by Ralph Cotton
Edsel gave Ellis Jones a questioning sidelong look.
“Phil has had me watching this upstairs like a hawk, Mr. Centrila,” Ellis said. “I’ve never seen anything untoward out of Mae Rose. She handles her share of business and keeps to herself. Some of the miners call her the lady, she’s so straight up.” He paused, then said, “I expect she reminds them of their gal back home.”
“The lady, huh . . . ?” Edsel looked all around the room.
“I’m not lying to you,” Mae Rose said, staring squarely at Centrila. “That money is mine.”
“Of course you’re lying to me, lady,” Centrila said matter-of-factly. “All doves lie. . . .” He let his words trail as he continued looking around the room.
He singled out a large oak wardrobe in a corner and stepped over to it. He pulled both doors open and looked inside. A few dresses she’d left behind hung there. On a shelf he picked up an almost empty bag of Blue Cut chopped tobacco, looked at it and turned with it in his hand. On a bedside table the wadded-up wax paper lining of a cough drop carton caught his eye. He picked it up, unfolded it and sniffed it.
“Um, cherry flavored,” he said with a slight grin. “Have a cough, do you, lady?” he said, as if concerned.
“I—I did have,” Mae Rose said. “I’m over it now.”
“Might have been brought on from your smoke fixings,” he said flatly. “Blue Cut’s about as strong as smoking hemp rope.” He pitched the tobacco bag onto her lap and picked up the pouch of coins. He stepped back. As he did he spotted another wadded-up wax paper lining lying just under the edge of her bed. “Get that, Ellis, if you please,” he said.
Ellis picked up the wax paper and laid it in Centrila’s outstretched hand.
“My, my, looks like the maid missed this,” he said with a slight grin. He unwadded the lining and sniffed it. “I’m thinking you’re a cherry-flavor gal.”
Mae Rose sat staring, turning rigid in the chair, sensing things could turn ugly any moment. Beside Centrila, Ellis nervously wiped his fingertips on his trousers, sensing the same thing, gauging the darkening look on his boss’ face.
“You’ve been in Big Silver awhile, bartender,” he said to Ellis without taking his menacing stare from Mae Rose. “Who sucks cherry cough drops and smokes Blue Cut tobacco?”
“Well, now . . . ,” said the young bartender. For Mae Rose’s sake, Ellis tried to stall. He cleared his throat.
“Before you answer me, young man,” Centrila said to Ellis, still staring at Mae Rose, “remind yourself there’s a good possibility that I might already know.”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” said Ellis. His jaw tightened with the realization of what he had to do. “The truth is, Sheriff Stone is the only man I can think of.” He added quickly, “But I have to say I’ve never seen him come up here—”
“Oh, he’s been up here, bartender,” the saloon owner said, cutting him off.
“Mr. Centrila, I do want to say that this woman has never been a problem—no dope of any kind, only drinks a little, enough to keep—”
“That’ll be all for now, Ellis,” Centrila said, still staring straight ahead at Mae Rose. “Get on downstairs—take those doves with you. Give them a drink on me. Tell the piano player I want to hear him hammering that ivory.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Centrila,” said Ellis, backing away.
“You men go down too. Keep those doves entertained for a while. Charlie and I are going to have a talk with the lady.”
As the men filed out behind the bartender, Lyle Cady glanced at Knapp and saw him lean his rifle against his leg and pull on a tight leather trail glove. Knapp grinned to himself a little as he opened and closed his gloved fist.
Outside in the hall, Lyle closed the door and whispered to his brother, “I would not want to be standing in that woman’s shoes today, huh-uh,” he said.
Ignacio gave his brother a curious look.
“Why do you want to wear her shoes anyway?” he said.
“Whoa, Iggy! I don’t mean I want to wear her shoes,” said Lyle. “It’s just a figure of speech.”
Ignacio shook his head and walked away.
“It worries me the way you talk sometimes, Lyle,” he said over his shoulder.
