Ralph Compton Train to Durango (11 page)

•   •   •

Omaha, Nebraska, April 10, 1885

Morton Tindall had taken a steamboat from Kansas City to Omaha. There he could take the Union Pacific all the way to California, or he could travel eastward. He still had twenty thousand dollars of the fifty thousand he had received from Gandy Franks, and he thanked his lucky stars he hadn't given Illivane and his outlaws all the money. After learning that three of their comrades had been captured, he had no doubt that Illivane and the others had scattered like quail. Now he must decide if he was to travel by train or steamboat. Vivid in his mind was the time a train was stopped near Dodge, and a dozen gunmen had shot down Wes Stone and Palo Elfego.
²²
He would remain in Omaha another day, admitting to himself that he hadn't the faintest idea as to how he could outsmart or outrun the evil forces of the Golden Dragon.

•   •   •

Cheynne, Wyoming, April 10, 1885

When he was in sight of the town, Gandy Franks dismounted. Looping the reins over the saddle horn, he slapped the horse on the rump, sending it running back the way they had come. The animal could find its way back to the livery in Denver. By then, Franks would be aboard the Union Pacific, and long gone. He would go to Omaha and from there to Kansas City. He would get the money, if Drade Hogan hadn't cut him off at the bank, and then travel eastward. Warily, Franks boarded the eastbound, taking a seat at one end of the coach so he could watch the other passengers. He viewed them all with a suspicion that soon became evident, and they returned his stares, adding to his unease. When the eastbound reached Omaha, Gandy Franks was standing by the coach door, waiting to be the first off. To his total surprise, among the people waiting to board the train stood Morton Tindall, looking for the world like a stray dog expecting to be kicked. As soon as the train had slowed enough, Franks hit the ground running. But Tindall saw him coming and took refuge inside the depot waiting room.

“Don't come any closer, damn you,” said Tindall, a cocked Colt in his hand. “I know why you're here.”

Franks laughed. “Do you? I'm running, just like you. That whole sorry mess there in Indian Territory was laid to me. I sent you fifty thousand. Was there any left?”

“None,” Tindall lied. “I'm tryin' to figure a way to get some coin. Got any ideas?”

“Maybe,” said Franks. “I still have a check on that bank in Kansas City.”

“Let's go there and clean it out,” Tindall said. “You might as well be shot for a sheep as a lamb.”

“I will be shot dead if I'm caught,” said Franks, “and I can't see you gettin' a share when I'll be taking all the risk.”

Tindall laughed. “We're both in the same leaky boat,
amigo
. If you can mine some of the Dragon's gold, go ahead. I won't expect a thing, and I'll stay out of the line of fire.”

None of those who were part of the Dragon's evil empire were known for their compassion and generosity. Franks stared at Tindall, and when he spoke, his voice was cold, his words not so much a question as a statement of fact.

“You got some of that fifty thousand, ain't you.”

“That's none of your damn business,” Tindall said. “When Hogan brought me in, I was told to use my own judgment, and I done that. Now, if they catch up to me, my life won't be worth a plugged peso. You go on to Kansas City and raid that bank. I'll never stand in your way. I'll be busy enough, just trying to stay alive.”

The eastbound signaled its departure with a shrill blast of the locomotive's whistle. Without turning his back on Franks, Tindall stepped out of the depot waiting room. The train was already moving when he swung aboard. Franks watched the departing train until it was lost to distance, and the smoke from the locomotive's stack had been swallowed up in the blue of the sky. With a sigh he left the depot, bound for the steamboat landing. If his plans fell through in Kansas City, he wouldn't have money enough to run much farther.

•   •   •

Dodge City, Kansas, April 11, 1885

Dismukes, Shankler, and Pardue reached Dodge at dusk, as Shankler and Pardue had planned. Shankler spoke.

“Pardue and me will stay out here on the prairie until sometime before first light. You got any idea where you and Stone will face one another?”

