Chapter TEN
The morning after Willy Boy and his gang arrived in town, a man thumbed through the stack of wanted posters in the sheriffs office in Dodge.
"It’s not here," Lars Swenson said looking up at his boss, Michael Handshoe. Swenson was small, reedy, with a thin face and a Struggling moustache in gray and black. His watery eyes held a note of panic.
"Damn, it’s not here," Lars said again. "We saw it yesterday, five or six down in the stack like it came in recently. "
Michael Handshoe was the opposite of Lars. He stretched up to six-feet-two inches, and had a bull like body to match the tallness. One ham like hand pushed Lars aside and fingers worked through the stack of wanted posters on the sheriffs desk.
He went all the way through the pile of over a hundred wanted posters from all over the western United States and territories. When he finished he growled.
"Goddamn, you’re right. It was here before and it ain’t now. What the hell kind of sheriff we got here in Dodge anyway?"
"A damn good one," Sheriff Manson said walking into his office. "What the hell kind of bounty hunters we got running around Dodge?"
"Damn good ones, Manson," Handshoe said, holding out his big palm for a shake. "We got a small problem, Sheriff. We saw a wanted poster here yesterday, and today we can’t find it. You throw out a batch or something?"
"Ain’t likely. People go through the stack beside you boys. Fact is, I’ve known you to borrow a Wanted or two so no other bounty man would look for the gents. I figure it could have happened again. "
"Yeah, could. I’m interested in this Willy Boy Gang. Know anything about them?"
"Just what it said on the flyer. What was it, five or six of them, all broke out of jail at the same time down in Texas as I recall. Pay seemed a mite high. "
"What I remembered," Handshoe said. "Two thousand each, that makes twelve thousand dollars. A mite tidy sum. "
"Figured that would bring out some talent," Sheriff Manson said. "You still have your outfit intact?"
"One of my best men split off on his own. He’s working farther west. I’m down to five men and me now. Go after a whole gang one man can’t do the job right. "
"Reasonable. You think this gang is in Dodge?"
"Possible. I saw the same Wanted couple of weeks ago, so I sent a letter to that sheriff down in Texas with him to send a return letter here at Dodge. Got back a good description of each of the jail breakers. All six of them. The one called the Professor should be the easiest
to spot. Tall, well dressed, even went to college. Smooth talker. He’s the one I’m looking for. Find him, find the rest. "
"Seems reasonable. These guys wanted dead or alive?"
"The way I remember it. "
The sheriff dropped into his chair. "You think they might be around here?"
"Bank got robbed down south along the trail from here to New Mexico. Had all the signs of being a job done by this Professor. He’s smooth, slick, no gunplay, gets away before anyone knows the bank got busted open. "
"So they might have come on up the trail to Dodge," the sheriff said.
"If the boot fits, Sheriff. ... "
That noon Handshoe and his five men covered every eating place in Dodge. Nowhere did they find a man who answered the description of the Professor. Twice the bounty hunters checked the hotel dining room while Willy Boy and Johnny Joe were having their midday dinner, but the hunters did not recognize them.
Handshoe called all of his men back to his hotel room in the afternoon and they went over the letter from Sheriff Jim Dunwoody of Oak Park, Texas. They memorized the descriptions of the other members of the Willy Boy gang and by supper time they were out again checking the eating establishments.
Handshoe took the four hotels, starting at five in the evening, and coming to each of the four and spending fifteen minutes at each. He figured that should let him get back to the first one 45 minutes after he left it for a second look.
In the first hotel he spotted a man who dressed well, had a well tended beard and was eating at a table alone. He was devouring the most expensive meal on the menu. Handshoe gave the waitress a dollar bill and asked her who the man was.
She was young and giggled and said he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
"His name, does he have a name?" Handshoe asked.
She promised to find out and five minutes later came back.
"The desk clerk says he’s J. Ambrose Collier. He’s here buying horses to sell to the army. Isn’t he handsome?"
Handshoe shooed her away and moved to the next hotel. He figured the white Indian would be easy to spot. Long hair, maybe a braid, dark features, wary? But no such person showed up in any of the four hotel dining rooms. Nor did the Mexican. There were some small cafes where both those men would be more likely to eat.
