Come the Spring (38 page)

For two long days and nights, four members of the Blackwater gang impatiently waited to ambush the women when they got off the train in Red Arrow. Three of them kept vigil at the depot, while the fourth kept to the shadows as a backup in the event his friends didn't succeed.

Two trains arrived daily, one at ten in the morning and the other at six at night. The men were thorough in their search. After the passengers departed, a clean sweep was made of every car just to make certain the women weren't hiding.

The hours in between the trains' arrivals were spent in the town saloon. The four of them drank hard whiskey together, but none of them got drunk. Mr. Robertson did get a little careless, though, and the others had to help him cover up his spot of trouble. Robertson blamed his lack of control on boredom, for surely that was why he had taken the homely little whore named Flo out to one of the caverns and cut her. He hadn't meant to kill her, just scare her a little;
at least that's what he believed when he started out with her perched on his saddle, but once he took his knife out and started carving, he got such a kick out of hearing her scream he didn't want to stop.

His friends helped him bury the body, and aside from having to listen to Robertson boast about how she had squealed like a pig, they all put the inconvenience behind them. Flo was just a whore, after all, and no one was going to miss her.

Because they still hadn't heard from Johnson, they assumed he'd failed to kill the women himself. Robertson told the others he wished their boss were there because he was much smarter than they were and would surely be able to figure out where the women were hiding. He wasn't there though, for he and his mistress had gone south to get Bell out of jail.

On the third morning of their watch, they heard through the grapevine that a U.S. marshal named Cooper had been killed. Someone had shot him and thrown him off a train. A wire had been sent to the sheriff in Red Arrow telling him to be on the lookout for any suspicious characters. He relayed the information to the owner of the saloon, who told it to everyone who came into his bar for a drink.

The four men felt they had cause for celebration. They sat together in the corner and shared a bottle of Rabbit Rye among them.

Robertson, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, wasn't in a festive mood. “What's taking those women so long to get here? According to the boss's calculations, they should have gotten off the train yesterday or the day before.”

He had only just made the remarks when an old coot, with long straggly hair and a smell about him as rank as a skunk's spray, came walking into the saloon.

He strutted up to the bar and draped himself across the counter. “Give me a drink, Harley. I just seen
something real special, and I'll tell you about it after I wet my whistle.”

The bartender, a big man with beefy arms and missing front teeth no one ever noticed because he never smiled, sauntered over to his customer and squinted at him.

“You got money today, Gus?”

In answer, the misshapen, scrawny man slammed a coin down on the countertop. “I sure do,” he boasted. “I got a lot of money today, almost three whole dollars.”

“Where'd you get it?” Harley asked as he poured Gus a watered-down drink of whiskey.

“Never you mind,” Gus answered. “Do you want to hear what I seen or not?”

“I'm listening.”

“I think maybe we're getting us some new whores, and the two I saw were real perty and fresh looking. I seen them both, and I can't make up my mind which one I want to diddle with first. Maybe I'll do them both.”

“Are you drunk?” Harley asked.

“No, I ain't drunk yet, but I plan to get that way as soon as you'll pour me another drink. I seen what I seen,” he insisted. “Two men were with them,” he added before taking a long gulp. In his greed to quench his insatiable thirst, he spilled liquor down the sides of his face and quickly tried to catch the drops with the back of his hands and then licked them dry.

“They hid them all right, but I seen where. I went looking for Flo. Didn't find her,” he said. “But I seen the women all right.”

“What are you talking about, you old goat? There aren't any fresh whores coming here. I would have known about it. Don't I run this town?”

“Yes, Harley, you surely do.”

“That's right,” he growled. “And I'm telling you, I didn't hire any new women.”

“I'm telling you what I seen. Two men hid those perty girls in the cavern just south of town. Maybe these men are gonna give you some competition and start up a whoring business of their own.”

Harley slammed his hand on the bar. “We'll just see about that,” he hissed. “Now that Flo took off, I could use a couple more good women. Did you say there were only two men with them? Just two?”

“That's what I said,” Gus agreed. “Not too smart neither. Those two fellers left those women on their own, tucked inside the cavern, but one of them must have gotten curious, because she poked her head out the entrance to have herself a look around. Then the other one had to look too, and I seen them both. They're mighty fine looking,” he added with a snicker. “Nice and young, and sure to be feisty.”

Harley was fuming. He was considering riding out to the cavern to steal the women when Robertson strolled over to the bar.

Gus's stench ensured that Robertson wouldn't get too close. “Tell me what you saw, old man,” he demanded, his hand caressing the handle on his knife. “I want to hear all about those women.”

It had been a long while since Gus had been the center of attention, and he gloated while he repeated the story, but before he got the chance to describe the two ladies in detail, Robertson had motioned to his friends and left the saloon. The three others followed him out the door.

They were gone a long time, almost three hours, and when they returned to the saloon, Gus was nowhere in sight. Robertson wanted to go looking for him, but the others talked him out of it. They reclaimed their table in the corner to discuss the situation.

Cole strode through the swinging barroom doors a
moment later. Harley took one look at the badge on his vest and reached for the shotgun he kept tucked under the counter.

“Put your hands on the counter, where I can see them,” Cole ordered. He was being inordinately polite. Inwardly, he wanted to wait until the bartender had gone for his weapon and then shoot the insolent look off his face, but now that he was a marshal, he knew he couldn't give in to all of his urges.

“The sheriff told me all about you, Harley,” Cole said. “He said you think you run this one-block town.”

“It's true,” Harley boasted. “I do run it.”

“He also told me you shot a man in the back.”

“The sheriff couldn't prove it was me,” the bartender said, his face turning red with anger. “I don't want any trouble.”

The four men at the table were watching Cole closely. Cole's attention was riveted on them, but he still noticed that Harley's hands were down at his sides.

