The Red River Ring (3 page)

Chapter IV

The bartender was lighting lamps when Pommel entered through the swinging doors of the Waterhole Saloon. The place was typical of most frontier saloons, sawdust covered plank floors, an elaborate bar along one wall, a lone billiard table to the front, a table to buck the tiger in a Faro game, and more tables in the back for poker. Other than the bartender and a couple of old-timers playing dominos, the place was empty.

By the time Pommel reached the bar, the bartender was in place to take an order.

“What's your pleasure?” the balding, bearded bartender asked.

“How's your drought beer?”

“Cold and good.”

“I'll have a glass and a package of smokes.”

“Factory mades or roll your own?”

“I believe I'll try the factory brand.”

The bartender set a pack of Victory cigarettes on the bar and drew the beer from a tap. He set the beer on the bar as Pommel took a match from a wooden dispenser and struck it against the slate side.

“Fifty cents,” the bartender said.

Pommel placed an eagle on the bar and waited for his change.

“Need a place to stay the night,” Pommel said as the bartender worked the cash drawer.

“Only got one hotel. It's up the street on the corner. Other than that you're out of luck.”

“Any good?”

“Ain't buggy. Most folks seem satisfied.”

“I'm looking for a fellow. Where can I find Tom Bent?”

“If he's in town, he'll show up here sometime this evening but I ain't seen him around today. He may be out at the ranch.”

“Where's that?”

“Twenty-eight miles southeast. Follow the trail angling off the livery.”

“That's a long ways.”

“Hell, you're on the ranch six feet out of town, but the home place is down on the Little Durango.”

“You a cattle buyer?” a voice asked from the back of the room.

Pommel turned toward the old-timer rising from the table. He was a small man, clean shaven, dressed cleanly.

“I might be… if the price is right,” Pommel said with a smile.

“Don't remember me do you?” the old-timer asked as he offered his hand.

Pommel studied his features then smiled broadly. “Sure I do…Del Hammond. I took a herd to Dodge for you about six years back.”

“Another beer for Mr. McMurphy and myself,” Del Hammond said. “You delivered that herd in the best shape I've ever had done and I made good money that year. Where you been?”

“When the trail driving dried up, I bought a small place near Dallas. I'm running four hundred head and doing some horse trading on the side.”

“I moved out here to buy cheap land with them cattle profits and raise wheat,” Hammond said before sipping his beer. “Come sit with Blake and me.”

As they moved to the table, a medium built man in his seventies hobbled to his feet and offered his hand. “I'm Thad Blake. Me and Del help run the world from this table.”

As Pommel fetched an ashtray and settled into his chair, Hammond spoke. “I don't think Bent is in town. I heard he had some business to tend to in Amarillo.”

Pommel nodded and sipped his beer.

“If you don't mind my asking, why Bent? Most of his business is taken care of by Nab Colredge,” Hammond asked.

“Where can I find him?” McMurphy asked.

“He keeps an office over the mortuary across the street.”

“Good place for it,” Thad said softly.

“Careful, Thad,” Del said.

Pommel studied both men. He could tell that Del was unsure of whether he could speak bluntly. He leaned close to the table and spoke softly.

“Bent's no friend of mine. I'm here to learn some things. Whatever either of you have to say will go no further.”

Dell nodded. “Go ahead, Thad. I can't imagine this hombre riding with the likes of them.”

“They call Bent, Black Tom. The name's got nothing to do with his looks. He's a bad one and capable of anything. Colredge ain't no better. What Bent does with his guns, Colredge does with pen and ink. They've swindled and hood winked just about every property owner in a fifty-mile circle of Pampa. Ain't nothing goes on without their approval and nothing gets done without their say-so.”

“What about the law?” Pommel asked after a drink of his beer.

“Ain't no law in Pampa except Black Tom's law. He owns the sheriff, the judges and the town marshal. A neighbor of mine named Maddock went to the Rangers to ask for help. We never saw Maddock again and no Ranger ever darkened our door.”

