Hart the Regulator 8

by John B. Harvey

  ‘Okay,’ said Hart and turned to go.

  ‘Lamar,’ said Armstrong, ‘you’re always claimin’ to have been some kind of undercover detective. You tag along with Wes, keep in his shadow, don’t scare Reardon into running. You understand?’

  Lamar acknowledged that he did; he followed Hart out through the door and along the now-deserted platform.

  ~*~

  The bar wasn’t big enough to knock a man down and expect him to fall flat. It was thick with smoke and stank of lamp oil and cheap liquor. The price of a shot of whiskey or tequila was lower than anywhere else in Pensacola, which was why the place was so crowded. Hart elbowed his way through to the bar and ordered a whiskey and right off he discovered why it was so cheap. But then he wasn’t there to enjoy a drink.

  The girl had been pointed out to him as she crossed the narrow street, a shiny silk scarf tied tight about her bare neck, one end of it draped across her bare shoulders. She was one part Mexican, one part Apache and the rest white. Her eyes were dark and spiteful and she had the second most beautiful mouth that Hart had seen in a long time. She pursed it in his direction as he squeezed his way towards her.

  ‘Hello!’ She smiled up at Hart and he knew that behind the smile she was estimating how much money he might have in his wallet and how much she would have to do to get it from him. He didn’t think any the worse of her for that.

  He leaned over and tried to avoid looking down the front of her dress. She smiled and adjusted her position so that he couldn’t but do anything else.

  ‘You want something?’ she asked, certain that she knew the answer.

  ‘Sure.’ He pulled a greenback from his pants pocket and held it before her. ‘You were in the State Hotel earlier. Private room.’ Her eyes were already glinting and she showed him the length of the nails on her right hand. ‘It’s okay,’ Hart hastened to reassure her, ‘I don’t want trouble. Least of all for you.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Information.’

  She studied his face, then the note; slowly she took it from between his fingers and transferred it to the top of her dress. She held out her hand for more. Hart ignored her gesture and said: ‘A man called Swain was there?’

  She didn’t move her hand but kept it open; she kept her beautiful mouth shut.

  Hart carefully closed the fingers of her hand.

  ‘Swain,’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Describe him to me.’

  She did.

  ‘Okay. There were two men with him called Reardon and Caldicott.’

  The fingers unraveled themselves; Hart filled them with another bill.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘They paid you to be there?’

  She nodded.

  ‘What happened when it all broke up? Where did they go?’

  ‘The three you mentioned?’

  Hart nodded yes.

  ‘Caldicott, he was drunk. He’d been moaning about having a headache all evening. He went back to his room at the hotel.’

  ‘The same hotel?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And Swain?’

  A trace of anger came to her face and her voice became thicker. ‘He wanted to gamble. The others, they kept telling him he had a train to catch, they made jokes about going home to his wife. He told them there was always another train. He paid two of the girls to go to a poker game with him and his friends. Then to where he was staying.’

  ‘The same place?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

  He offered her a third bill.

  She took it but she still didn’t know which was Hardin’s hotel, except she had understood it was not the State.

  ‘Okay,’ said Hart, ‘tell me about Reardon. Where is he now?’

  ‘I think he was going to eat in the hotel, then go to bed.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Unless he finds someone else there.’

  ‘None of the women stayed with him?’

  She shook her head. Her eyes were looking more than a little tired, more than a little worried; her mouth looked as good as ever. Hart wondered what the other two girls had looked like that Hardin had chosen to pay for their company rather than hers. Then he remembered the stories about the gunman’s hatred of anyone who wasn’t white.

  He didn’t need to give her any more money but he did. ‘Get yourself a drink, ’he said. ‘And don’t tell anybody you’ve been talking to me or what about.’ It wasn’t his money he was spending. The grudging smile she gave him as he shouldered his way back through the crowd suggested that she knew that only too well.

