Quiet Town (10 page)

“You can’t prove that,” Mundy sneered.

Two hands bunched his coat lapels and dragged him forward, cold grey eyes on his face from real close. The voice which replied to him was not loud yet it was a voice he never forgot.

“Mister, I don’t aim to prove it. Dutchy came out the winner and I’m satisfied. You’ll be out of this town by noon tomorrow. If you’re not I’ll send you an your way personally.”

With a contemptuous thrust of his powerful arms, Dusty sent the man staggering back. Dusty saw the girls moving to allow their boss as painful a landing as possible and knew they did not care for him. Turning, Dusty was about to leave the wagon when he saw the Ysabel Kid point like a coon-hound hitting a hot scent. The box fell from his hands, his right twisting to bring the old Dragoon out. Dusty swung back, expecting Mundy to be making some treacherous move, his left hand bringing out its gun. The man still lay where he had landed and made no move which might have caused this sudden action by the Ysabel Kid.

“All right. Come on out with your hands showing!”

Dusty turned and swung from the wagon as he heard the Kid give out with his challenge while lining his gun on the shadows formed by the high fence. Landing by his friend’s side he tried to see what attracted the other but could not. For a moment he thought for once the Kid was wrong. “I’m counting to three, then shooting,” the Kid went on. “One!”

Something moved in the blackness, something which the Kid’s Indian keen senses located. The two young Texans were tense ready to either shoot or hit the ground. Into the light came a tall, thin shape clad in a black suit and a high hat.

“Howdy, Mr. Grimwood,” Dusty greeted, recognising the undertaker. “You like to scare the Kid out of a year’s growth?”

“It sure did,” agreed the Kid, surprised that the undertaker had managed to come so close before being detected by his exceptionally keen ears. “You’re a mite off your home range, Mr. Grimwood.”

Grimwood gulped, his face holding a look like a man caught out doing something he should not. He glanced back in the direction he had just come, to where the red lamp of Jenny’s place gleamed in the darkness.

“I was merely taking a walk, marshal.”

Dusty holstered his gun, a grin playing around his lips. Grimwood was loud in his condemnation of the red light section of town and a stout member of the Civic Improvement Guild. From the guilty look on his face he was doing something he should not. “Bad area for a man to be walking, back here.”

“I agree, I agree.” Grimwood looked around again. “Could speak to you alone Captain Fog?”

“Why sure. Lon, take the box down to the jail.”

The Ysabel Kid winked as he holstered his gun and took up the box. He could make a fair guess at where Grimwood’s walk took him. He turned and headed for the jail. Grimwood watched him go and with the nervous, mother-hen attitude of a man caught doing something really wrong.

They went into the alley at the side of the saloon and Grimwood halted, his sallow face working nervously. “Er, I . . . er . . . that is. Well, it’s like this, Captain Fog. I was merely taking a walk along the street there. I have a toothache and er . . .”

“I understand, Mr. Grimwood.” Dusty’s tone showed that he
did
understand all too well.

“Of course you’re a man of the world, Captain. You realise what the consequences of my walk would mean if the wrong people heard of it. After all I’m a founder member of the Civic Improvement Guild and . . . well . . . er. I . . .”

Once more Grimwood floundered to a stop. He was obviously embarrassed and Dusty could guess why. Grimwood was one of those pious-talking do-gooding kind of hypocrites who believe that the common folk must be protected from lust and sin while being quite ready to dabble in that same lust and sin on the sly. It fitted in with the impression Dusty formed of Grimwood on the few times he had met the undertaker.

“Like I said, I understand.”

“There are some who would not take a charitable view of my walk. Especially as I have the misfortune to be coming from this direction. May I rely on your discretion, Captair Fog?”

“Why sure.” Dusty ignored the folded bill Grimwood held to him. “It’s none of my business where you spend your time. Goodnight, Mr. Grimwood.”

Dusty walked away and Grimwood left the alley to go back in the direction of his shop. The young marshal was still smiling when he entered the jail office and found all his deputies sat around describing the fight to the Bollingers who had been acting as jailers while the lawmen took a rest. Maggie was looking Eeney over as the German girl sat talking with Dutchy. The big woman nodded a greeting to Dusty and remarked, “We’re going to have a wedding soon.”

“What do you mean?” Dusty asked.

“Dutchy and Eeney. He told us as soon as they came in. She looked some surprised but she hasn’t objected.”

