The Drifter (16 page)

That really set the man off. He began wailing and moaning so loudly windows began glowing with lamplight all up and down the street.

Jiggs stepped out of the general store, his shotgun covering the two would-be kidnappers who were still standing and in one piece, more or less.

Jerry had showed up, and had talked Conrad into giving him his .45.

“Thank God,” Frank muttered.

Doc Bracken walked up. “What in the world is going on here?"

“Here's the doctor, buddy,” Frank told the man who was making moaning sounds ... sort of like a train whistle with a stopped up valve.

“What's his problem?” Doc asked.

“He thinks his balls have been shot off."

“Good Lord! That's terrible. Did you find them?” Doc asked, after glancing at the man's bloody britches. He began looking all around him on the boardwalk and in the street. “I might be able to sew them back on. I've heard it's been done."

“Do they stay on?” Frank asked.

“Not so far. Infection always sets in, and they rot off."

That really got the mournful sounds cranked up from the would-be kidnapper who thought his cojones were gone forever, and they echoed around the mountain town. A dozen hound dogs joined in from various parts of town, and the noise brought a hundred or more people out of their homes and into the street.

Conrad was shaking so much Jerry had to lead him over to the boardwalk on the opposite side of the street and sit him down.

“Oh, my God,” Conrad said, his voice shrill from nervousness. “Did I actually hit somebody?"

“Way I heard it, you shot a feller's balls off,” Jerry told him.

“Oh, my goodness!"

“That's him over yonder, wailing like a train whistle. I reckon he's a mite upset.” Jerry paused and reflected for a few seconds. “I damn sure would be."

“I think I'm going to be sick,” Conrad said, putting a hand to his mouth.

“Let me back up ‘fore you puke,” Jerry said quickly. “These are brand-new boots."

Frank was trying to get matters settled. He finally told everyone not involved in the shooting to go home, clear the street. After a few minutes the crowd began to disperse.

Jerry told Conrad, “You stay right here, boy, until you get to feelin' better. Then you come over and join Frank and me, OK?"

“Yes, sir,” Conrad said softly. “This has really been a very traumatic experience for me."

“I'm sure it has, son. Whatever that means. You stay put, now.” Jerry walked across the street and handed Conrad's gun to Frank, butt first. “The boy's cannon. That's a hell of a pistol, Frank. Where'd he get it?"

“Bought it today, I think.” Frank smiled. “But he sure played hell with these four rounders, didn't he?"

Jerry grinned. “That he did. How about the feller with no balls? He quieted down in a hurry."

“He's all right. The bullet nicked the fleshy part of his inner thigh just below his privates. Gave him a good scare, that's all."

The four assailants were sitting on the edge of the boardwalk, guarded by several citizens with shotguns, while Doctor Bracken worked on them. All their wounds were very minor ones.

“These the four men who attacked you and Mrs. Browning?” Jerry asked.

“No. These men heard about the attempted kidnapping, and tried a copycat attempt. All they'll be getting out of it is long prison terms."

Jerry took off his hat and wiped his brow with a bandanna. “Stupid of them."

“Very stupid. I'll send some wires in the morning, see if they're wanted anywhere else. But I doubt they are. How's Conrad?"

“Scared, shook up some, and sort of sick to his stomach. But he's not hurt. I told him to stay put over yonder until he got to feeling better."

“Here come Vivian and Jimmy,” Frank said, looking up the street as a carriage came rolling up. A servant was handling the reins, and Jimmy was sitting in the back with Viv.

Frank walked out into the street as the carriage came to a halt. “Conrad's all right, Vivian. He didn't get a scratch. Actually, he was the hero this night. Did you know he had bought a pistol?"

“Conrad?” she asked, her eyes wide. “My God. Conrad bought a pistol?"

“Yes."

“I had no idea. He's never fired a gun in his life."

“Well, he sure busted a few caps this night. He didn't kill anyone, but he sure gave a couple of those ole boys sitting over there on the boardwalk a fright.” Frank couldn't help himself. He started laughing, and Vivian gave him a strange look.

“You find this funny, Frank?"