Chapter 21
In the saloon Lyle and Ignacio Cady sat at the window table sipping shots of rye and drawing swigs of frothy beer from tall mugs. The other gunmen, excluding Silas Rudabaugh, lounged around the table with the Cadys. Some of them sat with brothel doves perched on their laps like exotic birds. The piano player pounded on the keys like a man driving nails with his fingertips. Gaming wheels clicked and turned at green-felted tables; a roulette wheel chattered and spun amid the din of the day-drinking crowd.
Around the table, eyes of gunmen and doves alike turned toward the upstairs hallway, but only for a quick glance, then they moved away.
Silas Rudabaugh had left the saloon and prowled the back alleys in the afternoon heat like some whipped dog. His unbridled indulgence of drinking and sleeping with brothel women had plunged him over seven hundred dollars in debt to Edsel Centrila. Clearly he had to pay his tab at the Silver Palace. Just as important, he needed to redeem himself in his employer’s eyes.
As he leaned against a pole considering his situation, touching his bloody bandages, especially the one covering his half-severed ear, he peered down the far end of the alley. He saw the Ranger and Sheriff Stone leading Harper Centrila and Lon Bartow to the rear door of the jail.
Holy—!
He straightened sharply, watching them step down from their horses. He batted his eyes in a double take and stepped back quickly into the shadows to keep from being seen.
All right, here it is! he told himself, settling down, ready to seize this opportunity that had fallen into his lap. He drew his revolver from his holster, checked it and kept it in hand. He wished he’d brought his rifle, but this would have to do. He just needed to get a little closer.
Raising his revolver at elbow level, cocking it, he moved along the alleyway, pressed against the back of buildings like some stalking predator of the wilds. At fifteen yards he stopped and watched the sheriff and the Ranger hitch their horses, the horses of the two prisoners and the gray rental horse to a rail. He saw the lawmen motion for Harper and Bartow to step down from their saddles. He wanted to get closer, but this was the best he could do.
He stood tensed, ready, watching as Harper and Bartow started toward the door, the Ranger and Stone behind them, in the open.
Now! he told himself. He stepped out away from the building behind him and took quick aim, seeing Sheriff Stone’s back in his pistol sights.
“Hey! The hell are you doing?” a drunken voice shouted from a loose stack of firewood and debris piled against the building behind him. Rudabaugh swung toward the sound of the voice, catching a glimpse of the Ranger and the sheriff turning toward it as well.
Damn it!
A ragged drunken derelict staggered out of the shadows and pawed at his face with filthy hands. Before Rudabaugh could get a shot off, a grimy palm shoved the gun barrel away so hard that Rudabaugh lost his grip. The revolver fell to the dirt.
Damn it to hell! As Rudabaugh bent and tried to grab the gun, the derelict pawed at his back, kicked at him, fell against him. Rudabaugh struggled to keep from going down beneath the drunken man’s weight.
“It’s Rudabaugh!” Stone said. His Colt streaked up from its holster. But he held his shot, seeing the derelict grappling half atop the bowed gunman.
Rudabaugh saw the sheriff’s raised Colt. He saw the Ranger raise his rifle. Knowing his plan had gone awry, he managed to fling the drunkard from his back, turn in a crouch and run stumbling away down the alley.
“Wait. Don’t shoot,” Sam said sidelong to the sheriff. “Let him go.”
“I wasn’t going to shoot,” said Stone, “unless he got that smoke
r up and shot at us first. I want to hear what he’s done with Mae Rose.” He relaxed his big Colt and lowered it. The two stood watching as the derelict stood with his feet spread, weaving unsteadily over the gun on the ground. He stared down at the big revolver wide-eyed as if it had fallen from the sky.
“Leave it be, Darby,” Stone called out to the ragged, filthy drunkard.
“Hey, I don’t want it, Sheriff,” the man called back to him with a loose drunken shrug. “Did I save your life, or what?” The man bent to reach for the gun.
Sam moved in quick, picked up the revolver and stepped back. “You might have saved our lives,” he said. “We’re obliged.”
“Think nothing of it,” the man said, still weaving in place. He took his hand from inside his trousers and fumbled with the fly buttons again. “Remember when you and me got drunk, Sheriff?” he said. “You told me I could turn into a wolf—tried and tried. Far as I ever got was a coyote.”
