Shoot Angel! (10 page)

The slim figure, bent over a long table,
tensed. Dark hair swirled away from her face as she turned, green
eyes wide with surprise. The shock lasted only a second.

‘
Do
you think you’ll be able to stop long enough to finish your meal
this time?’Jess asked.

Angel grinned. ‘I
wouldn’t count on,
it.’

‘
I
heard what had
happened to you. How did you get away from that camp?’

‘
Saw a
chance and took it,’ Angel said.

‘
Did
you find your friend?’Jess asked, glancing at Birdy.

‘
I
found out what happened to him. This is Birdy. He was at the camp.
He was there when they killed Harry Culp.’

‘
You
mean he’s dead? Oh my!’ Jess shook her head. ‘Can’t you go to the
law?’

Birdy grinned.
‘Don’t she
know?’

‘
My
last visit was too short,’ Angel replied. He fished out his badge
and showed it to Jess.

‘
So
you weren’t looking for Harry Culp because he was a
friend?’

‘
No,’
Angel admitted. ‘Jess, don’t take offence because I didn’t tell you
who I was. It’s surprising how reluctant people become once they
know I’m a lawman. One minute they’re ready to tell you everything,
the next, when they see a badge, they dry up. And it could have got
you hurt if Cranford’s boys had found out you’d been talking to a
lawman.’

Jess reached out to touch his arm.

‘
Thank
you for thinking of that. Do you think Cranford has found out who
you are?’

‘
It’s
possible. He’ll know soon enough when I tell him
myself.’

‘
Is
that why you came back to Liberty?’ Jess frowned suddenly. ‘You
don’t intend taking on the whole lot of them yourself, do
you?’

‘
What
I’d like to do is get a message to my boss in Washington. Let him
know what I’ve walked into here. Then if something happens to me
there’ll be somebody else able to deal with Cranford and his
bunch.’

‘
I
know Cranford, Frank,’ Jess said. ‘He’s a hard man. I don’t think
he’d hesitate to kill you if you got in his way.’

‘
They
already tried once,’ Birdy said.

Angel quickly outlined the incident with the
three guards from the camp. As she listened Jess moved to sit down
on a wooden kitchen chair.

‘
You’ll have to go slowly,’ she said. ‘I can’t keep up with
it all.’

‘
Don’t
try,’ Angel said. ‘Listen, Jess, is there a telegraph office in
town?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
First
things first,’ Angel said. ‘Have you opened up yet?’

Jess shook her head.
‘I’m not due to
open for another hour.’

‘
Birdy, I want you to stay here. I’m going to try for the
telegraph office.’

‘
And
then?’Jess asked.

‘
See
if Cranford will listen to reason. Try and make him give himself
up.’

‘
Wonderful, isn’t it!’ Birdy said.

‘
What?’ asked Angel.

‘
Faith
in human nature.’

‘
Birdy, I said I was going to ask him. I didn’t say anything
about him actually agreeing.’

Jess led the way through the empty
restaurant.

At the window she pointed out the telegraph
office. It was across the street, some fifty yards down. Not far
under normal circumstances, Angel thought, but when you were
possibly walking under the threat of a bullet it seemed an awful
long way. He checked the rifle he was carrying. The revolver as
well.

‘
Be
careful,’ Jess whispered as he eased open the door.

‘
My
middle name.’ Angel smiled.

He paused on the boardwalk,
allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. That was one thing in
his
favor,
he thought. The darkness. Though it was double-edged. It made it
hard for his enemies to see him, but it also worked the other way
round.

Angel walked slowly along the
boardwalk, his eyes searching every pool of shadow, every doorway.
He scanned the mouths of alleys, each darkened window. He stopped
when he reached the spot that placed him directly opposite the
telegraph office. Lamplight glowed in the small window of the
squat, single-storey building. Angel stepped down on to the street
and strode across. At the far end of the street he heard the
unhurried step of a horse. He flicked his gaze in that direction,
saw a rider dismounting outside a saloon. The man tied his horse
and went inside. Angel sighed. He was getting jumpy. He was also
becoming, slowly but surely, very angry. Angry at what had been
done to him since coming to Liberty. He
’d been framed, beaten up, tossed in
jail, sentenced to hard labor. It was a pretty long list to say
he’d hardly had time to take off his hat in Liberty. On top of all
that he’d had to risk his life in escaping and been forced to kill
to stay alive.

And it wasn
’t over yet. Not by a long
way!

He hesitated before going
inside the telegraph office. He was putting himself in
Cranford
’s
position. Assuming that the judge had found out Angel’s true
identity, he was going to do his best to have Angel disposed of
quickly. One thing the crooked judge would not want was for Angel’s
superiors to hear what had been going on in Liberty. One of the
ways they might hear was by telegraph. And that could mean
Cranford’s men inside the office. Angel slipped into the alley
beside the building. He made a quick circuit, finding no other
windows or door. The only way in or out was through the front. He
returned to the front and took a quick glance in through the
window.

The telegraph operator was seated behind his
counter, bent over his machine. Lounging against the wall near the
counter was a hard-eyed, heavy man who had hired gun written all
over him. A second man sat hunched over a tattered magazine, facing
the door.

Angel moved to the door, eased
the knob, and pushed the door open wide. As the door swung open
Angel stepped back out of sight, pressing himself against the front
of the telegraph office. He waited. Not for long. He heard the
sound of a
chair scraping on the wooden floor, then the slow tread of
someone approaching the open doorway.

‘
Probably some kids playin’ about, Sam,’ came a voice from
inside.

