Jurisdiction Page 13

  “My pleasure,” Sam nodded. As they began walking along, staying close to the front of the building where the snow had now drifted in, Sam said, “What about you, Tinnie? Is this life something you would have ever imagined for yourself?”

  She shrugged, as if having never thought about it. “No, not really. Most of the girls say they were forced into this life—usually it’s not true,” said Tinnie. “But in Hattie’s case it really is. Now that she’s in it, look what it’s doing to her and her kid. Billy wasn’t bad until his pa went to jail and his ma took to the life.”

  “If he wasn’t a bad kid before, I doubt if he’s a bad kid now,” said Sam. “Not yet, anyway. Right now he’s just following bad examples.”

  Tinnie nodded, looking into Sam’s eyes, agreeing with him. “And he’s sure found it in this Indian and the Ganston Gang.”

  “Yep,” said Sam. “Give him a little time with that bunch he’ll be meaner than a snake—and whatever is wrong won’t be wrong with him to his way of thinking.”

  “It’ll be the rest of the world’s fault,” Tinnie added.

  “That’s right. I’ve seen enough this past year to know that once a man throws in with the likes of Willie John and the Ganstons, if he wasn’t rotten before, he soon will be.”

  At the edge of the hotel where an alley led out onto the street, Tinnie started to step down from the boardwalk, but Sam stopped her. “Hold it,” he said, looking down at the snow. The fresh hoof prints of a single horse snaked from the alley and crossed the street behind the bank building.

  “What’s wrong, Sam?” Tinnie asked, seeing the wary look on his face.

  “Nothing, probably,” Sam said, slipping his arm from hers. “Move back to the hotel . . . I want to check something out.” He nodded at the prints in the snow as he stepped back, his hand brushing the edge of his coat back behind his holster.

  Tinnie got the idea and whispered, “Be careful, Sam.” She inched backward a little as Sam made his way across the snow-covered street. But Tinnie did not go to the hotel. Instead she stepped into a doorway and watched intently, seeing Sam disappear into the alley. “Please . . . be careful,” she murmured under her breath.

  In the longer alley at the rear of the bank, Billy Odle managed to step down from his horse with both hands raised above his head. Earl Ganston stood with his pistol cocked and aimed at Billy’s chest.

  “You sure picked yourself a bad time to be passing through here, boy,” said Earl Ganston, stepping closer and taking the reins to Billy’s horse.

  “Mister, please,” Billy pleaded. “I came here to get help for one of your men—Willie John!” He nodded toward the back door of the doctor’s office farther along the alley. “Willie’s wounded bad and ain’t going to make it unless I bring him back some medicine!”

  Billy’s words caught Earl by surprise. “How’d you know I’m one of the Ganston Gang?” His gloved hand tightened on the pistol butt, demanding an answer.

  “I—I saw you with them the day they started to ride into town! The day the posse ambushed them! Mister, I’m not lying. I helped Willie John get away. I’m one of you now . . . and I’ve got to get Willie John some help!”

  Earl got a picture of what was going on and chuckled. “Willie John always had a way of lucking out on something. But you can forget about him, boy. You ain’t going anywhere. Get over against that wall and keep your mouth shut. Bad enough I got snow to deal with, let alone a snot-nosed kid.”

  “Drop the gun!” said Sam Burrack, his voice seeming to come from out of nowhere, only the barrel of his big Colt visible at the edge of the building. “This is Ranger Sam Burrack. You’re under arrest.”

  Earl had started to swing his gun around, but the calmness in Sam’s voice stopped him. This Ranger had him cold. Earl’s eyes cut to Billy Odle as he lowered his pistol, already scheming for a way to use the kid as a bargaining chip. “Take it easy, Ranger, you’ve got me,” Earl said, his thumb still over the cocked pistol hammer as he took a step toward where Billy stood with his back against the building.

  “Don’t even think about it, Ganston,” said Sam, stepping out into full view now.

  Earl sneered, then said, “It’s about time we met, lawdog. Seems like you’ve been dogging us forever.”

  “It will be forever,” said Sam, “if you don’t uncock that gun and drop it like I told you to.”

  “Oh, I forgot,” Earl grinned. He eased the hammer down and let the pistol fall to the snow at his feet.

