Cheyenne Cowboy Page 7

  Barker nodded. ‘That must be why Dwire rented these nags for you, I guess. He bought the buckboard a while back. Don’t ask me why. That fat old bastard ain’t even used it before.’

  ‘Lawyers sure are a pretty strange breed,’ Gibbs laughed as he moved up beside the rest of the gang. ‘Ain’t no point trying to fathom out their thinking.’

  Holt inhaled smoke deep into his lungs as he watched the blacksmith with an icy stare.

  ‘Thanks for delivering the buckboard, friend,’ he said. ‘We’ll get it and this team of fine horses back to you as soon as it’s served its purpose.’

  Barker turned his powerful frame.

  ‘Anyways, I can’t stand around here chewing the fat with you all night, boys. I’ll go start getting your horses saddled up. They’ll be ready in about an hour.’

  ‘I’m obliged.’ Holt nodded slowly and then looked at his five followers.

  The six hired gunmen watched as Barker started to amble to his aromatic livery stable. When the big man was out of earshot Gibbs moved closer to Holt.

  ‘That critter troubles me some, Emmett,’ he admitted as he rested his gloved hands on his holstered gun grips.

  ‘He’s harmless, Bart.’ Holt tossed his cigar butt at the sand and then climbed up on to the driver’s board. He glanced down at the five men and then pointed his thumb at the flatbed. ‘Get in back, boys.’

  The five gunmen moved to the rear of the buckboard and dropped its tailgate. Holt pulled out the detailed drawing the lawyer had provided for them and studied it carefully until it was branded into his mind.

  ‘Get in back, you scum-suckers,’ Holt ordered. ‘We’ve got to get this to that warehouse and find them coffins.’

  As though commanded by the Devil himself, Dante, Jones, Harper and Collins obediently climbed up on to the back of the buckboard as Gibbs hastily secured its tailgate and then ran to the front of the large vehicle. He climbed up beside Holt and picked up the heavy leathers before releasing the brake with his boot.

  ‘Get going, Bart,’ Holt snarled.

  Dodge City resounded with the ear-splitting sound of the reins being cracked above the backs of the two-horse team. The buckboard took off at breakneck speed along the main street with its cargo of deadly gunmen clinging to its boards.

  At that very moment Gat Hammer emerged from the Deluxe Hotel with a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. He stopped and watched open-mouthed as the fast-moving buckboard raced past the elegant hotel.

  Hammer was startled. He stepped to the edge of the boardwalk and watched them curiously as the buckboard was expertly steered into a side street.

  Then a voice caught him by surprise.

  ‘Where you headed, Gat?’ it asked from behind his wide shoulders.

  Hammer swung around on his high heels and stared at Tom McGee as his hand rested on the grip of his holstered six-shooter.

  He sighed in relief at the familiar face and shook his head at the trail boss.

  ‘You plumb shook me up, Tom,’ he said.

  ‘I come looking for that young kid you recommended,’ McGee said as he squinted into the ornate hotel through its glass doors. ‘Is he in there?’

  ‘Nope, I ain’t seen Billy for a few hours,’ Hammer replied before relaxing. ‘He’s probably gone home to get some vittles.’

  McGee rubbed his freshly shaven jaw. ‘You got time for a couple of drinks, Gat?’

  The Cheyenne cowboy smiled. ‘Well I just finished an inch-thick steak and come to think about it, I could use a few drinks to wash it down.’

  ‘As long as we don’t run into the rest of the crew, Gat,’ McGee smiled and rested a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. ‘I made that mistake last night. I don’t hanker waking up next to Montana Mae again.’

  ‘They say that the Long Branch is mighty slick for a saloon,’ Hammer said as the two cowboys strode along the street. ‘They also reckon that it’s got mirrors that a party can see their faces in.’

  McGee chuckled. ‘Then the Long Horn it is, boy.’

  ‘We ain’t gonna get drunk are we?’ Hammer wondered.

  ‘I surely hope we find salvation before the demon drink drags us down into the bowels of hell, Gat,’ the older man bellowed like a Bible-punching preacher.

  Both cowboys stepped down on to the sand.

  ‘I’ll take that as a “yes” then, Tom,’ Hammer grinned.

