The Reluctant Pinkerton (2 page)

Roper waited a few moments, then asked, “But will you?”

Howard looked at Rope and said, “Hmm?”

“The Milligans,” Roper said. “Will you tell me where to find them?”

For a moment Roper thought the lawman had gone catatonic, but then the man shrugged and said, “Why not?”

The sheriff agreed to tell Roper where he could find the Milligans.

“But I can’t go out there with you,” he added.

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing,” the man said, “they ain’t wanted hereabouts.”

“And for another?”

In answer to that the sheriff stuck his right hand—his gun hand—out so Roper could see it shake.

“I ain’t been much good lately, not for a while,” the lawman said. “I’d probably just end up gettin’ you killed.”

“Good point,” Roper said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it myself. Just tell me where they are.”

“They’re in one of two places. They’re either at the house they all live in north of town, or they’re in Stallworth’s Saloon.”

“Here in town?”

The lawman nodded.

“I didn’t see it when I rode in.”

“It’s not on Main Street,” the sheriff told him. “It’s on a side street called Prescott Street.”

“This town has side streets?”

“Three of ’em,” Howard said. “Brown, Clinton, and Prescott Street.”

“You got any deputies?”

“No. There’s no money in the budget for deputies.”

“For a mayor?”

“Yeah.”

“Town council?”

“Sure.”

“So if I do what I have to do to catch these guys, will you back me with them?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“I don’t need a warrant,” Roper said. “I’m not a lawman. But there are posters out on these guys for bank robbery and murder—the murder of a lawman—in Wyoming. I intend to take them back there, dead or alive.”

“How are you any different from a bounty hunter?” the lawman asked.

“I’m not after a reward,” Roper said, “I’m not looking to collect a price on their heads. I’m working for a fee—I’m being paid a salary, same as you are.”

“I think I get it,” Howard said.

Roper stared at the man for a few moments. There was something familiar about him.

“Have we met before?” he asked.

Howard averted his eyes and said, “I don’t think so.”

“I think we have,” Roper said. “I can’t think about it now, but it’ll come to me.”

“When do you want to take these fellas?” Howard asked.

“As soon as I can,” Roper said. “I’ve still got daylight to work with.”

“You know what they look like?”

“I’ve got pretty good descriptions to go by,” Roper replied, “especially of Stu.”

“You’ll know Terry and Ned when you see ’em,” Howard said. “They look just like him.”

“I’ve got a question,” Roper said. “When I mentioned the Milligans, you immediately said Ned. Why?”

“Ned’s the bad one,” Thomas said. “Stu’s the leader, but if somebody pulled the trigger on that lawman, it was Ned.”

“You know these guys,” Roper said. “I mean,
know
them, not just know of them.”

“Yeah, I do,” Howard admitted.

“Sheriff,” Roper said. “I think you might need to help me take them in.”

Howard eyed the whiskey bottle on his desk, then put the stopper back in and said, “You might be right, Mr. Roper.”

*   *   *

Roper waited while the lawman got himself together. The man put on a new shirt that he hadn’t sweat through, then strapped on his gun and donned his hat.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I’ll show you where Stallworth’s is.”

“Lead the way.”

As they left the office, Roper noticed the man was tall and slender, almost too thin. In profile he still thought he’d met the man before, but still couldn’t place him.

Outside, Howard stopped by Roper’s horse, looked at his saddle holster.

“That’s a good idea,” he said. “Extra gun without having to tote it around on your hip yourself.”

“Yes,” Roper said, “it’s come in handy a time or two.”

“Do you wanna leave your horse here?”

“Yes, no point in taking it over to the saloon,” Roper said. He removed his rifle from its scabbard. “I’m ready.”

They walked along the deserted Main Street for several blocks. There were lights in only a few of the buildings they passed, but none of them were saloons.

“Are there no saloons at all on Main Street?” Roper asked.

“That’s right,” Howard said. “We have three saloons, one each on the side streets.”

At that moment Roper noticed they were passing Clinton Street. Down the street, to his right, he saw lights and heard some music coming from one of the saloons.

“I see,” he said.

A couple of more blocks and they reached Prescott. Similarly, down the street there were lights and music.

