the Sky-Liners (1967) (5 page)

"If you'd write us out a message, we'd be obliged," I said, "and you'd be helping a mighty nice girl from a bad marriage."

So Bat taken up a pen and scratched out the message. I had figured a body would have to write it some special way, but nothing of the kind.

He wrote it out, slick as you please: Fetchen here. Proposed marriage, Judith accepted. Wire authority to stop marriage.

"If we get a wire from Costello saying he refuses permission," Masterson said, "I'll stop it."

When we had sent the message we stood on the boardwalk in front of the Long Branch and considered the situation. Of a sudden, Galloway had an idea. "This sort of town," he said thoughtfully, "I wonder how many preachers it's got?"

"Three, four, maybe."

He was looking at me kind of funny-like and I began to read the sign of what he was thinking. "Now, that there," I said, "is what comes of contemplating. I think we better ask around."

"Ladder Walker, Harry Briggs, and them," Galloway said, "they owe us a favor, and Hawkes told me this morning that they were holding what cattle they'd found about fifteen miles north of here. I figure one of those boys should talk to a preacher. Ladder, f'r instance. If he was dyin' he would surely want a preacher."

About that time Bat came walking down the street headed for the Long Branch, carrying the cane from which he had taken his name.

"Mr. Masterson," I said, "how many preachers in Dodge?"

"Bat's eyes started to twinkle. "You're lucky," he said. "They're all out of town but one." And then he added, "Don't forget the justice of the peace."

Galloway, he rounded up his horse and headed for the camp on the run to set up the deal at that end. Me, I mounted up, taken my horse out of town for a good run, and brought him back into town and up to the preacher's house, all lathered up.

"Reverend," I said, "there's a man in a bad way out to a cow camp, and he's bound to make his peace with the Lord. Will you ride out to him?"

Now, that sky pilot was a right fine gentlemen who put down his coffee cup, wiped his mouth, and harnessed his team. I hooked up the traces whilst he slipped into his coat. In less time than it takes to tell about it, he was ready.

"One more thing," I said, "he wishes to make a will, and he said the man he wanted to draw it up for him was the justice of the peace. Said he didn't know whether the J.P. was a proper lawyer or not, but he doesn't care. He believes he's an honest man."

Well, with me riding alongside the buckboard we made it to the J.P.'s house and he was quick enough to go. It looked like a good fee and he was ready. They went dusting out of town in that buckboard, riding on their mission of mercy, and I tailed behind them.

When we rode up to the camp it was nothing but a corral, a spring, and a sod shanty that was half dugout Ladder Walker was a-lying on his back with a blanket pulled up over him, and he looked sicker than anybody I ever did see. Those others cowpokes were all standing around with their hats off, talking in low voices.

As soon as all was going well, Galloway and me slipped out and rode back to Dodge. It looked to me as if Ladder was shaping up to one of the longest death scenes in history.

Although the preacher said he was a Protestant, and confession was not necessary, Ladder couldn't miss a chance like that. So he started off by confessing to several hours of the most lurid sinning a body ever heard tell of. He had confessed to all he had done, which was a-plenty, all he had wanted to do, which was a sight more, and then he began inventing sins the like of which you never heard. I'll say one thing for him. He had him an audience right from the word go. They never even looked up when we went out

"You can bet your bottom dollar," Galloway said, "they'll never get out of there tonight."

The thing that worried us, suppose one of those sky pilots who had been out of town should return?

Only they didn't.

Galloway and me, we rode up to the hitch rail in front of the Lady Gay and stepped down from our saddles. We were hungry and tired, and it was coming on to storm. As we stood on the boardwalk sizing up the town, lightning flashed out over the prairie.

"Looks to be a gully-washer," Galloway said. "I've been watching those clouds all the way in."

"You go ahead. I'll put up the horses." I hesitated there a moment, then added, "You might look to see if Judith has switched her gear over to that room Fetchen got for her."