“Near the Dodge House, I reckon,” said Dismukes. “There's plenty of flat roofs and empty buildings where you can see without bein' seen.”

“We'll be watching,” Shankler said. “What do you aim to do now?”

“I'll be spreadin' the word that I'm back, that I'm expecting Stone to face me at first light,” said Dismukes.

“See that you don't get too loud,” Shankler warned. “Stone's the kind that might come looking for you tonight, forcing a shoot-out.”

“I know what I'm doin', damn it,” said Dismukes.

“I hope the little fool's still alive, come morning,” Pardue said, as Dismukes rode away.

“I hope he doesn't lose his nerve,” said Shankler. “Stone's just pure chain lightning with a pistol, and he never misses.”

•   •   •

With an eye for trouble, Sheriff Dumery approached Curly Dismukes as he dismounted near the Long Branch.

“I reckon I was expectin' too much, hopin' you'd ride out and keep going,” the sheriff said. “You here to cause trouble?”

“Not for you,” said Dismukes.

“You're a damn fool if you aim to face Stone again,” Sheriff Dumery said. “He won't let you out of it alive this time, and I don't blame him.”

“I ain't lookin' for no quarter from him,” said Dismukes. “All I'm expectin' of him is that he meet me on the street outside the Dodge House at first light. See that he gets the message.”

He went on into the Long Branch, and Sheriff Dumery started for the Dodge House. The supper hour was past, and when he knocked on the door, Wes asked him to identify himself. When Dumery did so, Wes opened the door and the sheriff entered.

“You have that bad-news look,” Wes said. “What is it?”

“Curly Dismukes rode in a while ago. He aims to call you out at first light, right here before the Dodge House.”

“Can't you arrest him, Sheriff?” Renita begged.

“Got nothin' to charge him with, ma'am,” said Sheriff Dumery. “I'd just have to turn him loose, and he'd start the whole thing all over again.”

“The sheriff's right,” Wes said. “I'll have to face him in the morning.”

“You spared him once,” said Renita. “Why won't he leave you alone?”

“Because I outdrew him and allowed him to live,” Wes said. “He'll keep hounding me as long as he's alive.”

•   •   •

Durango, Colorado, April 11, 1885

Drade Hogan stepped down from the train, impressed with the way the narrow gauge locomotive had taken the mountain grades and formidable curves. All his meetings with Elias Hawk and Hobie Denbow had taken place in Denver, and Hogan was in Durango for the first time. Hawk and Denbow didn't know he was coming, and that was just as he had planned. He would be the judge of their progress, or the lack of it. He was afoot, for the little town had no livery. He started for the combination saloon and cafe. He would order a meal and go from there. The cafe was deserted, but a poker game was in progress in the saloon. Five men at the table all looked up as Hogan stepped into the restaurant.

“I'm folding,” said Hawk, shoving back his chair.

“Me too,” Denbow said, swallowing hard.

“You ain't goin' nowhere until we've had a shot at winnin' back our money,” said one of the remaining men. A Colt was in his hand, practically under Hawk's nose.

“I don't take money from sore losers,” Hawk said. “Here's my winnings. Now all of you root for them like the swine you are.”

The three of them looked at him sullenly, and the man with the drawn Colt holstered it. Having been a loser, Denbow was unchallenged. He quickly left the table, heading for the saloon's door. Hawk backed away from the table, his eyes on the remaining three men who were watching him. Quickly he stepped out, closing the door behind him.

“My God,” said Denbow, “did you see who come into the cafe?”

“Of course I did,” Hawk snarled. “Why do you suppose I folded when I was better than a hundred dollars ahead? Come on.”

There was a hitching rail at each end of the building, and five horses at the rail next to the saloon. But that wasn't all. Drade Hogan leaned on the rail, waiting.

“We came to the cafe for dinner,” said Hawks, “and stayed for a few hands of poker.”

“Yeah,” Denbow said. “We was just about to start back.”

“Good,” said Hogan, his hard eyes on them. “I'm going with you.”

