by H. H. Knibbs
“And what was you doing all this time?” McGrew asked hoarsely. “You had a box seat for the whole show, according to your palaver, but we didn’t see any light in your place.”
“I was resting,” the woman answered promptly. “I often do for a few minutes, but I never make a light because I don’t care for visitors. If I made a light, someone would be sure to drop in, and I run the Red Rose Dance Hall as you know.”
“Yeah,” McGrew grunted. “And when you don’t things get out of hand, like tonight.”
“That’s the marshal’s story, not mine,” Mary reminded. “That line about a woman in trouble. My girls can take care of themselves.”
“That’s your story,” McGrew answered stubbornly. “Any one of them would cut a man’s throat for a dollar, and then say what you told them to say!”
“Are you meaning I had anything to do with this holdup?” Mary asked sharply.
“Look, madam,” McGrew answered thinly. “You make a pass at me with that hog-leg and I’ll treat you like I would any man with a six-shooter in his hand!”
“How long would you last in Dodge after that?” Mary taunted.
“You want to really find out the answer?” McGrew asked. “It’s your business to know men, and I reckon you do. Do you still want to make that try, or would you rather go on with your story?”
Sutton listened and felt an admiration for the old plainsman. Then Gorgeous Mary finished her story.
“Shagrue reached for his gun when he opened the door, and. I didn’t take any chances,” she said in a more subdued tone of voice. “I just let him have a slug where it would do the most good!”
CHAPTER VIII
BACKFIRE MARSHAL
McGrew stared at her. “I don’t believe your palaver,” he said. “I was still hunting your boss, Bailey. He knew Molly Jo Benton had given the money belt to Silent, and I figured Bailey would make just such a play as this one!”
“I’ll remember that, McGrew,” Bailey warned. “The only honest man in this law outfit is Masterson. Right now he’s got his gun centered on your boss, just in case Sutton didn’t know about it. This ought to be interesting.”
Sutton stiffened and slowly turned his head. Masterson was watching him. “You’re under arrest, Sutton. Suspicion of robbery. I’m putting you in your room and placing a guard with you, so let’s cut out the talk and get going. You, McGrew! Circle off, or take your chance. You heard my wau-wau!”
Sutton stared at Masterson, hell flaming in his eyes. For a moment the marshal was tempted to make it a fight. Then he shrugged. The man didn’t live who could match his draw against Masterson’s drop.
“That’s better, Sutton,” Masterson said. “I don’t pretend to understand all I know about this, but it’s my duty to hold you while the law makes due inquiries. Keep your weapons; I don’t aim to give the opposition a chance they might be looking for.”
Admiration showed briefly in the marshal’s eyes. That was like Masterson.
“Head for your quarters, Marshal.”
Sutton squared his shoulders and started across the Longhorn Corral. The Occidental was next door, and he turned into the hotel with Masterson at his heels. Loitering cowboys jeered when they saw the gun in Masterson’s hand, and Sutton set his jaw to hold his frayed temper. He wanted to ask Masterson to give him just five minutes with that sneering, cat-calling mob. Most of them were Bailey’s men, and while holsters were empty because of Ordinance 6, he knew each man was armed with hide-out guns.
Masterson spoke softly, just loud enough for Sutton to hear. “Keep your head, Marshal, and head for your room!”
Sutton walked through the lobby, climbed the steps and turned the handle of his door. Masterson followed him into the darkness and flicked a match under his thumb-nail.
Masterson lighted the lamp and turned the wick low. He straightened up, faced Sutton and winked slowly with his left eye. Then he stepped up slowly and extended his right hand.
“Hold down your mad, Silent,” he whispered. “That bump on your head clouded your mind, and you didn’t see everything clear. Mary overplayed her hand when she talked out of turn about Neal Brown. I know that boy, and right now he’s guarding the jail. He was there the whole time this frame-up was being worked on you!”
“I was slugged and robbed,” Sutton said bitterly. “Pete Shagrue was Bailey’s man!”
