Ralph Compton Death Along the Cimarron (22 page)

“We just ride together,” said McRoy. “I never knew him before I came to ride with you. Far as I'm concerned, he's just one more gun in a world full of them.”

“Good,” said Earl. “Once this bank is robbed and we're in the dear, I might ask you to do me a special favor, McRoy. Think you'll be up to it?”

Avery McRoy nodded. “I can't see why not.”

Tuck Carlyle was so engrossed in his shooting that he didn't notice the approaching riders less than twenty yards behind him. Only when he heard a gruff voice call out, “Hello the camp,” did he turn and face them, his pistol still in hand but lowered to his side.

At the sight of the tin badge on Tuck Carlyle's chest, Ellen's heart leaped at the prospect of freedom. She shot a quick look at the others, then almost bolted her horse forward, ready to cry out for help from this man.

“I've no camp here,” said Tuck, “but ride on in all the same.” He gestured his free hand along the trail. “As you can see, this is a public road.”

“I saw there was no camp,” said Earl, drawing closer, having taken the lead farther back along the trail. Earl was now being followed by Joe and Ellen, who in turn were followed by Avery McRoy. “But we've been hearing your shooting a long ways off. Didn't know how dose we ought to come before announcing ourselves.”

Tuck raised the pistol slightly and turned it back and forth in his hand. “Just doing some practicing,” he said. He felt the woman's eyes burning into him. Her expression was puzzling. What was it he read there: fear, hope ... a warning of some sort?

Nodding at the badge on Tuck's chest, Earl said, “I expect that's a prudent pastime for a lawman.” He smiled flatly, his hand seeming to rest idly on the pistol at his hip. Behind Ellen and Joe, McRoy had drawn his rifle from its boot as he came down the trail. It lay across his lap, his gloved hand near the trigger.

“In my case it is,” said Tuck. “I just turned deputy today. I figure I need all the practice I can get.” Catching a quick glimpse of the woman's eyes again, Tuck saw a change in her expression. He tried to take a good look at the faces of the men, but their broad hat brims along with the bright sunlight served to obstruct his vision.

“Oh, I see,” said Earl, his hand relaxing on his pistol butt, even sliding down an inch. “Then we'll not take up your time.” He nodded along the trail. “I take it this is the best way to Cimarron?”

“It is that,” said Tuck. “Cimarron is only about three miles farther.” As he spoke, he looked the woman up and down, wondering what had happened ... what had caused her to change so suddenly. But now her expression offered no clue. Her eyes turned downward as if afraid to face him. “Have you traveled far?” Tuck asked Earl, taking his eyes from the woman lest he appear to be staring.

“Does Texas sound far?” said Earl. “I'm Fred Bartlett. I own a cattle operation outside Haley Springs. Ever heard of the place?”

“So happens I have,” said Tuck. “I'm a Texan myself. My name is Tuck Carlyle.” He touched his hat brim. “I've passed through Haley Springs buying cattle, making up a herd, although it has been a long while.”

Earl smiled. “Well, like as not nothing's changed there.” He tipped his hat slightly, then said, “We'll be taking our leave now. I'm afraid we're all in sore need of a hot bath and some food that ain't still running from us. I suppose there is a decent hotel in Cimarron?”

“Yes, there is,” said Tuck. “There's the St. James. It's the finest hotel between here and Kansas City.”

“Much obliged then,” said Earl, touching his hat brim. “That's where we'll stay.”

Tuck touched his fingertips to his hat brim again as the four riders filed past him, the woman not raising her eyes or acknowledging him again in any way.
A strange group,
he thought. He stood watching them until they rode down out of sight beneath the roll of the land. Then he turned back to his shooting, unable to get the woman's expression out of his mind as he raised the pistol and cocked it. He'd have to mention it to the sheriff tonight, he reminded himself. That was the sort of thing a deputy was supposed to do. This time his shot was perfect, shattering the rock like glass.

Just over the rise, Ellen Waddell looked back at the sound of Tuck's shot. “You done real well back there,” Earl said to her, cutting his horse to the side and stopping as she and Joe Turley rode past him. Joe took the lead rope up from around his saddle horn and uncoiled it, ready to tie it to Ellen's horse's bridle again. “Never mind, Joe,” Earl said to him. “Long as she behaves, let her handle the horse herself.”