  They crossed the street and aimed their boots at the well-illuminated Long Branch saloon. Yet even as they reached the saloon Hammer’s mind kept thinking about the buckboard he had just witnessed racing by.

  ‘It’s doubtful we’ll see any of the boys in here, Gat,’ McGee said as he studied the impressive façade. ‘The prices would scare even the toughest cowpuncher away.’

  Hammer said nothing as his thoughts kept lingering on the six men in dust coats. There was something about them that kept nagging at the cowboy.

  McGee placed his hand on the swing doors and was about to push them inward when he noticed the pained expression in his friend’s face. Like the father figure he had become over the years, he stopped in his tracks and looked at his top wrangler.

  ‘What’s wrong, Gat?’ he asked.

  Hammer knew that he could not lie to McGee. The older cowboy knew him far too well. The seasoned trail boss could read him like an open book. The Cheyenne cowboy shrugged and bit his bottom lip thoughtfully as he battled with the thoughts that dogged him.

  The dust kicked up by the buckboard’s wheel rims still hung in the evening air. Hammer spat the toothpick at the sand and shook his head.

  ‘Damned if I know, Tom,’ he admitted. ‘Something’s sure bothering me though. I just can’t seem to figure out what it is.’

  The trail boss patted the arm of his young pal.

  ‘It’ll come back to you once you’ve got a few drinks in you, Gat boy,’ McGee smiled.

  They entered the Long Branch and moved across its busy floor to the bar counter. They purchased their drinks and then sat down at one of the few vacant round tables.

  No sooner had Hammer finished his first glass of beer than he knew exactly what was bothering him about the men in dust coats. His eyes widened as he sat bolt upright and snapped his fingers.

  ‘You were right, Tom.’ He smiled at McGee.

  ‘I was?’

  ‘You said that it’d come back to me once I had a drink. It has. Now I know what’s been gnawing at my innards, Tom,’ he announced as he placed the empty glass down beside the jug he and McGee were sharing beer from.

  McGee raised an eyebrow. ‘And what would that be exactly, Cheyenne?’

  Hammer leaned across the circular table and stared his friend straight in the eyes. ‘I know one of them hombres, Tom. At least I’ve seen him before. He was one of the outlaws I exchanged bullets with a couple of months back. He escaped but I recognize his ugly features. They’re branded into my head.’

  The older man rested against the back of his chair and watched the excited young cowboy. He had known Gat Hammer since he was just a kid and knew that the youngster was rarely mistaken. If Hammer said he had seen someone before then you could bet your life on it being true.

  ‘Are you talking about the half-dozen varmints I seen on that buckboard outside the hotel, boy?’ he checked.

  Hammer nodded firmly and rose to his feet.

  ‘That’s exactly who I’m talking about, Tom. Not the other critters with him but the leader of the bunch,’ he stated. ‘That bastard is the same critter who tried to kill me.’

  The older cowboy finished his suds and pushed his hat back on to the crown of his head. He stared at the excitable Hammer; every eye within the Long Branch was also looking at the young cowboy.

  ‘What you intending to do about it, Gat?’ he asked.

  Hammer thought for a moment. ‘I’ll go tell the marshal that there’s a questionable critter in Dodge and he’s got five varmints with him.’

  McGee got to his feet. ‘So you reckon that they’re up to somethi
ng, Gat? Is that why you’re fit to burst?’

  Hammer nodded. ‘Where do you figure the marshal would be at this time of night, Tom?’

  A wry smile came to the older man. He walked around the table and headed toward the street. As he reached out to push the swing doors apart he glanced over his shoulder at his young friend.

  ‘C’mon, Cheyenne boy,’ he laughed. ‘We’ll find him together.’

  As the cowboys left the Long Branch, its doors rocked back and forth on their hinges. Mason Dwire had listened to every word that had spilled from the young cowboy’s mouth and knew that it meant trouble for him and the men he had just sent out to undertake the most daring robbery in Dodge City’s short history. Dwire had been seated between Foster and Chester and the bottle of whiskey they had been savouring. The devious banker rose to his feet and patted them both on their shoulders. His watery eyes glanced at the wall clock just above a ten-foot long mirror before checking his own pocket watch. They tallied.

