Son Of a Wanted Man (1984) (17 page)

"Damn it!" he said bitterly. "I had me a bed in a fine hotel and was fixin' for a late breakfast of whatever was available. Now I got to light out." "Was I you, with Borden Chantry for a friend, I wouldn't waste around." Kim finished his beer and left a coin on the bar.

"Thanks, Doe. I'll not forget this." "You just tell Bord that I didn't forget.

Monson an' Clatt have never been anything but trouble. Bord Chantry's a good man." Kim Baca went outside, heading for the railroad. At the
dispatcher's
office he sent his telegram.

Not five. Seven or eight. Monson and Clan, today or tomorrow. Coaxing a-running. KB "When's the next train goin' east?" The despatches looked up from under his green eyeshade. "Tomorrow mornin', eight o'clock." "I need one tonight." Baca flashed his badge.

"I need anything that will roll, a place for myself and a horse. Will it help if I call Dave Cook?" "What's goin' on?" Briefly, Baca explained. The despatches replied, "Monson an' Clatt, is it? I'll get the trainmaster. We'll see." He started for the door and over his shoulder he said, "They've robbed trains. Four, maybe five years back Clatt killed one of our boys." An hour later, with his horse in a stockcar and himself in a caboose, Kim Baca was racing east.

With luck he would make it. There was only the locomotive, the stockcar, and the caboose, but they had a clear track.

There was coffee on the stove. Bata found a cup and helped himself. Somewhere out there Monson and Clatt with several friends were riding for Chantry's town.

He had warned Bord there would be seven or eight but that was guessing. With Ben Curry it was nearly always five men to a job, but Ben was no longer the big man, and Clatt had always run with a gang.

He would take all he could get together and they would plan to hit fast and hard. Monson and Clatt would be shooting to kill.

If Bord got his telegram he would do some planning and round up a couple of good men. The bank was opposite the store, and the building next to the store was the express office. A man placed there could cover the door of the bank and the side door as well.

If Bord was at the jail, where his office was, he could cover the bank door as well as the other side of the bank. With a man at the big barn, which was behind the bank and a little further along, they could cover the front, both sides, and the rear. He finished his coffee and stretched out on a bunk. He was thinking of how the men should be placed and the probable action when he fell asleep. He was awakened by a slowing of the train. He sat up abruptly. Taking out his watch, he glanced at it. They were scarcely an hour out of Denver. The brakeman, watching the track, spoke to him. "Bata? Fire up ahead, right alongside the track, one man and a horse.

He's tryin to flag us down." Bata slung on his gunbelt and picked up his rifle. "One man? Are you sure?" "Mister, you couldn't hide a sick goat out yonder. It's all wide-open country. This gent looks like he wants a train. There's a dirt ramp there, for loadin' stock, an' he's atop it." "All right, slowdown." His At the brakeman's signal the locomotive slowed down still more. Bata rested his Winchester on the windowsill and waited. He could see the man plainly now, but not his face. But that horse-to Slowly the train braked to a stop.

"All right, out there! You're covered by a .44 Winchester. So speak your piece!" "I need a ride for my horse and myself, I am-was The voice broke off. "Bata? Is that you?

Sackett, here. There's going to be a holdup." "That's why I'm headed home. Load up and let's get on with it." "I was headed your way when I stopped off at the Wiggins place for supper.

They've got a telegraph operator at the station there where they load stock. I didn't know of any train, so when the message came through I headed off to join Chantry." He went to the stove for coffee, hotter and blacker now. Baca filled a cup also and laid out his plan. "I think Bord will have it set up just that way." "Monson an" Clatt? Tough boys," Sackett said. Baca sipped his coffee. "With this here telegraph an' the trains it's gettin' so a poor robber doesn't have much chance." "It's changing things," Sackett agreed.

"Look at us. A couple of years back we wouldn't have a chance of gettin' there in time." "And we may not now." The train rumbled along, and the two men alternately slept, drank coffee, and talked, watched the wild countryside slip past them.