Dutchy was oblivious of everything except for Eeney. He looked down at her and told her of his plans. She was silent and thoughtful, wondering how she had come to be mixed up in this. For some time she had been wanting to leave the troupe but knew she could not make a living if she did. Now she was being given that chance. Dutchy talked eagerly and in German, speaking as only a man can when using his native tongue and to a woman he loved. Yet he did not speak of love, only of his plans. The money won that night would pay for the mining equipment outright and still leave enough for them to pay help and make a home. He wanted to buy her a big house but she refused that offer, asking only that she be able to stay with him.

Finally he rose and came to where Dusty was seated filling in the Marshal’s log on the desk. “Captain, I am to marry Eeney in the morning. We would take it as a great honour if you would be the best man.”

“Sure thing, Dutchy. One thing though. Miss Haufman’s going to stay with Maggie here tonight and you’re stopping in the backroom. Then tomorrow your money’s going back into the bank.”

“I agree, Captain. But is it necessary for your men to guard us?”

“More than ever now.”

The deputies went out to make their rounds of the town and Maggie took Eeney out back to wash up. Dusty carried on writing up his log, the daily record of all that happened to his men. He was just finishing when Maggie came back. “Eeney’s in your place, changing. Say, was she really fighting in there?”

“Dutchy didn’t hand her that black eye to make her accept him,” Dusty replied with a grin.

“Women fist fighters, what’ll they think of next?” Maggie snorted then gave a smile. “Lon told us you caught old Buzzard going to see his girl friend. I’ve seen him at it before now.”

“What, visiting Jenny’s?”

“No Bearcat Annie’s place. I’ve seen him sneak in the back there more than once.”

CHAPTER TEN

DUSTY SAT looking at Maggie Bollinger for a time. “Bearcat Annie’s place?” he asked finally.

“Sure. I’ve seen him going in the back way at night more than once. Not that he’s the only one. I’ve seen some more going in there who’d be real shocked if they thought they’d been seen.”

Dusty was a suspicious young man; he looked for motives beyond the first and most obvious to meet the eye. The woman’s words took him by surprise; he had been sure from Grimwood’s actions that the undertaker was coming from Jenny’s house. The very way Grimwood acted was enough to make him believe that. Yet it appeared he was wrong, Grimwood was going to Bearcat Annie’s saloon for some reason. There was a solution to it. Grimwood might have been at Jenny’s, making a change from his usual haunt. That he was using the back way into the saloon did not surprise Dusty. Grimwood and those other men Maggie Bollinger mentioned were the sort who would be horrified at the thought of being seen entering a place of sin. Grimwood’s actions were in keeping with his pious, hypocritical way of life. Even that furtive, false friendship was what Dusty could expect, so was the discussion as between two men of the world. There was a reason behind Grimwood’s desire that Dusty think he had been to Jenny’s place. It was a kind of cover; he could always claim, truthfully, that he had never been in Jenny’s place if the young Texan was indiscreet enough to talk.

“You and Cy take Eeney home with you, Maggie,” he said. “And don’t let her out of your sight. She’s not to go with anyone, no matter what they tell her. If I send for her I’ll send one of the boys. Don’t under any circumstances let Eeney go with anybody else.”

“Sure, Cap’n. Do you think that fat blonde cow’d try to get her own back on Eeney for winning the fight?”

“She might at that,” Dusty answered. He did not want to bother Maggie with his ideas that there was some more sinister motive behind any attempt which might be made.

Eeuey went with Maggie and her husband, and Dutchy, and following them, one on either side of the street, went Doc Leroy and Rusty Willis.

The next morning Dusty Fog was best man at the wedding, but the honeymoon was postponed until some later and safer date.

Dusty left the wedding breakfast before the others and returned to the jail. Matt Gillem was waiting. The old banker greeted Dusty but there was a worried look in his eyes.

“There’s trouble, boy,” he said.

Dusty was not unduly worried by this. Since taking over as Marshal he found Matt Gillem to be very co-operative. Neither he nor the rest of the Town Council interfered in the way Dusty handled things, just sitting back and watching the results come in. However with Quiet Town becoming tamer there were people who asked why so large a police force was required.

“It’s the Civic Improvement Guild. They want you to close the red light houses down,” Gillem explained. “You know how the Council stands on it and we leave you to make your own decision.”

“It’s made. The miners need some place to go.”

“There’s some talk about you getting paid off by the owners.” Gillem went on, watching the anger in Dusty’s eyes.

“Look, son. I know there’s nothing in it. You know what some of them lot are like when they get stopped doing what they want.”

“I know.” Dusty’s voice was grim and cold.

