Dust and Bullets Page 3

  Fogarty was tempted to lie but something in Cora’s open expression prevented him from doing so. ‘I have come across him,’ he replied.

  ‘He’s a good man. I’ve been looking forward to starting a new life out West.’ She drank more coffee before speaking again. ‘What will we do now?’ she said.

  ‘Well, I figure we ought to get you safely to your uncle. You can sit in the stage and we’ll drive it the rest of the way.’ A look of fear spread across her features.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Ahiga said. ‘Those outlaw varmints won’t strike again. They’ve got what they wanted. Besides, me and Fogarty can look after ourselves.’

  ‘Have you any idea who was responsible for this?’

  Fogarty hesitated, unsure about how much to tell the girl and not wanting to unsettle her. Again his eyes met those of Ahiga; the girl noticed and seemed to sense that something was being left unsaid.

  ‘Is it true that you and Mr Ahiga discovered me by chance?’ she asked.

  Fogarty considered the matter briefly. It seemed to him that if he prevaricated he might only succeed in worrying the girl further. She was looking at him eagerly and he decided the best way was to tell her what he knew about the Ocotillo Kid.

  When he had finished she looked at him with wide eyes. ‘You mean that you and Ahiga are on the run from my uncle?’ she said.

  ‘Just me, not Ahiga,’ Fogarty replied.

  ‘But that is silly,’ she said. ‘I can see at once that you’re not the sort of person who would harm anyone deliberately. I can’t understand how my uncle could have made such a mistake.’

  Fogarty didn’t reply and they lapsed into silence for a while before she suddenly spoke again. ‘You said that my uncle claimed that he had a witness. Whoever it was must have been quite persuasive. But that doesn’t sound like the Ocotillo Kid’s way of doing things.’ She shuddered. ‘Not from what you’ve told me and from what happened here.’

  ‘How do you mean, ma’am?’

  ‘Well, I don’t see why he would have bothered to frame you. Surely shooting would have been more in his line.’

  ‘She’s got a point,’ Ahiga said. ‘Fact is, I been wonderin’ some myself.’

  Fogarty scratched his chin. ‘Yeah,’ he replied, ‘I see what you mean.’

  ‘Well, anyway, I certainly believe your story,’ Cora said after a few moments. ‘I know you couldn’t have killed your partner, and when we get to Hackberry I’ll make my uncle see sense as well.’

  Fogarty laughed. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it sure is good to have you on my side. I guess if anybody can persuade the marshal, it’s gotta be you.’

  She was suddenly more serious. ‘I don’t want to get you into trouble,’ she said. ‘I can understand if—’

  ‘Don’t worry your head about me,’ Fogarty interrupted. ‘Just try and take it easy. We’ll get you to Hackberry and then see what happens.’

  She got to her feet. ‘I’m feeling very tired now,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I turn in.’

  ‘You could make yourself comfortable in the stagecoach,’ Fogarty said.

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘If it’s OK with you and Mr Ahiga, I think I’ll just settle right here.’

  ‘Hope it ain’t too rocky.’

  ‘It will do just fine,’ she answered.

  She lay down a little way from the fire. After a time Ahiga rose also. ‘I’ll take watch,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you get your head down too?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Fogarty responded. ‘I figure I might need to do some thinkin’.’

  ‘About what happens when we get to Hackberry?’

  ‘Yeah, that and a few other things,’ Fogarty replied.

  Mr Wes Baxter was the man to watch in Hackberry. In addition to a ranch called the Blister Beetle, he owned the Hungry Loop in town and he was just about to start a new business venture. To that end he had come to see Horace Stokes, the owner of the Hackberry Epitaph, and he entered the newspaper offices carrying a paper in his hand. A young man seated at a desk got up as he entered.

  ‘Good day, Mr Baxter,’ he said. ‘Can I be of help?’

  Baxter looked beyond him towards a room at the rear where the printing press stood. ‘I want to see Stokes,’ he said.

  Just at that moment the man himself emerged. He was small and wore an apron over his trousers. He looked at Baxter through thick spectacles. ‘Come through,’ he said. He led the way to an inner office which was crammed with boxes full of papers and books piled untidily on top of each other. There was barely room for a desk and a couple of chairs.

