Killing Texas Bob Page 15

  ‘‘There. He’s under arrest. Everybody freeze,’’ Sam shouted. He cocked his Colt now and swung it back and forth from the deputies to the judge. ‘‘This man is in my custody.’’ Stepping forward quickly, he shoved Texas Bob facedown in the dirt and stood crouched over him, his left hand holding him in place.

  ‘‘You had your chance, Ranger,’’ Frisco said, still tensed, ready to make his move. Beside him Price stood ready to do the same.

  ‘‘Call your dogs off, Judge,’’ Sam said tightly. His Colt stopped in full aim at the judge’s large belly. ‘‘Nobody lives through a fight this close.’’

  The judge needed no time to think it over. He knew the ranger’s reputation and he saw the determination in his eyes. ‘‘All right, Deputies! That’s enough! Lower the shotguns! Don’t shoot, please! We’ve got our man!’’

  From the boardwalk out front of the Bottoms Up Saloon, Trigger Leonard and Mitchell Smith stood watching intently as the ranger dragged Texas Bob to his feet and guided him forward. ‘‘Now that beats all I ever seen,’’ said Trigger Leonard. ‘‘A ranger squaring off with two lawmen and a judge.’’ He shook his head and shrugged, chuckling at the irony of it. ‘‘What the hell has this wicked ole world come to?’’

  ‘‘Beats me,’’ said Smith, sounding disappointed. ‘‘I pulled my boots on the wrong feet to hurry down and see a rootin’-tootin’ shoot-out. All I saw was a man get his head busted by a gun barrel and be dragged off to jail.’’

  ‘‘Wasn’t bloody enough for you, eh?’’ Leonard asked in a lowered tone.

  ‘‘Not enough to pull me away from a warm bed and a bottle of whiskey,’’ said Smith, leaning against a post, pulling his boots off to correct them. ‘‘I’ve seen more bloodshed at my family reunions, especially when my ma and pa was alive.’’

  ‘‘Well, fix your boots and stick around,’’ said Leonard, watching the ranger look back and keep an eye on the judge and the deputies as he escorted Texas Bob onto the boardwalk and through the open door of the sheriff’s office. ‘‘I believe it’s going to get bloodier by the minute around here.’’

  Chapter 16

  At the door to the sheriff’s office, Sam turned, gun in hand, and said to the two deputies who trailed him like wolves, ‘‘If anything happens to my prisoner, it better happen to me first.’’

  The cocked Colt stopped them abruptly at the edge of the boardwalk. Sam’s tone of voice caused the two deputies to spread their hands wide in spite of their shotguns. They looked to Bass for direction. ‘‘Stand down, Deputies,’’ the judge said quietly, not quite sure himself what the ranger might do at any moment. ‘‘He has the right to use any jail in the territory. Give him room. He’ll cool down.’’

  Hearing the judge, Sam halted for a second in the open door and said, ‘‘I am as cool as I’m likely to get until I see justice done.’’

  ‘‘Justice, indeed. Ranger, we are both after the same thing,’’ the judge said smugly, concerned more with what the following onlookers heard them say.

  ‘‘You’re out for revenge, Judge,’’ said Sam, with no regard for what anybody heard him say. ‘‘Before this is over I’ve a feeling you will regret it.’’

  ‘‘Ha.’’ The judge scoffed. ‘‘When this is over I will have no regrets whatsoever. The guilty will have paid for their transgressions.’’ For the crowd’s sake he raised a finger for emphasis. ‘‘Remember my words when that time comes.’’

  Seeing the judge pander to the crowd, Sam nudged Texas Bob forward, the tall broad-shouldered plainsman still staggering a bit from the blow of the gun barrel. When the door closed behind the ranger, Bass said to Price and Frisco, ‘‘All right, stay outside the door for a while. We’ve got the man we wanted in custody. He’s not going anywhere.’’

  ‘‘You got it, Your Honor,’’ Frisco replied. He bounded up onto the boardwalk and took a position on one side of the door, his shiny new badge reflecting the midmorning sun.

  Price stepped up and took the other side. ‘‘We should have shot him down while we had the chance,’’ he whispered to Frisco. ‘‘Neither of these men are the kind you want to leave alive.’’

  ‘‘There you go with the worrying again.’’ Frisco chuckled, nodding toward the judge. ‘‘Look, man, we’ve got the law on our side.’’ He rubbed his shirt cuff back and forth across his badge. ‘‘Hell, what am I saying? We are the law!’’

