Ralph Compton Sixguns and Double Eagles (13 page)

“Which may not be for another week,” said Dr. Hamilton. “Out.”

“We have a stake in that kid,” Harley said when he and Hagerman had left the house and had started back to the depot. “I aim to trail that bunch of varmints that stopped the train.”

“Up to a point,” said Hagerman. “There's a limit as to how far we can go and have it considered railroad business.”

“Then don't call it railroad business,” Harley said. “I haven't forgotten that holdup near Boulder, when I was gunned down. Nathan Stone trailed the outlaws all the way to Arizona Territory and brought back the gold. What I can't do for Nathan, I can do for Wes.”

“I understand,” Hagerman said. “Take a few days' leave and do what you must.”

“I'm obliged,” said Harley. “The next gold shipment's a week away. I'll be here in time for that.”

*The Autumn of the Gun
(Book 3)

Five days after Wes and El Lobo had been taken to Dr. Hamilton‘s, Wes opened his eyes. On the sixth day, he spoke.

“Where am I?”

“You're at Dr. Hamilton‘s, in Dodge,” Ida Hamilton said.

“My
amigo,”
said Wes. “El Lobo.”

“Your friend's in the bed next to you,” Ida said, “but don't be moving around. You've been badly hurt, and your wounds haven't had time to heal.”

Hearing voices, Dr. Hamilton came in.

“Hold off on the talk,” said Hamilton. “You're not all that strong.”

“Sí,”
El Lobo grunted weakly. “No can move.”

“You have no business moving,” said Hamilton. “You were shot four times, and all you need is to start those wounds bleeding again.”

 

That same day, Foster Hagerman received a telegram from Harley Stafford, in Kansas City. It read: “Leaving on westbound today.”

When the train pulled into Dodge, Harley stepped down from the passenger coach and led his horse from a boxcar. Hagerman was waiting for him.

“I didn't have time to ride here and then return to Kansas City for the gold shipment,” said Harley, “so I went there first.”

“What did you learn?” Hagerman asked.

“Not much,” said Harley. “There were ten men involved in the ambush, and I trailed them to Wichita. I lost them there, but picked them up again when they rode out to the south. I had to give it up when they reached Indian territory, so that I could get back to Kansas City to ride with this gold shipment. How is Wes and his friend?”

“Able to talk a little,” Hagerman said. “They should be stronger by the time you're back from Boulder. I'll take your horse to the livery.”

“I'm obliged,” said Harley, climbing aboard as the train pulled out.

“There were ten men involved in the ambush,” Foster Hagerman said. “Harley trailed them to Wichita, lost them, and then picked them up again as they rode south. He had to give it up when they entered Indian territory and return to Kansas City. He'll be returning from Colorado late today.”

“We're obliged to him, and to you,” said Wes. “I want to talk to both of you.”

“We'll be here for as long as Dr. Hamilton will allow,” Hagerman said. “It's been more than four years since we've seen you.”

When Hagerman left, Empty was there by the door.

“Come on in,” said Ida Hamilton. “I'm sure he'd like to see you.”

Empty came in through the open door and stood there uncertainly. Ida started down the hall, pausing until Empty followed. He hesitated again when the door to the bedroom was opened.

“You gentlemen have another visitor,” Ida said, “If he'll come on in.”

Empty had reached the door, and when he saw Wes, he hesitated no longer. With an excited yelp he ran to the bed and reared up. Wes ruffled his ears.

“Bueno perro,”
said El Lobo.

Satisfied that Wes was all right, Empty left the room and started down the hall to the front door. There he waited to be let out.

“He has good manners,” Ida Hamilton said. “I've been feeding and watering him.”

“I'm obliged, ma‘am,” said Wes.

 

When Harley Stafford returned, he and Foster Hagerman set out for the Hamilton house. Ida let them in.

“Don't tire them too much,” said Hamilton, who had been expecting them. “They still have a ways to go.”

“Harley,” Wes said when Harley and Hagerman entered, “it's good to see you again.”