“I never knew a bunch of Texans to take something like this lying down. I'm surprised you fellows didn't have a yard party with hemp and oak,” Pommel said.

“Tom Bent's got forty riders. They're some of the meanest, no accounts you ever laid eyes on. Gun hands all,” Del said. “Besides that, Bent brings money into town and spends it. He keeps this town and several of the merchants afloat. He and Colredge own the bank and manage it all. Those that play along do well. Those that don't either move on or disappear.”

“What about you two?”

“At our age it ain't that hard to sort of disappear. All I'm looking for is a sunny porch and a rocking chair. As long as I can manage, I ain't about to buck the Ring,” Del said as Thad nodded agreement.

“The Ring?” Pommel asked.

“They are called the Red River Ring by those too scared to call them by name. Probably cause they control the Red and all the land surrounding it.”

“Then what stops them?” Pommel asked.

“An old kraut in Silverton named Blomberg has enough sway with Austin and enough wealth to hold them back. He's backed up by a bunch of small ranchers along the Palo Duro. Blomberg isn't strong enough to come up here and clean out the Ring and the Ring can't manage to take on Blomberg and the ranchers. So, they chip away at the ranchers along the Palo Duro. One of those ranches is controlled by your sons.”

“I thought you weren't sure of what was going on?” Pommel asked abruptly.

“I just now put it together,” Del said triumphantly. “Actually I knew the ranch was run by the McMurphy brothers and blurted that they was your sons just to see how you reacted.”

“Now we both got secrets,” Pommel said with a steel eyed stare that caused Del Hammond to twist uncomfortably in his chair. “Nobody needs to know who I am or what I'm doing.”

“Sure,” Del said uncomfortably. “I get your drift. Thad and me got nothing to tell anyone hereabouts.”

“Right,” Thad said with a firm nod.

Pommel smiled and took a last swig of beer. “Hell, I know that. You boys got nothing to do but time. I didn't mean to put you off.”

“No offense taken,” Del said with a sigh of relief as Thad nodded.

“Maybe I'll see you around in ten or twelve years,” Pommel said as he rose from the table. “The next two is on me, fellows.”

He tossed another eagle on the bar and signaled to the bartender that it went for a round for the boys as he left the building.

Thad leaned back in his chair and sighed. “That fellow's eyes could melt lead. Hell, he's as scary as Black Tom.”

“He's one hell of a trail boss. They say he was the best there was,” Del said. “The trouble is that he always worked out of east Texas. I never knew he had interests out here, much less a bunch of sons. There's more going on here than a feller can figure.”

“You gonna find out?” Thad asked.

Del smiled and shook his head. “Hell, no. I don't want to know nothing. The less I know the less I can tell and the happier he and I will both be.”

Thad nodded.

It was easy enough to find Colredge's office.
Colredge and Bent Land, Grain and Cattle
was painted on the second story windows above the mortuary. A narrow enclosed hall stairway behind a street door in the middle of the building led to the second story office.

Pommel entered the office without knocking. A male bookkeeper rose from his desk and asked uncomfortably if he could be of help.

“I'm looking for Nab Colredge,” Pommel said eyeing the door behind the bookkeeper.

“Do you have an appointment?” the bookkeeper asked uncomfortably.

“Do I need one?” Pommel asked.

“Uh, no, I guess you don't. We're about ready to close for the day. May I tell him who you are?”

“Soap Withers.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Withers. I'll tell him you're wanting to see him.”

The bookkeeper went through the door. He returned quickly with a smile.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Withers. Go right in. Mr. Colredge says he's eager to see you.”

The smile left Colredge's face when Pommel stepped through the door. He glanced toward a second man sitting near a window and appeared confused. Colredge was a balding, well-dressed man in his fifties with a gray handle bar mustache. The other man was in his thirties, short, dark, slim. A pair of Colt revolvers were hanging from his hips butt forward, each holster on a separate belt crossed over the other.

“I'm afraid there's been a mistake. I thought my secretary stated that you were Soap Withers,” Colredge said.

“I'm a friend of Soap's. I guess the secretary misunderstood,” Pommel said.