“Is that a fact?” Stone said, looking a little embarrassed.
Watching from the rear door of the jail, Harper shook his head and said to the Ranger, “If you’re smart, you’ll turn us loose before Papa Edsel finds out we’re here.”
Sam just stared at him. Up the alley Stone helped the drunkard back to the woodpile where he’d been sitting.
“Ranger, this never had anything to do with you. It’s all between Stone and my pa,” Harper continued. “You need to get out of it while you can. Ain’t that right, Lon?” he said over his shoulder.
“You’re right, that’s right,” Bartow said. A welt from the Ranger’s rifle butt stood out on the side of his head.
“Save yourself, Ranger,” said Harper. “No jury will convict me for killing those jail wagon guards.” He gave a shrug. “I was in the wagon cuffed, unarmed.”
“Save your breath,” Sam said. “It’s not my job to say who hangs. My job ends at the jailhouse door.” He stepped back as Stone walked up holding the key to the rear door.
“Still running their mouths, huh?” Stone said. He unlocked the rear door and swung it open for them.
Sam followed the two prisoners inside.
At the cell door, he and the prisoners stopped and waited while Stone unlocked the barred cell door and swung it open.
“Welcome home,” he said as the two walked into the cell and turned to have their cuffs unlocked.
“Okay,” Harper said, letting out a breath, “what’s it going to take?” He looked all around at the iron bars, the stone and adobe walls, a rear window—now repaired—where Boomer Phipps had ripped the bars away, iron frame and all. “I learned from Papa Edsel that every lawman has his price.” He gave a sly little grin. “So, tell me yours—let’s get this thing settled.”
Stone and the Ranger stepped back out of the cell without answering. Stone closed the barred door and motioned the two closer so he could reach through to take off their cuffs.
“Hey, don’t be like this,” Harper said, stepping over to the bars. “This can’t be all about you and Papa Edsel taking revenge on each other. This is crazy. Right, Lon? What’s it going to take for both of you to get things settled between you?”
“Yep, it’s crazy,” Bartow said. “Paybacks are always crazy. Anybody thinks payback ever fixed anything is wrong as a—”
“Shut up, Lon. I’m talking here,” Harper snapped at him, cutting him off.
“Listen to me, Harper,” Stone said, lifting the cuffs through the bars. “Your pa did you no good raising you to think all lawmen can be bought. I’m one who can’t. Here’s another one.” He nodded at the Ranger. “Every move your pa has made trying to fix things for you has only led you one step closer to hanging. Now you’re just about there. The best thing you can do is sit down and keep your mouth shut. You’ll go to Yuma this time. Whatever your fate is will be there waiting for you.”
“You don’t know Papa Edsel,” Harper said. “It’s not likely he’ll stand still for any of this.”
“Then he’ll likely get you killed before you leave here,” Stone said.
“Ha! Now you’re talking out of your head, Sheriff.” Harper sneered. “I heard you do that a lot, when you’re not turning into a wolf.” He grinned smugly. “When you’re lying with your guts shot out, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Sam expected Stone to explode at the gunman’s remarks. He started to step forward in case he needed to keep the sheriff from slinging open the cell door and going inside. To his surprise, Stone stayed calm, perhaps even calmed down more. Sam watched him step back, pull a cough drop from his shirt pocket and put it in his mouth. He looked at Sam as he stepped over to the woodstove.
“Nothing settles the wolf in me like a good cup of coffee, Ranger,” he said. He gave a slight grin. “Think we ought to boil us a pot before the storm hits?”
Sam only nodded, glad to see Stone turning steadier, calmer, not allowing himself to be shaken by Harper Centrila’s threat or insults.
Before the storm hits . . . ?
Stone thrived on this sort of thing, Sam reminded himself. That was good to know.
• • •
With his holster empty, Rudabaugh rushed into the Silver Palace, sped across the floor and bounded up the stairs. Seeing him, Bob Remick and Trent Baye sprang to their feet, dropped two doves from their laps and gave chase. Ferry and the Cady brothers ran right behind them. Halfway up the stairs, Bob Remick raised his Colt out at arm’s length and tried to take aim, but Rudabaugh kept running. Hearing the boots pounding along behind him, he beat his fists against the locked door.