“It's good to see you, Wes,” said Harley. “You've changed some in four years.”

“Tremayne was my mother's name,” Wes said, “and I no longer use that. I've taken my father's name. I'm Wes Stone.”

“You've taken more than his name,” said Harley. “You're a mite younger, but you're the spittin' image of the Nathan Stone I first met in Deadwood, Dakota Territory. We have a lot of catchin' up to do.”

“Unpleasant as it may be,” Hagerman said, “we need to talk some about that ambush. The sheriff's going to be asking questions. At my request, he's had a deputy standing watch, in case that bunch decided to finish what they started.”

“We're obliged to you and to the sheriff,” said Wes, “but we can't tell you or the law anything that would be helpful. All I can tell you—and this is in confidence—that we're assisting a friend of my father's.”

“I suspect I know who that friend is,” Harley said.

“Then let it remain a suspicion,” said Wes. “I can tell you this, which is all I can tell the sheriff. My father was gunned down in El Paso by border outlaws. I rode into Mexico to avenge his death. There I met my
amigo,
El Lobo, and we made enemies. A hell of a lot of enemies. We destroyed an outlaw gang, but we have reason to believe the survivors followed us. This is not the first time they've come after us, and it won't be the last. We can't hide behind the law.”

“My God,” said Hagerman, “it's the law of the gun. Nathan would hate this.”

“I reckon he would,” Wes said. “He saved my life in El Paso, at the cost of his own.”

“Why don't you bring us up to date on that,” said Harley. “When the sheriff comes to question you and El Lobo, tell him what you want him to know.”

“Bueno,” El Lobo said.

Wes talked until Dr. Hamilton forbade further conversation.

“You can continue this visit tomorrow,” said Hamilton.

“We'll be back tomorrow, then,” Hagerman said.

When Dr. Hamilton had ushered the visitors out and closed the door, El Lobo spoke.

“Sheriff come.
Malo.”

“Oh, it may not be so bad,” said Wes. “We can truthfully say we have no idea who those
hombres
were who stopped the train.”

“Sheriff no believe they follow us from Mexico,” El Lobo said.

“Maybe not,” said Wes, “but that's all we can tell him. I reckon blamin' everything on our enemies from Mexico may wear a little thin before this is all over, but we can't tell the truth. Not without breaking our word to Silver and spoiling his chances of destroying the Golden Dragon. We chose to ride this trail, and the worst of it may be ahead of us.”

Harley and Hagerman were almost to the depot when Hagerman spoke.

“He's Nathan Stone all over again, right down to the death wish.”

“Maybe not,” said Harley. “He has someone to watch his back.”

“The Indian?”

“The Indian,” Harley said. “You heard Doc Hamilton say he'd been hit four times. How many men do you know who would stand beside you, facing up to impossible odds?”

“With the possible exception of you, not a damned one,” said Hagerman. “This young hellion has the same kind of courage his father had. Not only is he willing to risk his own neck for some impossible cause, he can inspire others to ride with him.”

“I'd ride with him myself,” Harley said, “if I could, but he's not about to tell us what kind of trail he's riding.”

“Leave that to him and the Indian,” said Hagerman. “The railroad needs you to ride the rails for security purposes. It won't help our image, when word gets out that a train was stopped and two passengers were gunned down.”

 

As a result of a telegram Grover had sent from Wichita, twenty-one men had met in a warehouse near the railroad depot in Boulder, Colorado. Twenty of them were dressed in range clothes and were heavily armed, while the twenty-first—Tobe Elkins—wore a suit, boiled shirt, fancy tie, and polished black shoes. Elkins spoke.

“The two men we want are in Dodge, recovering from gunshot wounds. When they're able to travel, they'll be coming to Boulder, on their way west. When they ride out, they are to be followed and eliminated. There is a ten-thousand-dollar-reward for each of them, when they're dead. Each of you will receive a thousand dollars of that reward. In addition, I am prepared to pay each of you five hundred dollars in front money.”

“Fair enough,” said one of the assembled gunmen, “but how do we know when these gents are comin‘, an' how do we recognize 'em?”