“There's no livery here, and we got no extra horse,” Denbow said nervously.

“Of course you do,” said Hogan. “You and the good judge will share one, and I'll take the other.”

Denbow bit his tongue, stifling a stinging response. He loosed the reins of his horse from the hitching rail and handed the reins to Hogan. Quickly Hogan mounted, watching with some amusement as Denbow scrambled up behind Hawk. Hawk and Denbow rode ahead, Hogan following. The ride was a lengthy one. Hawk finally reined up before an unimposing hole that had been blasted out of the stone face of a mountain.

“This is it,” said Hawk. “Caballito del diablo. In English that means ‘the dragonfly.' ”

“I know what it means,” Hogan snapped, “and I am not amused. I trust you've made progress enough to justify the two of you being draped over a poker table in the middle of the day.”

“See for yourself,” said Hawk, regaining some of his confidence.

“I intend to,” Hogan said. “Lead the way.”

Hogan followed Hawk and Denbow into the gloomy interior of the mine.

“We picked this one because, in addition to the gold, it also yields a little silver,” said Hawk.

“Splendid,” Hogan said. “Who works the mine?”

“Denbow and me,” said Hawk. “You told us to keep the lid on, and we couldn't do it with hired help.”

“The place don't yield enough to pay day wages,” Denbow added. “Low-grade ore.”

“That shouldn't concern either of you,” said Hogan. “I believe you are being paid well for your labor.”

“We are,” said Hawk hastily. “Now we'll show you what you came to see.”

Denbow lit a lantern, leading the way, while Hawk and Hogan followed. Shafts angled off to the right and left of the main tunnel.

“We still work those shafts,” Hawk said. “Not much ore, but more than enough to supply your needs.”

Finally there was a bend in the tunnel, and rounding it, they came face-to-face with a stone wall. Denbow approached what appeared to be solid rock. Suddenly, at his touch, the wall of stone swung silently back out of the way. Quickly the trio entered, and Denbow closed the stone door as silently as he had opened it.

“I expected nothing as sophisticated as this,” said Hogan. “It's the most unusual device I've ever seen.”

“Thank you,” Hawk said. “It's something I learned from an old Aztec Indian. Now are you satisfied that Denbow and me can live up to your plans in Durango?”

“I am,” said Hogan. “The first shipment will be ready by the time I return to Denver, and will be shipped by train. The bill of lading will list the contents as mining machinery.”

“We'll be looking for it,” Hawk said. “Now take a look at the rest of our diggings.”

•   •   •

Kansas City, Missouri, April 11, 1885

“This account has been closed,” said the bank teller.

“You're sure?” Gandy Franks asked, almost in a whisper.

“Absolutely,” said the teller.

Franks said nothing, making his way slowly toward the door. The teller watched him go, and when the door had closed behind him, there was a distant sound of gunfire, then a crash, as the heavy Winchester slugs slammed Gandy Franks through the bank's big glass door. He lay there on his back, the life pumping out of him through two holes in his chest.

Dodge City, Kansas, April 12, 1885

Dent Shankler and Turk Pardue spent most of an uncomfortable night on the plains, waiting until an hour before first light to ride into Dodge.

“We'll position ourselves as near the Dodge House as we can, without being seen,” said Shankler. “You'll be on one side of the street, and I'll be on the other. The instant Stone or Dismukes fires, we'll cut loose on Elfego and Silver. We got to take them by surprise. If we miss the first two or three shots, we'll be in big trouble.”

“I just hope Dismukes ain't figured out that he's bein' used as a diversion for a bushwhackin',” Pardue said.

“He won't live long enough to figure it out,” said Shankler. “He can't see beyond his own ego.”