  At the edge of the boardwalk, Judge Bass turned to face the crowd and said, ‘‘All right, folks. I have taken care of everything. Sibley has lost its good and decent sheriff. But I swear to you, his killer will not go unpunished!’’

  The crowd only stared until finally an old miner stepped forward and said, ‘‘Texas Bob is a good and decent man too, Judge Bass.’’

  ‘‘I will be the judge of that,’’ the judge said with a condescending air. ‘‘This is a legal matter. Unless you are an attorney, I suggest you leave this matter to those of us who know the law.’’

  ‘‘He’ll get a jury trial, won’t he?’’ a woman asked.

  ‘‘Yes, of course he will,’’ said the judge.

  ‘‘What about an attorney?’’ a man’s voice called out. ‘‘There’s no lawyers within miles—none worth a hoot anyways.’’

  ‘‘Territorial law says that if no attorney is available, a man can appoint whomsoever he pleases to represent him,’’ said the judge. ‘‘For all I care he can represent himself.’’ He paused for a second and, although no one made mention of it, said loud enough for all to hear, ‘‘I’ll have none of you going off and deciding to take the law into your own hands. I won’t stand for a lynching here in Sibley!’’

  The townsmen looked at one another, confused. ‘‘Who said anything about a lynching?’’ the old miner asked a man standing next to him.

  The judge pointed quickly at the miner. ‘‘You there, stop it right now! I told you I won’t have it. I admired the sheriff as much as any of you. But there will be no lynching in Sibley, even though we only have two deputies to keep things under control.’’

  Beside the office door, Frisco leaned sideways and whispered to Price, ‘‘It’s a pleasure to watch His Honor at work.’’

  Inside the sheriff’s office, once he had locked Texas Bob safely inside a cell, Sam wet a cloth he’d found hanging above a pan of water in the rear corner, carried it to the cell and handed it to Bob through the bars. ‘‘I’m sorry I had to hit you out there, Bob,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Me too,’’ said Bob, managing a thin tight grin. Pressing the wet rag to the back of his head, he winced, then said, ‘‘But I’ve been hit harder. I figure you was only trying to keep me alive, else I’d still be laying out there counting stars.’’

  ‘‘I’m glad you realize it, Bob,’’ said Sam. ‘‘Three shotguns blasting away in a crowded street like that—by the time it was over it wouldn’t matter who was innocent or guilty. There wouldn’t be enough of us left to bury the dead.’’

  ‘‘I saw the judge and the deputies wanted it to happen,’’ said Bob, ‘‘but the longer they talked the more I began to see what kind of jackpot the judge has me in. Finally all I saw was a hangman’s noose waiting for me.’’ He looked questioningly at the ranger. ‘‘I sure hope you’ve got something in mind.’’

  ‘‘I’m not going to lie to you, Bob,’’ Sam said. ‘‘Right now, with Lady Lucky dead and these two men wanting to frame you, I wish we’d never rode into Sibley.’’

  ‘‘I’m not blaming you for anything, Ranger, no matter how this turns out,’’ Bob said. ‘‘I know you meant to do the right thing.’’ He paused for a second in contemplation, then hung his head slightly and said, ‘‘Lately I’m finding it harder to know what the right thing is. I killed a man fair and square. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, but I had to kill him, to keep him from killing me. That should be the long and short of it.’’

  Sam only stared at him. Beyond the front door, they heard the judge’s voice call out to the gathered townsfolk, who had not
only failed to move along but had actually grown in number.

  Texas Bob nodded toward the street and continued. ‘‘But the man I killed was the brother of a territorial judge, so that changes everything. I didn’t kill one of my own kind in self-defense. It turns out like I’m guilty of killing one of my betters.’’ He turned his knowing eyes back up to the ranger. ‘‘That’s how easily the law can change these days, Ranger. That’s how easy it is to go from being right to wrong.’’

  ‘‘This man is not the law,’’ Sam said. ‘‘He used to be, but he’s gotten too big for it. I don’t know where this thing is headed, but wherever it is, I’m with you. Don’t give up on the law and don’t give up on me.’’ Sam let out a breath and added, ‘‘Most of all, don’t give up on yourself. I hear what he’s saying out there. He’s planting the seeds for a lynching, even though he’s talking against it. But I promise you this—there will be no lynching.’’

  ‘‘What are you saying, Ranger, that you’ll step outside the law to keep me from hanging?’’ Texas Bob gripped the cell door with both hands. The water from the wet rag dripped from his closed hand and ran down the iron bar. ‘‘I don’t expect that from you. I wouldn’t ask it.’’

