Gun Work: The Further Exploits of Hayden Tilden (9 page)

Wilton chewed his cigar and nodded.

“Near as anyone could tell,” Nate continued, “the heartless killers ran for the wildest parts of the Nations and haven't been heard of since. Last bit of information on the subject coming my direction indicated that no one had, as yet, even determined who did the killings.”

While listening to Nate's rendition of the brutal particulars of the Cassidy family's sad departure from this earthly vale of tears, Wilton blew several large smoke rings and watched them drift toward the ceiling of the porch. He puffed a final bluish-gray circle from between pursed lips, then said, “Correct in most every particular, Deputy Marshal Swords. However, you did leave out one important piece of pertinent factual information. One that you might not have even known.”

“How so?” Nate said.

Wilton's face twisted into a sad grimace. “There was a second child. A girl of about seventeen years, perhaps eighteen, or maybe even older.”

Nate shuffled as though embarrassed. “You're entirely right, sir. No such information as that has come to me on the subject.”

“Well,” Wilton continued, “she disappeared sometime right before, or right after, the horrific killings of her other family members took place. As triple murders are a rarity within Judge Parker's jurisdiction, we have communicated with a number of law enforcement offices in neighboring states in an effort to find the girl. In truth, our fear has always been that she had likely met the same fate as the rest of her family and her body was yet to be located.”

“Don't have any suspects at all in these killings?” Carl said.

Wilton rubbed a closely shaven chin with the back of his free hand. “Suspicion has fallen on the Coltrane brothers.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Nate muttered.

“Jesse, Benny, and Leroy Coltrane? Thought they were bank and train robbers. Never heard tell of them ole boys murdering farmers for no apparent reason,” Carlton said.

Wilton shifted in his seat, as though seeking a more comfortable position. “We think the Coltrane boys robbed the Winslow branch of the Elk Horn Bank earlier on the same day as the murders.”

“That's only about five miles up the road from Dutch Crossing,” Carl offered.

“Exactly,” Wilton said.

“And prosecutors believe the missing girl is a material witness to the murders of her family,” I offered.

A quick, gloomy smile flickered across Wilton's darkly handsome face. “Yes. A state's witness that we sorely need to convene a grand jury, given that your friend Barnes Reed dragged Benny Coltrane in yesterday afternoon.”

“Are you and Judge Parker completely convinced that the Coltrane brothers had a hand in the Cassidy murders?” Carlton said.

“According to Deputy Marshal Reed, a loose-mouthed Benny admitted as much. Bragged about his part in the sorry deed all the way in from the Jack Fork Mountains where Barnes ran him down.”

“Why'd Barnes drag Benny all the way back here in the first place?” Nate said. “Personally got no use for them bastards as would cold-bloodedly kill women and kids. Been me, I just mighta shot hell outta the son of a bitch soon as he admitted his heinous behavior. Might've cost me a few dollars, just like it did when me'n Hayden whacked the Staine boys. But such a deed would've also saved Judge Parker and the people the trouble of putting the sorry skunk on trial.”

A near-undetectable smile danced across Wilton's lips. Physical sign of his approval for Nate's feelings on the matter passed so quickly I felt certain neither of my friends even saw it.

I said, “Benny's capture isn't the only reason you came by today though, is it, Mr. Wilton?”

Parker's chief bailiff eyeballed a bit of fallen ash decorating the front of his otherwise spotless vest. Frowned, flicked at the unwanted ornament with stubby fingers, then stared into the distance as though lost in thought.

“You are correct, Hayden,” he said, after some seconds of silence. “This morning word came from the city marshal of Fort Worth, by way of telegram. Seems a young woman claiming to be Daisy Cassidy strolled into his office yesterday afternoon seeking protection from men that she maintained had murdered her family, abducted her, dragged her to Fort Worth's infamous Hell's Half Acre, and forced her into a life of depravity and prostitution.”

“Jesus. 'S quite a tale,” Carl muttered and shook his head disgust.

“Any ideas on how Miss Cassidy managed to get all the way to a well of perdition like Hell's Half Acre?” I said.

Wilton fiddled with the knifelike crease along one leg of his pants. “Not really. In spite of a number of wild rumors, nothing of any substance. Presently we can do little but guess at the hidden developments behind such events.”