“Well, Viv,” Frank said, wiping his eyes. “Yes, I do. If you'll pardon the crudeness, one of those attackers thought Conrad shot his ... well, privates off."

Jimmy almost swallowed his chewing tobacco.

Vivian tried to look stern, but just couldn't pull it off. She fought back laughter. “Well,” she finally managed to say, having a terrible time attempting to control her mirth. “
Did
he shoot the man's balls off?"

That did it for Jimmy. He swallowed his chew. “Mrs. Browning!” he gasped.

“No,” Frank said. “But I have to say the man had a few anxious moments."

Jimmy got out of the carriage and was coughing and hacking and spitting.

“What's the matter with you, Jimmy?” Viv asked.

“Swallered my chew,” Jimmy gasped.

“I'll get Conrad for you, ma'am,” Jerry said. “And you can take him home. He's some shaky."

“Thank you, Deputy.” Vivian looked at Frank in the flickering streetlamps. It was past time for them to be snuffed out. “I believe I've had quite enough excitement for one day, Frank."

“I agree, and I'm pretty sure Conrad will say the same."

“Quite. And another thing: I shall make sure he puts away that pistol."

Frank smiled. “That's wise, Vivian. At least until he puts in some long practice hours. Although I have to say it was his shooting that broke up the assault tonight."

“No, Frank. His days as a pistol shooter are over. He starts his second year at Harvard this fall. I'm tempted to send him back right now."

“That also might be wise. Viv, what about this Charles Dutton?"

“Here's Conrad. I'll talk to you about Charles tomorrow, Frank. And we must talk."

“All right. There are some things I want to tell you, Viv. No proof, just pure suspicion."

Frank watched the carriage until it was out of sight and then turned to Jerry. “Is Doc Bracken about through with those boys?"

“I think so. None of them was hurt bad."

“Let's lock them down and hit the sack."

“If I can get back to sleep,” Jerry said with a smile.

“The way you saw logs, Jer, I don't think you'll have all that much trouble."

“Are you tellin' me I snore, Frank?"

“Either that, or there's a railroad runnin' through the office."

“Maybe it's my snorin' that wakes me up sometimes. You reckon?"

“Could be."

“Doc!” The voice carried to the men across the street. “Are you sure I ain't been shot in the precious parts? It's all numb down there."

“On second thought,” Frank said, “if he keeps that up, maybe you won't get much sleep."

“No, damn it, you haven't been shot in your parts. Good God, man. I've told you ten times. Why don't you look for yourself, you ninny?"

“I'm afeared to. Are you real sure, Doc?” the man persisted. “You won't lie to me about that now, would you?"

“If you don't shut up about it,” Doc Bracken said, clearly irritated, “I can fix it so you won't have to worry about your precious parts ever again."

“How would you do that, Doc?"

“I'll cut the damn things off!"

The man started howling again, and that started the dogs in town answering him.

“Oh, Lord!” Jerry said. “It's gonna be a long night."

 

 

 

Eighteen

 

 

Just as dawn was coloring the sides over the mining town, Frank approached the tent where the four men were reported to be living. A man stepped out of a ramshackle building across the rutted trail and waved to Frank.

“Those ole boys pulled out late yesterday, Marshal. Packed up ever'thing and rode out. I'm glad to see them go, personal. Unfriendly bunch, they was."

“Did one of them have a bolt-action rifle?"

“A what?"

“A rifle with a piece of metal sticking out of the top of one side."

“Oh. Come to think of it, yeah, one did. That rifle had a telescope on it, too."

“They left their tent."

“Naw. That tent belongs to whoever claims it. It's been there for a long time. Ain't worth a damn. Leaks."

Frank pulled back the flap and looked inside the tent. The ill-fitting board floor was dirty and littered with bits of trash. The interior smelled foul. Frank backed out, wondering how anyone could live that way.

“Did any of them ever talk to you?” Frank asked the miner.

“Nope. Never said nothin' to nobody ‘ceptin' themselves. They was a surly pack of yahoos. And I don't think they was up to no good, neither. Had a evil look about ‘em. If you know what I mean."