Wagon trains had crossed this country, and cattle drives. Before that there were Indians, various branches of the Plains Apache, most of them wiped out by the Comanches.

Baca spoke of it, and Sackett nodded. "More Indians were killed by other Indians than by white men," he said. "I've talked to a few who were the last of their kind. his He peered from the window of the caboose.

Antelope went skipping away over the plain, then paused to look back and ran on again. A half dozen buffalo lay on a low hill, watching the train.

"We've got to hope he got that telegram you sent," Tyrel said. "But even so he's a careful man. Nobody's goin' to catch him off guard." "He knows they've set this place up," Baca agreed. The brakeman came back over the cars and dropped into the caboose. "Goin' to have to stop for water," he said. "You boys better stand by.

Somebody might be wishful of takin' a ride." The long plains twilight faded as they waited alongside the water tank. The plains stretched out for miles with here and there a gully, and far off alight from a distant window. Somebody else was in the world, anyway.

The brakeman released the water pipe and swung it back into place, tying the rope. Baca and Sackett swung aboard.

"When I first came west," Tyrel Sackett said, "I tied up with a cattle drive, Orrin an' me. Went through to Abilene with it. Then we came on into this country right south of here, rounded up wild cattle, and sold "em. his "You were in that land-grant fight, weren't you"..."* "Uh-huh. Orrin an" me were. Orrin was sheriff there for a while, too. Then he studied more law and went into politics." "Best get some sleep. Be daylight before we know it. was "The shack said, I mean the brakeman, that we'd get to town just after daylight." "Ben Curry always timed his robberies about openin' time at the bank," Baca said. "Fewer folks on the street, and in the bank they're gettin' money out for the day's business." They dozed, slept, and awakened with gray light in the distance. Tyrel Sackett checked his guns.

Baca walked to the window of the caboose and peered out. For a moment he just looked, and then he said, "Sackett?" Tyrel turned, struck by an odd sound in his voice. "What is it?" "
Look!
" Tyrel bent to look out.

They were there, three abreast, the others strung out behind. Baca counted aloud. was . . . seven, eight . . . nine. Nine of them. I hope Chantry has some help." Nine men riding to a town where Borden Chantry *As described in The
Daybreakers
by Louis L'Amour.

waited. "Well," Sackett said quietly, "one thing we know. was "What's that?" "We're gettin' there on time." Borden Chantry finished his coffee and stood up, reaching for his hat. "I'd best get over to the office." He turned and looked at his wife. "You goin' to be around, Bess?" His eyes met hers. She was as lovely as ever, and never a day passed that he did not thank the good Lord for letting him find her before he made a fool of himself with somebody else.

"Where would I go?" "Oh, I thought maybe over to Mary's or something." "I'll be here. She adjusted his coat collar.

"Be careful, Borden. You never walk out of that door but that I worry. was "I'll be all right." A train whistled, and he turned sharply.

"That's
funny!
We don't have any train cumin" in this morning." He glanced out, and he could see it coming, just a locomotive, a stockcar, and a caboose. Now what the hell?

He stepped outside and looked toward the station.

The station agent had stepped out on the platform and was shading his eyes along the track. Borden Chantry slipped the thong from the hammer of his gun. He glanced toward the street, but the cafe cut off his view of most of it.

Two men were standing in front of the other cafe, which was across the street, facing toward his house and the railroad. Mary Ann's house was behind it, some distance back, but nobody was stirring there, although a thin trail of smoke rose from the chimney.

The small train was pulling in alongside the unloading ramp, and two men swung down from the caboose before the train was fully stopped. They ran up the ramp and began opening the stockcar door. One of them was Kim Baca, and the other?

Tyrel Sackett!

Chantry stepped back into the house and took his Winchester from the rack. Bess stared at him, her face gone white.

"Borden? What is it?" "Trouble," he said, "Kim's back and Sackett with him. They're in a hurry." He checked the rifle, jacked a cartridge into the chamber, and said, "If they stop here, I'm at the office." "Shouldn't you wait for them?" "If there's trouble I'd better alert the town.

