Payback at Big Silver (13 page)

“Okay, then. Like who hired Jake and me to help spring Harper—” Coco said.

“That would be Charlie Knapp,” Sam said, almost before the gunman got the words out. “Charlie Knapp is Edsel Centrila's top hired gun, so that means Centrila is behind it.”

That stopped Bour. He stalled for a second.

“Oh yeah . . . ? But where is it they're
going
?” he asked, undeterred.

“To Big Silver,” Sam replied quickly, without having to give the matter so much as a thought. “My hunch is, the Centrilas both want Sheriff Stone dead.”

“They do?” Bour replied, looking genuinely surprised and curious. “Why is that?”

Sam just looked at him.

“Do you have information I can use, or not?” he asked. “I'm not wasting time with you.”

“Well, pardon the hell out of me, Ranger,” Bour said with contempt. “Here's something I
guaran-damn-tee
you
don't
know! I once threw a man off a bridge in Missouri. Nobody—I mean
nobody
—has ever known that but me! How's that for information?”

“That's good, Coco,” Sam said. “It's not something I can use, but I'll pass it along, make sure the judge hears about it. Anything else you want to confess?”

“Confess!”
said Coco, rising to his feet. “I wasn't confessing nothing! I'm trying to trade information—get you to turn me loose, is all!”

“I'm not turning you loose, Coco,” Sam said. “Keep talking, though. Confession's good for the soul. You'll likely hang as it is, for killing Ernest Shule and Curly Ed Townsend.”

Bour looked ill and sank back to the ground.

“Try to help a law dog, this is the thanks . . . ,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his sore head.

Sam took one of the saddles down from the corral rail for the bay. He turned to the old hostler. Two revolvers stuck up from the old man's waist, one that belonged to Jake Testa, the other, Coco Bour.

“Are you folks going to be all right getting Jorge to the mission?” he asked.

“
Sí
, we will be,” said Metosso. He patted one of the revolver butts. “And so will Jorge.”

“All right, then,” Sam said. “I'll tell them at Fort Hamlin that you'll be bringing their horses when you're done.”

The Mexican nodded.

“They know me at Fort Hamlin. Tell them I will be there straightaway,
por favor
.”

“I'll tell them,” Sam said. He stepped back, the saddle on his shoulder, and said to Coco Bour, “On your feet.” He watched Bour struggle to his feet and stand weaving in place. Then he gave him a starting nudge toward the bay and the dun standing hitched inside the corral rails. “Any other confessions you want to make, you can do so while we're riding,” he said. “Otherwise keep your mouth shut.”

Bour walked on in silence, his cuffed hands dangling at his waist.

Oscar White stepped off the boardwalk out in front of his barred office when he saw the Ranger ride out of the wavering desert heat onto the street. Townsfolk began to gather. They stood watching as the Ranger and his copper dun followed Coco Bour on the bay. Both horses were sweaty and white-frothed from their trek across the last stretch of sand flats leading to Fort Hamlin.

“I'll be skint, Ranger,” White murmured to himself. “You sure draw a crowd.”

As the Ranger and his prisoner drew closer, White stepped forward into the street as if to direct both horses to the hitch rail.

“I see you managed to bring one who is sitting straight up,” he said. He looked up at Coco Bour and said, “Howdy, Coco. I figured you'd show up here soon enough.”

“Howdy, White, you old curd,” Bour said sourly. He looked at the barred adobe. “This rat trap won't hold me for long,” he added in a tough tone.

“It's not supposed to, Coco,” said White. “This is only a temporary jail.” He grinned through his beard. “Consider it just a stop on your long road to
rehabilitation.
” He took the bay's reins and spun them around the hitch rail. He turned to the Ranger as the dun stepped over to the rail. “What's the news on our jail wagon, Ranger?” he asked.

“Bad news, Oscar,” Sam said. “The wagon was ambushed. Shule and Townsend are dead. The prisoners are gone. I tracked them a ways but had to break off and bring Coco in. I know where they're headed, though.”

White lowered his head and shook it slowly.

“I figured something bad happened when it started taking so long for you get back here,” he said. He jerked a nod toward Bour. “Did this one have anything to do with it?”

“Him and Jake Testa were both in on it,” Sam said. “They even brought horses for Harper and some of his jail pals.”

White just stared coldly at Bour for a moment. Bour got nervous; he fidgeted in his saddle.

“Step down, Coco,” Sam said, his rifle standing on his thigh.

“I never shot those guards, though, and that's the truth,” Bour said to White. He swung down from atop the bay.

Oscar glanced around at the gathering townsfolk, then looked back at Bour.