“There it is,” Howard said.

Roper started down the street, then stopped and looked back at the lawman.

“You coming?” he asked.

Howard wiped his palms on his thighs and said, “Yeah, sure.”

*   *   *

Inside Stallworth’s Saloon, Terry Milligan sat with Ben Abbott and Jack Newman, two of the men he robbed the Rockwell bank with. The other two—his brothers Stu and Ned—were not present.

Stallworth’s was a working man’s saloon. There was a piano in the corner, being played badly by a skinny man with a cigar in his mouth. There was no gambling offered, unless you wanted to start your own poker game. And there were no girls working the floor. You went to the bar and got your own drinks. The three men had a bottle of whiskey on the table, and Abbott was refilling their glasses.

“How long we gotta stay in this one-horse town?” he demanded.

“Hey,” Terry said, “this is where I grew up. Don’t be bad-mouthing Festus to me or my brothers.”

“I don’t think your brothers would much care,” Newman said.

Terry glanced at Newman, who looked closer to his twenty-four years than any of the others. Stu, Ned, and Ben Abbott were in their thirties.

“Look,” Terry said, “my brothers are coming up with new plans for us. We just gotta wait a little longer.”

“Well,” Abbott said, “I hope the new plans don’t involve killin’ any more lawmen.”

“That Ned,” Newman said. “He’s a little crazy.”

“Hey,” Terry said, “watch how you talk about my brother…he’s more than a little crazy.”

The three men laughed and drank.

*   *   *

Roper and Howard approached the front of the saloon.

“Are they in there?” Roper asked.

Howard mounted the boardwalk and peered over the batwing doors. He returned to stand with Roper in the street.

“Terry Milligan is in there along with Ben Abbott and Jack Newman.”

“Are they part of the gang?”

“Oh, yeah,” Howard said. “They all rode in together a couple of weeks ago, along with Ned and Stu.”

“Okay,” Roper said. “Let me take a look, see if I can match them to their descriptions before I go in.”

This time Roper stepped to the batwings and peered over them. There were several tables of men, and more standing at the bar. But he was able to identify Terry Milligan right away. He was one of the men with a “big head.” Apparently, the Milligans shared that particular feature.

The other two men were wearing trail clothes—like Terry Milligan—and their hats were on the table. One of them was “big and floppy,” according to one of the tellers. And one of the men had a “barbershop quartet” mustache and muttonchops. Roper went back to Howard.

“I’ve seen enough to convince me it’s them,” he said.
“When I take them back to Rockwell, they can be properly identified.”

“Alive or dead.”

“I will bring them back alive if I can,” Roper said. “It would be easier—and more legal—with your help. And the reward could then go to you.”

“I’m not interested in any reward,” Howard said quickly, “and I don’t want any credit.”

“I just want to be able to say I had the law on my side,” Roper replied. “Would you sign a statement saying you were with me when I apprehended them?”

For a moment he thought the lawman was going to decline, and then Howard said, “I suppose so.”

“All right,” Roper said. “I’m going to walk in there and try to get the drop on them. You can stay out here and watch. You don’t have to get involved unless you want to.”

“If you need help,” Howard said, “I’ll be there.”

“I know you will,” Roper said.

He mounted the boardwalk, and this time went inside.

*   *   *

Roper set his rifle down on the bar, ordered a beer, kept his eyes on the three men in the mirror behind the bar. He counted eleven other men in the place, plus the bartender, and none of them were paying him any attention.

He turned with the beer in his left hand and looked at the table with three members of the Milligan gang sitting around it. It was quiet in the place, and whatever conversations were going on were being held in low tones. When he spoke, everyone in the place would be able to hear him, but there was no way around it.

He drew his gun and said, “Terry Milligan.”

“Yeah?” Milligan said. He turned his head to see who had called his name and froze when he saw the stranger holding a gun on him. “Wha—”

The other two men, Abbot and Newman, looked over at him.

“You and your friends just take it easy,” Roper told them.

“What is this?” Milligan asked.

“I’m taking you in for bank robbery and murder in Wyoming.”

“This ain’t Wyoming,” Milligan said.