“I told you to put your hands up where I can see them. Do it now.”

The force of his voice, added to the dangerous look in his eyes, should have convinced Harley to do as he ordered. The bartender was obviously weighing the possible consequences as his glance darted back and forth between the men in the corner and the lawman.

He tested Cole sorely when he put one hand on the counter and waited.

“I wasn't thinking about shooting you,” Harley lied. “You being a lawman and all. I just don't want any trouble. I got me a brand-new mirror, and I…”

Before Harley could blink, Cole drew his gun and shot the mirror. Glass shattered down on Harley's shoulders. The bartender roared an obscenity and put both hands on the counter.

Besides the four men at the back table, there were
only three other customers inside the saloon, and those three went running for safety. Cole made certain none of them were armed as they filed past him, as the notion of getting a bullet in his back didn't sit well.

“What did you want here?” Harley demanded.

Cole nodded toward the four men. “It's a personal matter.”

The tallest of the gang stood up first. “We don't know you, mister.”

“You will by the time I'm finished with you,” he promised. “Now, all of you get up, and take it slow and easy. I'm taking you boys to jail.”

“You've got no right to arrest us,” a man with a puckered scar across his cheek protested. “We haven't done anything wrong.”

Cole's attention stayed on the man with the knife. “Is your name Robertson?”

The question got a swift reaction. Robertson's eyes bulged. “What of it?”

Cole didn't explain. “Which one of you is Bell?”

“None of us go by that name,” Robertson said.

“Never heard of him,” one of the others said.

“What's this all about, Marshal?” Robertson asked, his voice reeking congeniality. “Like my friend told you, we haven't done anything wrong.”

“I'm not arresting you,” Cole said. “At least not yet. We're going to go on over to the jail. There's a lady waiting there to have a look at you.”

The men's demeanor rapidly changed, and they suddenly turned into a pack of cornered jackals.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” one of the others protested.

Robertson glanced at the man on his left. “We can take him.”

“You're welcome to try,” Cole said, and finally let some of his fury explode. “Damn, but I want you to try.”

Scar Face snickered. “Four against one? You must think you're fast, Marshal.”

Cole shrugged. “Why don't you find out? I'll get every one of you, and I won't make you kneel down first.”

Scar Face twitched, and Robertson paled.

“We can take you,” Robertson said, his eyes narrowing as he studied his adversary. “You think you're as fast as lightning?”

Cole smiled. “Nah,” he drawled out, deliberately baiting them. “Folks say I'm all thunder.” With a tilt of his head, he added, “He's lightning.”

Daniel was standing inside the back door. The men whirled around and then turned back to Cole. They were trapped, and they knew it.

“You've got five seconds to put your guns on the table,” Daniel said.

Robertson was the first to go for his gun. Shouting, “Now,” he swung left and dropped. Cole shot him in the chest just as his hand reached his holster. The other three had also gone for their guns. Daniel shot two dead and left the last man for Cole, who put a bullet through his throat.

Cole was putting his gun away when he and Daniel saw the bartender raise his shotgun. They fired simultaneously and watched without expression as Harley fell across the counter. His shotgun crashed to the floor.

Cole hadn't killed Robertson. He was sprawled on the floor, his back against the wall, whimpering in pain. Blood trickled down from the wound in his chest.

Daniel squatted beside him. “Tell me the name of the man in charge.”

He put the barrel of his gun to Robertson's temple. “If you want to die quick, give me the name. Otherwise you're going to die real slow.” He started counting.

Cole rushed across the room. “Don't do it, Daniel. He isn't worth it.”

Daniel didn't hear him. “Give me the name.”

Robertson started crying. “I'm hurt. I'm hurt bad,” he sobbed. “You've got to get the doc to fix me up.”

Cole ignored his whining. The hate in Daniel's eyes scared the hell out of him, and he knew he had to figure out some way to make him let go of his rage before it was too late.

“Put the gun away,” Cole said softly. “Jessica saw him. She can point him out to us.”

Daniel's eyes were glazed with anguish as he glanced up at Cole. Then he shook his head and pressed the gun against Robertson's temple.

“No, she only saw his eyes and heard his voice. Without a name…”

Cole put his hand on Daniel's shoulder. “We'll get him,” he promised. “Don't do it this way. You have to keep him alive.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Cole argued. “Don't do it this way. I can't let you kill him.”

“Then walk away,” Daniel demanded.

Cole reached down and pushed the gun away from Robertson. “We're in this together,” he said. “We will get him … We'll get all of them.”

Daniel suddenly came to his senses. With a shudder, he jerked back and stood. “Bring Jessica in here.”

Cole shook his head. “I don't want her to see this mess. There's blood everywhere.”

“She has to look at them, just to make certain.”

Gus came charging into the saloon but staggered to a quick stop when he saw the marshals' guns pointed at him.

“It's just me,” he stammered.

Cole and Daniel holstered their guns. “You gave me a start, drawing on me like that,” Gus said.

He strutted across the room, looking as pleased as
could be. “I did all right, didn't I?” he asked, craving a compliment.

“Yeah, you did just fine,” Cole said.

“I was worried Harley wouldn't believe me, but he fell right into my hands, and then those four went running out of here. Did you follow them to the cavern?”

“Yes,” Cole answered.

“I'm real good at lying,” Gus said. “But I got to ask you just one question before I leave you to your jobs. I was wondering … are there really two women here?”

“Yes, there are.”

“Are they fresh whores?”

Neither marshal liked the question. Gus hurriedly put his hand up in conciliation. “I don't mean no disrespect if they ain't.”

“You're the one who came up with that lie, not us,” Cole reminded him.

“It was a good lie, wasn't it? Where do you have them hidden?”

“The safest place in town,” Cole answered.