  Outside, Hart picked up Lamar and told him to go over to the State Hotel and check which room Reardon was staying in. When he knew the answer, he went round to the back stairs and told Lamar to keep watch.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The top of the window was open by little more than an inch to let in the warm night air. The sounds of the town had more or less faded to a murmur of voices, the occasional discordant laugh. The window frame squeaked in its casing. Hart held his breath. Waited. Tried again. Again it squeaked, refused to budge, wobbled, finally yielded. He bent low and eased his way over the sill and between the flimsy curtains.

  The shape in the bed stirred and changed position, settled once more. Hart went quietly close, set one hand poised over Reardon’s mouth and with the other prepared to shake him awake.

  The cattleman twisted and bucked and tried to shout but the pressure of the sweaty fingers over his mouth was too great. His head wanted to throw itself sideways but couldn’t; his frightened eyes swiveled and even in the vague light recognized Hart.

  Reardon’s fear kicked him hard in the belly.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Hart said, keeping his voice low. ‘Ain’t nothin’ goin ’to happen to you.’

  Reardon looked far from convinced.

  ‘I just want to talk. Nothin ’more.’

  Reardon tried to move and Hart released the pressure of his hands sufficiently to allow the cattleman to straighten on to his back but no more.

  ‘You give me your word you ain’t goin’ to shout out, I’ll take this hand off n your mouth.’

  Reardon tried to nod.

  ‘I got your word?’

  The head moved slightly; the eyes said he had.

  Hart slowly slid his hand away and straightened his back. The room smelt of sweat and the aftermath of an evening’s heavy drinking. Reardon pushed himself up into a sitting position in the bed, his breathing rough and uncertain.

  ‘He didn’t come for the train,’ Hart said flatly.

  ‘That weren’t our fault.’

  ‘Didn’t say it was.’

  ‘He got more’n half-way drunk and feelin’ randy and someone said something about a big poker game.’ Reardon shook his head. ‘That boy does love his gambling.’

  ‘You sure that’s where he went?’

  ‘Yes. He took a couple of girls and said he was going to double what he’d just made in our deal. Made one of the men with him go and order rooms at the Palace.’

  Hart nodded; he’d noticed the hotel down the street as they’d come from the station. ‘There’s no way he could’ve changed his mind and hired horses and ridden out?’

  ‘The way he was feelin’? He’d’ve fallen off his horse for sure unless they’d roped him on.’ Reardon shifted in the bed, plumping the pillow up behind him. ‘Besides, he wasn’t quitting that game. Or them two women.’

  ‘What are his plans, Reardon?’

  ‘There’s a train tomorrow night. Not so direct, he’ll have to break his journey, but it’s that or a three-day wait.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll do that?’ suggested Hart, thinking how difficult it would be for the Rangers to remain under cover and out of Hardin’s way for that length of time.

  But Reardon was shaking his head. ‘He sent someone down to the station to change the tickets. Said something about other business.’ An idea
caught at the back of Reardon’s mind and he couldn’t shake it. It showed in his face.

  ‘What is it?’ Hart asked.

  ‘You ain’t going to wait, are you? You’re going to take him here in town. At this hotel.’

  Hart shook his head. He’d been thinking the very same thing himself and as an idea it had a lot to commend it. Especially if Hardin was getting over a hangover and his reactions would be dulled. But lawmen had tried to get the drop on him in town before and each time there’d been enough extra guns around for him to fight his way out. Besides, drunk or sober, he expected trouble in town. Hart was positive he did so even now that he was J.W. Swain and he was a successful businessman. He guessed that Hardin was always ready in hotel rooms and bars, however drunk he might seem to those around him. And in town there were too many possibilities of escape.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘we’re stickin’ to our plan. Just as long as he is. We’ll take him on the train.’

  Reardon nodded, wiped his head, reached towards the glass of water beside his bed.

  Two more things,’ said Hart.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘How many men with him, two or three?’

  ‘Four.’

  Hart repeated the number aloud. It was one more than they’d reckoned on and it might mean that Hardin was feeling suspicious and expecting some kind of trouble.