“Was is right,” Masterson agreed grimly. “He had his right arm in a sling, and Gorgeous Mary overplayed her hand again. Shagrue was shot in the back, and dead men don’t talk. I’d like to know who the third man was; the one who roped and slugged you. Listen!” he whispered. “Someone coming this way!”
Sutton moved like a shadow and placed himself at one side of the door. Masterson took the opposite side, and he spoke softly when boots stopped in the hall.
“Who is it?”
“Molly Jo Benton,” a husky voice answered. “I must see Silent at once!”
Masterson opened the door. Molly Jo was panting with excitement. She came to Sutton and gripped his arms.
“I know you’re innocent, but you can’t fight them, Silent!” she gasped.
“I still have my guns,” Sutton answered quietly. “This is between Bailey and me!”
“Just a minute, Marshal,” Masterson interrupted. “There was more to that frame-up. There was an attempt made to get you and me to draw against each other. I’d have killed you, which was just what Bailey wanted.”
Sutton stiffened. He wasn’t ready to admit Masterson was the faster with a six-shooter. Masterson saw the resentment, and smiled coldly. “Suppose you check your hardware,” he suggested.
Sutton slowly drew his right-hand gun, set it on half-cock, and spun the cylinder while he checked the loading gate. Swift anger stained his bronze cheeks, then he thanked Masterson.
“I won’t forget, lawman,” he said hoarsely. “Whoever slapped me to sleep also removed the shells from my guns. But how did you know?”
“I was facing you when you drew on Bailey,” Masterson explained. “I couldn’t see any lead in your cylinder, but I ought to kill Bailey for trying to make me kill you!”
“It wasn’t Bailey,” Sutton said slowly. “He’s saving me for his own gun. But thanks for helping me to keep my head.”
“You can’t kill your old neighbors,” Molly Jo told Sutton. “I know you didn’t rob your uncle, but the cattlemen think you did!”
“You mean Crail Creedon was robbed?” Masterson asked. “Who did it and where did it happen?”
“He went down to the Alamo and borrowed ten thousand dollars from Mr. Bailey,” Molly Jo explained. “Two men stopped him as he was coming across the plaza where it’s dark. One called the other by your first name just before he hit your uncle with his gun. The money was gone when your uncle regained consciousness!”
“Stud Bailey got his signals crossed up this time, Silent,” Masterson commented grimly. “His timing was bad, and he’s proved a perfect alibi for you, just like Mary did for Neal Brown. A man can’t be in two places at the same time!”
Molly Jo stared at Masterson, and the deputy marshal told her what had happened in the alley behind the Longhorn Corral. The dusky tint fled from Molly Jo’s cheeks, and she pressed a shaking hand to her quivering lips.
“Dad’s money gone again?” she whispered brokenly, and then she gripped Sutton’s hands. “You’ve got to do something, Silent. We’ll lose the J Bar B and Crail Creedon will lose the C Bar C. They both need that money to pay off their loans!”
Sutton asked, “You said those old Texans were coming down here to bring me fight?”
“Sibley’s rounding up the cowboys,” the girl gasped. “Bailey sent word he’d call all his own men together, and I ran all the way to warn you!”
“Now you take a bad grass fire,” Bat Masterson said quietly. “Only way to fight it is to set a b
ackfire to meet it. That’s you, Miss Molly Jo!”
“I’m a Texan, and I’ll do my own fighting,” Sutton said gruffly.
Masterson whirled and dipped his right hand. Molly Jo was holding Sutton’s hand, and Masterson stepped away with a gun covering the marshal.
“You’re still under arrest, Sutton!” he barked. “Now you listen while I make talk. We might be able to handle those Texas trail-hands, but Bailey’s men are out to kill. Molly Jo takes it on the high lope to tell old Crail about you getting tangled up down here behind the Alamo. That’s what I mean by setting a backfire!”
A dull murmuring was rising in the street. Six-shooters were roaring, and the thud of heavy boots boomed on the board sidewalks. Masterson opened the door and pushed Molly Jo into the hall.
“Run, gal!” he barked. “You can handle those Texans, but you’ve got to work fast!”
