Payback at Big Silver (20 page)

Harper finished loading the rifle quickly and hurried forward in a low crouch.

“Damn it,” he said, “after all the work we did sweeping this trail?” He looked back and forth, then down at Stone with his naked eyes. The sheriff looked small and unclear from such a distance. “I don't want to let him up into our hideout.”

“He's going to be a long, hard shot from up here,” Bartow said in a cautioning tone. “We only get one shot. If we miss he can clear out—come back to call on us any time he pleases.” With that said, he laid down his telescope down and started to pick up his rifle lying beside him.

“Huh-uh, hold up, Lon,” Harper said, stopping him. “Keep him in your lens. I'll go down close and make that one shot count. I've been wanting to kill this knot-head for a long time for all the trouble he's caused me.”

“You sure about this?” Bartow asked. “Don't get in range of his Colt. He knows how to make it bite.”

“I've got him, Lon,” said Harper. “Follow him up in your lens, then come on down if you want to see it up close.”

“Don't mind if I do,” Bartow said, raising his telescope back up to his eye, adjusting it onto the sheriff. “I always enjoy watching good rifle work.”

“Suit yourself,” Harper said. He moved backward across the top of the rock and slid down ten feet to where the rock stood stuck deep into the hillside. Then he moved quickly and quietly down through a maze of rock and brush. After twenty minutes of working his way downward, he reached a point where he could see Stone at a distance of three hundred yards. He dropped down behind a rock and lay waiting, watching, clean rifle in hand.

But when Stone left his sight at a wide turn in the trail and didn't come back out, he looked all around. On the rocky hillside behind him he looked up as a small rock broke loose and bounced down a few yards and stopped.

“Over here, Lon,” he said, keeping his voice down. “Get on down here. When he gets back in sight, we'll both shoot him at once.”

“Not today,” said a voice behind him. Harper jerked his head around quickly and saw the Ranger standing atop a rock less than thirty feet away, his big Colt raised, cocked and pointed at him.

“Well . . . Ranger,” Harper said, trying to gain his composure, hoping to stall for a second, then swing his rifle into play. “I have to say, I'm surprised to see—”

The loud blast of the Ranger's Colt cut him short. The bullet hammered him high in the right side of his chest and sent him rolling and bouncing backward down the rocky hillside, almost into Sheriff Stone's arms. Stone stepped out, rifle in hand, from behind a rock as Sam's single shot resounded. He looked down at Harper lying sprawled on the dusty trail. Then he looked up at the Ranger and nodded.

“Anybody else up there?” he asked the Ranger.

“Lonnie Bartow, another jailbreaker,” Sam said, picking his footing, stepping down among the rocks. “He's cuffed around a scrub pine—it'll be a while before he knows it, though.”

They stood looking down at Harper, who lay writhing and moaning in the dirt.

“I'm riding on up there,” Stone said, staring up the trail, “see if Mae Rose is there.” He pitched a pair of cuffs to the Ranger and started walking toward his horse and gray that he'd hidden out of sight.

“She's . . . not up there,” Harper said to the Ranger when the sheriff was out of sight.

“Where is she, then?” Sam asked offhandedly, not making it sound too important. He bent over Harper and drew his wrists together and cuffed him.

“She's with . . . Papa Edsel,” he said. “Her and Rudabaugh tried to kill each other. She took a bullet . . . put three in him.”

“Good for her. How's she doing?” Sam asked.

“She's okay,” said Harper. “She won't be working her trade for a few days.”

“Where are they headed?” Sam asked.

“You figure it out,” Harper said in defiance.

“I will, once we get you behind bars,” Sam said.

“You might think I'm done,” Harper said. “But I'm not. . . . Ranger, you'll see.” His voice was strong but pain-filled. “One gunshot don't slow me down.”

“Keep talking, Harper,” Sam said. “I'll shoot you again. Those dead wagon guards were friends of mine.”

When he'd dragged Harper over beside the trail, he heard Stone's horse coming back down toward them at a gallop. Seeing the look on the sheriff's face as he slid his horse to a halt, Sam stepped in and kept him from going straight to where Harper sat in the dirt.

