Ralph Compton Train to Durango (9 page)

Renita clung to him as they left the cafe, Molly and Tamara following. Not until they were crossing the street to the Dodge House did any one of them speak.

“After the first shot, I opened the door just enough to see you tumble into the street,” Renita said. “I thought you had been shot.”

“None of us got a scratch,” said Wes, “and I reckon we owe Empty for that. When I leaned over to get the pan in which he'd been fed, the slug went high. That shot warned Silver and Palo, and we caught up to the three bushwhackers in the alley while they were mounting their horses. We wounded one, and Sheriff Dumery got the drop on the others.”

“You all bueno
hombres
,” Tamara said.

“Molly,” said Wes, “are you all right?”

“I suppose I will be,” Molly said. “I respect all of you for having us wait inside. I'm afraid I wouldn't have been much help when the shooting started.”

“We had our reasons,” said Wes. “When lead begins to fly, a man has trouble enough, just keepin' himself alive. If any one of you had been out there with us, our concern for you might have gotten a couple of us killed. It's one of those times when the most helpful thing you can do is stay in a safe place, out of the line of fire.”

“I understand,” Molly said.

“So do I,” said Renita. “When someone's shooting at you, that's problem enough. You don't need a frightened female to look after.”

“I wasn't going to be quite that blunt,” said Wes, “but that's exactly what it amounts to. You know now that our concern for you is not only very real, but justified as well.”

“
Sí
,” Tamara said. “You care.”

•   •   •

“Now,” said Sheriff Dumery, when the three outlaws were locked in a cell, “what are your names?”

“I want a doc,” Hampton said.

“He's been sent for,” said Dumery. “Now tell me your names.”

“Go to hell,” Damark said.

“Then don't talk,” said Sheriff Dumery. “I'll book all of you on John Doe warrants if I have to. More than one bushwhacker's got the rope without anybody knowin' or carin' who he was.”

“Let's look at those wanted posters,” Silver said. “A varmint who'll hire out to kill has probably killed before. Maybe we can tighten the noose some.”

“Good idea,” said Sheriff Dumery.

The trio had been locked in the first cell. When Dumery opened the door that led into the office, Empty could see the prisoners. He began barking furiously.

El Lobo laughed. “
Perro
, he know.”

“I'd bet a horse and saddle one of those coyotes has teeth marks on his leg,” Silver said.

Sheriff Dumery brought a stack of dog-eared wanted posters from his desk drawer and began to separate them on his desk, one at a time.

“Whoa,” said Silver. “There's the one with a slug in his leg.”

“He's got a jugful of names,” Sheriff Dumery said. “Wonder which one of ‘em he's usin' now?”

“It won't matter,” said Silver. “According to this, he's wanted in Texas and Missouri, for robbery and murder.”

“A thousand dollars reward,” Sheriff Dumery said. “He ain't changed his habits none. Damn bushwhacker.”

A further search through the wanted posters revealed that the remaining two outlaws were wanted in Missouri. There was a five-hundred-dollar reward for each of them, and the charge was attempted murder.

“These are old wanted dodgers,” said Silver. “These varmints have been hidin' out for a while.”

“Won't matter,” Sheriff Dumery said. “I'll get telegrams off to whoever's after them. You gents will get your rewards.”

“We're not nearly as interested in rewards as we are in getting these coyotes locked up,” said Silver. “Give it another couple of days, and I won't be surprised if there's a new bunch of them in town, with bushwhacking on their minds.”

“If they show up,” Sheriff Dumery said, “just handle ‘em the way you handled these. I got plenty of room here in the jail if you can take ‘em alive.”

•   •   •

Silver and El Lobo returned to the Dodge House with the news that the three outlaws were all wanted men.

“That pretty well stacks up to what you suspected,” Wes told Silver. “These varmints must have been holed up in Indian Territory. When these don't ride back, I reckon there'll be another bunch coming.”

“That's what I expect,” said Silver. “At least until the threat of soldiers gets through to them. Give it another week, and I suspect Indian Territory will have more Indians than outlaws.”

•   •   •

Dodge City, Kansas, April 5, 1885

The capture and jailing of the three outlaws hadn't gone unnoticed. After the sheriff had led the prisoners away, one of the observers hurried to his room at the Dodge House. After sending the telegram to Franks in Denver, Gannon had kept out of sight. Now he could see his usefulness in Dodge coming to an end. Quickly he packed his few belongings, and when the eastbound train arrived, Gannon went aboard, bound for Kansas City.