Sutton blew down the lamp chimney, then raised the curtain. He stood against the wall, and his lips tightened when he saw a mob coming down Front Street. Crail Creedon swayed beside Sibley. Both wore holstered six-shooters, and a mob of cowboys tramped behind them.
“There’s fifty-six men in that mob, and every one loaded for raw meat,” Masterson said quietly. “Yonder goes Molly Jo across the street!”
Sutton was breathing hard as he watched the Texas girl. Molly Jo wore a divided leather skirt, and a holstered pistol thonged low on her right leg.
Neal Brown and Buffalo McGrew stood in front of the court room, gripping sawed-off shotguns. Molly Jo raced up to the two leaders.
“Uncle Crail!” she shouted. “There’s been a mistake. Silent was having trouble down here while you were being robbed. Now he’s under arrest and you’ve got to help him!”
“We’ll help him,” a bearded gun-fighter shouted. “There’s enough of us to give that holdup plenty of help. Pay her no mind, cowboys!”
Crail Creedon turned slowly with his old Peacemaker .45 cradled in his big gnarled fist. He recognized the speaker as one of Bailey’s loading crew.
“You ain’t a Texan, feller!” Creedon bawled. “Now bridle your jaw while Miss Molly gets it told. Speak up fast, gal!”
Molly Jo told her story. Neal Brown crowded up to listen, and his coppery cheeks turned black with rage. He swiveled the riot gun and made war-talk.
“Smoke your guns or reach high, you ring-tailed glory-hunters! I was guarding the jail all the time Gorgeous Mary was springing her trap, and a hundred men saw me!”
“Drop that sawed-off and smoke me even,” a slender gunfighter begged hoarsely. “We’ve got too damned much law in this town; and most of it the wrong kind!”
Two tall men stepped from the Occidental and came up the boardwalk shoulder to shoulder. Sutton spoke softly to McGrew as he passed the court room, and the old hunter took to the street and covered the crowd with his shotgun.
Masterson fanned away from Sutton and kept to the shadow of the buildings. Necktie Patton stepped from the court room and faced toward the Alamo Saloon, both hammers of his shotgun thumbed back.
Sutton walked right up to Crail Creedon and locked glances with his uncle. Old Crail shifted his rusty boots. “Say something, you tongue-tied rannihan!” he bellowed. “Spell out the name of the jasper who slapped me to sleep!”
“Yeah, talk your way out of this one,” a Bailey man sneered. “By God, we’ll stretch your neck with a new rope!”
Sutton spread his boots and settled his weight for balance. Then a smooth soft voice spoke behind him. “You was put under arrest, Sutton. You’ve got no legal right to wear that marshal’s star!”
That purring voice belonged to Bailey. With the badge removed, he and the gambler would be equal.
Sutton turned slowly, and his left hand went up to unpin his star. Necktie Patton growled like a bear and spoke from behind his riot gun.
“You’re under contract, Sutton. And your time ain’t up!”
Sutton stopped his reaching hand and swiveled his slitted eyes to stare at the mayor. Then he sighed and slowly lowered his hand, and even the sneering laugh of Bailey failed to arouse his anger.
“Like you said, Mayor,” he told Patton, and swung back to face the crowd. “I’m giving you Texas boys five minutes to shuck your hardware,” he told them. “If any of you want fight, the law will know it by the heft of your holsters!”
“Meaning me and Dollar-Sign?” Creedon blustered.
“I mean every longhorn son in this lynch crowd,” Sutton answered.
Bailey spoke to his own men. “Call it a night, boys. I’ll know where to find you when the right time comes.” He turned to Creedon. “Send your men back to camp to keep down trouble, Crail,” he suggested. “I’ve got something to show the law, and I mean to do it legal!”
Creedon waved his hands and ordered the sullen cowboys back to the C Bar C camp in the river-bed. When they had cleared Front Street the old cattleman turned to Bailey.
“Tell it scary, Bailey.”
“Sutton is accused of robbery,” Bailey began. “It stands to reason he wouldn’t keep any of the loot on him, but I demand a search of his room!”
“I was with Silent until we came down here,” Masterson said. “He wasn’t out of my sight for a minute, and up to now your frame doesn’t fit him very tight.”