“Out of my way, Ranger. Mae Rose is not up there. I'm going to start chopping pieces off him till he tells me where she is—”

“Easy, Stone,” Sam cautioned him, keeping his voice lowered so Harper wouldn't hear them. “She's with his pa and his men. He just told me everything.”

“He did?” Stone gave him a puzzled look. “Then he doesn't know Mae Rose and I are . . . ?” He let his words trail.

“No, he doesn't know it,” Sam said. “And let's hope Edsel Centrila doesn't find out. He'll use her to get Harper set free.”

“I
will
set him free before I'll let something happen to Mae Rose,” Stone said. “I'll let you know that straight up, Ranger.”

Sam nodded. He studied the hard resolve in the sheriff's face as if considering his reply.

“I understand,” he said finally.

“What kind of shape is she in?” Stone asked.

“Harper told me she's got a bullet wound, but nothing too serious,” Sam said. “Let's keep everything to ourselves and get on to town. I've got a feeling that's where they've taken her.”

The day-drinking crowd had fallen off a little at the Silver Palace until shopkeepers, tradesmen and businessmen caught sight of Edsel Centrila and his band of gunmen riding into town. Riding between Edsel and Charlie Knapp, Mae Rose Rossi sat atop Lyle Cady's horse. Behind the rest of the men the Cady brothers sat double on Ignacio's horse. Rudabaugh and Donald Ferry rode side by side, but had nothing to say to each other. Behind them rode Bob Remick and his cousin, Trent Baye, the two riflemen who'd guarded the hideout from the towering rocks above the trail.

At the hitch rail out in front of the saloon, Edsel stepped down and handed his reins to Ellis Jones, who'd seen them coming and rushed out onto the boardwalk to greet the new owner.

“Welcome to
your
Silver Palace, Mr. Centrila,” the younger of the Jones brothers called out, spreading his arms wide. His black hair had been well oiled and had a severe part down the center of his head. “And welcome one and all!” he said to the others, as well as to the townsmen who now came to join the crowd. He turned his arms as if to sweep the men inside. “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?” he asked.

Edsel jerked his head toward Charlie Knapp and Mae Rose as Knapp helped her down from the saddle.

“Yeah, help my man get this woman inside,” he said. Then he asked, “She is one of ours, isn't she?”

“Yes, she is indeed, Mr. Centrila,” Ellis said, already stepping over to assist Knapp with the woman. Mae Rose tried to brush them both away. But Ellis stepped in close and supported her arm and said close to her ear, “What are you doing leaving without even telling anybody?”

Mae Rose just stared at him.

Ellis noted the bandaging on her shoulder.

“What's happened to you anyway?” he asked. “You're a mess. Look at you!”

Mae Rose didn't answer. She looked past him in the direction of the sheriff's office.

“Do you know where her room is?” Edsel asked the young bartender.

“Yes, I do,” Ellis said, he and Knapp both supporting her, one at each arm.

“Take her up there,” said Edsel. “Keep her there while I talk to your brother. I'll be on up.” He gave a proud smile as he stretched his back and looked all around and said, “Now, then, let me take a look at my new saloon.” He inspected the newly painted facade, the striking new signs hanging high above the doors.

While Ellis Jones and Charlie Knapp accompanied Mae Rose inside the saloon and up the stairs, the Cady brothers, along with Bob Remick and Trent Baye, stayed close around Edsel Centrila as he walked back and forth admiring his new business interest.

“What do you want me to do, boss?” Rudabaugh asked, standing off to the side.

The smile faded from Edsel's face. He walked briskly past Rudabaugh into the saloon.

“Follow me,” he said gruffly.

Remick and Baye gave Rudabaugh a thin, smug grin.

“After you, Silas,” said Remick. They allowed him in front of them as they followed their leader inside the Silver Palace. Instead of walking to the crowded bar where all eyes had turned toward him, Centrila lifted his hat in a salute and walked to the table at the side window.

“Everybody gets a drink on me, Phil,” he called out to the bar where Phillip Jones stood busily filling glasses and beer mugs.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Centrila!” the bartender called out amid the cheers and applause of the drinkers.

On the stairs, Ellis Jones bounded down and hurried over to the window table. At the top of the stairs, Rita Spool and five other doves stood lined along the banister, poising seductively for the new owner and the drinkers at the bar. Rudabaugh looked down as if trying not to be seen.

