High Wild Desert (10 page)

“Hello the camp,” Sonny Rudabough said in a flat tone.

“Howdy one and all,” said Teague.

“Who the hell are you?” said Sieg.

“I'm Henry Teague. This is Sonny Rudabough,” Teague said. “We were in the saloon. We're here to see Coyle. Can we come in?”

“They're from the Number Five all right,” said Simon. “I can smell them.”

“Watch your language, pard,” Rudabough warned.

“He's blind,” Sieg offered on Simon's behalf. “He smells things most of us don't.”

“Yeah?” said Rudabough, “I shoot things most of us can't.”

“Easy, Sonny,” Teague said sidelong. To the men around the fire he said, “He didn't mean nothing. He's excitable.” He paused, then repeated, “Can we come in?”

“Let them on in,” Oldham Coyle said in a weak voice, he and Dave stepping in from the darkness, their guns also drawn and ready.

“Evening, Oldham,” Teague said as he and Rudabough walked into the firelight, their horses' reins in hand. “I saw your luck wasn't running as good as you might have wanted it to be—thought you might have reconsidered the proposition we talked about the other day.”

“You needn't be concerning yourselves with how my luck is running,” Oldham said. A troubled, confused look crossed his face. “What proposition was it we talked about?”

Sieg and Reye shot each other a look.

Teague gave a patient smile, stepped in closer and looked down at the coffeepot.

“We talked about my boss, Hugh Fenderson, paying you five thousand dollars to kill Ranger Sam Burrack,” he said. “You turned us down, remember?”

Five thousand dollars? Holy Moses!

Sieg and Reye looked at each other again.

Oldham appeared staggered by Teague's words.

“Five thousand dollars?” he said.

“Yep,” said Teague. “Burrack rode into town today, taking a prisoner to Yuma—would've been a good time to kill him.”

“He's already rode on?” Oldham asked, his head still full of cobwebs.

“That's right, but he'll be riding back tomorrow,” he said confidently.

“How do you know he will?” asked Dave Coyle, who'd been watching closely, listening with a suspicious look on his face.

“Let's just say we heard something bad happened that will cause him to ride back to New Delmar.” He gave a crafty smile and nodded down at the coffeepot. “If you're still not interested, I won't waste your time. But if you've become interested, what say we talk with cups in our hands?”

“I'm interested. Seat yourselves,” Oldham said, gesturing them to sit down around the fire. “I'll tell you right off, Sam Burrack is not going to be an easy kill.”

“I beg to differ with you, Coyle,” Teague said. “You think too little of yourself.” He looked from face to face around the fire, then said, “Silas Horn out of El Paso puts the odds three to one your favor against the Ranger.”

“Forget it, mister,” Dave Coyle cut in. “We want no part of this.” He turned to Oldham. “Can't you see this man is about to get you killed, brother?”

Oldham smiled and licked his lips and rubbed his palm on his gun butt.

“Shut up, Dave,” he said as politely as possible. “Let the gentleman speak his piece.”

Dave shuddered as he recognized in his brother's eyes the same hungry look he'd seen when they'd first arrived in New Delmar.

Chapter 10

In the first pale light of dawn, the Ranger placed a fresh pot of coffee to boil atop the low-burning fire. He walked to where the trail turned off the desert floor into the rocks toward his camp. Through a silver-gray shroud, he watched the black silhouette of rider and horse gallop toward him from the direction of New Delmar. The sound of the approaching horse's hooves sent two wispy creatures of the night darting away into the morning gloom.

The rider stopped fifty yards away, stepped down from his saddle and walked around examining the rocky trail. Climbing back into his saddle, the rider put the horse forward, slower now. Sam eased back into the cover of rock and waited until the rider was less than fifteen feet from him.

“Hello the trail,” he said just loud enough to be heard, standing partially hidden behind the edge of a tall, broken stand of tent rock.

“Be-jeez!”
the startled rider cried out, his horse half rearing, veering away from the Ranger's voice. As the horse touched down, the rider swung a long-barreled shotgun around toward the Ranger.

Seeing the trouble his voice had caused, Sam stayed covered behind the stand of rock, hearing the rider settle the spooked animal.

“Whoa, horse, easy,” the rider said. “Is that you, Ranger Burrack?” he asked toward the rocks. “
Be-jeez,
” he repeated, “you could've said something, warn a person before hollering out like that.”

Ranger?

Sam had been right, it was someone fanning his trail. He recognized Clow Dankett's voice, even though he'd only heard the deputy speak a few words in New Delmar.

“Yes, it's me,” Sam said, also recognizing the big corduroy coat and high-crowned hat. “I'm sorry I spooked your horse, Deputy,” he added, although spooking the animal a little had been exactly his intent. “You're looking for me?”

“Yes, I am,” Dankett said, lowering the threatening shotgun. “I've been tracking you all night.”

The Ranger looked all around, not seeing how it could have been hard to follow his trail.

