by Ralph Cotton
“What? Let me see,” said Stone, stooping down beside him as Sam raised his fingertips from the hoofprint. “You’ve got a tracker’s eye, Ranger,” Stone said.
Sam didn’t appear to hear him as he stood up and walked a few steps along the upward trail. He stopped and looked down at the clear, undisturbed dirt.
Stone caught up and stood beside him.
“Nice try,” Sam murmured toward the distant hilltops above them.
“You figure he swept this trail?” Stone said, looking up the rock trail with him.
“Not a doubt in my mind, somebody did,” the Ranger said. He turned and walked back to the horses, reconstructing the event as Stone walked alongside him. “I’m speculating there’s a place up there somebody doesn’t want to be found. The rental horse was sent on its way down the trail toward Secondary to throw off anybody following that raised star on its shoes.”
“Yeah, I agree,” Stone said.
“I’m figuring the rental horse won’t go far on its own,” Sam said, the two of them stepping back up into their saddles. “It’s used to riding with other horses. Let’s follow its trail a little ways just in case we’re being watched from up there. We’ll find a path somewhere and cut back farther up.”
“Sounds right to me,” Stone said.
The two turned their horses to the right in the direction of Secondary. Yet they had only ridden a mile or less when they spotted the gray rental horse plodding toward them at a slow walk, its head lowered.
“Good call, Ranger,” Stone said. He looked Sam up and down and said, “You’re not starting to see things before they happen, are you?”
Sam just looked at him.
Stone gave a dark little chuckle as the gray drew nearer. When it was close enough, he reached out and picked its reins up from where they had been wrapped loosely around its saddle horn. With the gray in tow, the two lawmen veered off the trail and rode along the lower scrub and sand sloops until they found a slim rocky path leading back up to a higher point along the main trail.
Riding upward, they passed two dust-covered bundles of dry brush that had been cast aside. They saw two sets of hoofprints appear as if out of nowhere and lead upward toward the two large rocks towering above the hill trails.
“We’re getting onto something up there,” Sam said sidelong to the sheriff, without taking his eyes off the towering rocks. “Do you want the trail or the rocks?”
Leading the gray, Stone said, “You go ahead. I’ll keep this trail covered.”
• • •
Atop one of the tall rocks above the trail, Lon Bartow lay prone, looking down at Sheriff Stone through a telescope as the lawman rode into sight, leading the rental horse beside him. On the other side of the rock behind him, Harper Centrila sat reloading his rifle, having just given it a good cleaning.
“Here comes Sheriff Sheppard Stone himself,” Bartow said over his shoulder. “Looks like he didn’t fall for our ruse with the rental horse.”
Harper finished loading the rifle quickly and hurried forward in a low crouch.
“Damn it,” he said, “after all the work we did sweeping this trail?” He looked back and forth, then down at Stone with his naked eyes. The sheriff looked small and unclear from such a distance. “I don’t want to let him up into our hideout.”
“He’s going to be a long, hard shot from up here,” Bartow said in a cautioning tone. “We only get one shot. If we miss he can clear out—come back to call on us any time he pleases.” With that said, he laid down his telescope down and started to pick up his rifle lying beside him.
“Huh-uh, hold up, Lon,” Harper said, stopping him. “Keep him in your lens. I’ll go down close and make that one shot count. I’ve been wanting to kill this knot-head for a long time for all the trouble he’s caused me.”
“You sure about this?” Bartow asked. “Don’t get in range of his Colt. He knows how to make it bite.”
“I’ve got him, Lon,” said Harper. “Follow him up in your lens, then come on down if you want to see it up close.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Bartow said, raising his telescope back up to his eye, adjusting it onto the sheriff. “I always enjoy watching good rifle work.”
“Suit yourself,” Harper said. He moved backward across the top of the rock and slid down ten feet to where the rock stood stuck deep into the hillside. Then he moved quickly and quietly down through a maze of rock and brush. After twenty minutes of working his way downward, he reached a point where he could see Stone at a distance of three hundred yards. He dropped down behind a rock and lay waiting, watching, clean rifle in hand.