“You can tell me all about it, Coco,” he said in a low menacing tone, “tonight, when there's nobody watching.” He shoved Bour toward the boardwalk as Sam swung down from his saddle and followed. “You can tell me about the ambush, and I'll tell you how good a pal I was with Shule and Townsend. Fair enough?” He shoved Bour across the boardwalk to the open door of the barred adobe building. Once inside, the Ranger touched the brim of his sombrero to the townsfolk and closed the door behind them.

“I found the horses,” Sam said. “I lent them to the old hostler at the Mexican relay station. He got hit by the same bunch. They took his horses. He needed to get a wounded soldier to the mission hospital—said he'd bring them back soon as he can.”

“That's Metosso,” said White. “He's good as gold.” He locked the cell and took the handcuffs from Bour's wrists as Bour held his hands up to the bars. He gave the Ranger his handcuffs, walked behind a battered oak desk and pulled out a two-handed blackthorn cudgel. He hefted the fierce-looking club and tapped it on his open palm as he stared at Bour through the cell bars.

“I'll be riding on, White,” Sam said, “soon as I get my horses watered and grained.”

“I'll help you with your horses, Ranger,” White said. He laid the gruesome club down in full sight atop his desk and turned to the Ranger. Bour stood watching from his cell with a sick expression as the two turned and walked out onto the boardwalk. Watching the townsfolk start to disperse, the Ranger gave a faint wry smile.

“Have you ever hit anybody with that mauler?” Sam asked, nodding toward the door behind them.

“I've never had to,” White said. “I'm going to leave it lying there and pick it up every now and then, let Coco see it and think about it. I owe Ernest and Curly Ed that much.”

The two stepped off the boardwalk and unhitched the horses. As they led the tired animals to the livery barn a block away, Sam said quietly, “I'll get the ones who killed them, Oscar.”

“I already figured you would, Ranger,” White replied as they walked on.

•   •   •

Charlie Knapp and Harper Centrila rode a few feet ahead of the Cady brothers, Lon Bartow and Three-toed Delbert Swank. They had ridden sand flats, hill lines and rocky valleys for three days, carefully backtracking time and again to throw off any pursuers now that they were headed up into a remote hideout that Knapp and Edsel Centrila had scouted out weeks earlier.

“The Mexs call this place Cambio,” he said. “It means Turnaround in Spanish—I expect that's a warning.”

Harper Centrila nodded, looking all around at the wild desolate terrain. Above the stone walls reaching skyward around them, an eagle glided in a wide circle, adrift on an updraft of air.

“You and the old man done good finding this place, Charlie,” he commented.

Knapp nodded too and looked up and around with him.

“I almost wish somebody would try to take us on up here,” he said. “It's not often you find a place this good. The trail narrows through a pass up ahead between two stone bluffs. Your pa will have a couple of riflemen lying up there watching us. They've likely already spotted us climbing these switchbacks by now.”

“I take it we're less than a day's ride from here to Big Silver,” Harper said.

“That's right,” said Knapp. “Your pa wants to be close to his new business.”

“My pa wants to be close to Sheriff Stone, so we can gig him some before we kill him,” Harper said bluntly. He nudged his horse's pace up a little and rode ahead. Knapp put his horse forward too and caught up. Behind them, the other men followed suit.

Two miles farther along the rock trail, they rounded a turn and saw the steep stone bluffs standing before them like giant centurions. No sooner had they slowed to a halt beneath the stone monoliths than a flash of sunlight beamed down from the highest edge and moved back and forth on Knapp's and Harper's faces.

“And there the riflemen are,” said Knapp, “just like I said they'd be.” He raised his hat and waved it up at the top edge on the bluffs. “See what I mean about this place?” He lowered his hat and nudged his horse forward. Harper stayed right beside him.

“Who you figure the riflemen are?” he asked Knapp, nodding up at the top of the bluffs.

“Most likely, Bob Remick and his cousin, Trent. Your pa's brought in some new guns. Fact is I believe he's ready for all-out war if the law tries to get you back and take you to prison.”

“So am I,” Harper said loudly enough for the others to hear him. He looked around at them as if to make sure. “What about you, Lon? Swank? You two want to go back to cuffs and chains?”

“Not me,” Lon Bartow said.

“Me neither,” said Three-toed Delbert Swank. “Only way I'll go back is in a box or on a board.”

The Cady brothers looked at each other.

“That's Lyle and me too,” Ignacio said. “Nobody's taking us alive.”

“Taking you
alive
, ha.” Swank sneered.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Lyle asked in a prickly tone.

“It means whatever you want it to mean,” Swank said. He spat at the ground and gave them both a cold stare. The other men only glanced at the brothers with contempt, then looked away. Harper shook his head.

“What did the old man mean, hiring those two idiots?” he asked Knapp.

“Your pa never explains his hiring practices to me,” Knapp said as they rode on.