“What the hell are you doin' here?” Morton Tindall demanded, when he answered the knock on his door.

“I'm on my way east,” said Gannon. “Thought I'd bring you some news.”

“You was told to stay in Dodge,” Tindall said.

“I don't like the way the cards are fallin',” said Gannon. “I'm foldin' while I can still walk away forked-end down. Them three
hombres
that Franks wanted me to watch just took the bit in their teeth and captured some coyotes that tried to bushwhack ‘em. I just figured they was some of your boys, and I reckoned you'd want to know they're locked up in Dodge. Word is they're facin' the rope.”

“You're lying,” Tindall snarled. “You're just looking for an excuse to run.”

Gannon laughed. “I don't care a damn what you think. These killers you're sendin' to Dodge are in over their heads. You're about to lose big time, and I don't aim to be close enough for any of it to boil over on me.”

With that, Gannon turned and walked away. Tindall was about to shout an angry reply when he discovered other doors were open along the hall. Ignoring the curious looks of his neighbors, Tindall closed the door and threw himself on the bed.

•   •   •

Dodge City, Kansas, April 5, 1885

“Silver,” said Wes, “why don't we telegraph Franks in Denver?”

“Give me a good reason,” Silver said.

“We know the Golden Dragon is behind these killers that tried to bushwhack us,” said Wes. “Don't you reckon Franks and the rest would like to know their killers are alive and well in jail?”

“
Sí
,” El Lobo said. “We use the talking wire, like we do in Mexico.”
²¹

Silver laughed. “Why not? We'll tell them in great detail about the failed ambush, and that the bushwhackers are in jail. We won't sign it, of course.”

They spent the better part of an hour composing a telegram. When it was ready, Wes took it to Foster Hagerman at the railroad depot. Harley Stafford was there, having come in on the eastbound train.

“I heard about the ambush,” Hagerman said. “Congratulations.”

“Just my luck,” said Harley. “I always miss out on the fun.”

“There's more to come,” Wes said. “We think the bunch that's paid these coyotes to come gunnin' for us should know they're in jail. Send this telegram to Denver.”

With Harley looking over Hagerman's shoulder, the two of them read the message.

Harley laughed. “You gents know how to rub it in. But how do you know Franks isn't just a code name? They may not get this.”

“They'll get it,” said Wes. “They'll have their own telegraph instrument. Whether Franks exists or not, they'll still intercept this.”

“If they do,” Hagerman said, “what do you expect to happen?”

“If they still have a contact here in Dodge, he'll be in big trouble,” said Wes. “I think we've violated all their rules for use of the telegraph. At least we tried to.”

“Take over the instrument and do the honors yourself,” Foster Hagerman said.

Wes sat down before the instrument, and when given permission to send, rapidly sent the telegram.

“He knows Morse as well as any man alive,” said Harley proudly. “I taught him.”

“I know,” Hagerman said. “After what he pulled off in Mexico, he's practically a legend among telegraphers.”

•   •   •

Denver, Colorado, April 5, 1885

Drade Hogan answered a knock on his door.

“Sorry to bother you, sir,” the telegrapher said, “but I have no idea where Mr. Franks is. The nature of this message is such that I . . . I thought you should see it immediately.”

Hogan took the scribbled message, and without a word, closed the door in the face of the telegrapher. He sat down at his desk, stubbing out his cigar in his coffee cup. Having read the message once, he quickly read it again. Angrily, he pounded the desk with his fist, shoved the telegram into his pocket, and seized his hat. He slammed the door behind him, and his secretary looked up in alarm.

“If Franks shows up,” Hogan growled, “send him into my office and tell him I said wait there until I return.”

“Yes, sir,” said the secretary.

Gandy Franks had been on the second floor of the Pretty Girl Saloon all day, sitting in on a high-stakes poker game. He kicked back his chair, three hundred dollars ahead. One of the pretty girls, wearing only red slippers, a short, open-fronted red jacket, and a big red ribbon in her hair smiled at him.

“You're not leaving, are you?” she chided.

“Yes,” said Franks. “This has been my lucky day.”