  Billy Odle stood staring wide-eyed, liking the way Earl Ganston handled himself, taking his own time even with the Ranger’s pistol pointed at him. “Now what, Ranger?” Ganston asked, wanting to keep Sam’s back to the rear door of the bank, knowing that any second Hopper would come busting out.

  But the Ranger stepped sideways to the rear door, already figuring out the robber’s plan. “Now we wait.”

  “Well, hell . . .” Earl let out a long breath, still wondering how to get his hands on Billy Odle, snatch him forward and use him as a shield when the right moment came. “Looks like you’re having yourself a good day. I don’t suppose it would do a bit of good to remind you that you ain’t got a lick of jurisdiction here, would it?”

  “Nope, none that I can think of,” said Sam. “Now shut up and stand still.” He looked at Billy Odle and wanted to say something, to let the boy know that he needn’t worry, that his wasn’t about him. But Sam didn’t want the other robber to hear a strange voice as he came out the back door.

  Inside the bank, Hopper Ganston hefted two bags of money up over his shoulder and jerked his pistol barrel toward the rear of the building. “Come on, sport, I’m leaving by the back way.”

  “There is no back way,” said Vittitow. “The back door was sealed and cemented three years ago, as soon as we installed this new vault!”

  “You’re lying!” Hopper growled, stepping forward and leveling the pistol between the bank owner’s eyes.

  “No, sir! So help me God! Come, I’ll show you! There’s no rear way out of here! I swear!” Fresh beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

  “Damn it to hell! Go on then!” He stomped out of the back room, raising a boot and kicking Vittitow ahead of him. “If I get back there and see a door, I’ll come back here and shoot your ears off.”

  “There is a door back there, sir!” Vittitow shook uncontrollably. “But it’s sealed, like I told you.”

  On the floor, the clerk raised up onto his palms with a painful moan. “All right, then,” said Hopper, needing to move quickly. “Both of you get back there in the vault.”

  “In the vault? Sir, you can’t leave us in there,” Vittitow pleaded. “It could be hours before somebody finds us!”

  “Now you’re getting the drift of it,” said Hopper with a nasty smile. Then the smile faded and his voice rose into a rage as his pistol extended out at Vittitow’s sweaty forehead. “Get the hell in there!”

  “Yes, sir!” Vittitow lowered his trembling hands long enough to help the clerk struggle to his feet. “Come, Timothy, quickly . . . we’ll be all right.”

  “What’s . . . happening?” the clerk asked in a weak voice.

  “Jesus!” Hopper shouted. “You’re being robbed, you stupid peckerwood!” Swinging the money bags off his shoulders and swiping them at the backs of the two men, forcing them on, Hopper Ganston followed until they stepped inside the big vault. Then he rolled the big steel door shut, turned the handle into place and spun the dial. So far so good, he thought, hurrying back through the bank, picking up the shovel on his way. At the front door he looked through the glass, sweeping his eyes back and forth along the empty street. Then he hefted the tied bank bags over his shoulder, opened the door and stepped out, carrying the shovel in the same hand as he carried his pistol.

  He froze for a second, stepping down into the alley, seeing both the hoofprints left by Billy Odle’s horse and the bootprints left by the Ranger. “What the—?” He ducked into the shelter of the alley and slung the sh
ovel away. “This place has gotten awfully damn busy,” he whispered to himself. He moved in a quiet crouch along the wall toward the rear of the bank. At the back edge of the building he froze again at the sound of Earl’s voice speaking in a lowered tone. “What if I told you me and Hopper had nothing to do with shooting that Ranger? If it was all the Injun’s doing? Would it make you any difference?”

  “None at all,” said Sam. “Now shut up. I’ll deal with Willie John when I get to him.”

  Billy Odle’s chin grew taut at the Ranger’s words. But he stood in silence, watching, listening, his knees shaking inside his trouser legs, but his mind working, trying to keep things in order. He wasn’t about to see his friend Willie John get taken by this lawman. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard Earl Ganston say, jackpotting Willie John for murder. Somehow Billy Odle had to get away from here. He had to get the medicine and get back to Willie and warn him.