But when Stone left his sight at a wide turn in the trail and didn’t come back out, he looked all around. On the rocky hillside behind him he looked up as a small rock broke loose and bounced down a few yards and stopped.
“Over here, Lon,” he said, keeping his voice down. “Get on down here. When he gets back in sight, we’ll both shoot him at once.”
“Not today,” said a voice behind him. Harper jerked his head around quickly and saw the Ranger standing atop a rock less than thirty feet away, his big Colt raised, cocked and pointed at him.
“Well . . . Ranger,” Harper said, trying to gain his composure, hoping to stall for a second, then swing his rifle into play. “I have to say, I’m surprised to see—”
The loud blast of the Ranger’s Colt cut him short. The bullet hammered him high in the right side of his chest and sent him rolling and bouncing backward down the rocky hillside, almost into Sheriff Stone’s arms. Stone stepped out, rifle in hand, from behind a rock as Sam’s single shot resounded. He looked down at Harper lying sprawled on the dusty trail. Then he looked up at the Ranger and nodded.
“Anybody else up there?” he asked the Ranger.
“Lonnie Bartow, another jailbreaker,” Sam said, picking his footing, stepping down among the rocks. “He’s cuffed around a scrub pine—it’ll be a while before he knows it, though.”
They stood looking down at Harper, who lay writhing and moaning in the dirt.
“I’m riding on up there,” Stone said, staring up the trail, “see if Mae Rose is there.” He pitched a pair of cuffs to the Ranger and started walking toward his horse and gray that he’d hidden out of sight.
“She’s . . . not up there,” Harper said to the Ranger when the sheriff was out of sight.
“Where is she, then?” Sam asked offhandedly, not making it sound too important. He bent over Harper and drew his wrists together and cuffed him.
“She’s with . . . Papa Edsel,” he said. “Her and Rudabaugh tried to kill each other. She took a bullet . . . put three in him.”
“Good for her. How’s she doing?” Sam asked.
“She’s okay,” said Harper. “She won’t be working her trade for a few days.”
“Where are they headed?” Sam asked.
“You figure it out,” Harper said in defiance.
“I will, once we get you behind bars,” Sam said.
“You might think I’m done,” Harper said. “But I’m not. . . . Ranger, you’ll see.” His voice was strong but pain-filled. “One gunshot don’t slow me down.”
“Keep talking, Harper,” Sam said. “I’ll shoot you again. Those dead wagon guards were friends of mine.”
When he’d dragged Harper over beside the trail, he heard Stone’s horse coming back down toward them at a gallop. Seeing the look on the sheriff’s face as he slid his horse to a halt, Sam stepped in and kept him from going straight to where Harper sat in the dirt.
“Out of my way, Ranger. Mae Rose is not up there. I’m going to start chopping pieces off him till he tells me where she is—”
“Easy, Stone,” Sam cautioned him, keeping his voice lowered so Harper wouldn’t hear them. “She’s with his pa and his men. He just told me everything.”
“He did?” Stone
gave him a puzzled look. “Then he doesn’t know Mae Rose and I are . . . ?” He let his words trail.
“No, he doesn’t know it,” Sam said. “And let’s hope Edsel Centrila doesn’t find out. He’ll use her to get Harper set free.”
“I will set him free before I’ll let something happen to Mae Rose,” Stone said. “I’ll let you know that straight up, Ranger.”
Sam nodded. He studied the hard resolve in the sheriff’s face as if considering his reply.
“I understand,” he said finally.
“What kind of shape is she in?” Stone asked.
“Harper told me she’s got a bullet wound, but nothing too serious,” Sam said. “Let’s keep everything to ourselves and get on to town. I’ve got a feeling that’s where they’ve taken her.”
