This Violent Land (22 page)

“Ten, twenty. Who knows?”

“Yeah, well, most of 'em was prob'ly like Draper. Some young punk who come up to 'im, tryin' to get a reputation for hisself. You'd think they'd know better by now.”

Despite his youth, Smoke knew some men were so full of the need to make a name for themselves that they never learned.

He had killed too many of them not to know it.

S
moke waited until less than ten minutes before departure time for the train, then went after Dawson. He figured that by doing it that way, he would have less time to worry about keeping Dawson under guard in a town where he might have friends who would try to rescue him.

Stepping into the Trail Blazer, Smoke saw a tall, slender man standing at the far end of the bar. Dressed in blue serge trousers, a white shirt, and a tan cashmere jacket, the man stood out from the others. The hem of his jacket was pushed back to expose a pistol nestled in a black leather holster.

Smoke was reasonably certain that was Clell Dawson, but he wanted to be sure before he made his move. He didn't have to wait very long.

The bartender moseyed to the end of the bar. “Mr. Dawson, we're gonna have to order some new bottles of bourbon pretty soon. We're runnin' low.”

“You talk to Tommie Kay about it?”

“Yes, sir, and she said go ahead and do it, if it's all right with you.”

Dawson nodded. “Sure, go ahead.”

Upon hearing the conversation, Smoke walked down to the well-dressed man and stepped right up in front of him. “Mr. Dawson?”

“Yes?”

“I am a deputy United States marshal, and you are under arrest.”

Without so much as one word of response to Smoke's comment, Clell reached for his gun.

It wasn't there! His hand groped at an empty holster.

“Are you looking for this?” Smoke held out Clell's gun, pointed directly at him.

Clell's reaction was a surprise. It was a broad smile. “I'll be damned! How did you do that?”

“Never mind how I did it,” Smoke said. “The point is, you are under arrest. I hope you agree to come peaceably. From what I've heard about you, you're the kind of man I wouldn't want to take any chances with, and that means I'd have to kill you.”

“Look here, Deputy,” the bartender said. “If this is about the killin' yesterday, if you ask around, ever'one in this town will tell you that Mr. Dawson didn't do nothin' wrong. When he kilt Draper it was self-defense, pure and simple. Draper drawed his gun first.”

“This has nothing to do with what happened yesterday. I didn't even know about it until I saw Draper's body standing up in front of the hardware store.” Smoke turned his attention back to Clell. “You didn't answer my question. Are you going to come peaceably?”

“I'm not going to give you any trouble, Deputy, but can I have a minute to explain the situation to my business partner? It wouldn't be right to just walk out of here without a few words of explanation.”

Smoke nodded. “No more than a minute. We're taking the next train out of here.”

“Rex, would you go get Tommie Kay?” Clell asked.

“Yes, sir.” The bartender disappeared through a door at the end of the bar, then came back a moment later with a very voluptuous woman whose pretty face was framed by fire-red hair.

“What's going on here, Clell?”

“Tommie Kay, it would appear that I'm going to have to go somewhere with this gentleman.”

“When will you be back?”

“I'll be honest with you, my dear. I'm not sure I will be coming back.” Clell looked at Smoke. “Deputy, you would have no objections if I kissed my business partner good-bye, would you?”

Smoke was a little surprised by Clell's reaction. He wasn't sure what he expected, but he hadn't anticipated such a cool demeanor. “I suppose so, as long as you don't do anything foolish.”

Tommie Kay approached Smoke and, holding her arms out, thrust her chest forward, emphasizing her breasts. A considerable expanse of enticing flesh spilled out over the top of her low-necked dress. “Do you want to check to see if I have a gun, Deputy?” she asked with a coy smile.

The others in the saloon, including Clell, laughed.

“That's all right, miss,” Smoke said with a grin. “I can see that you aren't hiding . . . anything.” He stared pointedly at the creamy tops of her breasts, and again the others laughed.