  The ranger didn’t answer right away. Instead he backed away from the bars, walked to the front window and looked out on the growing crowd. ‘‘Bass is trying to work the crowd into a lather.’’

  ‘‘He wants me dead so bad, he doesn’t care how it comes about,’’ said Texas Bob.

  ‘‘I’m afraid you’re right,’’ said the ranger. ‘‘But you’ll be all right here while I go send off a telegram to the capitol, see if I can bring some attention to what Bass is trying to do.’’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘‘Those deputies won’t let anything happen to you so long as you don’t tell them where the money is hidden.’’

  ‘‘I’m not telling them anything,’’ said Bob. ‘‘I’ll be all right for now. Good luck, Ranger.’’ He clutched the bars on the cell door.

  Outside the front door, both deputies took a step sideways and looked at the ranger. On the edge of the boardwalk, the judge said to the townsfolk, ‘‘I want you all to go on about your business now. I have this matter in hand.’’

  To the deputies, Sam said, ‘‘My prisoner is locked in his cell. I better find him there, safe and sound, when I return from the telegraph office.’’

  Frisco and Price gave one another a look. ‘‘Telegraph office, huh?’’ said Frisco smugly. ‘‘I hope you do better than I did. I tried wiring home, but found the ’Paches had chopped down the lines. Dang them savages.’’ He grinned. ‘‘Nothing is safe anymore.’’

  Price cut in. ‘‘Nobody is going to bother your prisoner, Ranger, so long as he behaves himself.’’ He nodded toward the remaining townsfolk. ‘‘We’ll do our best to keep them from busting in and snatching him off to the nearest hanging pole, if we can.’’ He gave Sam a knowing look.

  Sam returned the look and said, ‘‘I believe it’s in your best interest to keep him alive. Besides, most of these people know Texas Bob Krey. You’ll have a hard time making him look like a thief and a killer to them.’’ He looked Price up and down. ‘‘Meanwhile, I’m going to be doing my best to find out who really robbed the stage and killed the crew.’’ He saw the tense nervousness in Price’s face, and moved in closer to him, adding, ‘‘Once I start on a case I never let up until I know I have the right man on a rope.’’

  Frisco chuckled as the ranger turned and walked away toward the telegraph office. ‘‘Don’t let that fool rattle you, Dep,’’ he said. ‘‘We’re on top of this game.’’

  ‘‘Don’t start calling me Dep again,’’ Price warned him flatly. ‘‘I’m in this to save my life.’’

  ‘‘Ain’t we all,’’ Frisco said, cradling his shotgun and looking back out at the dissipating crowd.

  When the last of the townsfolk had moved away, Bass shooing them with his hands as if they were sheep, the judge turned to Price and Frisco and asked, ‘‘Where was Burrack headed?’’

  ‘‘The telegraph office.’’ Frisco grinned.

  ‘‘Good. I’ll be at the restaurant if you need to reach me.’’ Bass nodded confidently. ‘‘The ranger will soon have to admit that this is one battle he’s not going to win.’’ As he spoke he stepped away along the boardwalk. ‘‘I am the law here, whether he likes it or not.’’ He adjusted his derby as he walked.

  ‘‘Hear, hear. Well said, Your Honor,’’ a voice called out from the dirt street beside him.

  Looking down as he walked, Bass saw the smiling faces of Trigger Leonard and Mitchell Smith beaming at him with bloodshot eyes. ‘‘I hope you don’t mind if we mosey along with you a ways, Judge,’’ Leonard continued, inviting himself to step up onto the boardwalk beside the judge, Smith right behind him.

  ‘‘Who might you be?’’ the judge asked gruffly, seeing the same sort of faces he had looked down upon from his bench for the past seven years.

  ‘‘You can call me Mr. Leonard,’’ said Leonard Heebs, giving Smith a passing grin. ‘‘This is my pard, Mr. Smith.’’ He gestured toward Mitchell Smith.

  ‘‘Smith indeed,’’ said Bass, smelling whiskey on the two and speeding his pace along the boardwalk. ‘‘I venture to say of all the Smiths I’ve ever met in my profession, I’ve never yet met a real one.’’ Looking sideways, he curled his nose at the reek of whiskey.

  ‘‘Oh, he’s a true Smith all right, Judge,’’ said Leonard. ‘‘You can take my word for that.’’