Chapter 20
The day-drinking crowd had fallen off a little at the Silver Palace until shopkeepers, tradesmen and businessmen caught sight of Edsel Centrila and his band of gunmen riding into town. Riding between Edsel and Charlie Knapp, Mae Rose Rossi sat atop Lyle Cady’s horse. Behind the rest of the men the Cady brothers sat double on Ignacio’s horse. Rudabaugh and Donald Ferry rode side by side, but had nothing to say to each other. Behind them rode Bob Remick and his cousin, Trent Baye, the two riflemen who’d guarded the hideout from the towering rocks above the trail.
At the hitch rail out in front of the saloon, Edsel stepped down and handed his reins to Ellis Jones, who’d seen them coming and rushed out onto the boardwalk to greet the new owner.
“Welcome to your Silver Palace, Mr. Centrila,” the younger of the Jones brothers called out, spreading his arms wide. His black hair had been well oiled and had a severe part down the center of his head. “And welcome one and all!” he said to the others, as well as to the townsmen who now came to join the crowd. He turned his arms as if to sweep the men inside. “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?” he asked.
Edsel jerked his head toward Charlie Knapp and Mae Rose as Knapp helped her down from the saddle.
“Yeah, help my man get this woman inside,” he said. Then he asked, “She is one of ours, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is indeed, Mr. Centrila,” Ellis said, already stepping over to assist Knapp with the woman. Mae Rose tried to brush them both away. But Ellis stepped in close and supported her arm and said close to her ear, “What are you doing leaving without even telling anybody?”
Mae Rose just stared at him.
Ellis noted the bandaging on her shoulder.
“What’s happened to you anyway?” he asked. “You’re a mess. Look at you!”
Mae Rose didn’t answer. She looked past him in the direction of the sheriff’s office.
“Do you know where her room is?” Edsel asked the young bartender.
“Yes, I do,” Ellis said, he and Knapp both supporting her, one at each arm.
“Take her up there,” said Edsel. “Keep her there while I talk to your brother. I’ll be on up.” He gave a proud smile as he stretched his back and looked all around and said, “Now, then, let me take a look at my new saloon.” He inspected the newly painted facade, the striking new signs hanging high above the doors.
While Ellis Jones and Charlie Knapp accompanied Mae Rose inside the saloon and up the stairs, the Cady brothers, along with Bob Remick and Trent Baye, stayed close around Edsel Centrila as he walked back and forth admiring his new business interest.
“What do you want me to do, boss?” Rudabaugh asked, standing off to the side.
The smile faded from Edsel’s face. He walked briskly past Rudabaugh into the saloon.
“Follow me,” he said gruffly.
Remick and Baye gave Rudabaugh a thin, smug grin.
“After you, Silas,” said Remick. They allowed him in front of them as they followed their leader inside the Silver Palace. Instead of walking to the crowded bar where all eyes had turned toward him, Centrila lifted his hat in a salute and walked to the table at the side window.
“Everybody gets a drink on me, Phil,” he called out to the bar where Phillip Jones stood busily filling glasses and beer mugs.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Centrila!” the bartender called out amid the cheers and applause of the drinkers.
On the stairs, Ellis Jones bounded down and hurried over to the window table. At the top of the stairs, Rita Spool and five other doves stood lined along the banister, poising seductively for the new owner and the drinkers at the bar. Rudabaugh looked down as if trying not to be seen.
“What may I serve you, Mr. Centrila?” Ellis asked, his hands folded at his abdomen. Black garters rounded his white shirtsleeves at the elbows. Sweat made the shirt cling to his chest, his shoulders and back.
“Go take over the bar for Phil,” Centrila said, taking quick charge of the place. “Tell Phil to bring his pocket ledger over here—have him bring a couple bottles of rye and some glasses.”
“Yes, sir,” said Ellis, “right away.” He turned sharply on his heel and hurried over behind the bar.
The gunmen against the wall on either side of the window looked at Rudabaugh, who stood on the opposite side of the table from Centrila. Rudabaugh swallowed a tight knot in his throat and stood in silence; Edsel sat sprawled, cigar in hand, staring intently at him.
In only a moment, Phil the bartender set a tray with two fresh bottles of rye and several clean shot glasses on it. He quickly opened the first bottle and filled glasses all around. Rough hands reached in and claimed the glasses and raised them. Centrila raised a glass of his own. Rudabaugh took a glass of rye but only held it to his chest.
