by Ralph Cotton
Stone stopped with a jolt and looked at the man.
“What did you say?” he asked in an almost menacing tone.
The hostler looked frightened.
“I didn’t mean nothing, Sheriff,” he said. “I heard some men had mamas do them the same way, they come up just fine. Some men just don’t grow out of it—”
“Stop!” Stone said, almost shouted. “I mean the dove he was with. Who was she?”
“It was Mae Rose, the one with the little freckles across her nose.”
“Are you sure?” Stone asked, reaching a hand out to steady himself on a stall rail.
“Sure as I can be,” said the hostler. “I rented her a horse earlier. She came back for it and they rode away together, except she rode his bay and he rode the rental.”
Sam saw the affect this was having on Stone. He watched and listened closely.
“Did you hear them talking?” Stone asked, his face suddenly grim and ashen.
“No, I never heard them say a word,” the hostler replied with a shrug. “They were riding out the back door when I came in the side door from the corral—but I saw them, sure enough.”
Stone lowered his head and shook it slowly.
“Of all damnedest things,” he murmured under his breath.
“Can I do something for him?” the hostler asked, looking at Sam.
Sam only nodded him toward the door. The bowlegged man took the hint and turned and waddled away.
“All right, Sheriff, what’s going on?” he said to Stone.
“This woman. Mae Rose is a personal friend of mine, Ranger,” Stone said. “She wouldn’t have gone off with Rudabaugh unless he forced her to.”
Here we go, Sam told himself, knowing how hard it could be getting information out of Stone.
“Why would he force her to go with him?” he asked, sensing there was more to the story.
“You heard the hostler. Rudabaugh thinks he’s a stud. Probably doesn’t know it’s all make-believe to these doves. He might have saw her traveling alone and moved in like a panther—gets her out there alone and does whatever suits him.”
Sam studied his face, seeing there was more to it.
“There’s more, Sheriff,” he pressed. “What is it?”
Stone cleared his mind with a deep breath.
“I gave her some money to get out of here before the fighting started. If Centrila finds out she’s a friend of mine, he’ll use her to get to me. She don’t deserve that.”
Sam considered it for a moment.
“Just how close a friend is she?” he asked.
Stone gave him a cool gaze.
“I need to ask, Sheriff,” Sam said. “I remember how it was riding with you and Sheriff Deluna hunting down Bo Anson and his bunch. I don’t like learning things a drop at a time. So tell me everything right now. I don’t want a surprise around every turn.”
Stone thought about it and nodded.
“You’re right, Ranger,” he said. “I’m bad about letting out information—but I’m getting better at it.” He fished a cough drop from a fresh pack in his shirt pocket and popped it into his mouth. “Mae Rose and I are just good friends,” he lied. “You remember Sheriff Maynard Rossi, used to be over in Tumbling Creek?”
“Sort of,” Sam said. “He got killed about the time I came into law work.”
“Well, he was a friend of mine,” Stone said. “Mae Rose Rossi is his daughter.”
Sam just looked at him, not knowing what to say.
Stone eyed Sam.
“It’s the truth,” he said. “She showed up here over a year ago, working as a dove. I hadn’t seen her since she was a child. I couldn’t talk her out of the sporting life, so I’ve tried to look out for her any way I can—hoped someday she’d come to her senses.”
“And that’s all?” Sam asked. “She’s Maynard Rossi’s daughter, a friend and nothing else.”
“That’s the whole of it, Ranger,” Stone said. He pulled a match from his shirt pocket, struck it and lit the cigarette. “Satisfied?” he asked.
“Satisfied,” Sam said. He walked to the open rear door and searched the layers of hoofprints in the dirt. As he did so, Stone walked to the side door and summoned the hostler back inside.
“Are all your rental horses still wearing Star Brand shoes?” he asked.
“Yes, they are,” the hostler said. “That way we can track them down by that raised star emblem if we have to.” He turned and took a dusty horseshoe down from a nail on the wall and handed it to Stone. The sheriff only glanced at it and pitched it to Sam as he turned from the door and walked back inside. “Here’s who we’re looking for,” he said.