“One of them is an Indian, and the Anglo has a dog,” Elkins said, “and they'll have horses traveling in a boxcar. I'll be in Dodge, and when they board a train for Boulder, I will telegraph you that they're on the way. Choose a leader among you, and tell me how I can reach him. The rest of you lay low until you're contacted.”

“My name's Mull,” said one of the gunmen. “Avery Mull, and I'll be at the Gold Dust hotel. Telegraph me, and I'll round up the others.”

Mull was lean, hard-bitten, with cold blue eyes. His gunbelt was a
buscadera
rig, with a Colt thonged down on each hip.

“Mull has volunteered to be the contact,” said Elkins. “Do any of you question that?”

Nobody disagreed, and Elkins spoke again.

“Very well. I am advancing each of you five hundred dollars. You are to remain here until you hear from me. It may be two or three weeks, or longer. Any questions?”

There were none. Elkins took the next eastbound to Dodge.

Leaving Dr. Hamilton‘s, Wes and El Lobo took a room at the Dodge House. They had hoped to escape questioning by the law, but as soon as Dr. Hamilton let them go, Sheriff Emil Barber came knocking on their door.

“I reckon you know why I'm here,” Barber said.

“I reckon we do,” said Wes, “but there's not much we can tell you.”

“It's been my experience,” Sheriff Barber said, “that when a gent gets bushwhacked, he has a fair-to-middlin' idea as to the reason behind it. Maybe he even knows who done it.”

“Maybe,” said Wes. “Last summer, a band of outlaws murdered my father in El Paso, and I rode into Mexico after them. I made some enemies there.”

“How do you figure into this?” Barber asked, his eyes on El Lobo.

“These outlaws try to kill me,” said El Lobo. “I kill them.”

“So the two of you joined forces,” the sheriff said, “and you figure some of this gang is out for revenge?”

“How else can we figure it?” Wes asked. “We don't think it's likely that ten men would stop a train and gun us down without a reason.”

“I'll have to agree with you,” said Barber, “but it kind of stretches the imagination to believe these men trailed you all the way from Mexico. How did they know you were on the train?”

“That we don't know,” Wes said.

“You're a long way from Mexico,” said Sheriff Barber. “Am I correct in assuming this is not the first time they've tried to kill you?”

“You are,” Wes admitted. “They came after us in New Orleans and again in Kansas City.”

“Were these attempts reported to the law?”

“Only in Kansas City,” said Wes. “Two men came after us with shotguns. We defended ourselves and claimed self-defense.”

“I've never encountered anything quite like this,” Sheriff Barber said. “You're being stalked by forces beyond the reaches of the law.”

“That's how it is,” said Wes. “If it'll ease your mind, we'll be taking the next train west.”

“It's not that,” the sheriff said hastily. “I promised Foster Hagerman I'd help you if I could. First, he's concerned that such a thing could happen, and second, that the killers can't be caught.”

“We appreciate Hagerman's concern and yours,” Wes said, “but there's no help for it. We'll just have to keep our guns handy and try to shoot first.”

“Good luck,” said Sheriff Barber.

“That not be so bad,” El Lobo said when the lawman had gone.

“It didn't happen in his town,” said Wes. “I believe he was being honest when he said he was talking to us as a favor to Hagerman. I owe a lot to Foster Hagerman and Harley Stafford, and I appreciate their concern, but there's nothing they can do that will help us.”

“We go soon,” El Lobo said.

“On tomorrow's westbound,” said Wes. “The longer we stay here, the harder it will be for us to leave.”

“Sí,”
El Lobo said. “Per‘ap some
hombre
watch for us to go. He use telegraph.”

“I think we have to expect that,” said Wes. “The moment we lead our horses to the depot, there'll be no doubt that we're leaving. All the more reason for us to get off the train before it reaches Boulder. The telegraph can tell the bushwhackers in Boulder we're on the westbound, but it can't tell them we aim to leave the train at that water stop in eastern Colorado.”