  At the edge of the building, Hopper Ganston cocked his pistol slowly and quietly. Peering ever so carefully around the corner, seeing how the Ranger was concentrating on the rear of the bank building, Hopper raised his pistol to fire. But as his sights drew down on the Ranger and his finger began squeezing the trigger, from the far end of the alley, Tinnie screamed loud and shrill, “Sam, look out!” and Hopper Ganston’s first shot went wild as he flinched and spun around toward her.

  Hopper’s bullet whistled past the Ranger’s head. Sam jerked sideways instinctively. As he spun toward the sound of Hopper’s second shot, Sam caught a glimpse of Earl Ganston making his move. Earl dropped down, snatched his pistol from the snow and hurled himself toward Billy Odle all in one single motion. Sam aimed at Earl Ganston, but then held his fire as Earl jerked Billy Odle forward and hid behind him. Earl fired, his shot hitting the Ranger high in the shoulder.

  Sam staggered a step backward, then dropped to one knee, turning his pistol away from Earl and Billy Odle and at Hopper Ganston who came charging forward, his pistol blazing. Two shots exploded from Sam’s big Colt, both of them picking Hopper Ganston up and slamming him back even as another shot from Earl’s pistol hit Sam in the hip. The two bags of money flew from Hopper’s hand and spilled open in the snow. Sam scrambled away a few feet as another bullet nipped at his heels. He rolled behind the cover of a snow-topped rain barrel and yelled out, “Let the kid go, Earl!”

  “Ha! You’ve got to be crazy, Ranger!” Another shot thumped into the rain barrel. “He’s my ticket out of here! You kilt my brother, you sonuvabitch, but you ain’t killing me!”

  “You’re not leaving here with him, Earl. You might as well face that fact.” Sam peeped around the barrel enough to see Earl Ganston sidestepping toward Billy Odle’s horse, still using Billy as a shield.

  “Don’t shoot, please!” Billy Odle cried out.

  “I’ll kill him dead as hell, Ranger!” Earl bellowed. “If you don’t believe me, just try following me and see!”

  Earl forced Billy up onto the saddle, climbing quickly up behind him so that the Ranger couldn’t get a clear shot at him. The horse tried to bolt at the feel of Earl Ganston’s spurs digging into its sides, but the deep snow caused the animal to stall for a second. When the horse did manage to get its start, it lunged forward in a halting gait, a cloud of frosty white powder flurrying up around it.

  Before the horse had gone ten yards, Sam hurried out from behind the rain barrel and watched Earl and the boy ride away. The wound in his shoulder throbbed with the beat of his heart. He lowered his Colt, not about to risk hitting Billy. They wouldn’t get far, not riding double in this kind of weather. He turned and ran limping into the alley. Seeing Tinnie lying slumped against the bank building, he hurried to her and tried raising her from the snow. But the wounds in his shoulder and hip wouldn’t allow it. He sank down with her across his lap. “Hold on, Tinnie, you’ll be all right,” he said. He saw the blood on her side.

  “I . . . I know, Sam,” she rasped. “Don’t . . . worry about me. Take care of . . . yourself.”

  “What’s going on in here?” one of the townsmen cried out as the whole street-cleaning crew came running into the alley. They gathered quickly around Sam and Tinnie, some of them bending down for a closer look. Selectman Collins pointed back at the bags of money on the ground and said, “Somebody gather that up and take it inside. Check on Vittitow and his teller.”

  One of the townsmen moved over to the body of Hopper Ganston lying crumpled in the snow. “Damn!” He nudged Hopper’s head to one side with the toe of his boot. “It’s one of them blasted outlaws! Collins, come look at him!”

  “I see him,” said Collins, stepping over and looking down at Ganston’s dead face. “It’s one of them, all right.” He lifted a long searching gaze out across flatlands toward the hills. “It’s like we’ve been set upon by starving wolves. Will we ever get shed of these men? What keeps them coming back?”

  “Money,” said Sam. He struggled to his feet and nodded down at Tinnie, who had her hand clutched to her side. “Get her up and get her to the doctor’s office. Hurry!”

  Three men cradled Tinnie between them and hurried away with her. Sam staggered unsteadily in place. “What about you, Ranger?” Collins said. He stood with a rifle in his hands, having run inside the sheriff’s office and grabbed it at the first sound of gunfire. “We better get you to the doctor’s, too!”

  Sam grabbed Collins by the shoulder to steady himself. “In a minute,” he said. He looked down at the big Spencer rifle, then nodded toward the back of the bank building and said, “Come on, follow me.”