He thought about returning to the office, but changed his mind. Instead, he stopped at a fashionable restaurant, where he ordered a steak and an expensive cigar.

•   •   •

Dodge City, Kansas, April 5, 1885

“There shouldn't be any trouble for a couple more days,” Silver said. “It'll be a while before that bunch in Indian Territory suspects something went wrong with their planned ambush.”

“There's the telegram you sent to Denver,”‘ said Molly. “Perhaps there'll be trouble coming from there.”

“Not for us,” Silver said. “I figure if the varmints still have a contact in Dodge and they believe he sent this telegram, they'll want his head on a platter, just as much or more than they want ours. We'll wait and see what happens.”

Indian Territory, on the Cimarron, April 6, 1885

“Somethin' must of gone wrong,” Easterly said. “It ain't that far from here to Dodge. Hampton, Lawton, and Damark should of been back by now.”

“I reckon you're right,” said Illivane. “If they're not back by suppertime, I'll ride in and find out what's happened to ‘em.”

“I don't like the way this is stackin' up,” Concho said. “With a showdown comin' here in the territory, there won't be no more gold from Tindall. Why don't we just take what we got and ride out?”

“Because I don't run out on a job after I been paid to do it,” said Illivane. “Ain't you got no honor?”

Not one of the outlaws agreed with him, and some of them laughed. Illivane swallowed hard. Time was running out.

•   •   •

Denver, Colorado, April 6, 1885

When Gandy Franks reached the outwardly respectable offices of the Golden Dragon, he was confronted with some disturbing news.

“Mr. Hogan left word for you to wait for him in his office,” the secretary said.

“It's still early,” said Franks. “Has he already been in?”

“No. That's the message he left yesterday,” the girl replied.

“What's happened?” Franks asked.

“I have no idea,” said the secretary. “From what the telegrapher said, he was given a telegram intended for you. He seemed very angry.”

Franks hurried down the hall to the telegrapher's office. When he entered, Harper, the telegrapher, looked up.

“Why didn't you hold that telegram for me?” Franks demanded.

“It seemed important,” said Harper. “I didn't know where you were, or when you'd be back.”

Harper didn't like Franks, and made no pretense of it.

“I reckon you didn't keep a copy,” Franks said sarcastically.

“You know damn well I have orders not to keep copies of anything sent or received,” said Harper. “However,” he said with some satisfaction, “I can remember most of it.”

“Then tell me,” Franks growled, swallowing his pride.

Harper recited the message almost word for word, enjoying the shocked expression on Franks's face as he proceeded. At the conclusion, it took a moment for Franks to recover. When he finally spoke, he choked out the words as though he were strangling.

“It wasn't signed?”

“Of course it wasn't,” said Harper in disgust. “Are our messages ever signed?”

Franks said nothing. He closed the door behind him and started down the hall. In his anger and confusion, he almost collided with Drade Hogan, who had just entered the building.

“Well, bless my soul,” Hogan said in mock surprise. “You're just the fellow I've been wanting to see. Come on in to my office.”

Franks said nothing. Having no choice, he followed. They entered the outer office, and Hogan only nodded to the secretary. Taking one look at Franks, she quickly found something to do, for the look in his eyes reminded her of a trapped animal seeking to escape. Feeling like a condemned man, Franks closed the door behind him. Hogan wasted no time, and when he spoke, his voice was like ice.

“For starters, where the hell were you all day yesterday?”

“I . . . I had business to attend to,” said Franks lamely.

“When you work for me, my business comes first,” Hogan roared. “Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir,” said Franks, almost in a whisper.

“Read this, and tell me what it means,” Hogan said, taking the crumpled telegram from his pocket.

Franks took it, scarcely looking at it. But Hogan wasn't finished. From his coat pocket he took an envelope, which he passed to Franks. Fearfully, suspecting what he was about to find, Franks took the contents from the envelope. There was a two-page letter, along with the front page from the Kansas City newspaper. Franks ignored the newspaper story, scanning the letter Morton Tindall had written. Finished, he didn't bother returning any of it to the envelope. Without a word, he handed it all back to Hogan.

“There's nothin' more I can tell you,” said Franks weakly. “It's all there.”

“How much?” Hogan demanded. “How much money has he sunk into this . . . this bunch of bungling misfits from Indian Territory?”