When Handshoe checked the first hotel again just before six, he grinned. The young man sitting at the second table was 17 or 18. The man who sat across from him was older and much larger. Could be Willy Boy and the big man in the group, what was his name . .. Gunner Johnson.
When they stood to leave, Handshoe caught his breath. The small young man was no more than five-feet five, maybe five-six. His companion was at least six-feet two- inches and solid, maybe 240 pounds.
Handshoe felt his hands tremble. There was $4,000 on the hoof! He should take them right then and get the other four as he could find them. But he waited. He wanted all six of them together!
He left the dining room before they did and waited in the lobby. They went up the stairs and he followed far enough behind not to be noticed. He saw the small man go into a room on the second floor, room 22. Gunner went up to the third floor and Handshoe lost him.
Handshoe went at once to the front desk and talked to the clerk. He took a room on the second floor and checked to see if he could open his door a crack and see room 22. He couldn’t, so he went downstairs with the numbers of four rooms that would serve his purpose. One of them was vacant, so he rented it for two nights and went up there and began his watch.
There would be somebody watching that room now 24-hours a day just as soon as he could contact his men. Right then he couldn’t leave because he might miss something. Willy Boy wouldn’t wiggle without Handshoe knowing about it. He grinned. He could almost feel all those green dollar bills in his hands. $12,000! He’d take them all dead if he could. Then all he would have to do was ride back to Texas and pick up the money in trade for the death certificates.
Willy Boy left his room about an hour later and went to a saloon where he bought two bottles of cold beer and got into a game of three card monte. A short time later a man came in and joined him. The man was a Mexican. He spoke with Willy Boy and slipped out.
Handshoe followed him. This would be Juan Romero. Yes, he would take out Romero now and stash him in the jail. Then get the rest of them as they contacted Willy Boy tonight. Obviously they weren’t going to hold a meeting so he could get them all at once.
He hurried to catch up with Romero and in a dark spot between splashes of light from saloons, he pushed his revolver into Romero’s side.
"Don’t make a move or say a word, Romero, or you’re a dead man looking for a graveyard. " Handshoe felt the Mexican tighten up, then relax.
"Who are you?"
"No matter, you’re one of the Willy Boy Gang, and I’m here to collect the $2,000 on you dead or alive. Make it easy for me, try to get away. "
He felt the Mexican sag then, give up completely. He’d seen it happen before. There were a lot of good ways to take the fight out of a man.
"Just walk easy right down to the jail house. We’ll stash you in there all peaceful like and you live another month or so before you hang. Might even see your wife and kids. You must have about six or eight. " Handshoe walked beside Romero, his left hand holding the Mexican’s right arm above the elbow, his right hand jamming the big .45 into his ribs.
"Nice and easy like and we won’t wake up the na
tives. " Handshoe felt Romero’s arm tighten and he jammed the gun harder into his side.
"No tricks, greaser, or I’ll blow you in half! Once Michael Handshoe and his team of bounty hunters gets a man, he never gets away. Remember that, Romero. " Romero looked at him then and nodded but at the same time his balled fist slammed into Handshoe’s crotch, then upward at the deadly .45 in his own ribs.
Handshoe felt the blow crush his testicles and the pain daggered through him before he could pull the trigger. Romero’s lightning like upward thrust of his arm swept the muzzle of the weapon up and away from his side.
When the impulses got through from Handshoe’s pain fogged brain to his finger to pull the trigger, the weapon went off pointing almost straight up. The scream of pain tore into the night air from Handshoe’s mouth. Romero grabbed the cylinder so it couldn’t turn, which meant it couldn’t fire again. He bent the weapon backwards until he heard a finger bone snap and another braying scream of pain from Handshoe.
He let go of the weapon and Juan Romero stood there as Handshoe fell to the ground holding his genitals, pulling his knees up to relive some of the torturous pain.
Then Romero ran. He figured some of the men would be in their hotel rooms. He pounded on Willy Boy’s door first and told him what happened. They rushed to the other rooms. Gunner and Johnny Joe and Eagle were in their rooms. Only the Professor was not there.