“Knapp, Edsel! Let me in! The sheriff’s got Harper and Lon Bartow!”
“What?” Edsel shouted on the other side of the door. As the men closed in behind Rudabaugh, a latch dropped on the other side of the big door. Knapp swung it open. “What the hell are you saying, Silas?” he shouted as Rudabaugh hurried inside. The men slid to a halt behind him. Edsel hurried over and looked Rudabaugh up and down quickly, seeing the empty holster. Mae Rose sat slumped in the wooden chair, her face lowered. Blood dripped from her face onto her lap and the floor surrounding the chair.
“It’s the truth, Edsel!” said Rudabaugh, out of breath. “I just saw Stone and the Ranger taking them into the jail through the back door.
“Why didn’t you stop them, fool? Where’s your gun?” Edsel demanded.
“I tried to stop them,” Rudabaugh lied. “They had a lookout man hidden in the alley. He jumped me. I barely got away! I lost my gun.”
“A lookout man . . . ?” Edsel eyed him skeptically. “You lost your gun?”
“I swear it’s true, Edsel,” Rudabaugh said.
The gunmen hurried into the room and gathered around Edsel and Rudabaugh. Knapp peeled a blood-smeared glove from his right hand and shoved it behind his gun belt. Seeing the men wince at the sight of Mae Rose, Edsel stepped into their line of vision and blocked her from view.
“Get her out of sight, Charlie,” he said to Knapp. He looked back at Rudabaugh as Knapp dragged the beaten woman, chair and all, into a small adjoining room. “How the hell could they have taken Harper and Bartow without a fight?” he said.
“There must’ve been one,” said Rudabaugh. “Harper’s got a bandage on his shoulder. Bartow’s sporting a welt the size of a goose egg on his head!”
“Damn it!” Edsel slammed a thick fist onto his palm. “I never should have left Harper there.”
“What do you want me to do, boss?” said Knapp, walking back in from the other room. He picked his rifle up from against the wall and levered a round into the chamber.
“We’re busting Harper out of there,” Edsel said. “He’s going free if I have to kill every lousy law dog between here and West Texas!” He looked at the men. “Come dark I want the Ranger and Stone both dead! I’m through fooling around here.”
Looking around at the men, he noted some were only wear
ing revolvers. He looked out the window at the distant afternoon sky. “Get rifled up, all of you, and get back here, pronto!” he barked. “Cady brothers,” he said to Lyle and Iggy, “go downstairs, bring one of the doves up here. Make sure she gets Mae Rose cleaned up and revived—get this mess wiped up too.” He gestured at the blood on the wooden floor planks.
“Let’s go, Iggy,” Lyle said. The two left the room and bounded down the stairs side by side, ahead of the other three gunmen.
Knapp gave his boss a questioning look as the sound of boots rumbled on the stairs.
“Clean her up?” he said. “Edsel, the woman’s beat all to hell. We’ve got all we’re going to get out of her. She admitted she’s Sheriff Stone’s gal—”
“That’s right,” Edsel said sharply. “She’s Stone’s gal. That makes her our ace in the hole.” He turned and walked to the window so he could look out in the direction of the sheriff’s office.
At the bar, Phil and Ellis Jones and the drinking crowd looked up at the sound of the Cadys and the other three gunmen racing down the stairs. The piano stopped playing.
“Nothing to get excited about, folks,” Lyle Cady called out to the drinkers. He and Ignacio grabbed Rita Spool by her arms and yanked her along with them back up the stairs. The other doves milled and scowled and stared up angrily at the two gunmen.
“I don’t know what’s going on up there,” one said, her hand on her hip.
“I don’t know either,” another one replied, “but if it’s a party starting up, Rita ought to count us all in on it.”
Chapter 22
The Ranger bided his time, all the while keeping an eye on the Silver Palace through the gun port of a wooden shutter now closed, covering the broken front window of the sheriff’s office. At one point he gripped the iron shutter hinge that stood sunken deep into the thick wooden window frame. He tried shaking the immovable hinge as if testing its strength.