  ‘Well,’ he said when they were both seated, ‘what can I do for you?’

  Baxter almost threw the paper he had been holding onto the desk in front of Stokes, who glanced briefly at it but didn’t bother to read it through.

  ‘Can I leave that advertisement with you?’ Baxter said.

  ‘Sure. It’ll be in the next edition.’

  ‘It’s about a new venture. My foreman, Taggart, suggested the idea to me, and I’m beginnin’ to think it makes a lot of sense. Sheep farmin’. Just think it through. This is the place for longhorn sheep. People like to shoot ’em, but has anyone ever thought of breedin’ ’em?’

  Stokes reflected for a moment. ‘The Navajo are good sheepherders,’ he remarked, somewhat inconsequentially.

  ‘Maybe so, but I got somethin’ more in mind,’ Baxter told him. He got to his feet. ‘You could do worse than make a real front-page news story out of that notice,’ he added, indicating the paper he had given the newspaperman. He went through the door to the outer office. The apprentice looked up.

  ‘A pleasure doin’ business with you,’ Baxter said. He opened the main door and stepped out onto the boardwalk where he stood for a few moments, allowing his gaze to wander up and down the street, his chest puffed out in a glow of satisfaction. Then he began to make his way towards the Hungry Loop.

  When he came through the batwings the first thing he saw was his brother seated at a table with some of his friends. It wasn’t hard to miss his tall, angular frame. Baxter didn’t like any of them. It was true that the Ocotillo Kid and his gang had been quite useful to him in the past, but that time was gone. He had outgrown them. But having become embroiled with them, how was he to get out of it now? With a scowl on his face replacing his former expression, he walked across to their table and pulled out a chair.

  ‘I thought I told you I didn’t want you hangin’ about the Hungry Loop,’ he said.

  ‘Now, that ain’t the way to treat a brother,’ the Kid replied.

  ‘If I hadn’t sworn to Ma to look after you, I’d be happy to see you hang.’

  The Kid glanced around. ‘Don’t talk too loud,’ he said. ‘Someone might get the wrong impression.’

  ‘Why don’t you clear out of town? There ain’t nothin’ for you here and you’re puttin’ us both at risk. Head back to the ranch. It’s a lot safer that way.’

  The Kid glanced towards the bar where a few of the girls were talking together. ‘I figure we earned a little rest and recuperation,’ he said.

  ‘What have you been up to now?’

  ‘Later,’ the Kid said. ‘Right now me and the boys got other things to attend to.’

  Baxter’s eyes followed those of his younger brother. ‘Take your pick,’ he said. ‘Just don’t cause any trouble and make sure you’re gone before mornin’.’ He got up and strode to the bar where the bartender acknowledged him deferentially.

  ‘What can I get you, Mr Baxter?’ he said.

  ‘Nothin’ for the moment.’ He turned to the girls and said a few words to one of them. Then, without looking back, he made his way up the stairs. The room he used when he was in town was the last one at the end of the carpeted corridor. It was big and luxuriously furnished and a balcony overlooked the main street. He strode across the room and flung himself on the bed. His good mood had completely evaporated. His kid brother had seen to that. He was becoming more of a nuisance day by day. Something needed to be done, but what?

  There had been a time when he had been able to control him, but now that the Kid was riding the hurricane of his own growing reputation he had become a threat and a liability. If some of the things he and the Kid had been involved in were ever to come to light, it could spell the end of all his ambitions. He needed to think of something, of some way out of the impasse in which he had become enmeshed.

  He got to his feet, approached a drinks cabinet and poured himself a stiff bourbon. Then he cut and lit a big Havana cigar and, making himself comfortable in a leather armchair, set his mind to solve the problem.

  Marshal Shackleton and his deputy drew rein on a long rock ledge beside a clear pool of water. Shackleton dropped from the saddle and bent down close to the ground while his deputy’s eyes swept the surrounding country. Out in the cactus and creosote bush a flock of quail rose into the air.

