The making of a lawman

by Edson, John Thomas

  *They don't come prettier, or smarter," Dusty agreed.

  "How's the town settling in?" Bracker inquired, taking die seat Dusty offered him.

  *Tair enough. Not many places open yet, but Kate Gilgore came down from Brownton. Likely thereTl be more."

  "Knew Kate back in Hays. She runs a straight place. That's more than you can say for the rest of the Brownton bxmch. Say, I looked in on liiat Smith jasper. Can't say as I can place him."

  *T>oes the name Stayley mean anydiing to you?" Dusty asked.

  "Don't it to you?" Bracker inquired.

  "Nope."

  "If it's who I reckon, Joe Stayley, you've picked up a three thousand dollar bounty—and a peck of trouble."

  "Is he wanted that bad?"

  "He is up here and out to Montana. He's Tricky Dick Cansole's right bower."

  "Tricky Dick?" Dusty repeated. "I'm sorry, sheriff—."

  "Make it Tom'."

  "Running trail herds in didn't give me any call to know your Kansas owlhoots,.Tom."

  "I thought Tricky Dick was better known that that," Bracker mused. "Likely it's only a matter of time afore he is.

  He's real smart, works with a small, hand-picked bimch and's pulled oflP some nifties."

  'That Smith hombre doesn't strike me as top-grade stock,** Dusty commented.

  **Or me," the sheriff admitted. **You say they came straight over here from a hold-up. Did they have any money along?"

  **The saddle-pouches where it was supposed to be came up empty when we opened them."

  Apparently the news did not siuprise Bracker, for he merely nodded. "That's Tricky Dick's way all right. Every time his bunch pull a robbery, the fellers who do it stash away the loot someplace safe and ride hard. Then if they get caught, they've nothing to prove they did it. Thing I don't get is why Stayley grabbed for his gun when yom* deputy shouted to him—Sure, Pickles and Frank Derringer told me how it happened."

  Thinking back to the incident, Dusty found various facts leaping to mind. "The other two made the opening moves," he said. "Once they'd started, what eke could Stayley do but back them?"

  "Not much," admitted the sheriff. "Only why did the others make the play?"

  "I've got a feeling that at least Smith didn't know the money'd gone. If he didn't, he wouldn't want a lavmian searching them as the money'd give them away."

  "You mean that Tricky Dick aimed to double-cross them?"

  "If nothing worse."

  "It could be," Bracker said thoughtfully. "Or he hadn't used them before and didn't want them knowing too much about how he worked until he knew them a whole heap better."

  "I don't know enough about this Tricky Dick to start guessing which one's right," Dusty said. "Say, you'll have time to identify Stayley if we go now. They haven't buried him yet."

  "Let's go take a look," Bracker offered. "I've only seen his face on wanted dodgers, but I've got one with a good description of him along."

  Going to the undertaker's parlour, the sheriff and Dusty arrived only just in time to view the last remains before the coffin Ud was screwed into place. To give him his due, the

  undertaker had done a good job and the lawman studied the ashy-pallid face.

  "It's Stayley," Bracker stated, comparing the features with the wanted poster he held. "Whoever made this drawing's good. That's three thousand dollars your office's picked up."

  **We made an arrangement with Freddie Woods," Dusty answered. "All bounties go into the civic fimds."

  Bracker nodded approvingly. "I've never been much on taking them myself. Say, about that money. Have you talked to Smith about it?"

  "Nope. Trouble being by the time we got around to it, he'd thought up some sHck excuses for what happened."

  "How come?^

  "One thing and another kept coming up. You know how it is in a trail-end town like this. Half or more of the time you're wishing you'd a regiment of deputies on hand. Like I said, by the time we got around to him, he'd thought up the answers."

  "Maybe you didn't ask him right," growled the sheriff.

  "With a feller from the Kansas City Intelligencer in town?" Dusty asked mildly. "That'd be buying trouble."