Ten minutes later they turned their horses off the trail and led them down through a stand of pine and into a clearing behind a jagged wall of huge broken boulders. There they found a weathered cabin constructed of split pine timber taken from the hillside. On a wide front porch Edsel Centrila sat on a blanket-covered swing hanging by chains from the ceiling. He stood up when the six horsemen rode into the rocky dirt yard.

“Finally here comes some good news, Silas,” he said sidelong to Rudabaugh, who had ridden in from Big Silver earlier in the day. He gave a guarded smile and puffed on his cigar. His gentleman business suit and derby hat had been replaced by a black stockman's-style Stetson and clothes more suitable to the rugged terrain.

“Yes, sir, this is good news,” Rudabaugh replied, smoking the cigar Centrila had given him. His rifle hung from his left hand. He picked up a bottle of bourbon from a small table and stepped forward with Centrila as the riders lined their horses along a hitch rail.

“Harper, my boy!” Edsel Centrila said jubilantly, stepping down to the rail. “I was starting to wonder if we'd ever get you out of that squirrel trap.”

Harper swung down from his saddle and stretched his back and looked all around.

“Howdy, Papa Edsel,” he said with an air of disinterest. “Who does a man have to shoot to get some whiskey here?”

“Here you are, Harper,” said Rudabaugh, stepping in, holding the bottle out to him.

Harper looked Rudabaugh up and down.

“Silas Rudabaugh,” he said, pulling the cork from the bottle and swishing the bourbon a little. “What brought you crawling out from under your rock?” He gave a tight half grin, half snarl. “Must be a full moon coming tonight.”

Rudabaugh watched Harper take a long, deep, gurgling drink of bourbon.

“Your pa sent for me and Boyle—said he needed some killing done,” he said. He reached for the bottle after Harper lowered it from his lips. But Harper passed it on to Swank.

“Clayton Boyle's around here too?” Harper said, looking around for the gunman. “Anybody owns sheep best lock them up for the night.”

“Clayton's in Big Silver,” Rudabaugh said. “I rode out to see your pa on business.”

Harper only nodded; he wiped the back of his hand across his parched lips.

Edsel watched as his bottle of expensive Kentucky bourbon made its rounds among the men. When it made it from hand to hand, he reached out and took it just as Lyle Cady held his hand out to take it from Lon Bartow.

“You Cady brothers take these horses, get them watered and grained,” Harper ordered. “Rub them down too.”

Ignacio and Lyle looked at each other, but made no protest. They gathered the tired, sweaty horses and led them away toward a rickety barn.

Harper grinned.

“All right, pards, listen to this,” he said to Swank and Bartow. “While they kept a boot on my neck awaiting trial, I found out Papa Edsel here went and bought himself a nice fat saloon, complete with whores and everything!” He widened his eyes in excitement and rubbed his palms together. “That's enough to make a good son break out of jail.”

“Don't let it get your head spinning, Harper,” Edsel Centrila cautioned. “I'm going to own the Palace long enough to put that tin-badge sheriff in the ground.” He puffed on his cigar with a look of pride. “How many men ever go that far to settle a payback?”

The men laughed and gave him a cheer. Centrila looked at Rudabaugh and said, “That ought to make any man think twice before promising me he'll do something, then
not doing it
.”

Rudabaugh's face reddened a little; he looked away.

“The Ranger's dead first time he sticks his head up. You've still got my word on it,” he said.

The men fell silent as Harper cocked his head at Rudabaugh with a puzzled expression.

“What's this about, Papa Edsel?” he asked his father. “Did Silas here take on more than he can handle? Is that the
business
he's come here to tell you about?” He kept his eyes on Rudabaugh as Edsel handed him the bottle and he took another deep swig of bourbon. His eyes had already taken on a sharp bourbon edge from his first long, deep drink. This time he held on to the bottle instead of passing it on.

“I made a
small mistake
,” Rudabaugh said. “I sent two men out to ambush the Ranger and they never came back. I figure the Ranger got the drop on them, killed them both.”

“A
small mistake
?” said Harper, as if not hearing the rest of it. His face appeared to tighten as he spoke. “Huh-uh. Papa Edsel here allows no
mistakes.
I found that out for myself growing up.” He looked at his father. “Tell him what happens to people who make
mistakes
, small or otherwise, Papa Edsel.”

“Take it easy, Harper,” Centrila said in a warning tone of voice. “You and your pards get washed up. I'll have the Cady brothers cook us some grub.” He reached to take the bottle from Harper's hand, but Harper jerked it out of reach.

“In a minute,” Harper said. “First I want to hear what you've got to say about ol' Silas here making a
small mistake.”

“Your pa and I straightened it out, Harper,” Rudabaugh put in before Centrila could answer. “That's all you need to know about it.” His words had iron in them. So did his hands. He gripped his rifle, letting Harper see him do it.