Reaching town, Shankler and Pardue concealed their horses as best they could. Before the Dodge House was a single bracket lamp. The street was dark and deserted. Shankler crossed the street, seeking a good position, leaving Pardue to do the same. Pardue slipped between two store buildings, back into the alley where they had left their horses. What he had in mind was a flat-roofed building with a false front, behind which he could conceal himself. Instead, he found something better. The two-story building was vacant, and while it had once been boarded up, the rear of it—facing the alley—was open to marauders and the elements. Slowly, careful where he stepped, Pardue made his way up the stairs to the second floor. A door hung drunkenly on one hinge, and beyond it was a balcony overlooking the street. He sighed with satisfaction, hoping Shankler had found himself as good a position on the other side of the street. Pardue had no way of knowing that just a few days before, a trio of killers had fired from this same deserted balcony.

•   •   •

Wes Stone sat up in bed, aware that Renita was no longer beside him. In the darkness he could see the shape of her, sitting in the room's only chair, facing the door.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Since you fell asleep,” Renita said. “I can't sleep, and my thrashing around would only have kept you awake.”

“It wouldn't have mattered,” said Wes. “I don't want you sitting there alone, brooding about me. Three more hours, and it'll all be over.”

“This time,” Renita said. “What about the next time, and the times after that?”

“I've cured myself of thinkin' that far ahead,” said Wes.

“That's how you manage to sleep, knowing you have to face a killer at dawn?”

“That's it,” said Wes.

She said no more. Slipping back into bed beside him, she lay there with her troubled mind in a whirl until she fell into exhausted sleep. She was still sleeping when Wes got up, for first light was only minutes away. There was a knock on the door, and Wes reached for one of his Colts. Anticipating his move, a voice spoke softly through the door.

“Twenty-one.”

Buckling on his gunbelts, Wes eased the door open enough to slip through. Quickly he closed it behind him.

“I'd invite you in,” Wes said, “but Renita's still sleeping. She's been awake most of the night.”

“I reckon I know why,” said Silver. “After Sheriff Dumery brought the news to you, he told Palo and me. He has a feeling there's more to this than just a grudge on the part of Curly Dismukes.”

“He may be right,” Wes said. “I can take Dismukes. Maybe you and Palo shouldn't be in the street behind me.”

“Maybe not,” said Silver, “but we'll be there. If this develops into anything more than a shoot-or-be-shot fight between you and Dismukes, you may need us.”

A door opened, and like a shadow, El Lobo was with them.

All three men tensed as they heard the clop-clop-clop of a horse's hooves.

“Sheriff Dumery ridin' in,” said a quiet voice.

“Come on,” said Wes.

Dumery dismounted, looping the reins about a hitch rail. Nobody said anything, for they expected him to speak, and he did.

“Stone, I got me an uneasy feeling about this thing between you and Dismukes. It's all just too damn pat. Is there any way he could be part of this conspiracy that's tryin' to get the three of you killed?”

“I don't see how,” said Wes. “He's just looking for a reputation at my expense, and if it wasn't him, it would be somebody else.”

“I think what the sheriff is considering is the possibility that Curly Dismukes could be a diversion,” Silver said. “Maybe he's being used without his being aware of it.”

“You got a handle on it,” said Sheriff Dumery, “but I got no proof.”

“You don't always need proof,” Wes said. “Sometimes, a good dose of intuition will be enough. With this bunch gunning for us, we can't afford to overlook anything.”

“All the more reason for Palo and me to be there siding you,” said Silver. “Fighting for your life, you shouldn't have anything else on your mind.”

“I'm going to spend a little time with Renita,” Wes said. “If Dismukes shows before I return, knock on the door.”

He found Renita sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on the oval rug beneath her bare feet. She looked at him, and trying to smile, failed miserably.

“I thought you had slipped away to . . . to do this without me knowing,” she said. “I'm so glad you didn't.”

“You've been up most of the night,” said Wes. “I slipped out, hoping you could sleep. I needed to talk to Silver and Palo. Sheriff Dumery's out there too.”

“I'm not going with you,” Renita said. “I'm a coward. In that last split second before you draw, my heart just stands still. You have enough on your mind without being further burdened with a swooning female.”