“I talked with the editor of the Quiet Town Gazette. He’s got an editorial demanding investigation of the local law. Wants all your records and log producing.”

“It’s there!” Dusty indicated the desk. “My badge is with it if they want that too.”

“They might, boy.
We
don’t. See, we know that you’re acting for the best and I’ve come out flatfooted to say we back you to the hilt.”

Dusty smiled, looking young and innocent again. He knew it took a lot of courage for the City Fathers to go against the opinion of the influential minority of the Civic Improvement Guild. It gave him a feeling of pride that they would do so for him.

The editorial caused some comment when it appeared. Most of the comment was adverse, for people remembered how their town had been only a few short weeks before. Through the town, from the storekeepers who could now run their businesses in peace to the miners who had been given Dusty Fog’s treatment for the hangover, all were of one mind. Dusty Fog was the finest town marshal to wear the badge in Quiet Town, they wanted him there and would resist stoutly any attempt to dethrone him.

The Gazette editor was no fool. He could read the signs and brought out a second edition for the first time in the history of his paper. The editorial in this was far more complimentary to Dusty Fog, pointing out how well he handled the town and insisting that he be allowed to continue without unwarranted interference.

So matters stood and four days went by. On the early afternoon of the fifth Bearcat Annie entered her private office and found she had a visitor. He sat at the desk, a bottle of whisky in front of him and a glass by his hand. His eyes cold as he looked at her.

“Well?” the man asked, his voice hard.

“Well?” she countered, for she knew this man who ruled her very well. He was in a temper and there was danger for Bearcat Annie who was his second in command and much closer than that.

“The Texans are still in town. Schulze still has his money. We are no nearer to achieving our end than we were at first.”

“I know. Think I haven’t been worrying over it. I wanted to use my boys to stick Dutchy up but you wouldn’t have it. You turned Calhoun and his loboes out and they made a mess of it.”

“We made a fatal mistake,” the man answered. “We underestimated Dusty Fog. I thought he was just a fast gun, hired to kill off the bad hats, like Hickok would do. But I know I was wrong now. I used Calhoun’s bunch because I know he is no fool. They aren’t known in town, your men are. It’d be real smart to send Fang and his crew out to take Dutchy Schulze and have somebody recognise them.”

Bearcat Annie knew this without being told. “It wasn’t my fault we missed getting his money when he bet on the fight. That lousy German cow won when she was told to lose. One of these days I’ll get her and tear every damned hair out of her head.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” The man’s eyes glowed cold fire. “I’ve told you before blind revenge is stupid. You played that game in the saloon all wrong. I heard how you tried to make her fight you. Listen, you’re not dealing with one of these fast gun morons where Dusty Fog is concerned. He’s a thinking man, he doesn’t just look at things as they appear. He knows why you wanted to work the girl over. If she meets up with any accident you’re the one he’ll be looking for. You’ll leave her be. Act friendly to her if you meet her in the street from now on. She’s married to Schulze now and done with the fighting game. You leave her be.”

“All right,” Bearcat Annie sounded sullen.

The man’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist with a strength that was out of all proportion to his appearance. “Make sure it is!” The voice was low and vibrant. “We’re playing for big stakes here.”

“Why don’t we take what we’ve got and clear out?” Bearcat Annie asked. “We’re holding enough to make it worth our while.”

“That’s what’s wrong with you, Annie. You think small, like a saloon slut. I wonder how I ever got myself tied in with you. I’m not thinking of a few thousand dollars. I’m thinking of a fortune beyond your avaricious little dreams. A mining empire. You know I got my own surveyor into the mine and he gave me the same report Schulze brought out. There is a rich vein under the bedrock and so far the miners don’t know about it. They’ve never seen such a thing and are not willing to listen to Schulze. When that vein peters out the mines will be closed. We can buy them for a song. But only if Schulze doesn’t get his chance to prove his idea.”

“You could always wipe Roxie Delue out.”

“I thought of that but Calhoun’s lost men and we haven’t managed to bring any more in to fill the gap. I thought downing old man Delue would stop the last freight outfit but she’s stayed on.”

From the outside door came a knock. The change in the man was instant and decisive. He kicked back the chair, coming to his feet with his hand sliding under his coat to bring out a Colt Wells Fargo revolver. Backing across to the door of a cupboard he opened it and stepped inside. Cut into the woodwork and disguised by the decorative scroll were two eye holes which gave Bearcat Annie’s mysterious visitor a clear view of everything which went off in the room. The thinness of the wood allowed him to hear every word said: it was a very useful arrangement, allowing a man who wished to stay in the background of things to hear and see all that went on.