The street was empty. I could hear boots on the walk down half a block or so, but could see nobody. The saloons were all lit up, going full blast, but there were few horses or rigs around because of the storm a-coming.

Leading both horses, I walked across the street and went on down to the livery stable. On the corner I held up for a moment, watching a tumbleweed rolling down the street and thinking of that Judith. Of all the contrary, ornery, freckle-faced ... Trouble was, I missed her.

There was a lantern over the livery stable door, the flame sputtering in the wind. Nobody was around, so I led the horses back to their stalls and tied them, then went up a ladder into the loft and forked hay down to both of them. I was finishing off the last fork of hay when I thought I heard a step down below, a slow, careful step.

The loft where I was covered the whole top of the barn, and there were three ladders up to it - three that I'd seen, two on one side, one on the other. Come to think of it, there should be a fourth ladder, but if there was it must come down in an empty stall at the back of the barn where the liveryman hung spare bits of harness, tools, and suchlike.

All the time I was thinking of that, I was listening. Had somebody followed me in? Or was it some drunk hunting a place to sleep away from the storm? Or maybe somebody coming to get his horse?

The way those footsteps sounded made me think it was surely not one of the last two. My Winchester was down there beside my saddle and my slicker, waiting to be picked up before I went to the hotel. Likely that man down there had seen them and was just a-playing 'possum, waiting for me to come down and pick them up. And whatever lead he could throw at me.

Now, some folks might think me a suspicious man, and they'd be right. Many's the time I've suspected something when I was wrong; but there were other times I'd been right, and so I was still among the living.

Slipping the rawhide thong off the hammer of my six-shooter, I put that pitchfork down as easy as I could. Then I straightened up to listen. If he knew I was up here I'd best stir around a mite, or he'd be suspicious.

Many a cowpoke slept in a livery stable, and that was the idea I hoped to give him. What I figured on was getting him to come up that ladder, instead of him catching me coming down.

All the same, I started figuring. Seems to me a man can most usually take time to contemplate, and if he does it will save him a lot of riding and a lot of headaches.

Now, suppose I was down there and wanted to shoot a man on one of those ladders? Where would I take my stand so's I could watch all three to once?

It didn't leave much choice. Two ladders were on one side of the loft, opposite to him; the other ladder he knew of was on his side of the loft, up toward the front. If the man below wanted to keep all of them under cover, he had to be somewhere on the right side of the stable, toward the rear. If there was another ladder, which went up from that empty stall, one long unused, it would be behind the watcher.

If I made a try at coming down any one of the three ladders now, I'd be climbing down with my back to the gunman - if that was what he was.

The first thing I did was to sit down on some hay. I fluffed some of it around as if I was shaping a bed, and not being careful about noise; then I took off my boots and dropped them on the floor. After that I picked them up, tied them together with a piggin string, and slung them around my neck. Then, just as carefully as I could, I stood up in my sock feet. The floor was solid and not likely to squeak, so I eased across, soundlessly as I was able. And I waited.

There was not a sound from below. Near me was a bin full of corn, unshelled corn waiting to be fed to some of the local horses. I tossed an ear of that corn over to where I had taken off my boots, and it hit the boards near the hay. I hoped he would believe I'd dropped something, or something had slipped from my pockets. Then I eased along the side of the loft till I was over that empty stall. Sure enough, there was an opening there, with a ladder leading down.

It was well back in the stall and in a dark corner.

The chances were that few of the stable's customers had any idea that this ladder was there.

Crouching by the opening, I listened, but heard no sound. I drew my Colt and carefully lowered my head until I could see into the lower level ... Nothing.

Swinging my feet down, my Colt gripped in my right hand, I felt for the first rung of the ladder, found it, and then the second. Lowering myself down, clinging to the ladder, I searched for him but could see nothing. I came down a step further, and heard a shout.