“I sent him fifty thousand,” said Franks.

“Good money or counterfeit?”

“I sent a check on our Kansas City account,” Franks said. “I thought—”

“You didn't think, damn you,” said Hogan. “Now we're out fifty thousand, three men who are supposed to be dead are very much alive, and that fool in Dodge has violated all the rules I laid down concerning use of the telegraph.”

“By God, you don't know everything,” Franks exploded. “Gannon didn't send that telegram from Dodge.”

“Then who did?” Hogan asked in a near whisper. “It had your name on it.”

“That telegram came from Stone or Silver,” said Franks. “They likely got my name from the telegram Gannon sent me, telling me they had stopped in Dodge. This telegram is their way of stirring up trouble among us.”

“I am indebted to them,” Hogan said. “Otherwise, I wouldn't have known of this fool blunder of yours, hiring unreliable scum from Indian Territory.”

“Let me remind you,” said Franks, mustering what dignity he could, “that it was you who suggested hiring bushwhackers from Indian Territory. You've sent money to Tindall, just like I did, and he's hired men to do your dirty work more than once. Now, as for soldiers bein' sent to the territory, I knew nothing of that.”

“Get out,” snarled Hogan. “I have some thinking and some planning to do.”

“Don't you go writin' me out of the play,” Franks shouted. “Not after all I've done for this outfit.”

“Believe me,” said Hogan, his voice dangerously low, “you will be rewarded for all you have done. Now stay out until I call for you.”

Franks stumbled blindly down the hall, only too much aware that Rance Stringfield had disappeared only a week ago. Now Hogan was tallying up Gandy Franks's faults, and while the situation in Dodge had been beyond his control, he would be held responsible. Franks racked his brain for some means of redeeming himself, then finally gave it up. His only hope was to run far enough and fast enough that the vindictive conspiracy that was the Golden Dragon could not reach him.

•   •   •

Dodge City, Kansas, April 6, 1885

Illivane rode into town just at dusk. The saloons being the best sources of information, he entered the Long Branch. It was near the supper hour, and there were few patrons. One table was occupied, where a poker game was in progress.

“Beer,” said Illivane, leaning on the bar.

The mug was slid down the bar to him, and Illivane paid with a two-bit piece. When he drained the mug and ordered another, the barkeep still hadn't spoken.

“You don't say much, do you?” Illivane said in what could have been a joking manner.

“I get paid for serving drinks, and you got yours,” said the barkeep gruffly. “What else you want?”

“I just rode in from Texas,” Illivane lied, “and wondered if there's anything goin' on around here. Any excitement?”

“Depends on what you find excitin',” said the barkeep. “Three damn fools was caught when their bushwhackin' failed. Now they're in jail, facin' the rope, I hear. Dodge ain't a trail town no more, and Sheriff Dumery keeps the lid on. If there's anything else you got to know, it'll cost you another beer.”

Illivane was tempted to draw his Colt and slug the insolent barkeep. Instead, he slid his empty mug along the bar, turned, and left the saloon. He now knew what he had come to Dodge to learn, and found himself in a quandary. Hampton, Lawton, and Damark were all killers, yet they had failed. Now Silver, Stone, and Elfego were aware of their danger, and further attempts to bushwhack them might result in similar failure. Illivane was standing on the boardwalk, undecided as to his next move. Suddenly he stiffened. Three men had just stepped out of the Dodge House. After a moment, one of them turned back and opened the door. Three women came out, and the six of them started across the street. Beside them trotted a hound.

“By God,” said Illivane under his breath, “it's them.”

Illivane waited until the six entered Delmonico's. Then he made his way along the boardwalk to the corner, where he paused. The dog was watching him warily, and lost interest only when one of the cooks brought him a pan of food. Illivane then crossed the street and entered Delmonico's. Silver and his party were at a table that would seat twelve, and with them was Sheriff Dumery, Foster Hagerman, and Harley Stafford. Illivane seated himself at a table where he could watch them. He quickly averted his eyes when he found the three men in whom he was interested were watching him.

“Coyote,” said El Lobo quietly.

“Stranger, with a tied-down Colt,” Wes said.