  Chapter 12

  As they headed away from Hubbler Wells, Earl Ganston had been riding behind Billy Odle. But to keep the Ranger from getting a shot at his back, Earl had dragged Billy around behind him before the horse had gone fifty yards. Halfway across the stretch of flatlands, Billy Odle said, “All we got to do is get to the hills. I’ll get us hidden where they’ll never find us.”

  “Huh?” Earl Ganston looked over his shoulder at Billy in surprise. “Hey, kid, I don’t know what’s going on in that empty head of yours, but don’t make the mistake of thinking I won’t kill you if you try something—”

  “I know, I know,” said Billy Odle, cutting him off. “You still don’t believe I’m on your side. But I wasn’t lying, mister. You’ve got to trust me! Willie John is hiding up there in the hills, and he’s needing help bad!”

  “How do you know the posse ain’t there on him right now, boy?” asked Earl, starting to wonder if maybe the kid was his only key to getting out of this mess.

  “It’s a secret hideout,” said Billy Odle. “Only Willie and me know about it. I took him there. I’ll take you there, too. But first I’ve got to get some haga creer for Willie’s wounds.”

  “Some what?”

  “Some haga creer,” Billy said, talking fast as the horse struggled on in the snow. “It’s a Mexican herb . . . Willie said he hated using it, but sometimes it’s the only thing that works.”

  Earl let out a low, dark chuckle. “Hell, boy, you don’t have to tell me about haga creer—I speak the language. How do we get to this hideout you’re talking about?”

  “Huh-uh,” said Billy. “I’ll show you but I won’t tell you.”

  “Wise little peckerwood,” Earl growled, lashing the reins back and forth across the horse’s sides, pushing it hard. “If you think you’re going to be one of us, you best get to telling me how to get there. What if something happens to you? You plan on leaving me at that Ranger’s mercy? Now give me some directions, damn you!”

  “All right, then,” said Billy Odle, “but promise you won’t double-cross me. Willie’s counting on me.”

  Atop the crest of a snow-covered cliff, Colonel Fuller’s men gathered close and watched him wipe the lens of his telescope and expand it out toward the horse and its two riders coming across the stretch of flatlands. They had all heard the gunfire echo up from across the flatland and hurried down the hill trail. They had spent the gray hours of morning scouring
the hills for any sign of the Ganston Gang. The hunt had left them cold and wet and disheartened. Until now.

  Fuller flinched back away from the telescope for a second as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Then he peered back through the lens, saying to Red Booker in an astonished tone, “As I live, Red! It’s Earl Ganston in the flesh!”

  “What are the odds of it?” Red Booker looked stunned, watching the riders with his naked eyes, seeing only the small black figures atop the horse, the horse leaving a wash of white above its tracks in the otherwise smooth and untouched snow. “We drag up here before dawn, search every crack . . . then meet a Ganston riding out of town toward us?”

  “Let’s not question good fortune.” Fuller snapped the telescope down from his eyes and collapsed it between his palms with a clap. “Men, ready your rifles! As soon as Ganston gets within range, let him have it.”

  “What about the man riding behind him?” Red Booker asked.

  “What about him?” Fuller asked in reply, slipping the lens inside his greatcoat and drawing the rifle from his saddle scabbard.

  “Are we just going to kill him, too? Not even knowing if he’s one of the gang or not?” asked Red Booker.

  “He’s guilty of something, whoever he is!” bellowed Fuller. “Why else would he riding with a Ganston? Now ready your rifles, and prepare to fire! At least we’ll get one of the gang before that blasted Ranger gets to him.”

  “Yes, sir!” Red Booker stepped down from his saddle, slipped his rifle from its boot and levered a round up into the chamber. “You heard the colonel, men. Get ready to cut them both in half.”

  Out on the flatland, Billy Odle held on to the back of Earl Ganston’s coat with one hand, his free hand firmly holding his hat down atop his head. Now that Billy had told Earl Ganston how to get to the old cliff ruins, Earl was beginning to see his chances of escape grow better by the minute. But now that he knew the way to the hideout on his own, he wasn’t about to have this kid holding him back. He turned his head, looking back past Billy Odle as the horse trudged along in its hopping, lunging gait. The town had grown tiny in the distance.