“Well, Deputy, looks like you've found me,” he said.

“I was sent to tell you you're needed back in town,” Dankett said.

As Sam stepped the rest of the way out from behind the rock, Dankett slid down from his saddle and stretched his back, the shotgun hanging by its strap on his shoulder.

“Walk with me while we talk,” Sam said. He gestured the horse toward his campfire hidden back in the rocks. “My prisoner still has some jackrabbit in him.”

“I'll have Big Lucy clip one of his ankles for you, if you want me to turn her loose on him,” Dankett offered.

“Obliged, but I'm good, Deputy,” Sam said.

As they walked along toward the campfire, Dankett leading his horse, the Ranger looked him up and down.

“So, Deputy, why did Sheriff Rattler send you looking for me?” Sam asked.

“He didn't,” Dankett said bluntly. “Sheriff Rattler won't be sending nobody nowhere from now on. He's been shot dead, Ranger. That's why I'm here.”

Sam stopped and looked at him closer.

“What happened?” he asked.

Ahead of them, the campfire came into sight. From its edge, Adele and Cisco Lang looked around at the sound of the deputy's horse clopping along the stone path. Lang sat with his hands cuffed to the saddle he'd dragged over to the fire.

“Some ambushing weasel shot him dead,” the deputy said, “right out back of our new jail.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Sam said.

“And I'm sorry to tell you,” Dankett said. “Anyway, the town council thought it best to send me out to find you, since you happened to be nearby. They need you to oversee things until they get a new sheriff stuck behind a badge.”

“What about you, Deputy?” the Ranger said, wanting the deputy's opinion on the matter. From what he'd seen of Dankett's wild, strange behavior, Sam had his own ideas of why the town would not want Dankett as acting sheriff.

“What about me?” said Dankett.

The Ranger drew a patient breath.

“Oh, you mean me be acting sheriff?” Dankett said, catching on.

“Yes, you acting as sheriff,” the Ranger said, wishing he hadn't broached the subject.

“They won't have me, Ranger,” Dankett said quietly, giving a slight shrug, “but they won't come out and say so.” He paused, then said, “I think they're scared of what I might do if they tell me I can't be sheriff—probably wanting you to be the one who tells me.”

“I'm sorry, Deputy,” Sam said, sorting through the facts as the deputy gave them to him.

“Why?” said Dankett, beneath his wide hat brim. “It's not your fault that I don't get along with people, that I'm too quick-triggered, too ill-natured, too . . .” His words stalled as he searched for another description of himself.

“Unpredictable?” the Ranger offered.

Dankett cocked his head toward the Ranger.

“You saw that too?” he said, sounding dejected.

“No,” said the Ranger. “I was just helping you find a word.”

“Obliged,” Dankett said. He fell silent for a moment, then looked back at Sam. “I am trustworthy, though, and if I give my word, I'll take a beating and die before I'll ever crawfish on it.”

Sam just looked at him, somehow knowing he meant it.

“But I'll be honest, it took me longer to find you than it should have, knowing once I found you, my chance at being sheriff was over.”

“That took character, Deputy,” Sam said. “That tells me more than anything about the kind of sheriff you'd be.”

“So, here I am, telling you and cutting myself out,” Dankett said with a sigh. “Are you going back with me?”

“Part of being a Territorial Ranger is filling in when something like this happens,” Sam said. “I'm going back. I'll agree to be sheriff, but only if you'll agree to stay on as my deputy.”

Dankett appeared stunned and just stared at him. “Are you feeling sorry for me, Ranger? Because I don't—”

“No,” the Ranger said, cutting him short. “I'm going to need a deputy. You're already wearing the badge.”

“I don't know what the council will say,” Dankett warned.

“They'll say yes if they want us,” Sam replied. “They'll say no if they don't. Are you with me?”

Dankett gave him a proud, thin smile.

“Dern right, I am,” he said.

“I need to tell you, Deputy,” Sam said. “There might be men showing up wanting to kill me. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Yes, for
them
,
it will,”
said Dankett. He straightened his back, quickened his step, appearing to hold his head a little higher as they neared the campfire. “Is that coffee I smell?” he asked, sniffing toward the fire where Adele and Lang turned at the sound of Dankett's horse clopping along the hard stone path toward them.

“Yes, it is, and you're welcome to it,” Sam said.

“Obliged,” said Dankett, “but I'll have to drink it standing up. I told the town I'd ride right back with an answer straightaway. Miners and drovers all coming to town at once makes everybody nervous. They don't want the town unprotected a minute longer than it has to be. You with a prisoner and a horse loaded with the woman's belongings, I can be three hours ahead of you. I rode Pony Express before the rails set in.”

“I understand,” Sam said. “We'll get some hot coffee in you and get you back on the trail.”

As they drew nearer to the campfire, Lang recognized Clow Dankett by his hat, his corduroy coat and long-barreled shotgun.