Frank rode back into town and went into the Silver Spoon for breakfast. Jerry had already been in, getting breakfast for the prisoners—biscuits and gravy. Frank did not wish any conversation that morning, and took a table away from the other diners. He was edgy; in the back of his mind was the feeling that major trouble was looming just around the next bend in the road. And Frank had learned years back to pay close attention to his hunches.

He lingered over coffee, watching the town come alive. The smelter kicked into life, along with the steam whistle telling the workmen it was time for another day's labors to begin. Frank watched as two men rode into town. It wasn't the men who caught and held Frank's attention; it was their beautiful and rugged horses, bred for staying power. A few minutes later, two more men rode in, on the same type of horses.

Frank had wandered across the line onto the hoot owl trail several times in his life, and he knew what kind of horseflesh outlaws preferred: the type of horses he'd just seen, with plenty of bottom to them. Outlaws often rode for their very lives, and their horses had to be the best they could buy or steal.

Frank sipped his coffee and watched as two more men rode in on the same type of horses.

The Pine and Vanbergen gangs
, he thought.
Part of them, at least. Coming in a few at a time. Getting ready to make their move ... but what kind of move?

Frank knew how Ned Pine and Vic Vanbergen operated. Neither one would risk coming into a town this size—now that there were more than a thousand people in and around it—and pulling anything. At least, he didn't think they would. But then, time marched on, and people changed. Lawmen around the country were getting better organized, telegraph wires were damn near everywhere, and if a bank was robbed in Springfield, Missouri, people in Dodge City, Kansas, and Louisville, Kentucky, would know about it within seconds.

So was this a breakaway part of the gangs, or some new gang that had just heard about the rumored gold strike and decided to pull a holdup ... of what?

Frank sat straight up in his chair, his coffee forgotten and cooling.

The bank, of course.

“Damn,” he whispered.

Frank pushed back his chair and stood up, reaching for his hat. He paid his tab and headed for the jail. He told Jerry, “Keep the rifles and the shotguns loaded up and within reach. Maybe stick another short gun behind your gunbelt. I think we've got some trouble riding in."

“I saw those men on the fine horses, Frank. The animals were a dead giveaway."

“Six of them so far. Might be more coming in. We'll keep our eyes open."

“I'll check the livery and hotel and the roomin' houses, try to pick up some names. Not that it will do much good."

“For a fact, they'll probably all be false.” He glanced at the wall clock. “I've got to meet Mrs. Browning, Jer. I'll be over at her office if you need me."

“See you later."

Walking over to Viv's office, Frank noticed that the six men had all stabled their horses at the livery.
That means they're not going to pull anything immediately
, he decided.
They'll check on the town first. And maybe won't
, he amended.

Frank glanced at the bank building. He wondered how much cash Jenkins had in his bank. Thousands and thousands of dollars, for sure. It would be a tempting target for any outlaw gang. Jenkins had a bank guard, but the old man was more for show than effect. Frank doubted the man would be very effective against a well-planned bank holdup.

He couldn't go to Jenkins with a warning, for he had no proof. The six newcomers might well be looking to invest in mining property or some other business ... but Frank felt in his guts they were outlaws.

Vivian was not in her office. The office manager said she had sent word she was not feeling well, and was staying home that morning. Conrad was staying home with her. He added that Conrad was still very shaken from the events of the past night.

Frank walked over to the livery and took a look at the horses the six men had ridden in. Fine horseflesh. Big and rangy, and bred for speed and endurance. The saddles were expensive. The men had, of course, taken their rifles and saddlebags with them. There was nothing else Frank could do, so he returned to the jail.

“Judge Pelmutter was called out of town,” Jerry said. “He left on the stage about ten minutes ago ... some sort of family emergency. Said he'd be back next week ... on the Friday stage. Said unless you want to file charges against those two young punks who killed that man, cut them loose."

“I figured that much. How about the four we arrested last night?"

“Said to hold them."

“All right. Turn the two young hellions loose and tell them to hit the trail and don't come back here."

“Will do."

Frank looked out the front window of the jail office. Big Bob Mallory was sitting on a bench under a store awning across the street, staring at the jail.