“My dear, he is quite right,” Clell said, holding his arms open in invitation.

Clell and Tommie Kay shared a long kiss in front of everyone, eliciting more than a few comments.

As they separated, Smoke heard the whistle of the approaching train. “I hate to break this up, Mr. Dawson, but we need to get going.”

“All right. And it's Dr. Dawson, actually.”

“Doctor?” Tommie Kay asked, surprised by the remark. “What do you mean,
doctor
?”

“You mean I've never told you that I'm a physician? No, I don't suppose I have. I guess it's just never come up before.”

Smoke put Clell's hands in cuffs, then led him back down to the depot. His decision to wait until just before the train was due to depart was a good one. Several people gathered along the way between the saloon and the train station.

“What are you arrestin' him for? He ain't done nothin'!”

“If you're goin' to try him, try him here, where we know he'll get a fair trial!” another shouted.

Fortunately, the complaints never got beyond a few shouts, and five minutes later they were on the train, heading back to Breckenridge.

“Breckenridge?” Dawson mused. “Well, that will be an interesting experience for me. I don't believe I've ever been to Breckenridge.”

“It's in Summit County,” Smoke told him.

“Good. I've never been there, either. I'm looking forward to the visit.”

Smoke laughed. “I'll say this for you, Dawson. You are one of the coolest characters I've ever encountered. You're being taken back to stand trial for the murder of fifteen people, and you act like you're going to a church social.”

Dawson raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I haven't killed fifteen people. I've only killed eleven, and witnesses will tell you that every one of those eleven gentlemen was trying to kill me.”

“The ten people on the train were all trying to kill you?”

Dawson got a confused look on his face. “What train? Deputy, I have to confess that I don't know what this is all about. I've never killed anyone on a train.”

Smoke leaned back against the bench seat and tried not to frown. He considered himself a pretty good judge of people.

And it sure sounded to him like Clell Dawson was telling the truth.

 

 

 

“Why didn't you kill 'im?” Sheriff Hector asked.

“I beg your pardon?” Clell replied.

“When Jensen came to arrest you, why didn't you kill 'im?”

“You'll excuse me for saying this, Sheriff, but isn't that a rather strange question for you to ask?” Clell was in the jail and, at the moment, he and the sheriff were the only two men in the building.

Hector glared at him through the bars on the door of the cell. “You do know what you're facing, don't you? You are going to be tried, found guilty, and hung. I would think that with all that hanging over your head, you wouldn't have just let Jensen bring you in so easy.”

“Yes, that's something I wanted to talk to you about. Deputy Jensen said something about me killing people on a train.”

“That's right. You are being charged with dynamiting a stagecoach and killing five people, including a woman and child; holding a woman and child hostage, while you forced her husband, a banker, to take thirty thousand dollars from the bank to pay ransom; and finally dynamiting a train where ten people were killed, making the total fifteen people you murdered.”

“I didn't do any of that!” Clell insisted.

Sheriff Hector chuckled and shook his head. “It doesn't matter.”

“What do you mean, it doesn't matter?”

“That's what you're going to be charged with, the prosecutor is going to make the case, and the judge is going to sentence you to hang.”

Clell didn't like the sound of that. “How can you be so sure of that?”

“Can I let you in on a little secret?” Hector knew he shouldn't boast, but lording it over a famous gunman like Clell Dawson was just too tempting to resist, even if things hadn't gone according to plan.

“Please do, because none of this is making any sense to me.”

“I know you didn't do any of those things. Those jobs were pulled by Pete Kotter, Eddie Spence, and Merlin Mathis. I know exactly who did it because”—Hector paused, looked around, then smiled a broad, conspiratorial smile—“I set the jobs up for them.”

Clell frowned. “You did?”

“Yes.” Hector laughed. “Now, you tell me what can be a sweeter deal than that? I control the law, so I can control the people who are actually doing the killing, by protecting them from the law. They're more than willing to share their take with me, and I don't mind telling you, this has been a very good deal.”