“Well, we’ll just go on back there,” Roper said.

Milligan looked around while Abbott and Newman kept their eyes on the gun.

“Looks like you’re here alone,” Milligan said.

“Looks like.”

“You figure on takin’ my brothers back, too?”

“Oh, yes.”

“All five of us? On your own? You got a lotta confidence.”

“I’m holding the gun.”

“There’s three of us,” Milligan said. “One of us’ll get you.”

“I’ll kill one, maybe two of you with no problem,” Roper said. “Who wants to go first? Look at your friends. Not them.”

Milligan snuck a look at Abbott and Newman, who didn’t return the look.

“Doesn’t look promising, does it?” Roper asked.

Mulligan looked back at him.

“You might take us, but you won’t take my brothers,” Milligan said.

“We’ll see. Now you and your friends drop your guns to the floor.”

None of the three men moved.

Roper cocked the hammer on his gun.

Abbott and Newman took their guns out and dropped them to the floor.

“Now you, Milligan,” Roper said, “unless you want to be a big man.”

“What’s your name?” Milligan asked.

“Roper,” the detective said. “Talbot Roper.”

“You’re a dead man, Roper.”

“We’ll see,” Roper said. “Now drop it, or use it.”

Milligan stared at him for a few seconds, then took his gun from his holster reluctantly, and dropped it.

Roper holstered his gun and grabbed his rifle from the bar, at the same time shouting, “Sheriff!”

*   *   *

After Sheriff Howard and Roper put the three members of the Milligan gang in a jail cell, they stood in the office facing each other. Howard hung the key on a peg in the wall.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Now I’ll go and get the other two while you stay here with these.”

“You’re goin’ up against Ned and Stu Milligan alone?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“How fast are you with that gun?”

“I’d hate to have to depend on the answer to that question,” Roper said. “I’d prefer to get the drop on them, like I did with these three.”

“It might not be as easy,” Howard said. “You’ll have to watch Ned. He’s pretty fast.”

“And Stu?”

“Like I said, he’s the brains, but he can hit what he shoots at.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Roper headed for the door.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

For the second time Howard dried his palms on his thighs.

“I could come and back your play.”

“What about these three?”

“They ain’t gonna get out,” Howard said.

Roper thought about it, then said, “No, that’s okay. I wouldn’t want to get you killed, Sheriff. You’ve helped me enough. You better just stay here.”

He went to the door, put his hand on the knob, then it was his turn to say, “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“If I don’t come back,” Roper said, “you better just let these three go.”

Howard grabbed his hat and jammed it on.

“I’m comin’ with you.”

“But—”

“If you don’t come back,” he said, “I’m probably a dead man anyway.”

Roper thought about that, then said, “Good point.”

*   *   *

The house the Milligan gang was living in—or “squatting in,” as Sheriff Howard put it—was walking distance from town, so once again Roper took his rifle and left his horse in front of the sheriff’s office.

“Maybe,” Roper said, “we should check the other saloons to be sure they’re not in town.”

“The Milligans only drink at Stallworth’s,” Howard told him.

“If they’re such regulars there, do you think someone told them by now that their brother and the rest of the gang are in jail?”

“It’s possible, I guess,” Howard said.

“In which case they know we’re coming.”

“They know you’re comin’,” Howard said. “They won’t be expecting me.”

“That’s a good point,” Roper said, “and one that we could use to our advantage.”

“So then, how do you want to play it?” the lawman asked.

“There are a couple of ways we could go,” Roper said. They discussed them as they continued to walk.

*   *   *

Inside the house, Ned and Stu Milligan were sitting at the table, drinking coffee.

“Where’s Terry?” Stu asked.

“He’s at Stallworth’s with Abbott and Newman,” Ned said.

“I wish he wouldn’t drink with them,” Stu said.

“Well, maybe we should tell him that we intend to cut them loose,” New said.

“The hard way,” Stu said, and the two men laughed.

“We pulled enough jobs with them,” Ned said. “Time to let them go.”

“For good!” Stu said, and they laughed again.

The inside of the house was almost bare, except for the table, the stove, and five bedrolls. It was stuffy and dirty and smelled of men’s sweat.