“I've been watching him since he came in,” said Silver. “He was watching us from the other side of the street when we left the Dodge House. It's just about time that bunch in Indian Territory started to wonder what's happened to their companeros.”

“You think there's more than the three that's in jail, then?” Molly asked.

“I'm sure there are more,” said Silver. “They'd attract too much attention if they were to all ride in together. The three who are in jail is just the beginning.”

“What are we going to do?” Renita asked.

“We're going to watch him as long as he's in here,” said Silver, “and if he leaves here ahead of us, one of us will follow. If he's come to find out what's happened to the others, he may be alone, but we can't risk that. All of you—Renita, Tamara, and Molly—will stay here at this table until we're sure it's safe for you to leave.”

Illivane ordered a meal, and when it arrived, he seemed interested in nothing else. He ate hurriedly, and when he had finished, he left money on the table. Silver nodded to El Lobo, and when Illivane had closed the door behind him, the Indian got up and followed.

“Lord,” Renita said, “I hope they're not out there with rifles again.”

“It's unlikely,” said Silver. “Except for the time it takes to step past the door, it'll be dark out there. If the
hombre
that's been watching us is one of them, I doubt he'll try anything alone.”

“Maybe I should have followed him,” Sheriff Dumery said.

“No,” said Wes. “Palo moves like a shadow in the dark, and Empty will go with him.”

Quickly El Lobo stepped through the door. Empty had finished eating and was waiting patiently.

“Come,
perro
,” said El Lobo.

Palo Elfego had made friends with Empty almost immediately, and they had since gone man hunting together enough for the dog to know what was expected of him. Illivane was already lost in darkness, but Empty set out after him. Illivane had left his horse in the alley near where his three companions had been captured. Pausing before entering the alley, he looked around. He thought he had seen a shadow on the boardwalk across the street, but he couldn't be sure. There were a few distant lights, but the mouth of the alley loomed dark before him. Again he paused, drawing his Colt. He had seen something move. Just for an instant, he saw it again. Stone's damn dog was following him!

“Ho,
perro
,” said El Lobo, as Empty returned to him. “He waits for me, eh?”

El Lobo, keeping to the shadows, crept along the boardwalk until he was well beyond where Empty had crossed the street. Again the dog vanished in the darkness, and this time the Indian followed.

“Come on, damn you,” Illivane gritted through clenched teeth. But he heard and saw nothing. As he stepped into the blackness of the alley, his horse snorted, stamping its feet. Fearing he was about to be left afoot, Illivane managed to grab the reins before the animal could run. He thrust his foot into the stirrup, but before he could mount, Empty seized his other leg. Feeling the flesh tear, he ripped his leg free. Already spooked, the horse broke into a fast gallop down the alley. With no proof of their suspicions of the stranger, El Lobo holstered his Colt and remained in the shadows, watching the stranger race away.

“
Bueno
perro
,” El Lobo said.

Empty following, El Lobo returned to Delmonico's, where he joined his companions.

“It's good you didn't shoot the varmint,” said Sheriff Dumery. “He wasn't breakin' the law, comin' in and lookin' around.”

“If he's who we think he is, we gained one advantage,” Wes said. “He'll know better than to try bushwhacking us in the dark, with Empty around.”

“Get horse, take
perro
, and follow,” said El Lobo.

“No,” Silver said. “He'll be worth more to us, goin' back and taking the word to his compadres that we're not easy to kill.”

“Good thinking,” said Sheriff Dumery. “If he comes back, we'll recognize him. I'll keep my eyes open in case there's other strangers ridin' in. I ought to be gettin' answers to the telegrams I sent about them three that's in jail.”

“I'll let you know when you get answers,” Hagerman said.

•   •   •

Illivane reined up to rest his sweating horse. His leg throbbed like a sore tooth, and he cursed all dogs in general and Empty in particular. Having been to Dodge before, he knew where the jail was. With some vague hope of freeing his comrades, he started there. There was no light before the jail, and at first, Illivane saw nothing. But as he drew near and the sound of his coming could be heard, two men stepped out of the surrounding shadows. In the dim light of stars, there was no mistaking who they were, or their intentions. Each of them was armed with a long gun. Illivane swallowed hard, and not looking in their direction again, rode on. As soon as the lights of town were behind, he circled around, crossed the railroad tracks, and started in a fast gallop toward Indian Territory.