  A point which Sheriff Bracker imderstood all too well. Being a 'liberal' newspaper, the Intelligencer looked after the underdog's interests. A favourite target for the paper was any peace officer who rough-handled criminals; though the liberal-intellectuals who ran it never gave space to the brutal treatment honest Texas cowhands received from the Earps or others of their kind. Backed by a nmnber of influential men at the state capital, possibly so that they would not become targets for its attacks, the Intelligencer could easily blast the career of any peace officer it crossed. Dusty's prominence on the Southern side dining the Civil War, along with the fact that most of his deputies hailed from Texas, made him a likely target for Intelligencer investigation. In which case Bracker did not wish to become involved in the process of asking Smith 'right'.

  Almough no liberal-intellectual. Dusty did not approve of the beatings or torture many peace officers of the day used to extract information from captured outlaws. Not tiiat he regarded criminals as misimderstood victims of circimistances who needed only understanding and kindness to turn them into useful citizens. While that might be true in a few cases, most men took to crime in their ways. However he realised

  that rough-handling a prisoner made the victim look sympathetic to the pubSc and only rarely produced any useful results.

  Having seen Belle Boyd, the legendary Rebel Spy, interrogate a prisoner and having discussed the subject with her, Dusty knew of far more subtle ways than the crude methods most peace oflBcers employed to gain information.

  'We'd best leave him to the Wells Fargo fellers,** Bracker remarked as they walked back to the office. "Anyways, I don't reckon he's important."

  "He could be real important to Tricky Dick," Dusty replied.

  "How come?"

  "It's just a hunch, but I think Smith's counting on his boss to get him out of jail."

  "Why?" Bracker demanded.

  "Because Smith figures he's the only one with any idea where the money from the hold-up might be. That's why he's sitting quiet instead of telling us all he can to get even with Tricky Dick for double-crossing him."

  Before Dusty could go further into his idea, a man dashed up to say a fight had broken out in the Wooden Spoon. So the two lawmen headed in that direction and temporarily forgot the possibility that Smith was guessing correctly.

  NOBODY'S TAKING MY GUNS

  "Damn and blast all womenl" Wacx) growled bitterly, slipping a cx>mbustible cartridge into the chamber of the Remington cane-gun taken from the whiskey pedlar. **If it wasn t for them, I could be out watching the iim instead of sitting my butt-end down here, cleaning guns."

  **Women're the cause of all the trouble in the world," Dusty told him, entering the office.

  After breaking up the fight at the Wooden Spoon, Dusty and Sheriff Bracker grabbed a meal and prepared for more work. If the previous nights had been rowdy, Satmrday outdid them all. Every member of the marshal's office staff and Bracker foimd plenty to do. Any ideas the sheriff might have brought with him about needing to teach the Texans practical law enforcement ended rapidly. In fact he soon saw that he was working with masters of his trade. Another thing to strike him was the air of friendly enjoyment shown by visitors and residents alike. Due to the early spadework put in by Dusty and the deputies, Mulrooney already bore a reputation as a fair, tolerant place, yet capable of halting anybody or any outfit that went too far.

  Finding none of the veiled hostility and open money-grabbing of other trail-end towns, the cowhands reciprocated by keeping their fim within boimds. Hard workers, they

  71

  played just as energeticaDy. If a rope, horse or gun formed a frequent aid to their fun, it was because in many cases the cowhand owned nothing else. With money in their pockets, gained by gruelling hours of hardship on the way north, they sought only to enjoy
themselves. The more they had to pay for damage caused, the better time they felt they had had. If, as often happened, the cowhand went broke, he could ride south and find food offered in exchange for information by the trail crews on their way to the rail head.

  Dusty knew all that and explained it to the Mulrooney citizens. In their turn, they showed tolerance and accepted a few broken windows or disturbed sleep as the price for making a good living out of the trail herds.

  Of coiu-se there were incidents which wound up by one or more of the revellers being hauled off to jail, but Bracker saw no objections raised to that even by the arrested parties' friends.

  Although Mark had volunteered to keep the office on Sunday, while the rest of the Texans, Big Sarah and Pickle-Barrel went out to keep the peace among the folks attending the various sporting events, things did not work out as planned for Waco. A pretty, vivacious little red-head from Buffalo Kate's saloon became attracted to the yoimg deputy, which almost sparked off a hand-scalping brawl with Babsy. In the interests of peace Dusty sent Waco back to the office and kept the two girls well clear of each other.