  ‘It’s no good,’ the marshal said, standing erect again. ‘There are plenty of animal tracks and droppings: javelina, skunk, badger, but nothin’ that could be assigned to Fogarty or anybody else, for that matter.’

  ‘You reckon we’ve lost him?’

  ‘It was only guesswork that got us this far. We could take a look around. It’s the sort of place someone might use as a campsite, but there’s no chance of us findin’ anything.’

  The deputy got down and they both looked about for indications of recent human occupation, but there was no trace.

  ‘Might as well take a rest,’ Shackleton said. They tethered the horses and then built smokes.

  What do we do now?’ the deputy eventually asked.

  Shackleton took a deep pull on his cigarette. ‘I’ve been thinkin’,’ he said. ‘Maybe we – maybe I – got this wrong.’
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  ‘How do you mean?’

  The marshal hesitated. He didn’t like to admit to the possibility of having been too hasty. Then he took the plunge.

  ‘I think maybe I overreacted when I arrested Fogarty. Maybe I was a bit quick to accept what that hombre Packard had to say.’

  ‘Remember, Fogarty resisted arrest,’ Somersby replied. ‘He managed to escape and then later he came back and trashed your office. That doesn’t sound like the action of an innocent man to me.’

  ‘Maybe not. Still, when you look at it, it’s only Packard’s word against Fogarty’s. And when I called in at the Capitol Hotel to have another word with Packard, he’d already left.’

  ‘He’d gone? Where to?’

  ‘The hotel clerk said he’d checked out early to make his way to Dry Fork to catch a train.’

  Somersby thought for a moment. ‘We could head for Dry Fork; see if he turned up there.’

  The marshal nodded. ‘That’s a possible option,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think so. It’s a bit strange he decided to leave so quickly, and somehow I don’t think he’d want to advertise just where he intended goin’. I figure it’s more likely to be a story to put anyone off his scent.’

  ‘You reckon he might have been lyin’ about Fogarty?’

  ‘I don’t know. Either way, I figure it ain’t really our concern.’ Shackleton got to his feet, flicked the stub of his cigarette to the ground and stamped on it with his boot heel. ‘Come on, we’ve wasted enough time,’ he said. ‘Let’s get on back to Hackberry.’

  Without more ado they stepped into leather and began to ride. As they did so, the marshal was thinking that, despite what he had just said to Somersby, he would still like to meet up with the elusive Mr Packard. He felt somehow almost as if he had a stake in the affair. He didn’t like unfinished business.

  Chapter Three

  The marshal was looking out of the window of his office when he became aware that something was happening further down the street. Numbers of people were moving in that direction and he could hear a babble of voices. There was a general air of excitement. He rushed to the door and flung it open.

  ‘Holy Moses!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s the stage at last! Somersby! Come with me!’

  He began to run, fearful of what he might find. The stage had not arrived in Hackberry when it should have done. Cora hadn’t stated exactly which stage she would be on, but the marshal had spent anxious hours worrying about her.

  A large number of townsfolk had gathered outside the depot and a scene of confusion greeted him as he arrived. One glance at the stagecoach assured him there was nobody inside so he pushed his way through the little throng and into the building, where he came to an abrupt halt. Facing him was not only his niece but the man he had spent time looking for: Fogarty. Next to them both stood the depot clerk, looking ruffled and harassed. For a moment none of them said anything till Cora broke the spell.

  ‘Uncle Clem!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you.’ She rushed forward into the marshal’s grateful arms.

  ‘Cora,’ he said, ‘Cora.’ He looked over her shoulder at Fogarty as Somersby burst into the room behind him. He was feeling confused and it seemed to him that Fogarty must be implicated in what had happened to the stage. Disentangling himself from Cora’s embrace, he reached for his gun as he approached his erstwhile adversary.

  ‘I don’t know what’s goin’ on,’ he said, ‘but you ain’t gonna get away this time.’

  Fogarty made no move to defend himself and when the man standing next to him made a move to draw his gun, he placed a hand on his arm.

  ‘Uncle!’ Cora cried. ‘Put that weapon down. This is Mr Fogarty and Mr Ahiga. They rescued me after the stage was set upon by outlaws.’