  ‘Names?’ he said.

  ‘There’s a young feller called Mann. Jim Mann. Don’t look a lot more than a boy. Daley Carson, he’s been with him before. The other two were called Mason and Masters, something close to that.’

  None of the names meant anything to Hart. ‘Where was he wearing his gun?’ he asked.

  Reardon had to think.

  ‘You must have

  ‘He wasn’t wearing a gun-belt, I’m sure of that. No. No, I didn’t see a weapon, unless...’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘The whole evening, he didn’t take off his coat.’

  ‘A shoulder holster, then?’

  ‘It’s possible. I couldn’t swear to it, but, yes, it’s possible.’

  Hart nodded. ‘How ’bout the others?’

  ‘The youngster, he was wearing a gun tied to his leg. I’m certain of that. Shiny leather holster like he’d bought it here in town. Carson the same, almost for sure. I think Mason and Masters weren’t armed.’

  ‘All right.’ He pointed a finger at Reardon. ‘When are you leaving town?’

  ‘First thing. Well, after breakfast. Caldicott and I are meeting in the dining room and then we’re set to leave. Don’t you worry about that.’

  Hart was worrying about quite a few things, but that wasn’t one of them. He warned Reardon to keep his mouth closed, even to his partner, and left the room the same way he’d entered.

  Lamar was waiting below. ‘He’s still here, ain’t he?’

  Hart nodded.

  ‘Why don’t we take him? I mean now. You an’ me. We could do it.’

  Hart shook his head. ‘Maybe we could. That ain’t the point.’

  ‘No?’ Lamar stopped him. ‘What is?’

  Hart made to go round him, but the bearded man thrust himself in the way. ‘You realize what it’d mean? If we took John Wesley Hardin?’

  Hart set a hand on Lamar’s shoulder. ‘If we tried and struck lucky – an’ that’s a hell of a big if – the only thing it’d mean would be a reputation. The man who took John Wesley Hardin. You want to live with that? Think about it, Lamar. You’d be the target for every young punk out to make a name for himself. Every drunk who thinks he’s the fastest gun in town. Besides ...’he tightened his grip on the man’s arm you’ve already got enough to brag about.’

  Lamar shrugged Hart’s hand away. There was a lot of sense in what Hart said and he knew it without wanting to admit that it was true. Added to which they both knew that Captain Armstrong was determined to make the arrest himself. He hadn’t left his desk and dragged his bad leg all the way to Florida to sit back while two of his men stepped out of line and took his prize away from him.

  The two men went back to the station and told Armstrong what they knew. He sent Keogh in to confirm that a Mister Swain was registered at the Palace Hotel. Then he paid a visit to the station master and arranged that as far as possible the coach Hardin was boarding would be clear of other passengers. After that it was just a matter of waiting.

  ~*~

  Hardin had dinner in the hotel and settled down to play a few hands of five-card stud before it was time to stroll down the street towards the station. His headache and the ache in his gut had both left him and he was in good humor. Even dropping thirty dollars to young Jimmy Mann didn’t upset him too much. Mann played cards the way he did everything - fast and anxious. Hands reached out and grabbed the cards before they hit the table, his bid was out of his mouth before everyone else had sorted their deal. The expression of excitement that so readily came to his face didn’t give anything away. Jim Mann was capable of getting excited about a pair of threes and nothing else.

  ‘You want Masters an’ me to walk down the station, check things out?’ asked Mason edgily.

  ‘What the hell for?’ demanded Hardin. ‘Case someone’s stolen the train?’

  Jim Mann laughed; Mason didn’t. He was as nervous as a cat on heat.

  ‘What’s eatin’ you?’ Hardin asked, not appreciating anyone else being worried when he was feeling good.

  Mason shrugged, sat down, stood up again, walked around the table.

  ‘Go and get yourself a drink. Get laid. Do something to steady them nerves of yours. Anyone’d think you ain’t never ridden a train before.’

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ Jimmy Mann offered, ‘he didn’t get laid last night.’