"Got you, damn it!" A gun blasted not over thirty feet away. The bullet smashed into the frame of the ladder, stabbing my face with splinters, and I fired in return, my bullet going slightly above and left of the flash. I realized even as I fired that my shot was too high, and I triggered a second shot lower down.

At the same instant I let go and dropped, landing on the balls of my feet, but I tumbled forward with a crash of harness and a breaking chair; and then came the bellow of a gun, almost within inches of me. Rolling over, I fired again.

Outside I heard a shout, heard running feet, and I sprang up. Down the far side of the stalls near the horses a man was staggering. He was bent far over, clutching at his stomach, and even as I saw him he stumbled forward and fell on his face.

The running feet were coming nearer.

Ducking out the back door of the barn, I slid between the corral bars and, still in my sock feet, ran lightly along the area back of the buildings until I was close to the hotel. I paused for just a moment and got my boots on, and then I went up the back stairs of the hotel, and along the hall.

Several heads appeared from doorways, and one of them was Judith's. She saw me, and for a moment I thought I saw relief on her face. "Flagan, what is it? What's happened?" she asked.

"Some drunken cowhand," I said. "You've got to expect that in Dodge."

She still stood there in the door of her room. She was fully dressed, although it was very late. "I will be married tomorrow," she said, almost tentatively.

"I wish you luck."

"You don't really mean that."

"No, ma'am, I don't. I think you're doing the wrong thing, and I know it isn't what your grandpa wanted ... nor your pa, either, I'm thinking."

"Mr. Fetchen is a fine man. You'll see."

We heard voices from down below, and then boots on the stairs. Colby Rafin was suddenly there, Black Fetchen behind him, with Norton Vance and Burr Fetchen coming up in the rear.

"There he is!" Colby yelled.

He grabbed for his gun, but I had him covered. Back in Tennessee those boys never had to work at a fast draw, and the way that gun came into my hand stopped them cold.

"I don't know what you boys are looking for," I said, "but I don't like being crowded."

"You killed Tory!" Burr shouted.

Before I could open my mouth to speak, Judith said, "How could he? He's been standing here talking to me!"

That stopped them, and for the moment nobody thought to ask how long I'd been there. After that moment they never got the chance, because the marshal pushed by them.

"What happened down there?" he asked me.

"Sounded like some shooting. These boys say Tory Fetchen got killed."

Just then Bat Masterson came up the steps. "Everything all right, Wyatt?" Then he saw me standing there at Judith's door. "Oh, hello, Sackett."

Earp turned on him. "Do you know this man, Bat?"

"Yes, I do. He brought Evan Hawkes's cattle in, and helped round up some strays. He's a friend of mine."

Earp glanced down at my boots. "Mind if I look at your boots? The man who did that shooting had to come along behind the buildings. It's muddy there."

I lifted one boot after the other. Both were as slick as though they'd never stepped on anything but a board floor.

Colby Rafin was sore. He simply couldn't believe it. "He's lyin'!" he shouted. "It had to be him! Why, Tory was - "

"Tory was what?" Masterson demanded. "Laying for him? Was that it?"

It was Burr who spoke up. "Nothin' like that," he protested, "Tory just went after his horse."

"At this hour?" Earp asked. "You mean he was riding out of town this late, with a storm brewing?"

"Sure," Burr replied easily. "He was riding out to join some of our outfit."

"Gentlemen," Earp said coldly, "before we ask any further questions or you give any more answers, let me tell you something. Your Friend Tory Fetchen wore new boots, boots with a very distinctive heel pattern. He left enough tracks down there at the stable for a man who was doing a lot of waiting, a man crouched down or standing beside one of the support posts. From those tracks, I'd say he was waiting for somebody and trying to keep out of sight. He was either nervous or he waited a long time. In any case, his gun was fired twice, and he was hit twice ... looked to me like a third shot cut the top of his coat's shoulder. We've no case against the man who shot him. Both men were armed, both were shooting. It's nothing but a matter of clearing up the details."