  ‘‘You two are drunk,’’ said Bass. ‘‘Get your stinking selves away from me before I have the deputies haul you off to jail.’’

  ‘‘Drunk we might be, Your Honor,’’ said Leonard, keeping up alongside Bass. ‘‘But we are just two concerned citizens when it comes to how that murdering Bob Krey should be dealt with.’’

  ‘‘Oh?’’ Bass slowed down a step. ‘‘And just how is that?’’

  Leonard’s grin widened, knowing he’d struck a note with the judge. ‘‘He needs to hang. No two ways about it,’’ he said. ‘‘In fact, I don’t see why he even deserves a trial. The poor sheriff he killed wasn’t given any consideration, was he?’’

  Bass looked at him squarely. ‘‘You don’t even know the sheriff’s name, do you?’’

  ‘‘No, not offhand,’’ Leonard replied. ‘‘But he was a servant of the law. That’s good enough for me and Mr. Smith here.’’

  Looking impatient, Bass asked, ‘‘What is it I can do for you two?’’ As he spoke he reached into his trouser pocket and found some loose change.

  Raising his hand as if to stop the judge from offering them a handout, Leonard said, ‘‘It ain’t what you can do for us, Judge. It’s what we can do for you.’’

  Bass slowed only a little, giving him a questioning look.

  Leonard’s voice lowered. ‘‘You see, me and Mr. Smith are in and out of all the saloons and public gathering places. We’re what you might call closer to the common people than an important man like yourself. We can say things and express ourselves in ways that you can’t, you being the law and all.’’

  ‘‘Meaning you can incite the crowd?’’ Bass asked, starting to get an idea of where Leonard was headed with his line of talk.

  ‘‘Right you are,’’ said Leonard. He gestured toward the foot traffic along the boardwalk. ‘‘You have to admit, your talk didn’t exactly get them reaching for a rope, did it?’’

  ‘‘Reaching for a rope? How dare you imply such a thing!’’ Bass said, incensed.

  ‘‘Come on, Judge,’’ said Leonard. ‘‘We’re all three men of the world here—just from different levels of it.’’ He gestured a dirty hand down his whiskey-soiled clothes. ‘‘If I’m wrong we’ll take our leave now. But if I’m right, and you want this town to come busting forward with fire and brimstone in its eyes, then me and Mr. Smith are your huckleberries.’’

  Bass paused for a second, giving himself time to consider Leonard’s words.

  Le
onard turned a nod toward the street and began to veer away. ‘‘Come on, Mr. Smith. Looks like we misjudged the judge.’’

  ‘‘Wait,’’ Bass said quickly, stopping the two and stopping himself on the boardwalk. ‘‘I have to admit I wouldn’t be disappointed if something like you’re suggesting happened to Bob Krey. The man killed my brother.’’

  ‘‘So we’ve heard, Your Honor,’’ said Leonard. ‘‘That’s why we offer ourselves to your cause.’’

  Bass looked him up and down, seeing that this was probably the sort of lowlife who could stir a drinking crowd into a frenzy, given a little time and enough whiskey. ‘‘What is it you want from me in return if something like that should happen?’’

  ‘‘Now here’s where I have to go out on a limb and trust you, Judge,’’ said Leonard, guiding the judge from the middle of the boardwalk as he looked back and forth. ‘‘We all three know that if we instigate a lynching, that ranger is going to come at me and Smith with both horns down. All I ask is that when that happens, I can face him knowing that the law is going to be sympathetic to me having to blow his damned head off.’’

  Bass just looked at him for a moment, trying to picture him shooting the ranger, knowing how many fast guns had stood and fallen before Sam Burrack’s big Colt. ‘‘Sure,’’ he said, ‘‘if that’s all you want. I promise you the same as I promise any man who stands before my bench. Whosoever has acted only in a manner of self-def—’’

  ‘‘Save it, Your Honor,’’ said Leonard. ‘‘All I need to know is where we stand. Now me and Mr. Smith are going to get to work.’’ He wiped his hands on his trousers. ‘‘I can tell you from experience, though, the more money I can wave in a bartender’s face, the quicker I can get a crowd liquored up. It’s been proven time and again.’’ He grinned expectantly.

  ‘‘I thought as much,’’ Bass grumbled, reaching down into his trousers again, this time avoiding the loose change and finding a thick roll of bills. ‘‘I better see some results,’’ he warned, keeping the money out of sight as he passed it into Trigger Leonard’s dirty hand.