“There was a third man who made a getaway,” Bailey reminded quietly. “I still demand a search.”
Sutton dropped his hands and made a lightning draw. His hands expertly flipped to reverse the weapons, and he tendered them to Masterson.
“Keep them until after the search, deputy,” he said clearly, and led the way to the Occidental.
The group followed the tall marshal to his room. Sutton stopped suddenly when he reached his door and found it open. Bill Tilghman stood just inside with a cocked six-shooter in each hand.
“Step inside, gents,” the deputy sheriff said.
Molly Jo stopped beside Silent Sutton. Stud Bailey entered next, with Sibley and Creedon following. Masterson and the mayor stayed in the hall. Bailey turned to Molly Jo and asked a question.
“That money the colonel carried in his belt. Wasn’t it marked in some way so that it could be easily identified?”
“I marked it,” the girl answered without hesitation. “I used an indelible pencil, and every bill was branded with the J Bar B!”
“Start searching, Masterson,” Bailey said. “There are some of Sutton’s old clothes on the chair near that closet door.”
Masterson frowned and picked up Sutton’s old black coat. He ran a practiced hand through the outer pockets, then dipped into an inner breast pocket. Masterson’s lips parted and he pulled out a sheath of paper money.
“Seems like too much money for a working marshal,” Bailey commented.
Molly Jo stared and drew away from Sutton. Her hand flew to her lips, but the words had already been spoken before she could stifle them.
“The J Bar B brand!”
Sutton stared at the marked money. Bailey broke the silence when he laughed.
“There’s the proof,” he said quietly. “And there’s the robber. Don’t move, Sutton. There stands the law you hired, gentlemen,” Bailey said quietly.
“Just a minute, Bailey,” Tilghman interrupted. “The city trustees didn’t hire me, and I represent the sheriff’s office. What’s this I hear about a third man who got away when Sutton claims he was slugged and robbed?”
“He was a tall lean hombre, and he got away in the dark,” Bailey answered. “He must have slipped in here to split with Sutton, and there ought to be more money hidden in this room.”
“Better look in that closet, Bat,” Tilghman told Masterson carelessly, but his gun covered Bailey.
Masterson crossed the room and threw back the closet door. A man fell out into the room, then staggered to his feet with a trickle of blood dripping from his
right hand.
“What the—who is this hombre?” Masterson barked.
“That’s Whitey Briggs,” Tilghman explained quietly. “I saw him sneak up the steps right after the ruckus outside, and I followed him. I caught him slipping that money in Sutton’s coat just after you and Silent left the hotel. Whitey stabbed for his six-shooter and I shot him through the arm to keep him honest—and alive!”
Masterson steadied the wounded man and stood him over by the window. Then he walked back to Sutton and handed the marshal his six-shooters.
“You’re still the law, Marshal,” he said quietly. “Whitey’s worked for Bailey for more than a year, and he might do some talking.”
Briggs cringed and rolled his eyes at Bailey. “You’ve got to help me, boss!” he whined.
Sutton made one leap and grabbed Briggs by the front of his shirt. “Talk!” he ordered savagely.
A gun roared outside. A flash winked out from the shadows over on the railroad track, then the bark of a rifle split the night air, followed by the blast of a shotgun.
Briggs sagged to the carpet when Sutton stepped back. The wounded man’s boots drummed on the floor. Sutton stared at a little hole in the dead man’s vest, squarely between the shoulders. Sutton straightened up and faced Stud Bailey.
“You didn’t want him to talk,” the gambler accused angrily. “You hired Whitey away from me, and you was afraid he’d tell all he knew!”
“Yeah,” Crail Creedon interrupted, and his gray eyes snapped under the yellow light. “If Silent hired that dead gunny, how come Whitey to call you ‘boss’?”
“Nickname,” Bailey answered with a shrug. “Lots of the boys in Dodge City call me boss.”
“Hold him there, Bat,” Sutton said to Masterson. “There was another killing down below, and Tilghman and I’ll look into it. I heard a shotgun settle that last argument, and I think I know who triggered it.”