Wes laughed. “I don't think of you as a swooning female. Not after those outlaws took you away and sold you to a Mexican whorehouse.”
²³

“You won't ever forget that, will you?”

“No,” said Wes, “and I hope you don't. When you've been to hell and back once, you know you can face it again if you must.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Renita said, “but I'm going to try, starting now.”

“Stone,” said Sheriff Dumery through the closed door, “Dismukes is waiting.”

Wes helped Renita to her feet, holding her close. Neither spoke, for there was nothing more to be said. Wes loaded the empty chamber in both Colts and reached for his hat. It was time.

•   •   •

Durango, Colorado, April 12, 1885

The huge vault appeared to have been hewn out of solid rock, and in one corner, fresh water bubbled out of a cleft in the rock and disappeared at its base. There were four bunks, a table and chairs, utensils for cooking and eating, and a supply of food and provisions. The rest of the interior was bare.

“We left enough room, I think, for those shipments of machinery you'll be sending us,” said Hawk. “Nobody but Denbow and me knows this place exists.”

“I'm pleased to hear that,” Hogan said. “If anything falls through at this end, I'll only have to track down one or both of you.”

Hobie Denbow laughed, but it trailed off into a nervous titter when he looked into the cold, murderous eyes of Drade Hogan.

“There won't be a train to Denver until tomorrow,” said Elias Hawk. “We have plenty of room and bunks, so you're welcome to stay with us tonight.”

“I think not,” Hogan said. “I saw a rooming house within walking distance of the railroad depot, and I may have need of the telegraph.”

“Take my horse, then,” said Hawk. “Hobie can ride with you and return him.”

“I'll saddle the horses,” Denbow said.

Not until Denbow and Hogan had gone did Hawk sigh with relief. He was waiting outside when Denbow returned, leading Hawk's horse.

“Damnation,” said Denbow, “I'm glad he's gone. He looks at you like he knows every thought passin' through your head.”

Hawk laughed. “It's his way. He's big only because he makes others feel small.”

“It just spooks the hell out of me, thinking about double-crossin' him,” Denbow said.

“Don't go gettin' cold feet on me,” said Hawk. “Why settle for a sack of corn when you can take the whole crop?”

“You didn't tell him about none of the trip wires?” Denbow said. “Scatterguns at close range could spread a man's innards all over that cavern wall.”

Hawk laughed. “I can't get over the possibility that when the dust settles and it's time to pay you and me, that the payoff may not be quite what we expect. Our three scatterguns, with trip wires attached to the triggers, will make it almighty expensive for anybody besides us to reach that room where the gold will be.”

“It takes a damn good thief to steal from other thieves,” said Denbow. “It makes me feel like we might pull off this double-cross and live to tell about it.”

Hawk eyed him coldly. “I resent being referred to as a thief. Watch your mouth.”

•   •   •

In his rented room, Drade Hogan slept very little. The more he thought of Elias Hawk and Hobie Denbow, the more certain he became that the two were playing out a devious hand that was going to cost him dearly. He would need them for a while, until his wealth had accumulated to the extent that he could leave for South America. By then, Elias Hawk and Hobie Denbow would have outlived their usefulness.

•   •   •

Dodge City, Kansas, April 12, 1885

A hundred yards down the dusty street Curly Dismukes waited. His hands hung at his sides, and he appeared not to have a care in the world. Wes stepped out into the street and began his slow walk toward the little gunman.

“Dismukes,” said Wes, “the last time you came after me, I let you live. I won't make that mistake again. It's still not too late to back off.”

“I ain't backin' off,” Dismukes shouted, “and I ain't needin' your damn charity.”

He began walking slowly toward Wes, and Wes waited. He was aware that El Lobo and Silver were a few paces behind him, Silver to his left and El Lobo to his right. The town seemed uninterested in the drama that was about to take place. Only Sheriff Dumery stood on the boardwalk, watching Wes Stone.

On the second-floor balcony of an old store building, Turk Pardue had the sights of his Winchester dead-center on Palo Elfego. He was well within range, and Pardue waited only for Dismukes or Stone to draw.