“Why
are
you telling me this, Sheriff?”

“I'm telling you so that you know where you fit into things. Three other men, Potter, Stratton, and Richards, have come to me and asked me to do a job for them. A very big job.”

Clell gave the sheriff his full attention. “And, somehow, I am supposed to fit into this job that they want done?”

“That's right.”

“How?”

“These three men want Jensen dead. I expected you to kill him, damn it, not let him arrest you.”

Things were starting to make a little sense. “Ah. How do you know I'm good enough to kill him?”

“I just assumed that you were, but you're right. I should have taken that into consideration. That's why I've come up with an alternate plan.”

“And what would that plan be?”

Sheriff Hector held up a finger as if telling Clell to wait for a moment, then he walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a pistol. “Here is the plan. I'll find some reason to get Jensen in here so that there are only the two of you. You can use this gun to force him to open the cell for you. Then, once he does that, you kill him and be on your way. Oh, and to sweeten the pot, I'm leaving five hundred dollars for you in the center drawer of my desk. Meet me in Boreas in one week, and I'll let you in on a deal that can mean even more money for you. A lot more money.”

Clell frowned. “What if I don't want any part of this?”

“Think about it, Dawson. On the one hand you will be tried, found guilty, and sentenced to death by hanging. On the other hand, you'll have your freedom, five hundred dollars, and the opportunity to make a lot more money.”

“What if I choose to go to trial and testify about this offer you just made?”

Sheriff Hector laughed. “So, you're going to tell the judge that I'm behind all the robberies, and that I tried to pay you to kill a deputy United States marshal. How far do you think you're going to get with that story?”

Clell ran his hand through his hair and grimaced. “Not very far, I don't imagine.”

“You have only one way of coming out of this alive, Dawson. Now what will it be?”

“I guess I'm going to have to take you up on your offer.”

“Now you're showing some intelligence.” Sheriff Hector opened up the desk drawer and held up a packet of money with a string tied around it. “There are fifty ten-dollar bills in this packet . . . and as I said, a lot more where that came from if you join me in Boreas next week.” He put the bills back in the drawer, then walked back over to the cell and passed a pistol through the bars. “And here is the gun you can use to make your escape.”

Clell took the pistol. “Suppose I want to make my escape now?” He pointed the gun at the sheriff. “Open the door to this cell now, or I will shoot you.”

“Go ahead, shoot,” Hector said with a smile.

“The gun's empty, isn't it?”

“Yep, it sure is.”

“Let's just see.” Clell pulled the trigger, and there was a metallic
click
as the hammer fell upon an empty chamber. “How am I supposed to kill Jensen with an empty pistol?”

“You won't kill him with an empty pistol. Once you bluff him into opening the cell, you'll disarm him and kill him with his own gun. Won't that be something?”

“Yes, I see the irony in such an act.”

Hector frowned. “The what?”

“I agree. That will be something,” Clell said without trying to explain. “But let me ask you this. What makes you think I can bluff him into opening the cell? I wasn't able to bluff you.”

“Ah, but I knew the gun was empty, don't you see? Jensen won't know that. You'll have the drop on him.”

“I'll have the drop on him,” Clell repeated.

“Yes.” Hector nodded, happy Dawson was finally getting his plan.

“That doesn't matter. Even if the gun I was holding was loaded, it wouldn't matter.”

“What do you mean,
it wouldn't matter
?”

“Reaction time,” Clell explained.

“Reaction time? What is that?”

“Someone who is good with a gun—I mean very good—someone very good like Smoke Jensen can draw and shoot before someone like me . . . or you . . . holding a pistol on him could even pull the trigger. That's because once you see him start his draw, you have to react to that and pull the trigger. And in the time you are thinking about—reacting to—his move, a fast gun like Jensen will have already drawn and fired.”

“Well, if that's the case, it wouldn't matter whether the gun you're holding is loaded or not, would it?”