“And you want us to go to Fort Worth, retrieve the unfortunate Miss Cassidy, and bring her back so she can testify against the Coltrane boys,” Nate said.

“Yes. Given what little we know at the moment, it appears the missing Miss Cassidy is the only person who might provide the pertinent testimony necessary to send the whole Coltrane family to an appointment with George Maledon and his Gates of Hell gallows.”

While Wilton's answer was directed at Nate, his narrow, riflelike gaze bored in on me as he spoke. Man didn't have to add anything else, really. Completely understood the unspoken message he'd been commissioned to deliver. Knew exactly what Judge Parker expected of us without further elucidation and so did Carlton. The Coltrane brothers were already dead and just didn't know it.

“If memory serves,” Wilton continued, “the three of you already have an affable relationship with Fort Worth's city marshal, Sam Farmer. That rapport should serve you well in this instance as well.”

Carl let out a derisive snort. I knew what was coming before he even spoke.

“Met him when we went down there and brought the Doome brothers, Maynard Dawson, Charlie Storms, and Cotton Rix to book,” Carlton said. “Man didn't like deputy U.S. marshals from Arkansas much when we first introduced ourselves. Took to us about like you'd expect Satan to take to holy water. But, over time, feel like he came to think right highly of us. Ain't that about right, Hayden?”

Couldn't help but grin. Given that Carl had threatened the man with a bloody ass whipping within minutes of meeting him, and Nate had pulled his pistols on some of Farmer's policemen, it still amazed me that the man had come to have a genuine fondness for the three of us by the time we vacated his town.

Nodded and, my gaze still locked into Wilton's, said, “Think it would be safe to say we left Fort Worth on good terms with Marshal Farmer and his staff when we last visited.”

“Good,” Wilton said, then ponderously got to his feet. He snatched a sizable manila envelope from his suit jacket's inside pocket. Handed the thick packet to me. “Usual travel documents. Extra cash and such. Tickets on tomorrow's noon departing M.K. & T. passenger train to Fort Worth. Should you need anything else, Hayden, your wired requests will be acted upon immediately.”

Tapped the packet against the back of my hand. “I'm certain everything's in order, Mr. Wilton. We'll do our best.”

He slapped me on the shoulder, said, “You always do, Marshal Tilden. Just be careful. Jesse and Leroy Coltrane are not men to be taken lightly. Get Miss Cassidy back here as quickly as possible, by whatever means you deem necessary.”

We watched as he headed for the steps, but stopped on the top tread and turned. Shook his cigar at me for emphasis. Said, “You might want to have a talk with Benny Coltrane before you leave. Suggest a meeting this afternoon, if possible. I'll locate Barnes Reed and you can all talk to Benny at the same time.”

Carl had an enormous grin on his face when he said, “No problem locating Barnes. If that man's in town, bet the family fortune he's down at the Napoli Café, as we speak. Ole Barnes has a sweet tooth worse'n any kid I've ever seen. Gets within a city block of a cherry, apple, or chocolate pie and, Lord God, you'd need a Sharps Big .50 to keep him away from it.”

With some difficulty, Wilton hoisted his cumbersome self onto the black's back. Before he turned the animal back toward town, he pulled a turnip-sized gold watch from his vest pocket. Called out, “Ten thirty right now, gentlemen.” He snapped the cover shut and shoved the big ticker back into its hiding place. “I'll have Benny brought up from the general population and lodged in the holding cell in the U.S. marshal's office. Marshal's out of town. You can conduct your interview with him there. Should have it all set up and read for you by two o'clock this afternoon.”

With that he tipped his hat, spurred the black into a trot, threw a wave of the hand over his shoulder, and sped away.

DRAGGED ELIZABETH'S FANCY-DANCY, Sunday-go-to-meetin' cabriolet out of the barn for the ride into town. Figured there was no reason to torture our still-on-the-mend bodies with a horseback jaunt until absolutely necessary.

Arrived at the courthouse steps almost the same instant as Barnes Reed. In spite of a sore, aching rump, Carl hopped out of the still-rolling coach and grabbed the bearlike Reed's paw of a hand.

Prior to me and Carl meeting up, and our subsequent search for the murderous Martin Luther Big Eagle, he and Barnes had ridden many a hard trail together. Barnes accompanied us on our search for Smilin' Jack Paine. Though he never said it, I sometimes felt that Carl missed Barnes a lot more than he was willing to admit and would seek out the man's company again should anything wayward ever happen to me.