‘
Yeah?’ Sam snapped back. ‘Then how come you ain’t goin’ to
look?’

‘
You’re nearest, old buddy!’

Sam made a low sound at the back of his
throat. He eased his uncertainty by drawing his gun.

Angel watched
Sam
’s
approaching shadow loom larger and larger. He let the gunman reach
the doorway. Sam peered out into the darkness. He saw nothing at
first. The moment he actually did spot something it was far too
late. The solid butt of Angel’s rifle came round hard and caught
him across the side of the face. Sam grunted and flew back inside
the office. His legs ceased to function correctly and he stumbled
to his knees. Angel was right behind him. He clouted Sam again,
this time behind the ear. Sam went down without a sound. As the
unconscious gunman hit the floor Angel booted the door shut,
swinging his rifle round to cover the second gunman. The man was
halfway through a hurried draw and he abandoned the idea when he
saw Angel’s rifle aimed at his stomach.

‘
Put
the gun on the floor,’ Angel said. ‘Now kick it over
here.’

Angel picked up the gun and stuck it in his
belt. He did the same with the weapon belonging to the man called
Sam.

‘
Now,
friend, you lie down on the floor,’ Angel told the gunman. ‘Face
down. Arms and legs spread apart. And you so much as breathe heavy,
mister, it’ll be the day they bury you!’

The gunman did as he was told,
recognizing the harsh, deliberation in Angel
’s voice.

‘
You
ready to send?’ Angel asked the telegrapher.

The middle-aged man behind the counter
nodded. Sweat glistened on his white face and he tugged nervously
at his tight shirt-collar.

‘
I
want you to clear
the lines through to Washington,’ Angel instructed him. He pulled a
message-pad to him, picked up a pencil and began to
write.

‘
Washington?’ the telegrapher asked.

‘
Yeah.
It’s that place where the President has his office,’ Angel said.
‘Get those lines clear. Priority clearance. You know the drill. Now
get to it!’

‘
Yessir!’ the telegrapher said. He turned to his key and
began to tap out his message. ‘It’ll take time,’ he
apologized.

Angel finished writing and shoved the
message-pad across the counter.

‘
Just
do it. Then send this message.’

The telegrapher completed his first message.
While he waited for the clearance he picked up the message-pad and
read what Angel had put down. His eyes rounded, showing the whites,
and he peered over the rim of the paper at Angel.

‘
This
genuine?’

‘
You
figure I’m doing this for fun!’

The telegrapher smiled weakly
and turned back to his key. The clearance came through ten minutes
later and Angel
’s message began its long journey across those endless
miles, all the way to the rambling old building on Washington’s
Pennsylvania Avenue. There would be an even longer wait for the
reply. But it was something Angel had to receive before he left the
office. He had to know that the Attorney General had read his
report on the activities in Liberty. All Angel wanted was an
acknowledgement.

It took almost an hour. Angel
was beginning to sweat. The longer he remained in the telegraph
office the more likely one or more of Cranford
’s men might walk in on
him.

In fact that was what more or less
happened.

Angel spotted three figures
coming across the street towards the telegraph office, and he moved
quickly to the window, peering out. The three were strolling
casually across the dusty street. Angel swore he recognized one of
them as Koch, one of Sherman
’s deputies.

At that precise moment the
telegraph began to chatter. Angel spun away from the window. In
three long strides he crossed the office and went behind the
counter to peer over the telegrapher
’s shoulder, reading the message as it was
written down.

ANGEL. LIBERTY. ARIZONA.

YOUR
REPORT ACKNOWLEDGED. STOP. ACTION
UNDERTAKEN. STOP. STAY ALIVE. STOP ATTORNEY GENERAL.

Angel breathed a sigh of
relief. That was the easy part over with. All he had to do now was
to comply with the Attorney General
’s request. He stepped from behind the
counter in time to see the three men step past the window. In a few
seconds they would come in through the door and all hell would
break loose.

Unless
…

Angel heard the door creak as
someone began to open it. He lunged across the small office and
went out through the window, head tucked low on his chest. He hit
the boardwalk in a shower of glass and splintered wood. His
momentum took him across the boardwalk and on to the street. He
rolled, twisting over on to his back so that he was facing the
telegraph office as he came to rest. Angel still had his gun in his
hand and he flipped it up as he saw figures erupting from the
office. Gunfire split the night. Bullets whacked the dirt around
Angel. He forced himself to sit tight, take that much longer to
aim, then he fired, feeling the big Colt revolver buck against his
palm. He saw one man bounce back against the office wall, twisting
crazily in pain before he went down. Then Angel was moving,
half-crouching, darting along the street, away from the spill of
lamplight cast out on to the street from the open office door. He
felt
the hot
burn of a bullet sear his left arm, and he turned viciously, anger
drawing his lips back from his clenched teeth in a silent
snarl.

Angel
’s big fist held the Colt steady. He
triggered two shots, heard a man scream in agony, clutching both
hands to a bloody, ruined face. Blotting out the hideous sounds of
pain Angel ran, cutting across the empty street, consciously moving
away from the restaurant. He didn’t want to draw Cranford’s men
near the place if he could help it. So where else did he go? At
that precise moment Angel didn’t really know or care, he simply
ran. Only now did he realize that he had left the rifle behind in
the telegraph office. There hadn’t been time to grab it in his
hurry to leave. But he did have the two guns he’d taken from
Cranford’s men tucked in his belt, plus the Colt he was carrying.
He figured he would have to make the best of what he
had.