“I know,” said Sam. He examined the horseshoe and looked at the ground inside the door, seeing the deeper imprint of a star, the same as the raised star on the shoe in his hand. “These same prints are heading out to the hill trails.” He gestured toward the sand flats, and beyond toward the distant hill lines.
“You know I’ve got to find her,” Stone said. “Rudabaugh will find that money on her—it’s just his detective nature. He’ll take it from her and kill her. That’s his nature too. I don’t have to see the future to know that.”
“I understand,” Sam said quietly. “I’m riding with you.”
The two gathered their horses and left without delay, filling their canteens from a wooden bucket of fresh water. They rode at a gallop, in a silence of dread for the first three miles, following the two horses’ tracks across the sand flats. They only slowed the animals enough to pay respect to the steep dangerous trail as the animals climbed upward in the heat of the day.
At the fork in the trail, they stopped and looked down, seeing the hoofprints lead on up into the rugged hills.
“This is bad,” Stone said, studying the trail ahead. “She was headed to Secondary to catch a stage.”
Sam saw boot prints on the ground and swung down to take a closer look. He saw the trace of blood on the fist-sized rock and stooped and picked it up for Stone to see. Stone’s jaw tightened in anger.
Sam saw the glint of metal in the rocks off the trail and walked over to find the Navy Colt. He walked back toward Sheriff Stone, dusting it off.
“I gave her that gun, Ranger,” Stone said. He took the gun and noted it had been fired four times. “That’s my gal,” he said in a tortured voice. “She must’ve fought him till the end.”
His gal?
“Don’t give up hope, Sheriff,” Sam said. “There’s a chance she’s alive.”
“I know,” Stone said. He shoved the Navy Colt down behind his belt and stepped up into his saddle. “Ranger, I lied to you earlier,” he said in a lowered tone. “Mae Rose and I are a lot closer than friends.”
“You mean the two of you . . . ?” Sam let his words trail.
“Yep, that’s what I mean. She’s my gal,” said Stone, gazing away as he spoke. “I didn’t realize it until I heard myself say it. But she is. She wanted me to go away with her—I turned her down.” He paused, then said, “I should be ashamed of myself, at my age . . . her being my friend Maynard Rossi’s daughter.” He shook his head. “I’m a damn fool, ain’t I?”
“You’re full of surprises,” Sam said, “I’ll give you that. As for being a fool, yes, probably so.”
Stone cocked his head toward him.
“She’s your gal and you care about her. What else is there to consider? If you’re bothered by what Maynard Rossi would think, ask yourself if he’d be happier knowing that his daughter’s a dove than knowing that she’s with you.”
Stone let out a breath.
“He wouldn’t be, would he?” he said.
“If he would, he’d be the fool, not you,” Sam said as the two turned their horses to the trail. “Anything else you want to tell me, Sheriff?” he said sidelong to Stone.
“No,” Stone said, “I believe that about squares us up, Ranger. If I think of anything else I’ll let you know.” He stared straight ahead.
“Obliged,” Sam said, also staring straight ahead beside him. They nudged their horses up into a gallop.
And they rode on.
Part 4
Chapter 19
Harper Centrila and Lon Bartow rode into the stony front yard of the hideout with Silas Rudabaugh riding in front of them. Bartow led the gray rental horse beside him. Harper still had the woman riding slumped on his back, her wrists tied around his waist. Seeing them ride in, Edsel Centrila stood up from the blanket-covered porch swing and stepped forward. He spread his hands and leaned on the porch rail. A cigar stood clenched in his teeth.
“The hell are you doing, Harper?” he said as the Cady brothers and the other gunmen gathered in the yard. “You know better than to ever bring anybody here.”
“Take it easy, Papa Edsel,” Harper said. “This gal has been knocked out all day. If you see the back of her head, you’ll know why.”
Edsel leaned and looked the woman up and down as best he could, able to see part of the bloody bandage on her right shoulder.
“What happened to her?” No sooner had he asked than he looked at Rudabaugh and saw his bloody bandages too. Rudabaugh still held a blood-blackened bandanna against his half an ear. “What happened to you?” he said.