“What may I serve you, Mr. Centrila?” Ellis asked, his hands folded at his abdomen. Black garters rounded his white shirtsleeves at the elbows. Sweat made the shirt cling to his chest, his shoulders and back.

“Go take over the bar for Phil,” Centrila said, taking quick charge of the place. “Tell Phil to bring his pocket ledger over here—have him bring a couple bottles of rye and some glasses.”

“Yes, sir,” said Ellis, “right away.” He turned sharply on his heel and hurried over behind the bar.

The gunmen against the wall on either side of the window looked at Rudabaugh, who stood on the opposite side of the table from Centrila. Rudabaugh swallowed a tight knot in his throat and stood in silence; Edsel sat sprawled, cigar in hand, staring intently at him.

In only a moment, Phil the bartender set a tray with two fresh bottles of rye and several clean shot glasses on it. He quickly opened the first bottle and filled glasses all around. Rough hands reached in and claimed the glasses and raised them. Centrila raised a glass of his own. Rudabaugh took a glass of rye but only held it to his chest.

Phil Jones stood back as the men took their drink.

“Now, then, Phil,” said Edsel, “let's take a look at what kind of tab Silas here has run up for himself.” He stared at Rudabaugh as he spoke.

“Here we are, sir,” said Phil. He produced a small leather-bound pad from his hip pocket and flipped it open and laid it in front of Edsel Centrila. The new owner studied the page regarding the brothel and studied the figures for a moment. Satisfied, he turned to a page and half of amounts listed under Rudabaugh's name. He let out a low whistle. The gunmen gave each other a look and masked their elation. Rudabaugh slumped and looked worried.

“Silas . . . Silas,” Centrila shook his head. “You've managed to run up a drinking and sporting tab of seven hundred and forty-seven dollars—most of it on
sporting
,” he added, giving a nod toward the women lined along the upstairs banister. “I'm amazed you're able to walk upright.”

The men stifled a dark laugh.

“Holy Joseph,” Rudabaugh whispered. He swallowed hard again; he raised his glass to his lips and drained it. When he set it down he said, “Edsel, I'm going to pay you. I swear I am.”

“Of course you are,” Centrila said. He closed the pocket ledger and slid it to Phillip Jones. Then he stood and walked across the saloon and started up the stairs. He summoned Ellis Jones from behind the bar to join him. Ellis and the gunmen hurried to catch up to him. They followed him up the stairs and down the long hallway to where Charlie Knapp motioned them to Mae Rose's room. Rudabaugh kept his face down as the doves stared coldly at him.

“You're going to be working for me the next three years for
free
, Silas,” Centrila said over his shoulder. The men held their laughter to themselves.

•   •   •

Mae Rose sat slumped on a wooden straight-back chair in the middle of the floor. Charlie Knapp stood beside her, his rifle held loosely across his chest. As Edsel and the men walked in and Lyle Cady closed the door behind them, Knapp reached over with his rifle butt and lifted Mae Rose's lowered face.

“Look at Mr. Centrila when he talks to you,” Knapp said harshly.

Mae Rose stared up at Edsel from the wooden edge of the rifle butt. Knapp took the butt away when Centrila pitched the pouch of gold coins onto her lap. Ellis Jones stood beside Edsel, unsure of what was going on.

“I see there's no money missing from the brothel,” Edsel said to Mae Rose. “Whose money is this?”

Centrila studied her eyes for a moment.

“What were you doing out there with Silas Rudabaugh?” he asked. He gave Rudabaugh a dark look. Rudabaugh avoided his eyes.

“I was
with him
out there because he forced me to leave here with him,” Mae Rose said. “I was headed for Secondary. He made me go with him—stole my money.” She turned a cold stare to Rudabaugh. “I knew he was going to try to kill me. I tried to get away. He shot me and I hit my head on a rock. I woke up and found that Harper and Lon Bartow came along. I figure they saved my life.”

Centrila continued staring at her, unable to find any holes in her story.

“And you had nothing to do with Rudabaugh before that?” he asked.

“No, never,” said Mae Rose. “I'm only sorry I didn't blow his brains out instead of shooting his ear off.”

Edsel looked at Rudabaugh with contempt and nodded toward the door.

“Get out of here, Silas,” he growled over the cigar in his teeth. “Go somewhere and figure out how you're ever going to pay my money back.”