“What can I do for you?” Colredge asked.

Pommel eyed the man by the window and stepped to the side to give him an angle to view both men at the same time. “Soap says you're looking for gun hands. Men willing to do hard labor and ask no questions for a hundred dollars.”

“Soap talks too much,” the man at the window said.

“I'm always looking for riders,” Colredge said as he slowly opened his desk center drawer.

“I'm your man,” Pommel said.

“You appear to be a well dressed man. Perhaps a little too well dressed for the line of work I have in mind,” Colredge said after a pause.

“Maybe I'm just good at my job,” Pommel said.

“I didn't catch your name,” the man at the window said.

“I didn't throw it. I guess I don't know yours either.”

“This is Burt Blake. He runs a freighting and stage company here in Pampa for me,” Colredge said.

Pommel eyed Blake closely. “He's pretty well heeled for a freight clerk.”

“Tough country. I protect the line's interests,” Blake answered.

“Always wondered why some fellers saw fit to carry two pistols. Always wondered if they couldn't get the job done with just one,” Pommel said.

Blake smiled coldly. “Some fellows can take on bigger jobs than other fellows.”

Pommel nodded and smiled. “My name's Pommel McMurphy. I used to trail boss out of the Plateau country. Trail driving's dried up with the railroads and I'm looking for work.”

Blake laughed softly and shook his head. “And Soap Withers sent you to us?”

Colredge slowly slid his hand toward the open drawer. “Where is Soap?”

“Soap's buried under a mesquite tree near twenty-mile oak on the Palo Duro.”

Blake stiffened in his chair. Colredge moved his hand back from the drawer.

“He died of a drafty shirt. Somebody put a hole clean through it. All the way in one side and out the back.”

Colredge smiled uneasily. “Soap should have been more careful.”

Pommel placed one foot on a chair by Colredge's desk, leaned on his knee, tipped back his hat and smiled. “That's what he said to me. Said he should have been more careful. There he was trying to do one job and ended up getting aced by another with a similar plot in mind.”

“What plot was that?” Colredge asked uneasily.

Pommel stepped around the desk, looked down at Colredge and slowly closed the center drawer. “Bushwhackers come in all sizes and types. Some are dressed like bums and have to scramble for every penny. Others come well dressed, don't much need the money, and just plain enjoy the sport of it all. One kind is slinky and doesn't do very well. The other kind is careful, good at the work and don't miss. It's that second kind to worry about. He'll give one warning, mostly out of sport, then he'll just shoot the son-of-a-bitch the first chance he gets.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Colredge said harshly.

“How about you, two-gun? Will you keep that in mind as well?”

Blake's hands closed on the arms of his chair. He wondered how clear his guns were and whether he could clear leather from a sitting position. He nodded slowly.

“You might make it with the left pistol but the right is wedged under the chair arm. No wait, now my right is your left. Kind of confusing, ain't it?” Pommel said coldly.

“Maybe I should stand up,” Blake said.

“Better do it fast two-gun. I'll blow you through that window if you're too slow.”

Blake sat uneasily for a few tense moments then slowly shook his head.

Pommel smiled and slowly went for the door. “Well, I sure enjoyed our visit. I hope you boys got as much out of it as I did. I wouldn't come through this door for a spell until I was sure the stairway was clear. It's dark and a fellow could fall or something.”

“Perhaps we'll run into each other again,” Colredge said.

“Hope not. They'll be some dying to do if that happens. But then, if you and the Ring steer clear of the Palo Duro, you shouldn't have to worry.”

The door closed and Pommel was gone.

Colredge sat in a pale stare at the door. Blake examined the position of his holsters, turned his chair and watched the street below.

“Shit, that was a surprise,” Colredge finally said.

“Never did see him leave. You suppose he's waiting in the stairway?” Blake asked.

“No, he'll pack out. He made his show and gave his warning. That's all he intended.”

“What now?”

“Tom won't be back for several days. Get McPherson and some of the boys. See if you can find where this guy is laid up. I will feel a lot easier if you can shoot his ass off.”