  ‘Thanks for the drinks, gentlemen. I’ll see you later,’ the lawyer said. ‘I’ve got something to do.’

  The lawyer checked his cuffs and then walked out into the cool night air. The imported Scottish whisky had not taken its toll on the lawyer as it had on both Foster and Chester. Spurred on by his encouragement, the still-seated pair were well on the way toward being drunk. The lawyer considered that a bonus to be added to his carefully thought-out scheme.

  Mason Dwire paused on the boardwalk as the cool air brushed his thoughtful face. His eyes tightened and watched the two cowboys heading through the lantern light in the direction of the marshal’s office.

  The last thing Holt and his gang needed was interrupting, Dwire thought. Once they had emptied the safe in the Cattleman Club and delivered its precious cargo to the train, he did not care what happened to any of them. But they had to be able to fulfil his detailed scheme.

  The rotund figure moved to a brightly painted porch upright and rested a shoulder against it. Dwire was not a man who ever got involved in any of the outrageous plans his crooked mind created but a sense of panic was brewing within him. His heart pounded inside his expensive attire.

  ‘That young cowpuncher is going to ruin everything,’ he mumbled under his breath as he pulled a twin-barrelled derringer from his vest pocket and cocked its hammers. ‘I can’t allow him to mess this up by getting the marshal chasing Holt and his boys. It’ll ruin everything. No righteous cowpoke is going to spoil this for me. I have to stop him.’

  He gripped the small weapon in his hand and began following both Hammer and McGee into the darker part of Dodge City. It had not occurred to the lawyer previously but the further a soul ventured from the large saloon, the darker it became.

  He was grateful that the cowboys were talking and not striding as quickly as he knew they were capable of. His short legs ached as he kept pace with them. The gun in his hand was barely visible as Dwire slipped between the shadows in pursuit.

  It was completely out of character for the lawyer ever to deviate from his well-considered plans but his guts told him that he had to silence them before they were able to tell Marshal Grey about Holt and his cohorts.

  The lawyer had killed his fair share of men in his time but that had been long ago when he had been able to see his feet and had the agility of youth.

  Beads of sweat trailed down his face in defiance of the cool night air. The bulky character carefully gained on the cowboys. They had to die, and die before either of them could talk to the marshal, his mind screamed at him.

  There were few street lanterns perched on top of poles in this part of Dodge. What light there was came from the store fronts which were still open for business. The further the cowboys walked to the marshal’s office, the darker it became.

  Had Dwire realized that the younger cowboy he was trailing was the same hombre that he had read the exaggerated tales about in the newspaper months before, the lawyer might have been more cautious. But in Dodge City every cowboy looked alike to men like Dwire. The only difference was how drunk they were after selling their herd.

  A fury was fermenting like a volcano inside the rotund lawyer as his watery eyes stared at the backs of both men ahead of him. Backs which he intended putting bullets into when he was close enough. His hand was sweating as it gripped the small derringer. His finger curled around the weapon’s triggers and stroked them.

  His volcano was about to erupt. He raised his arm and levelled the gun as both cowboys turned a corner and entered a dark side street.

  Mason Dwire defied his own physique and ran the thirty-foot distance to the corner. He was panting like an old hound dog as he rested his shoulder on the wooden edge of the wall and looked at the two barely visible cowboys as they headed to where lantern light spilled from the marshal’s office on to the sand. The lawyer closed one eye, raised the derringer and held it at arm’s length.

  He aimed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Unaware that they were being targeted, Hammer and McGee made their way deeper into the dimly lit side street. The only illumination came from the marshal’s small office. A wall lantern competed with the lamplight which cascaded from the windows of the structure.

  ‘Reckon the marshal’s in there, Gat boy?’ McGee wondered as they closed the distance between themselves and the eerie light.

  ‘I sure hope so,’ Hammer sighed. ‘I don’t wanna try and find him in a town as big as Dodge. It’ll take forever.’

  The older cowboy looked around the narrow street. He was not impressed by what he saw. This was probably the oldest and most rundown part of the cattle town and it was showing its age.