Bearcat Annie waited until the cupboard door closed, then she went across the room and opened the other door. A smallish man entered, a man wearing old range clothes. He was a wizened, quick looking man, his face seamed and scarred, yet with the shrewd cunning of a weasel about it. On his head was a battered black hat which looked as if it was often slept on. Low at each side hung a Navy Colt, the cleanest things about him.

“What’re you doing here?” Bearcat Annie asked. “You shouldn’t be walking the streets by daylight, Calhoun.”

Bronco Calhoun slipped into the room like a wolf coming up to a poisoned bait. His keen eyes took in everything, including a small bottle which lay on the floor, dropped by Annie’s previous visitor. His nostrils quivered like an animal’s as he went to the desk.

“Likker’s all gone, gal. You alone in here?”

“You’re expecting me maybe to be entertaining Dusty Fog?”

“Naw. Just thought I heard you talking to somebody when I come to the door. Didn’t sound like you was talking to one of your hired men. More like you was getting telled something by your boss.”

“Boss?” Bearcat Annie frowned. “You know I’m the boss. I told you that when you first came in here.”

Bronco Calhoun grinned, his wolf sharp face showing mocking disbelief. “You told all right, gal. I got to thinking, maybe you ain’t the big boss. Ramrod, mebbee, but not the big augur hisself. Good fight you put on in there. Like to see me another. Thought you and that German gal were going to tangle. I’d have bet on her.”

“Get your drink and go back to the hideout, Calhoun,” Bearcat Annie’s voice was brittle now.

“Never been in the backroom here afore. Classy place, ain’t it. Good big cupboards. A man could hide hisself in one of them easy. Tell him to come on out, gal.”

Bearcat Annie’s hand dropped towards the desk in a casual move. With a snarl Calhoun brought out his right hand gun, lining on her. She stood still and the gun barrel swung towards the cupboard door. “Come on out, friend. I reckon I can hit you afore you hit me.”

The door swung open and the man stood exposed, his gun lined on Calhoun. “I don’t think you can.”

“Waal, I swan. So you’re the big augur. I never believed Annie when she said she was blackmailing you into hiding us out. Never thought you was the big wheel though.”

The man eyed Calhoun mockingly. “Didn’t you?”

“Naw, didn’t even think the gal was the big augur. She ain’t smart enough for that.”

“Easy now!” The other man’s voice was hard. “That’s my wife you’re talking about. You’ve been told to keep off the streets.”

“I been told a whole lot of things since I come here. Like how I should work with rebs and how we was going to make money. All I’ve done so far is lose sons.”

“We didn’t tell Bert to try that game with Dusty Fog,” Bearcat Annie pointed out. “You can’t blame us for it going wrong.”

“I don’t. It’s that damned button who cut in and spoiled the play I want. Who was he?”

“Army scout called Happy Day. Works for Roxie Delue now,” Annie supplied the information. “Why didn’t Deke cut in before Counter drew?”

“Bert allowed he could handle it. He called the play. Wouldn’t want a Calhoun to be accused of being yeller.” Bronco Calhoun was sincere in that. Bad though he was and there were few who could equal him in out and out cruel evil, he lived by a certain code. His Sons were brought up to it and proud of their name. That was what saved Mark Counter from backshooting lead when he faced Bert Calhoun. “Me’n the boys are getting tired of hanging on here. We’ve got some money to spend and we’re only waiting to take the bank afore we leave.”

“Why don’t you try it?” Bearcat Annie’s husband asked.

“You know why. Them shotgun guards. They’d cut us to pieces before we could make a move. If they wasn’t there—.”

Bronco Calhoun’s words were stopped by a knock on the saloon door. The other man jerked his head towards the cupboard and followed Calhoun inside, closing the door. Bearcat Annie looked around to make sure nothing was on view to give her caller the idea she had been entertaining. The knock came again as she swept the whisky glass into the desk drawer and opened the door. Clint Fang stood there, trying to see into the room.

“What do you want, Fang?”

“You got callers, Bearcat?” he answered, moving forward.

“No, come right in.” She stood aside, allowing him to enter and watched him looking around with curiosity plain on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing much. Roxie Delue’s back in town. Her and that Happy Day’s gone to the jail.”

“That supposed to interest me?”

“I don’t know.” Fang still was not sure that Bearcat Annie was alone. He knew better than press the point. “It might. There’s a drifter in the bar. He recognised Happy Day from some place or other.”