  The marshal turned back to her, more confused than ever, at which point the depot manager intervened.

  ‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘Apparently the stagecoach was ambushed by a gang of desperados. They killed the other passengers as well as the driver and the guard. Without the intervention of these two gentlemen, the lady might not have survived.’

  Shackleton stood irresolute, looking from one person to the other for further enlightenment.

  ‘For what it’s worth,’ Fogarty said, ‘I didn’t kill anybody.’

  The marshal looked at him closely and then put his gun back in its holster. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I guess you probably didn’t.’ He swung round to face the press of people behind him. ‘OK, folks,’ he said. ‘The show’s over. There’s nothin’ more to be done at the moment. I suggest you get on about your affairs.’

  Most of the folks turned and began to move away. A few still hesitated and someone shouted: ‘What are you gonna do about this?’

  The comment seemed to sting the young deputy because he turned and, approaching the speaker, said: ‘I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna catch whoever’s responsible for holdin’ up the stage and make sure they pay for what they done. In fact, if you feel so strongly about it, you can be the first to offer yourself to be deputized when we start out after the varmints.’

  The man’s tongue flickered out and he licked his lips. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ he mumbled. ‘I didn’t mean to imply anythin’. Besides, I got business to attend to.’

  He turned and walked quickly away. His departure was the signal for the rest of the crowd to disperse. When they had gone the deputy’s face wore a somewhat shamefaced expression. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I suppose I just took exception to the man’s attitude.’

  The marshal grinned. ‘Well, I guess you made that pretty clear.’

  Cora’s gaze was directed at the deputy. ‘I think you were quite right,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t just what he said. It was his whole attitude.’

  Regarding them both, Fogarty thought he detected a tinge of red appear on the deputy’s cheeks.

  ‘Just so long as he don’t go antagonizin’ too many of the good citizens of Hackberry,’ Shackleton remarked. He turned to Fogarty and Ahiga. ‘It seems I got a lot to be thankful to you for. I figure we need to do some talkin’.’

  The Blister Beetle ranch lay torpid in the blistering heat of the afternoon sun when the Ocotillo Kid and his bunch of outlaw companions arrived back after their night in town. After leaving their horses in the corral, the gunslicks made their way to the bunkhouse while the Kid entered the main building.

  ‘Hello! Anyone at home?’ he shouted.

  He had seen no sign of his brother’s horse so the silence only confirmed that he hadn’t got back yet. The Kid grinned. Wes might express disapproval of his behaviour from time to time, but he was probably doing the same thing as he had been doing the night before. He poured himself a drink and slouched back on the settee, putting his feet up on a low table. He knew what his brother would say about that. The thought galled him and he deliberately scraped his boot-heels across its surface. Hell, he reflected, his brother owed his position to the things he had done for him in the past. What about that sheep-rustling caper, for example? He didn’t understand what his brother was up to, but it had been a lot of fun. It was only recently that Wes had started to raise objections, but he had no intention of reining in his behaviour.

  Since getting out of jail and hitting the owlhoot trail again, he had been enjoying himself. It was good to be back with the boys and raising Cain. His brother was good cover. Although he had various places of retreat throughout the area, the ranch was the best base. And, of course, there were the manifold advantages offered by the Hungry Loop. Yes, it was a pretty good set-up, and he didn’t intend to let anything spoil it.

  Fogarty hadn’t given a lot of credence to Cora’s confident assurances that she could persuade her uncle of his innocence, but he had seen little alternative to returning the young lady and the stagecoach to Hackberry. He was even more surprised, therefore, when the marshal invited him and Ahiga as well as his deputy to supper that evening. In fact, it was Cora who had hinted at it, but Shackleton seemed more than happy to oblige. Cora was keen to try her cooking on her uncle but Ahiga, who took some pride in his own culinary skills, persuaded her to let him help. Somehow, Somersby succeeded in insinuating himself into the team as well. The result was a very palatable and satisfying meal, after which they all sat out on the veranda of the marshal’s house to enjoy coffee and the cool of the evening.