“They done this to each other, the best we can find out,” Harper said. “Silas shot her, said she shot him first.” He shrugged. “It could have been a lovers’ spat. She’s one of your doves. He was getting ready to head-pop her when Lon and I rode up to them on a hillside. Ain’t that right, Lon?” he said over his shoulder.
“Right as rain,” Bartow put in. He grinned; Edsel Centrila just looked at him sourly.
“A lovers’ spat? With one of my doves?” Edsel said in a raised voice. He jerked the cigar from his mouth, giving Rudabaugh a cold, stiff look. “What’re you doing diddling one of my doves in the desert? Have you and your men taken care of Sheppard Stone yet?”
Harper looked down, shook his head and gave a little chuff at his father’s question. Rudabaugh mumbled something inaudible and looked down at his saddle horn.
Edsel jerked his head back toward Harper.
“Did I say something funny here?” Edsel snapped at his son.
“No, sir, Papa Edsel, you surely did not,” Harper said. He raised a boot from his stirrup and pulled a knife from its well. “Go on and answer him, Silas,” he said to Rudabaugh. “Papa Edsel might make some sense of it. I sure didn’t.” He gestured the Cady brothers to him, then stuck the knife blade under the rope holding the woman against him and sliced through it. Ignacio Cady rushed in just in time, reached up and eased Mae Rose down into his arms. He turned and carried her toward the house, his brother, Lyle, right beside him.
Edsel stared at Rudabaugh.
“Where’s the others?” he demanded.
“They’re dead, Edsel,” Rudabaugh said, shame-faced. “They acted outside my orders. There was a big shooting. The sheriff killed them, all three.”
All three dead?
Edsel stared at him for a moment as if in disbelief.
“Get down and get over here, Silas,” he finally demanded. “I want to know what’s been going on.”
Feeling all eyes on him, Silas Rudabaugh swung down from his saddle and walked up onto the porch.
Charlie Knapp, who’d been standing listening, looked down at the hoofprints leading into the yard. As Rudabaugh stepped onto the porch with his bandanna against his maimed ear, Knapp cursed under his breath.
“Edsel, you might want to take a look at this,” he called out to the porch. He stepped over to the gray, lifted its front hoof and inspected its shoe. The men gathered around. Bartow and Harper stepped down from their saddles and also looked at the gray’s upturned shoe.
“Jesus,” said Harper as his father walked over quickly from the front porch. He looked down at the clearly marked hoofprints in the dirt, then back at the raised star on the horse’s shoe.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it to hell!” shouted Edsel, shoving his way through the men to the horse’s side. He glared at Harper. “You might as well have raised a flag!”
Harper gritted his teeth, staring at the telltale hoofprints leading out to the trail and beyond, all the way back to the fork along the rocky hillside.
“This is Silas’ doings, Papa Edsel,” he said, glaring at Rudabaugh still standing up on the porch, holding the bandanna to his half an ear. “He brought this to us.”
“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is now,” Edsel said. “The fact is anybody who comes looking for you can track this cayuse to your doorstep! I didn’t get you broke out to see you hang.” He looked at the gray, then all around. “Everybody gather their rolls. We’re riding out of here.”
“To where?” said Harper. “For how long?”
“To Big Silver,” said Edsel. “For as long as it takes to find out what kind of shenanigans this fool has pulled.” He pointed at Rudabaugh, who hung his head in shame. “And to get Sheriff Stone dead and in the ground,” Edsel added.
“I was part of this,” Harper said. “For the time being Lon and I can’t be seen in town anyway with this jailbreak hanging over us.” He nodded at the prints in the dirt. “We’ll stick here and ride out come morning, drag some brush over the hoofprints. We’ll sweep the trail clean.”
“You two do that, Harper,” said Edsel, without having to give it any thought. “Then sit still here until we get all this settled.” He raised a finger for emphasis. “Do not ride into town again. You’re lucky you made it out last time.”
“You’ve got it, Papa Edsel,” said Harper.