“But, Boss, I've been leading her all this way.” Joe looked disappointed.

“You heard him, Joe,” Ellen whispered in a sharp hiss, just between the two of them. She jerked her reins away from Joe's hand before he even had time to reach out with the lead rope.

“Yeah,” said Earl, with no idea what Ellen had just said to Joe Turley, “and now I'm telling you to leave her be.... We'll see how far we can trust her.” He cut Ellen a dark stare. “Don't forget, little darling, I can still drop a bullet in you long before you get out of sight.”

“I know that,” said Ellen. “I'm no fool. I'll do as I'm told.”

“There, Joe, you hear that?” said Earl. “This woman's not a fool. She wasn't about to say something back there to cause that poor deputy to get his eyeballs shot out.... The odds weren't right, were they, Mrs. Waddell?” he said with a sneer.

Ellen didn't answer. She rode on, looking down at the ground.

Avery McRoy took this time to say something he'd been wondering about for a while now. “How in the world are we going to keep her from shooting her mouth off once we get inside Cimarron?” he asked.

“We're not taking her into town with us,” said Earl.

Joe Turley looked surprised. “But you just told that deputy we'd be staying at the hotel—”

“Damn it, Joe,” said Earl, cutting him off. “I hope I ain't got myself in trouble, lying to a deputy of all things!” He feigned a look of fright.

“Joe, Joe, my goodness.” McRoy stifled a laugh and shook his head at Turley's ignorance.

“There's a cabin I know about, four miles east of town,” Earl said. “We'll hole up there until we get ready to do our raid.”

“Buck and his men will be looking for us in town,” said McRoy. “Want me to cut off from you and ride on in? Keep my eyes open for Buck?”

“Tomorrow,” said Earl. “We'll get a night's sleep, give that deputy time to forget our faces. Then we'll take turns going to town till we hook up with Buck.”

“Sounds good to me,” said McRoy, heeling his horse forward. “I sure hope there is a washtub and a stove to heat some water at that cabin.”

“Don't worry,” said Cherokee Earl. “I think of everything.” He tapped his horse up and rode beside McRoy, hearing another pistol shot resound behind them over the rise. “That's it, Deputy,” Earl said to McRoy with a chuckle. “Better get good at it. You never know when it'll come in handy.”

Dave Waddell flinched at the sound of gunfire coming from inside the mining office shack, but he stuck to his job, holding the reins to Frisco Bonham's horse while Frisco performed the robbery. Since he and Frisco had joined up, it seemed that all they'd done was ride from one robbery to the next. After the stagecoach, they'd robbed a relay station north of Santa Fe, then a band of settlers headed for California. But according to Frisco, every step they took was leading Dave that much closer to finding his wife. He had to go along with things. What else could he do? he asked himself. Another shot resounded from the shack.

Dave sat watching tensely for any sign of trouble. “Damn it, hurry up, Frisco,” he said to himself under his breath, seeing two miners step out of a toolshed a few yards away and look toward the office shack. Dave raised the rifle from across his lap and let the barrel loom menacingly toward them. “Get back inside, you peckerwoods! This doesn't concern you!” he shouted through the bandanna he wore as a mask.

The two miners ducked back inside the toolshed, but only for a moment. By the time Frisco came running out of the office with a canvas moneybag in one hand and a smoking Colt in the other, the miners came out again. This time there were four of them. This time they each carried shovels or picks. One hurled a large rock that bounced off the door of the office shack just as Frisco ran for his horse. The rock came too close for comfort, and Frisco turned before stepping up into his stirrups.

“You sumbitch!” Frisco shouted. “Throw a rock at me?” He fired a shot. The bullet nailed the miner in his chest, causing him to stagger backwards, dropping the shovel he wielded above his head. The other miners caught their wounded comrade as he fell. “Let's go!” Frisco shouted at Dave Waddell as he hurled himself up into the saddle.