I think it is coming, and fast, or they wouldn't be in such a hurry. his He stepped down off the porch and strode quickly toward the opening between the cafe building and the post office. As he stepped up on the boardwalk he saw Prissy sweeping the walk in front of the post office. "Priss," he said quickly, "get off the street. I think we have trouble coming." "Borden Chantry, if you think I am afraid-I" "Priss, there's goin' to be some shootin'. I think we've got a robbery coming. You get off the street, or if you want to help, run up the street and tell George an' Hyatt. his "Not me, marshal! I've my own rifle to get.

You tell them I" Somebody tugged at his sleeve and Chantry turned. It was Billy McCoy, a friend of Tom's. "Can I? Let me!" "All right. Run up the street and tell them all to stand by. I think there's going to be an attempted holdup." He turned and spoke loudly. "Everybody) Off the street!" Big Injun, his jailer and occasional deputy, had come to the jail door, a shotgun in his hands.

"Stand by," Borden said.

He was going to look the fool if nothing happened.

After all, Sackett and Baca might be just hurrying for breakfast. But why the special train?

He glanced along the street. Three saddle horses standing in front of the cafe, one down the street in front of the Mexican cafe. A buckboard at the grocery store. No time to move it now, so the horses would just have to take their chances.

Kim Baca walked out on the street, hesitated, and then came over. "They're comin', Bord. We passed "em just outside of town.

There's nine of them, led by Monson an" Clatt." "How far?" "How far away? They should be ridin' into town any minute unless our train scared "em, but I doubt it." Two miles out of town Monson drew up to let the others gather around him. "You boys know the drill. Clatt, me, an" Porky will ride up the street to the bank. Klondike, you come in from behind the Corral Saloon and hold our horses. The rest of you boys cover the street. was "What if there's trouble?" "You got a gun. The old man ain't in charge now," Monson said. "Me an' Clatt are.

We'll show this bunch what we're made of." "All right," Clatt said impatiently.

"Let's
go!
" Klondike hesitated.

"Monny, what about that train? I didn't like the looks of it." "Forget
it!
just shiftin' a stockcar in to pick up some cattle. Let's
go!
" Borden Chantry was in his office door with the jail behind him. Big Injun was at the window.

Hyatt Johnson, up at the bank, had been a major in the Confederate cavalry, and George Blazer at the express office had been a sharpshooter with Sherman and was a veteran of a number of Indian battles. He glanced down the street.

Here they were, three men riding abreast, coming right up the street. A trail of dust where one man had cut over behind the saloon.

"Big Injun?" He spoke over his shoulder.

"There's one cumin' up behind the Corral. You take him." Borden Chantry stepped out of the door and went to the edge of the boardwalk.

Down the street Tyrel Sackett, his badge in plain sight, stepped out from the shadow of the McCoy house as the last two riders rode into town.
The others were a good fifty yards ahead of them and intent on the street and the town.

"Boys? I'm Tyrel Sackett, and I'd like to talk to you. Get down off those horses and come over here. And boys? Keep your hands in sight." Tyrel Sackett? The Mora gunfighter?

Denny Dinsmore felt himself go a little sick in the stomach. What the hell was this? Sackett here?

He hesitated. Sweat broke out on his brow.

Clyde Bussy was beside him, and Clyde was a good, tough boy, but--"What "What is this?" he protested. Sackett's tone was sharp. "Get off those horses and get over here. Novel" "You want us to drop our gunbelts?" Denny asked.

Sackett seemed to smile, but it was not a smile Denny liked. Why did he ever want to be an outlaw, anyway?

"Oh, not Keep your guns on! I'd never like it said that I shot an unarmed marl" Clyde wasn't offering any argument. Slowly and carefully, the two men dismounted.

When the three advance riders drew almost abreast of Chantry, he lifted his left hand. "Just a minute, boys! I'm Borden Chantry, the sheriff. I'd like a word with you." Something clicked in Monson's brain.

Chantry? It was his place where the horses were. What had happened? An old man named Riggin was supposed to be marshal here.