Phil Jones stood back as the men took their drink.
“Now, then, Phil,” said Edsel, “let’s take a look at what kind of tab Silas here has run up for himself.” He stared at Rudabaugh as he spoke.
“Here we are, sir,” said Phil. He produced a small leather-bound pad from his hip pocket and flipped it open and laid it in front of Edsel Centrila. The new owner studied the page regarding the brothel and studied the figures for a moment. Satisfied, he turned to a page and half of amounts listed under Rudabaugh’s name. He let out a low whistle. The gunmen gave each other a look and masked their elation. Rudabaugh slumped and looked worried.
“Silas . . . Silas,” Centrila shook his head. “You’ve managed to run up a drinking and sporting tab of seven hundred and forty-seven dollars—most of it on sporting,” he added, giving a nod toward the women lined along the upstairs banister. “I’m amazed you’re able to walk upright.”
The men stifled a dark laugh.
“Holy Joseph,” Rudabaugh whispered. He swallowed hard again; he raised his glass to his lips and drained it. When he set it down he said, “Edsel, I’m going to pay you. I swear I am.”
“Of course you are,” Centrila said. He closed the pocket ledger and slid it to Phillip Jones. Then he stood and walked across the saloon and started up the stairs. He summoned Ellis Jones from behind the bar to join him. Ellis and the gunmen hurried to catch up to him. They followed him up the stairs and down the long hallway to where Charlie Knapp motioned them to Mae Rose’s room. Rudabaugh kept his face down as the doves stared coldly at him.
“You’re going to be working for me the next three years for free, Silas,” Centrila said over his shoulder. The men held their laughter to themselves.
• • •
Mae Rose sat slumped on a wooden straight-back chair in the middle of the floor. Charlie Knapp stood beside her, his rifle held loosely across his chest. As Edsel and the men walked in and Lyle Cady closed the door behind them, Knapp reached over with his rifle butt and lifted Mae Rose’s lowered face.
“Look at Mr. Centrila when he talks to you,” Knapp said harshly.
Mae Rose stared up at Edsel from the wooden edge of the rifle butt. Knapp took the butt away when Centrila pitched the pouch of gold coins onto her lap. Ellis Jones stood beside Edsel, unsure of what
was going on.
“I see there’s no money missing from the brothel,” Edsel said to Mae Rose. “Whose money is this?”
Centrila studied her eyes for a moment.
“What were you doing out there with Silas Rudabaugh?” he asked. He gave Rudabaugh a dark look. Rudabaugh avoided his eyes.
“I was with him out there because he forced me to leave here with him,” Mae Rose said. “I was headed for Secondary. He made me go with him—stole my money.” She turned a cold stare to Rudabaugh. “I knew he was going to try to kill me. I tried to get away. He shot me and I hit my head on a rock. I woke up and found that Harper and Lon Bartow came along. I figure they saved my life.”
Centrila continued staring at her, unable to find any holes in her story.
“And you had nothing to do with Rudabaugh before that?” he asked.
“No, never,” said Mae Rose. “I’m only sorry I didn’t blow his brains out instead of shooting his ear off.”
Edsel looked at Rudabaugh with contempt and nodded toward the door.
“Get out of here, Silas,” he growled over the cigar in his teeth. “Go somewhere and figure out how you’re ever going to pay my money back.”
Rudabaugh left the room with his head lowered. Lyle Cady opened the door and closed it behind him.
Centrila looked back at Mae Rose.
“Now, then, what about the money?” he said. He leaned in close and stared her squarely in the eyes.
“It’s mine,” Mae Rose insisted. “I squirreled it away a little at a time—”
“Huh-uh,” said Edsel, cutting her off. “You didn’t squirrel that much money away—unless you were bedding customers on the sly and not turning in the money.”
“No, I didn’t do that,” Mae Rose said. “I’ve always been straight with this brothel. Ask the last owner. That money belongs to me, nobody else.”