Across the street, Shankler had taken his position atop a flat-roofed building, using its false front to conceal himself. He had removed his hat so that he might see without being seen. He had the Winchester fully loaded, waiting only for one of the men in the street to draw and fire. But suddenly everything went wrong.

In the street, Curly Dismukes was still walking toward Wes, but Wes Stone scarcely looked at him. He thought he had seen something—or somebody—on the balcony from which the last bushwhacking had been attempted. There it was again, in the early morning sunlight! Like chain lightning, Wes drew his left-hand Colt and fired three times, all the shots coming together like rolling thunder. Turk Pardue fell from the second-story balcony from which he had been about to fire, and the suddenness of it took Shankler by surprise. Hurriedly he fired at Silver, but Silver had his Colt out, returning the fire. Then Silver was running along the boardwalk, while El Lobo had taken to the boardwalk across the street, with the same idea. Shankler saw his chances of escape diminishing rapidly. Taking his Winchester, he slid off the roof of the building into an alley behind it.

In the street, nobody had been more surprised than Curly Dismukes. He stood there looking at the grim muzzle of Wes Stone's Colt, frozen by the chilling realization that he could and should be dead. When he made no move toward his revolver, Wes holstered his Colt and spoke.

“I ought to gut-shoot you,” said Wes coldly. “You set me and my
amigos
up for a bushwhacking.”

“You lie,” Dismukes snarled. “A man don't get a gun reputation like that.”

“It won't matter to you, one way or the other,” said Wes. “It's your play. You can turn around and walk, or you can pull iron.”

“I'll walk,” Dismukes said sullenly.

But after he turned his back, the treacherous little gunman whirled and drew. But Wes Stone was ready. Drawing his right-hand Colt, he fired once. The slug struck Curly Dismukes in the chest just as his finger tightened on the trigger. His shot splintered one end of a hitch rail. The Colt slipped from his fingers, and he stumbled backward. His knees buckling, he sat down in the street as though very tired. As his blood drenched the front of his shirt, he collapsed on his back, his sightless eyes looking into the morning sun. Aware that Silver and El Lobo were pursuing the would-be killers, Sheriff Dumery had watched the drama unfold between Stone and Dismukes. Wes had punched out the empty casings and proceeded to reload his weapons. Only then did he walk back toward the Dodge House. By the time he reached the boardwalk, Renita was running to meet him.

Silver and El Lobo reached the building from which Shankler had fired, only to find no sign of the gunman.

“He was shooting from the roof,” said Silver. “Now he's trying to work his way back to his horse. I'll continue searching this alley, and you take the one across the street.”

Drawn by the gunfire, there were men on the street, but they scattered quickly when they saw El Lobo and Silver coming with Colts in their hands. Silver ducked between a cafe and a barbershop, neither of which was open. Coming into the alley, Silver's eyes were on the roofs of several buildings from which the shots might have come. Some fifty yards away, Dent Shankler found himself in trouble. He and Pardue had left their horses in the alley behind the deserted building where Pardue had concealed himself. Shankler was about to run for it, when he saw El Lobo disappear into that very alley. The damn Indian was sure to discover his and Pardue's mounts! But there was a more immediate danger. Bryan Silver was coming down the alley on the run. Shaken by his unbelievably bad luck, Shankler fired at Silver, but the hurried shot went wild. Silver fired twice, the slugs tearing splinters from a building's wall just above Shankler's head. Knowing he was lost without his horse, Shankler made a run for it into the street where Curly Dismukes had died only moments before. Silver fired again. The slug slammed into the stock of Shankler's Winchester, ripping the weapon from his hand. Drawing his Colt, he turned and fired, only to have the shot go wild. Silver was still coming! Terrified, breathing hard, Shankler made it into the alley where he and Pardue had left the horses, and he couldn't believe his eyes. The horses were gone, and just ahead of him, El Lobo waited.