“Jesus, no!” he called out, jumping to his feet, his hands cuffed to his saddle horn.

“Howdy, Cisco,” Dankett said, affably enough—but still not affably enough to suit Lang.

“Keep him away from me, Ranger!” Lang said, the cuffed saddle hanging to his knees and straining his wrists.

“Settle down, Cisco,” Sam said as he and the deputy stopped a few feet back from the fire. “You best get used to Deputy Dankett being around. We're riding back to New Delmar.”

Adele gave Sam a concerned look, but Sam noticed that her eyes slid past Lang's on their way to him.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Sheriff Rattler is dead,” Sam said. “I'm going to have to ride back and keep order until they get another lawman.”

“Man!” said Lang. “Somebody killed Rattling Ed . . .”

“Don't call him that,” Dankett warned, taking a step forward.

“Whoa, sorry!” said Lang, seeing the big shotgun rise an inch in Dankett's hands.

“Let me pour you some coffee, Deputy,” said Adele, stepping quickly to divert Dankett away from Lang.

“Obliged to you, ma'am,” Dankett said. “I'll drink it on my way back.”

Sam stood watching, thinking. Riding back to New Delmar might be all it took to tip these two's hand—
if there's a hand to tip here,
he reminded himself.

•   •   •

Almost before the sound of the deputy's horse's hooves echoed off along the stone path and the distant canyon walls, Sam pitched his saddle up atop Black Pot's back. As he drew and fastened the cinch under the stallion's belly, he noted Adele rummaging through her belongings. Lang stood over to the side waiting, his saddle hanging from his cuffed hands.

“Ranger, when we get to New Delmar, you're not leaving that idiot guarding me, are you?” he asked. “He talks to his shotgun, you know.”

“That depends,” Sam said, ignoring the remark about the deputy talking to his shotgun. He offered no more on the matter, making Lang reach for anything he told him.

“Depends on what?” Lang asked.

“On how you behave yourself, Cisco,” the Ranger said, finishing with Black Pot. “Seems to me the only trouble you had with Deputy Dankett was when you tried to escape.”

“All right, I made a mistake,” said Lang. “But that was a setup deal and you know it. He's got that chain measured just long enough to hit the ground without pulling a man out the window.”

Sam smiled a little to himself, picturing Lang hanging from the end of the chain when the heavy ball yanked him upside down off his feet and left him swinging on the wall.

“He set all that up, yet you call him an idiot?” Sam said.

“Okay, maybe not an idiot,” said Lang. “But he's a straight-up madman. You've got no right, leaving me with him.”

“There's a prison wagon runs through once every month or so,” Sam said. “I can stick you on it, if that suits you better.”

“Damn,” said Lang, “you expect we'll be in New Delmar that long before they get a sheriff?”

“I don't know,” said Sam, pulling his Winchester from his saddle boot and checking it. He stepped over and led Lang's horse back to where he stood. While he reached out and unlocked the cuff from Lang's saddle horn, he noted a tense look on Adele's face as she watched. She turned and flipped open the leather case sitting atop the carpetbag and felt around inside it.

“Saddle up, Cisco,” he said as the freed saddle fell to the ground at Lang's feet.

Lang picked up the saddle with his cuffed hands and started to pitch it atop his horse.

Looking up from the leather case, Adele cried out, “Ranger, he's got a gun!”

Lang turned sidelong. He shoved the saddle into the Ranger's chest, knocking him back a step.

The Ranger pushed the saddle out of his way. He started to bring his rifle up, but he froze as he stared into the bore of the small pistol from the leather case. Lang held the gun cocked and pointed in his face.

“The trail ends here, Ranger,” he said. “Get the key out, get these jail bracelets off me.”

“Huh-uh, Cisco,” Sam said. “I'm not cutting you loose. Now you lower the gun, or I'll bury this rifle butt in your face all over again.”

“None of your tricks or bluffs this time, Ranger,” said Lang. “I'm not going to New Delmar and I'm not going to jail.”

“Ranger, I had nothing to do with this,” Adele blurted out. “I saw the gun wasn't there. I told you right off.”

“Shut up, Adele,” said Lang. “You could have had the decency to keep your mouth shut about the gun.”

“I want no part of this, Cisco,” Adele said.

As Lang looked away for a second, the Ranger stepped in quick and swung the rifle butt across his jaw. Lang went sideways to the ground. The gun flew from his hand and landed at Adele's feet. She picked it up as the Ranger stood over Lang and stuck the tip of the rifle barrel down behind his ear. Lang tried to raise his head. But Sam shoved it down with the rifle barrel.

“Game's over, Cisco,” he said. “Lie still or I'll give you another one.”

Looking sidelong through swirling eyes, Cisco saw the gun in Adele's hand. “Sh-shoot him, Adele,” he managed to say.

Sam looked around and saw her gripping the gun tight, the barrel pointed loosely at him. He gave her a questioning look.