  Figuring that the Wells Fargo special agents would come in on the afternoon train. Dusty left the sporting events in good time to meet them at the oflSce. He found Waco in a dark humour, somewhat disgnmtled with women in general and Babsy in particular. While waiting for his companions to return, the youngster had passed his time by cleaning the oflBce s assault armament. While the cane-gun did not come into that category, it stood on the rack with the rifles and shotguns. Dusty intended to take it south with him as a present for his imcle. The time might come when Ole Devil, confined to a wheel-chair since failing to ride the paint Dusty now used as a personal mount, might find a need for such a device. So, after completing the others, Waco attended to it.

  *Did anything else happen down there?" the youngster asked, fitting a percussion cap on to the nipple.

  *T managed to keep them apart, tf that's what you mean,"

  Dusty grinned. *'Dammed if youre not worse than ole Mark, way you get the gals fussing over you.**

  "All I wanted was a peaceable afternoon/* Waco objected, reversing the cane and fixing the open screw-in ferrule to the mouth of the barrel.

  **Which's what you ve had,** Dusty pointed out, sitting behind the desk.

  Footsteps somided on the sidewalk and two men walked by the oflSce window, then halted at the door. Waco laid the cane on the desk top and perched his rump on the edge, then looked as the door opened. While the men who entered wore town suits and derby hats, they had weather-beaten faces and sported range-fashion gun-belts with Army Colts in tied-down holsters. Nor did Dusty find the contrast incongruous. A Wells Fargo special investigator might work out of one of the big city offices, but he spent a good proportion of his life in the open and exposed to the elements.

  '*Howdy, marshal,** greeted the taller man, advancing to the desk. *Tm Haver and this's Tarrick. We're from Wells Fargo.**

  "I've been expecting you,*' Dusty answered, rising to shake hands. Then he sat down again, expecting the men to ask for information.

  "We*ve come for that feller you took prisoner,** Tarrick told him. "So if you'll turn him over to us, we'll tend to his needs.**

  "Suppose you gents show me something to identify yoinr-selves &:st?" Dusty coimtered.

  Anticipating the request. Haver had already reached into his jacket and produced a wallet. He slid it across the desk and it fell to the floor on Dusty's side. Even as Dusty bent over to pick it up, certain facts sprang to mind. He recalled how the two men had darted glances aroimd them on entering, almost as if they feared a trap might be laid for them. More significant, for men in their position learned the value of remaining alert, neither had made any mention of the money. It almost seemed that Tarrick knew such a question would be a waste of time.

  Even as the thought struck home and Dusty started to straighten, he found it came too late. Haver's right arm bent, elbow pressing against his side. Instantly a Remington Double Derringer shot into his palm, propelled there by a device like the spring card hold-out machines used by crooked gam-

  biers. Strapped around the wrist and hidden by shirt or jacket sleeve, the hold-out machine usually carried selected cards or a pre-arranged deck to be brought into play at a favourable stage of the game. It also could be made to hold a small hide-out gun, a fact Dusty knew but had overlooked imtil too late.

  "Come up slow and easy, marshal,'* Haver ordered. **And you sit still, or he gets it, young feller.**

  While Waco might have only recently learned one important rule concerning firearms, he needed no telling when to sit tight. Bucking the odds at that moment would have been fatal, if not for himself, to Dusty. So he remained seated on the edge of the desk and kept his hands motionless. Any hope of making a move lessened as Tarrick's revolver slid from leather and lined on the youngster.

  "What now?*' Dusty asked, obeying the order by coming erect at a leisurely pace.

  'Xike Tarrick said, we'll take your prisoner—," Haver replied.

  'Which of you's Tricky Dick?"

  "Neither of us, short-stuff," grinned Tarrick. "And we ain't Wells Fargo men, comes to that."

  "I'd figure so much for myself," Dusty admitted.

  "No sir. We left 'em vsdth bust heads in the men's room at a whistle stop down the tr—."

  "Shut it, Waltl" growled Haver. "And you pair shed yoiir guns."

  "Nobody's taking my guns," Dusty answered quietly.

  "We are," Tarrick told him. "Off your body if you make us."

  "Go right to it," Dusty replied, using the same even tone. Only you hit me any place other than between my two eyes and I'll take at least one of you with me before I go."