Rudabaugh left the room with his head lowered. Lyle Cady opened the door and closed it behind him.

Centrila looked back at Mae Rose.

“Now, then, what about the money?” he said. He leaned in close and stared her squarely in the eyes.

“It's mine,” Mae Rose insisted. “I squirreled it away a little at a time—”

“Huh-uh,” said Edsel, cutting her off. “You didn't squirrel that much money away—unless you were bedding customers on the sly and not turning in the money.”

“No, I didn't do that,” Mae Rose said. “I've always been straight with this brothel. Ask the last owner. That money belongs to me, nobody else.”

Edsel gave Ellis Jones a questioning sidelong look.

“Phil has had me watching this upstairs like a hawk, Mr. Centrila,” Ellis said. “I've never seen anything untoward out of Mae Rose. She handles her share of business and keeps to herself. Some of the miners call her
the lady
, she's so straight up.” He paused, then said, “I expect she reminds them of their gal back home.”

“
The lady
, huh . . . ?” Edsel looked all around the room.

“I'm not lying to you,” Mae Rose said, staring squarely at Centrila. “That money is mine.”

“Of course you're lying to me,
lady
,” Centrila said matter-of-factly. “All doves lie. . . .” He let his words trail as he continued looking around the room.

He singled out a large oak wardrobe in a corner and stepped over to it. He pulled both doors open and looked inside. A few dresses she'd left behind hung there. On a shelf he picked up an almost empty bag of Blue Cut chopped tobacco, looked at it and turned with it in his hand. On a bedside table the wadded-up wax paper lining of a cough drop carton caught his eye. He picked it up, unfolded it and sniffed it.

“Um, cherry flavored,” he said with a slight grin. “Have a cough, do you,
lady
?” he said, as if concerned.

“I—I did have,” Mae Rose said. “I'm over it now.”

“Might have been brought on from your smoke fixings,” he said flatly. “Blue Cut's about as strong as smoking hemp rope.” He pitched the tobacco bag onto her lap and picked up the pouch of coins. He stepped back. As he did he spotted another wadded-up wax paper lining lying just under the edge of her bed. “Get that, Ellis, if you please,” he said.

Ellis picked up the wax paper and laid it in Centrila's outstretched hand.

“My, my, looks like the maid missed this,” he said with a slight grin. He unwadded the lining and sniffed it. “I'm thinking you're a cherry-flavor gal.”

Mae Rose sat staring, turning rigid in the chair, sensing things could turn ugly any moment. Beside Centrila, Ellis nervously wiped his fingertips on his trousers, sensing the same thing, gauging the darkening look on his boss' face.

“You've been in Big Silver awhile, bartender,” he said to Ellis without taking his menacing stare from Mae Rose. “Who sucks cherry cough drops and smokes Blue Cut tobacco?”

“Well, now . . . ,” said the young bartender. For Mae Rose's sake, Ellis tried to stall. He cleared his throat.

“Before you answer me, young man,” Centrila said to Ellis, still staring at Mae Rose, “remind yourself there's a good possibility that I might
already know
.”

“Yes, sir, I understand,” said Ellis. His jaw tightened with the realization of what he had to do. “The truth is, Sheriff Stone is the only man I can think of.” He added quickly, “But I have to say I've never seen him come up here—”

“Oh, he's been up here, bartender,” the saloon owner said, cutting him off.

“Mr. Centrila, I
do
want to say that this woman has never been a problem—no dope of any kind, only drinks a little, enough to keep—”

“That'll be all for now, Ellis,” Centrila said, still staring straight ahead at Mae Rose. “Get on downstairs—take those doves with you. Give them a drink on me. Tell the piano player I want to hear him hammering that ivory.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Centrila,” said Ellis, backing away.

“You men go down too. Keep those doves entertained for a while. Charlie and I are going to have a talk with
the lady
.”

As the men filed out behind the bartender, Lyle Cady glanced at Knapp and saw him lean his rifle against his leg and pull on a tight leather trail glove. Knapp grinned to himself a little as he opened and closed his gloved fist.

Outside in the hall, Lyle closed the door and whispered to his brother, “I would not want to be standing in that woman's shoes today,
huh-uh
,” he said.