The men moved away toward their gear and horses; Edsel walked briskly to the porch and bounded up the short steps. Rudabaugh stood beside the swing, waiting for him.
“All right, Silas, give it to me,” Edsel said in an impatient tone. “Who’s the dove and what were you two doing out on the desert?”
“Her name is Mae Rose, I learned from the gals upstairs. I caught her with a lot of gold coins on her. I figured she stole the money from the brothel. We got in a fight over it.”
“Hold it,” said Edsel. “How much time were you spending with the gals upstairs?”
“Not a lot,” said Rudabaugh. Hoping to edge away from the subject, he said, “I was mostly too busy keeping an eye on the bartenders, making sure they don’t rob you blind.”
“Rob me blind, Phil and Ellis Jones?” said Edsel. “Listen to me, you damn washed-out stock detective. The Joneses are two of the most trusted bartenders this side of Salt Lake City. They’re instructed to keep tabs on every dollar that comes in or goes out of the Silver Palace. They can tell me how many times you raised a glass to your lips, how many times you went up those stairs, and with whom.” Cigar in hand, he poked his finger into Rudabaugh’s chest. Ashes fell to the toes of the worried gunman’s boots.
“I—I figured drinks were on the house, me being the manager so to speak,” Rudabaugh said, not about to mention all the times he’d spent with the doves.
“Manager . . . so to speak?” said Edsel, squinting, having a hard time even comprehending such a ridiculous notion. “I never said the word manager. You must have gotten that in your head all on your own. I told you to keep an eye on the place—meant, don’t let the crowd get too rowdy.” He paused and stared hard at Rudabaugh. “How bad is it going to look when the Jones brothers show me your saloon tab?” he asked in a low, menacing tone.
“Well . . .” Rudabaugh swallowed a knot in his throat. “Had I realized you didn’t mean I was the manager, so to speak, I would have done different—”
“Wait,” said Edsel, holding up a hand, stopping him. “Don’t tell me now. I’ve got too much on my mind. Get yourself cleaned up.” He jerked his head toward
the weathered house. “I want to get to town and hear from the Joneses.”
As Rudabaugh walked inside, Charlie Knapp led his and Edsel’s horses around from a rope corral.
“Charlie, didn’t you tell me you know of a game path down from here without using the main trail?” he asked.
“Yep, I do,” Knapp said. “It’s steep and skittish.” He studied Edsel’s face as he spoke. “But it’ll get us down to the sand flats without anybody knowing we were here.”
“Good work, Charlie,” Edsel said. “That’s just the way I want it.” He puffed on his cigar and blew out a stream of smoke. “You know, I’m mulling it over,” he added with a reflective expression. “I’m glad Silas and the others didn’t kill Sheppard Stone after all. I’m thinking now that that’s something I want to carry out on my own, you know . . . just to watch him die?” He gave a cruel, dark grin and chuckled under his breath. “They say no payback ever feels as good as one you make for yourself.”
“I hear you, Edsel,” Knapp said boldly. “But you might want me around when you do it, just in case.” He patted the big Colt holstered on his hip.
“Yes, of course, Charlie,” Edsel said. “I believe that goes without saying.” He lifted two glasses from the table beside the swing, handed one to Knapp and filled them both from a bottle of bourbon. “To killing Sheppard Stone,” he said, the two lifting their glasses in a toast.
• • •
The Ranger and Sheriff Stone had followed the two sets of tracks to the fork in the trail. They stopped when they saw that the set of hooves wearing Star Brand shoes turned away to the right in the direction of Secondary. The other hoofprints seemed to vanish altogether.
“She was headed for Secondary,” Stone said as the two stepped down from their saddles to rest their horses. “Rudabaugh must’ve gotten that out of her.”
Sam nodded, looking all around, and at the clear, clean trail ahead of them up the hillside.
“He must’ve figured it out about the raised star,” he said quietly. “Wonder if he thought we wouldn’t notice the other horse disappeared?” He stooped and examined the star hoofprints closer, laying his fingertips in the indentation as if measuring their depth. Then he followed the tracks with his eyes as they led away to the right of the fork. “There’s no rider on this horse,” he said almost to himself.