstand most attempts at forced entry. Fixed in a central position on the door was a combination lock. Angel stared at the safe angrily. Its presence guaranteed trouble. If what Sherman had said was true, and that safe held a substantial amount of cash, then a visit from Cranford was more than likely. Angel felt like kicking himself. Of all the places in Liberty he had to go and choose this one!
‘How did the shooting happen?’ Angel asked, rounding on Sherman.
The lawman scowled as he remembered.
‘I went over to his house so we could talk. He suggested we come here. I started to get a feeling something was wrong. Cranford was too damn ready to agree with every word I had to say. Time we got in here I was real jumpy. Cranford, he starts getting edgy. Next thing I know he pulls a gun. About the same time he pulls the trigger I heard a lot of shooting up the street.’
‘I guess that was me,’ Angel admitted.
‘Yeah? Well, it put Cranford off. He hit me in the shoulder and I went down. He must have figured he’d killed me. Just ’fore I passed out I heard him run out of here. Next thing I know you turn up.’
‘When Cranford can’t find me out there he’s going to be coming back for his money. Who has the combination?’
‘Who do you think,’ Sherman growled. ‘Cranford. It was his idea to use that safe to keep our money in. Hell, we couldn’t go putting it in the bank. Cranford figured the jail was the safest place to keep it.’
Angel crossed to the barred window and stared up the street. Even as he stood there a bunch of armed men appeared from the shadows further along and moved in the direction of the jail.
‘Any minute now Cranford’s going to find this jail safer for his money than he ever imagined,’ Angel said.
‘Now wait a minute, Angel,’ Sherman protested. ‘Are you figuring to stand him off?’
‘Well I’m not opening the door and asking him in,’ Angel replied. He moved over to the rack of rifles. ‘You got the key to this?’
‘No!’ Sherman said too quickly.
Angel moved to the desk and dragged open drawer after drawer until he found a bunch of keys on a large ring. His third attempt opened the padlock securing a thin chain looped through the trigger guards of the rifles. Angel chose a couple of Winchesters. He had spotted boxes of cartridges in one of the desk drawers. Angel tipped one out on the desk and quickly loaded both rifles. As soon as the job was done Angel crossed to the window again, leaning the rifles against the wall.
Shoot Angel! Page 7