“So?”

“Come as a bit of a surprise to me when he told me. Couldn’t believe it at first, but he says it’s true.”

“What’s true?” Bearcat Annie was getting annoyed at the mystery Fang was building and the way he looked around her office.

“Who Happy Day is. He reckons Day’s name’s Calhoun, one of Bronco’s boys.”

Bearcat Annie did not reply immediately. She tried to think what her husband would want making of this. If the boy was one of Bronco Calhoun’s sons it could mean Dusty Fog knew of it and was working in with Bronco to doublecross them. She doubted it, or that the man was even one of Calhoun’s boys.

“All right, Fang. Go and keep him in here. Let him drink free if he’s broke.”

Fang did not like the idea of leaving when he was almost sure the mysterious leader and boss of Bearcat Annie’s was hidden in the cupboard. He knew the tone the woman used, it was one which gave him pause. The man hidden in the cupboard obviously did not want to be seen. If so he would take precautions not to be. Those same precautions could consist of a bullet into anyone who tried to pierce his cloak of mystery. So with this thought in mind Fang turned on his heel and walked from the room, hearing the lock click behind him. He crossed to the bar where a man dressed in buckskins leaned, drinking.

The cupboard door opened and the two men stepped out. “Fang’s getting too nosey, Annie.”

“I’ve thought that for a spell now,” she replied, watching her husband for some sign of what he aimed to do about the new development. “Is it one of your boys, Bronco?”

“Naw. All my boys are with me.” Bronco Calhoun could barely remember the boy he had left for dead all those years before. “Must be some fool kid trying to build a rep for hisself.”

“Be a dangerous thing to do in a town like this,” Bearcat Annie’s husband put in. “Folks wouldn’t take to having a Calhoun here in town. They might even want to lynch him.”

“He’s at the jail. Dusty Fog’ll try and stop them doing it,” Bearcat Annie pointed out.

“That’s right. Him against the town,” her husband agreed.

“He’s good with a gun, so are his men. But they can’t handle the whole town. They’ll need help and I don’t reckon Matt Gillem’ll stand by and see them go wanting. He’ll pull his guards from the bank and—.”

“Me’n my boys’ll move in to take it.”

“Bringing the money back to the hideout to share.”

“Sure thing, friend,” Calhoun lied. “What do you reckon I am, dishonest?”

Calhoun did not intend to bring the money back at all. He was tired of being in Quiet Town for the place was no longer flowing with milk and honey. When he took the bank he and his men would keep right on going. He knew that. So did the other man. Bearcat Annie’s husband knew he was to be doublecrossed but did not mind. The money in the bank was not vital to his plans and none of his own wealth, save a small deposit was in the bank. The bulk of his, and his wife’s not inconsiderable gains, were safely locked in his well-hidden safe. The title deeds of the businesses they owned, the freight companies they had bought from scared-off owners and other incriminating evidence was in the big safe at the side of the room in which they now stood. It was an ideal arrangement. Apart from Bearcat Annie there was, as far as he knew, nothing to connect him with the crime empire he had built in Quiet Town. Bearcat Annie would not talk and a wife could not give evidence against her husband even if she wanted to. Whatever happened he was safe, there was nothing wrong with his plans. Nothing except a sheet of paper he had long forgotten which now lay gathering dust at the bottom of the safe. That sheet of paper was enough to stretch his neck yet neither he, or Bearcat Annie remembered it.

“You’d better get your boys ready,” the man told Calhoun. “It’ll take a mite of stirring to get a mob going. I reckon just before dark everything will be set. I’ll get it going as soon as I can. Annie, go keep Fang busy. If he sees me I’ll have to kill him and we still need him.”

Bearcat Annie walked from her office. Fang saw her appear and turned to make for the door, but her shout stopped him. He turned and walked back, looking annoyed at his failure to see who was the power behind Bearcat Annie.

“You keep that feller here?” she asked.

“Sure. He’s at the bar. What do you want doing?”

“Get around town. Spread word about that Happy Day being one of the Calhouns. Stir up a lynch mob and get them to the jail.”

Fang hesitated; he wanted badly to get a chance to see who Bearcat Annie’s boss was. “How about that feller?”

“We’ll keep him here to tell the mob that Happy Day’s really a Calhoun. Get going, Fang. Take as many men as you need.” Bearcat Annie turned to go back to her office when a thought struck her. “Fang, hire me some good guns and send them here. If Dusty Fog stops that mob he’s going to come looking for me. One way or another I’m going to break him, or he’ll break me.”