  ‘And you did, I suppose?’ retorted Mason, rubbing his hands together.

  ‘You bet!’ called Mann and dropped one of his cards. He’d been the only one of them to have slept alone and he guessed they knew it.

  ‘Never mind, kid,’ said Hardin, pushing the bottle in his direction. ‘You concentrate on this hand. I got about fifteen minutes to win that money back.’

  ~*~

  ‘All right,’ said Armstrong, ‘let’s go over it one last time.’ The men gathered inside the freight depot looked and listened. It was half an hour before the train was due to pull out.

  ‘Wes, you and Keogh take an end of the car each. You seal it off as soon as Hardin and his party are on board. Any other passengers try to get on, you steer ’em well clear. And watch out for anyone trying to get off. Lamar, when you’ve seen Ollie an’ me make our move towards the coach, give us time to get on and then get yourself in from the other end. Make it fast, make it quiet and don’t make it too soon.’

  Lamar nodded, shifted his weight on to his other foot.

  ‘O’Reilly, you stay by this door, watch the platform. Anyone manages to get past Wes and Keogh and they don’t get past you. That understood?’

  It was.

  ‘Questions?’

  ‘What if a couple of the men with him hang back? Around the diner or something.’ It was Hart’s question.

  ‘Use your judgment. If they look as if they’re goin’ to hold off for some time, then we’ll go ahead and you’ll have to watch both ways. If it starts to look difficult, signal to O’Reilly for help.’

  Hart seemed satisfied. No one else had any questions. Captain Armstrong checked his watch. ‘Let’s get to our positions,’ he said.

  ~*~

  Hardin was wearing a dark three-piece suit with a short-brimmed hat and black boots inside his pants. He carried a small case under his left arm. His .44 was in a holster attached to his suspenders, the butt almost poking out from the lapel of his jacket. Before leaving the hotel he’d automatically checked the load and spun the chamber.

  ‘Expectin’ trouble?’ asked Mason, whose jumpiness had failed to subside.

  Hardin shook his handsome head. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘An’ neither should you be. Why don’t you relax and enjoy the
trip? We can play a few hands as we pull out.’

  Jim Mann grinned and vowed how he was going to take them all for every cent they had. All five men were still laughing about that when they entered the station. They walked past the booking office and out on to the center of the platform. The train had pulled in some ten minutes before. Daley Carson pointed along to the small diner. ‘Shall I get a bottle?’ he asked.

  ‘I already got a bottle,’ said Masters.

  ‘Me too,’ said Hardin.

  Carson still hesitated. ‘I guess I’ll get another. We got a long journey.’

  ‘Okay,’ agreed Hardin, starting to move towards the train. ‘Only hurry it up, we don’t want to leave without you.’

  ‘Yeah,’ called Jim Mann, ‘nor your money, neither.’

  Daley Carson shook his head and went off to get his bottle of whiskey. The other four men wandered along the platform and the station master stepped over and intercepted them.

  ‘Mister Swain, sir?’

  ‘What is it?’ Hardin broke his stride.

  ‘There’s a coach up towards the engine for you and your party, sir. You can have a little privacy up there. As far as your next stop, anyway.’

  Hardin looked at the man’s beady eyes peering out from beneath the peak of his uniform cap. The light from the kerosene lantern hanging overhead cast sharp shadows on the boards.

  ‘Okay,’ said Hardin, ‘you show us the way.’

  The railroad man walked ten yards and stopped by the couplings between two coaches. ‘Here you are, Mister Swain.’

  Hardin nodded and sent Masters and Mason ahead. Mason called out that it was okay to board, but Hardin was already on the iron steps.

  ‘I hope you’ll travel with us again, sir,’ said the station master, trying not to back away too quickly.

  Hardin swung his head, ignoring the man in uniform and looking back along the platform for Carson. Between himself and the diner, a man and woman were sauntering alongside the train; another man, wearing a white suit and hat, was climbing on board lower down. There was a pile of freight waiting to be loaded.