  ‘I got me a feeling they don’t respect the law around these parts.’ McGee gestured at their surroundings. ‘This is the most sorrowful damn street I ever done seen and I’ve done seen a lot of sorrowful looking streets.’

  Suddenly without warning the narrow confines of the street lit up as two white flashes carved a route through the darkness from the corner to the main street. The noise was deafening as the two shots tore into the cowboys. McGee buckled as he felt the impact of the derringer bullet hit him in his broad back. Hammer staggered as the second deadly bullet knocked him forward. A fiery pain ripped through him as though he had been struck by a lightning bolt. With blood trailing from his temple the dazed cowboy dragged his six-shooter from its holster and twisted around.

  McGee fell on to his face beside his stunned pal’s boots.

  Hammer raised his weapon and blasted two shots in reply before he steadied himself beside McGee. The eyes of the famed Cheyenne cowboy darted to his comrade and then back at the corner.

  ‘Don’t worry, Tom.’ Hammer spat at the sand and moved toward their hidden attacker. ‘I’ll make that hombre pay for shooting at us.’

  Hammer blasted another two shots into the darkness.

  As chunks of wood were ripped from the corner he was resting behind, Dwire poked two fresh bullets into the smoking chambers of his derringer. He drew the weapon’s hammers back and then looked around the corner at the defiant cowboy who vainly tried to find a target to shoot at. Unlike Hammer, Mason Dwire could see his chosen prey clearly.

  ‘Eat lead, cowpoke,’ the lawyer mumbled and squeezed both triggers at the same moment. The derringer bullets hit the gun in Hammer’s out-held hand. An octopus of blinding sparks erupted from the gun in the cowboy’s grasp. No mule could have kicked harder. The dazzling light caused the cowboy to fall back. He fell heavily beside his already prostrate companion and felt the back of his skull impact on the ground.

  Darkness suddenly engulfed Hammer. He felt himself sinking into the bottomless pit of unconsciousness. The cowboy vainly tried to claw himself back but nothing could save him from the inevitable. It was as though quicksand was swallowing him and he could do nothing to prevent it.

  The shadowy corner of the narrow side street saw the balding head of the lawyer as he looked upon his handiwork with the smoking derringer in his hand.

  A sick
ening smile etched his sweating features as his watery eyes stared at the two cowboys lying in the lamp light of the marshal’s office. Neither cowboy moved. Dwire gave a satisfied grunt.

  He had done what he had come to do.

  ‘Problem solved.’ Dwire smugly turned and hurried along the main street away from his deadly handiwork. He moved quickly for a big man and within a few beats of his racing heart had vanished into the multitude of people in search of their own place to find satisfaction.

  Nobody noticed the fat old lawyer as he melted into the crowd. Nobody apart from the buxom Montana Mae as she leaned against the porch upright outside her place of business. The female tilted her well-powdered face as she recognized the stout lawyer hurrying back into the better part of town. Dwire was one of her most regular of clients and perhaps the most talkative.

  Mae watched him weave his way between the other men and women who filled the boardwalk along the main street. She knew that the pompous lawyer was up to something for he had blurted it out during one of their many meetings.

  Dwire talked in his sleep.

  Two and two often make four. Mae had heard the gunshots but unlike everyone else in the lantern-lit street, she knew they were not simply from men letting off steam. Her eyes focused on the smoke that trailed the lawyer, filtering through his fingers as he clutched the still-smouldering weapon.

  That intrigued the fallen angel.

  She had been wondering when he might start to put his dreams into cold-blooded action.

  Her well-plucked eyebrows rose.

  ‘Now where would old Dwire be going in such a hurry?’ she asked herself before placing a cigarette into the corner of her mouth and igniting a match with her long painted fingernails. ‘Maybe I oughta find out.’

  Mae tossed the match over her naked shoulder and started to follow the wealthy lawyer. She was not going to let the chance of making a few extra bucks slip through her supple fingers.

  The mature lady of the night crossed the street in pursuit of her panting prey. She sucked hard on the cigarette in a fashion that was well practised. Then a tall, handsome gambler known as Lucky O’Hara stepped out from the brightly illuminated Deluxe Hotel and tipped his white Stetson at Montana Mae.