“Jesus! You killed him!” Dave Waddell shouted as they batted their heels to their horses' sides and sped away from the shouting, cursing miners. Frisco's only reply was a long, rowdy yell, followed by two pistol shots in the air. When they'd topped a ridge a hundred yards away, a rifle shot rang out from the direction of the mine's office. But by then it was too late. The pair of thieves rode down out of sight, onto the main trail. Then they rode at a steady clip for the next three miles.

Finally, Frisco slowed his horse a bit and laughed, pushing his hat up with a finger and jerking the bandanna down from across his face. “Now that's the way to pull a payroll robbery!” he gloated, shaking the bag of money at Dave Waddell. The both slowed their horses even more.

“It went pretty smooth,” said Dave. “That's for certain.”

“Smooth? Hell, yes, smooth,” said Frisco. “I'm talking about right in, right out.” His chest swelled with pride. “There wasn't no fooling around like some robbers do.” He shook the bag again. “Davey Boy, I believe you and me could make a good team on our own! We wouldn't even need Cherokee Earl and his boys!”

“You—you really think so?” Dave Waddell shot a nervous glance back over his shoulder, then yanked his bandanna down and ran a shaky hand across his forehead. “I don't mind telling you, I still feel pretty scared doing this.”

“Like I told you, everybody gets a little spooked the first few times,” said Frisco, dismissing it. “But how scared will you be running your fingers through this much money, eh?” Again he held the bag up for Dave Waddell to see. “This is the best we've done yet.”

Dave Waddell studied the bulging canvas bag as their horses loped along easily. “How much you figure is in there,” Dave asked, settling down some.

“Oh, four, five thousand, easy enough,” said Frisco. “Maybe even more. However much there is, it's all ours!” He shook the bag again, laughing loudly.

“So maybe we better stop somewhere and split it up?” Dave asked, his greed starting to get the better of him.

“Sure, we can do that,” said Frisco. He nodded along the trail ahead of them. “Or I can hang on to it till we get to Cimarron. It's only another twenty or thirty miles.”

“Cimarron,” said Waddell. “What's in Cimarron? A bank? Another mining payroll?”

Frisco gave him a bemused look. “Both,” he said. “But that ain't all that's in Cimarron.”

“What else?” Waddell asked.

“It just might be that she's there,” said Frisco.

“She who?” Dave asked. But then he caught himself and said, “Oh, you mean Ellen, my wife?”

“Well, damn, Dave,” Frisco chuckled. “Yeah, that's who I mean all right. Have you forgotten all about her?”

“Of course not,” Dave responded, his face reddening. “It's just that we was talking about something else. It took me a second to catch up.”

But Frisco wouldn't let him off that easy. He taunted him, saying, “You do remember your wife, Ellen, don't you?” As he spoke, he reached down into the canvas bag and pulled up a handful of dollars and gold coins and let them spill back down into the bag.

“Go to hell,” Waddell said.

Frisco grinned. “I'm trying to just as fast as I can.” He closed the bag and carried it on his lap. “Don't be so hard on yourself for not remembering your wife, Davey Boy. It could happen to anybody. A man gets out here, gets a taste of freedom, money, anything else he takes a hankering for ... knows all he's got to do is reach out and take whatever he wants ... nobody can stop him. That's a powerful pull on a man's better nature!”

Dave Waddell ignored Frisco's taunting and heeled his horse forward ahead of him. “You say Ellen might be in Cimarron?”

“Yep, she sure might be,” said Frisco. “I know Cherokee has been planning a raid on the bank there. He just needed something to get him moving in that direction.” He caught up to Dave Waddell and stopped his horse in front of him, turning crosswise in the trail. “What exactly have you got planned for when you catch up to Cherokee Earl, if you don't mind me asking. Are you going to shoot him down where he stands? Maybe call him out into the street, face him down gun to gun?”

Again Dave Waddell ignored him. He tried reining his horse around him, but Frisco maneuvered along with him, blocking his horse's path, forcing him to confront the situation that he'd put himself into. “Speaking of facing up to somebody, when are you going to face up to yourself? You've got no use for that woman, Dave! She's just something else you acquired along the way. Something to prove to yourself how good you were doing, some pretty trinket that you could afford at the time. You knew she was something other men would see and be envious of. Now that other men have had her, is she still going to be worth as much to you?”