  "The shots'U bring folks nmning," Waco went on.

  'That's one thing we don't need to worry on," Haver answered. "Near on everybody's out back of town. The railroad depot crew could hardly wait to see the train off and get out fiiere."

  "Time anybody gets back, you'll both be wolf-bait," Tarrick put in.

  "You're still not taking my guns," Dusty warned.

  For all the calm manner in which he spoke. Dusty did not make the mistake of underestimating the danger. Seated

  behind the desk with his knees in the roomy leg-hole, he could not Jiope to draw his guns quickly enough to save himself. Yet he had no intention of surrendering tibem to the two men. Doing so would in no way alter their plans if they meant to kill him.

  The matter went deeper than that. While law enforcement in the West might tend to be disorganised, alreacty a tradition had grown among the better class of peace officers that a lawman must never surrender his gun. Trained in that behef. Dusty intended to force the issue and hope for a break. Not that getting one was likely when dealing with such men. A Remington Double Derringer lacked accuracy, but across the width of the desk could plant its fat .41 calibre bullet into a man-sized target easily enough.

  "Hell, Dusty!'* Waco put in. "There's no sense in getting killed to hold that Smith jasper. I say hand him over."

  "The kid's showing sense, marshal,'* Haver commented. "Let the gunbelt drop, boy, then go and do it.''

  "Sure," the youngster answered, still sitting on the desk but unbuckling his belt. He nodded to the cane-gun and went on, "I near on got my leg bust in a fight at the Fair Lady last night and can't stand on it too good. I'm riding that walking-cane to get around. Which's why I'm here 'stead of out watching the fun."

  'T)on't try anything smart like sliding that belt to your pard," Haver warned, darting a glance at the cane and seeing nothing suspicious.

  "Not mel" Waco promised and lowered the belt to the floor at the side of the desk.

  "Happen you've got any ideas about whomping me on my pumpkin head with that cane, forget 'em," Tarrick continued.

  "Mister," the yoimgster replied, lowering himself carefully from the desk like a man with an injinred leg and casually gripping the cane, "that's the last thing I plan to do."

  With Q
iat he lifted the cane from the desk, lining it by instinct like hip-shooting a Colt, and pressed the stud trigger.

  At first Dusty had been taken in by Waco's acting, so well did the youngster play the part. Not until the mention of the fictitious injury did the small Texan guess what his companion had in mind. Studying the two men. Dusty saw no hint that they failed to accept Waco's behaviour as genuine.

  Maybe Haver or Tarrick would have been more suspicious if Waco was older, a professional gambler instead of an

  obvious cowhand, or the normal type of trail-end town lawman. The Remington-Thomas cane-gun helped with the deception by virtue of its design and special features. Although its tip pointed towards the men and could be easily seen, no hint of its deadly natiu-e showed. Most such items on the market bore a wooden tampion to act as a ferrule and could only be fired after its removal. Not so the Remington-Thomas. That carried a screw-on hollow metal ferrule, the barrel hole being closed by a piece of cork carefully fitted for size and held by friction. While the makers recommended removing the ferrule, the gun could be fired safely with it still in position. One of the things Waco had done while using the gun for target practice was to re-fit the cork plug shot out by Hockley and paint it the same colour as the ferrule. Small wonder the two men failed to recognise the danger until too late.

  Propelled by gasses caused from igniting the combustible cartridge's powder charge, the bullet passed along the gun's barrel, carried out the cork plug and ranged up to catch Tarrick in the mouth. Shock twisted the man's face and he staggered backwards. While his Colt bellowed, its bamel no longer lined at Waco and the bullet missed to ricochet from the comer of the safe.

  Surprise caused Haver to swivel his head in Waco's direction as the cane-gun revealed its true purpose. In doing so he allowed the Derringer to waver slightly out of line.

  Instantly Dusty thrust back his chair, sending it skidding across the room, but he did not rise. Instead he hurled himself forward and down through the desk's leg-hole. Never had he been more grateful for wearing his Colts in cross-draw holsters than at that moment. Drawing either gun from a butt-to-the-rear holster in the cramped confines through which he passed would have been almost an impossibility. While dfficult, he managed to slide the left side Colt out with his right hand as he passed beneath the desk.