The massive, black deputy marshal, wide as a New Hampshire barn door and covered in a layer of thick ropey muscles beneath clothing that strained to hold him all in, grabbed Carl and embraced him like a long-lost brother. Barnes looked, for all the world, like he could single-handedly throw a buck-board across Red Rock Canyon. Watching him embrace Carl put me in mind of a bantam rooster being hugged by a grizzly bear.

After several seconds of laughing and good-natured back slapping, Barnes pushed Carl to arm's length, then said, “By God, it's mighty good to see you, my friend. Why you hob-blin' 'round like some kinda old man? Spotted you comin' outta Tilden's coach, swear 'fore sufferin' Jesus, thought you'd aged a hunnert years since last I seen you.”

Carl instinctively rubbed his hip, dismissively waved Barnes's question aside and said, “Minor problem. Gettin' better by the minute. Good to see you, Barnes. Missed the hell outta your coffee. Tilden's mighty fine company out on the scout, but the man can't cook coffee grounds worth a damn.”

Reed threw his ursine head back and roared with delight. Turned and grabbed my hand in his. “Damned pleased to see both you fellers. Sorry we ain't had the chance to work together in a spell.”

Nodded toward Nate. Said, “This here's our newest running buddy, Barnes. Kind of fell in with us when Billy Bird passed.”

Swords looked embarrassed. Nodded and shuffled his feet.

Waved him to my side. Said, “Nate, say hello to Judge Parker's most prolific lawdog. Meet Barnes Reed. Barnes is feared by bad men from the Mississippi all the way to Trinidad, Colorado. From the Canadian border to the Rio Grande. Go to fightin' the law, you don't want Barnes Reed coming after you.”

Carl whacked his old compadre on the shoulder. “Judge Parker wants 'em brought in alive, this here's the man he sends out to get 'em.”

Sheepish grin on his face, Nate stepped forward and shook Reed's hand. “No need for an introduction, Hayden. Can't be a deputy marshal working the Nations that hasn't heard of Mr. Reed. 'S my great pleasure and honor to finally meet you, sir.”

Barnes bobbed his head up and down, shot me a happy glance, and winked. “See you boys been trainin' this young man right,” Reed said, then laughed so loud my ears hurt.

Grabbed our old friend by the elbow and pointed him toward the courthouse door. As we made our way up the steep, white steps, said, “Hear tell as how you recently dragged Benny Coltrane back.”

As Barnes pushed the courthouse door open, he said, “ 'S a fact all right. Ran 'im to ground 'bout twenty miles west of Tuskahoma, over in the Jack Fork Mountains. Stump holler village name of Clifton. He 'uz passed out under a wagon fulla contraband tarantula juice. When I finally got 'im awake and talking, claimed as how he'd been visitin' with a limber-legged woman lived on a farm down that way.”

Stopped in the lobby and Carl eased up beside us. “Must've had more'n traffickin' in illegal whiskey in mind when you snatched him up,” Carl said.

Barnes nodded. “Yep. Sure 'nuff. Just happened as how I 'uz in possession of a legal warrant namin' him, and his more'n worthless brothers, in the ambush murder of a travelin' book peddler name of Marcel Cushman out of Independence, Kansas. Seems the Coltrane boys happened on Mr. Cushman camped on a creek havin' a bit of breakfast over near Council Hill. Beat on the man till his head was nothin' but a sack of jelly, poured coal oil all over 'im, then set the poor bastard ablaze.”

Felt Nate at my elbow when he said, “Jesus. Hadn't even heard about that killing.”

Barnes led the way up the staircase to the second floor. With one hand sliding along the railing he said, “Oh, the Coltrane boys got more'n one dodger out on them for murder. Didn't surprise me a bit when Wilton told me 'bout that poor, unfortunate Cassidy family. Hated to hear it, though. 'Specially the part 'bout the youngster. Shockin', but not all that surprising.”

Stopped them all just outside the U.S. marshal's office door. Gave them all my most serious eyeballing. Bored in on Carl and Nate. Said, “You know why we're here. Heard what Mr. Wilton said about finding Benny's brothers and the missing girl. We've got to get as much out of this polecat as we can.”