They all packed at once. Willy Boy kicked open the Professor’s locked door and packed his gear and they sauntered downstairs and out the back door.
They had left their horses at the livery and now three of them filtered that way to saddle all six horses. Juan, Willy Boy and Gunner began to work the saloons to find the one that held the Professor.
After ten minutes they found him in a saloon sweet talking a dance hall girl into flipping on her back for him for free.
A whispered word to the Professor from Willy Boy and the bank robber patted the whore’s little bottom and slipped out of the saloon.
The Willy Boy Gang hit leather and galloped out of town to the northeast along a good wagon road.
"Tell me again what he said," Willy Boy shouted at Juan. The Mexican rode up beside him and went over what happened and what the man had said.
"Bounty hunter? Michael Handshoe? I’ve never heard of anyone by that name. " He turned to the rest and shouted. "Any of you heard of a bounty hunter named Handshoe?"
"Oh, shit!" the Professor roared. "Michael Handshoe?" He rode in closer.
"That’s what he called himself," Romero said.
"Double shit! Handshoe is the best bounty hunter in the plains states. He never goes after anybody until they are worth at least $ 1,000. The worst part is he has from six to ten men who ride with him. He’s got his own gang and he uses them to ride down lone men with paper out on them. "
"Must have come to Dodge looking for us," Willy Boy said. "That damn poster is going to cause us trouble after all. "
"How could he spot us from the poster?" Johnny Joe asked. "Weren’t no descriptions of us on it. "
"Guy like Handshoe probably wrote to Dunwoody and asked for descriptions," the Professor said. "Dunwoody would answer the same day and we aren’t that far from Oak Park. "
"So, he’ll trail us," Willy Boy said.
"Damn right," the Professor agreed. "He’s said to have the best tracker in the West who works for him. The tracker gets two shares of the reward. He’s good. "
"Eagle!" Willy Boy called. "Get your redskin ass up here. How do we mess up our trail to confuse Handshoe and his tracker?"
Eagle grinned in the soft moonlight. "Follow me. " He turned his mount around and rode back along the same trail they had ridden out. After half a mile he stopped.
"Now we split up in six directions. See the north star? We all ride east and west in a big arc and we always swing a little north. When we hit the first creek, you on the left ride downstream. Those on the right, ride upstream until we meet. When Handshoe’s trackers follow us in the morning, they’ll fan out following our trails. Make it three or five miles of an arc on each side and one man goes straight north.
"We’ll be waiting for the Handshoe rider who tracks straight north. He’ll get there two hours before the others. We pick him off, and then the next man who arrives alone. We pick them off one at a time until none are left. " Willy Boy grinned. "Anyone have any suggestions?" Professor nodded. "Yeah. First stream is the Buckner about 20 miles north of here. I’ve been in this area before. Let’s not get lost. First man riding north gets there in about five hours. The rest of us won’t find that man for eight or nine hours. "
Willy looked at his crew. "Johnny Joe, you go straight north and take it easy. Eagle, you take the widest circle to the left. I’ll take the widest one to the right, the rest of you space in between. Remember, we all meet at the stream and work down and upstream until we find Johnny Joe. Then we figure out our ambush. "
He looked at Eagle. "Will it work?"
"Damn right! I seen a cavalry troop cut to pieces that way a squad at a time. I couldn’t believe they didn’t catch on to the trick. "
Again they rode.
They had left Dodge about eight o’clock, Willy Boy estimated. By the time they split up it must have been nearly nine. As Willy Boy looked up at the north star and the big dipper in its nightiy circle around it, he decided it was about ten o’clock. He’d been riding an hour. He had a long night’s ride ahead of him.
As he rode he couldn’t help thinking about bounty hunters. How could they do that? How could they go out and hunt down other men and bring them back dead or alive for a reward? If they were lawmen that was different. Such work was a lawman’s job, his duty, but for a civilian to do it—it just wasn’t right.
The whole hour of thinking about bounty hunters reinforced Willy Boy’s hatred of the breed, and made him more determined than ever to find the one named Deeds Conover.
Ride Tall, Hang High Page 10