Webb's Posse (14 page)

Webb looked back and forth across the faces of the men. Ned Trent nodded in agreement with Collingsworth. “Louis is right, Deputy. Come on home with us.” He looked past Webb at Sherman Dahl and added, “You too, schoolmaster. We'll find a way to rebuild that schoolhouse.”

Sherman Dahl saw the indecision in Abner Webb's face. He stood up from the fire with his rifle cradled in his arm and looked down at Will Summers. “If Deputy Webb goes back to town, are you still going after the Peltrys?” Dahl asked in a mild manner.

“Oh yes,” said Summers. “I'm in it for the money. That hasn't changed.”

“And you?” Dahl asked Bobby Dewitt. “Are you still going with him?”

“I am,” said Bobby, stepping away from the townsmen and closer to where Will Summers sat on the ground. Summers leaned back against his saddle. He watched and listened.

From the other side of the campfire, Edmund Daniels stood up quietly and walked around closer to Will Summers. He sat down and laid his rifle across his knees. “Count me in,” said Daniels. “I want a piece of the Peltrys' hide.”

“And me also,” said Sherman Dahl. “I can't abide the thought of those common thugs denying the children of Rileyville their education.” He stepped over beside Bobby Dewitt.

Seeing Daniels, the schoolteacher and the young cowboy make their stand, Abner Webb put any thought of turning back out of his mind and said to the townsmen, “There you have it, men. The four of us are sticking on the trail with Summers. We'll be back when we've bagged the Peltrys, not before.”

“I think you're making a bad mistake, Deputy,” said Collingsworth, “but if that's your decision, we'll
respect it. I'll tell the sheriff you're still on the job.” He and the others turned to mount their horses.

“Hellfire,” said Wild Joe Duvall, pulling his horse forward instead of stepping up into the saddle. “I can't go back to Rileyville just yet. I promised my boy I'd bring him the Peltrys' trigger fingers. He'd never let me live it down.”

Collingsworth started to say something to Wild Joe, but before he could, Joe went on. “Louis, will you be sure to tell little Eddie I'm out here about to mix it up with these bad
hombres
? But tell him not to worry though. Tell him there ain't none of that bunch too tough for his ole pa to handle. Will you tell him that for me?”

“I'll tell him first thing, Wild Joe.” Collingsworth nodded. He turned his horse with the rest of the townsmen, and in moments they had faded into the gray morning mist.

For the next few silent minutes, the six men sat close to the low campfire, their hands wrapped around hot cups of coffee. “Looks like they'll have something to talk about the rest of their lives,” said Webb. “How they once went out in a posse looking for a gang of outlaws.”

“Yep,” said Bobby Dewitt, “and you can bet the story will get better and better in the telling of it.” The men nodded as one.

Another silence passed. Then Will Summers said, “Well, Deputy, what do you think the sheriff is going to say now? Think he'll throw a fit over you staying out here?”

“I couldn't give a damn less,” said Abner Webb. He looked from one pair of eyes to the next, his resolved stare making its way around the glowing fire. “From here on, I answer only to myself.” He
absently raised a hand, loosened his deputy's badge from his shirt and dropped it into his vest pocket.

Will Summers stood up and tamped out the last remnants of the campfire, then poured the coffee grounds onto the ashes. “Time to saddle up and get on the trail,” he said. The rest of the men stood up and walked to their waiting horses. In moments they had mounted and left the campsite behind them on their way up toward the high trail.

Abner Webb and Will Summers rode abreast a few yards ahead of Sherman Dahl. Behind Dahl rode Bobby Dewitt and Wild Joe Duvall, followed by Edmund Daniels. Daniels wore a sour expression on his swollen face. Coming onto a stretch of flat trail, Summers and Webb both reined their horses up quickly at the sight of Cherokee Rhodes sitting on a large rock with the reins to a horse in his hands.

As Summers' and Webb's pistols came up from their holsters, the half-breed raised his hands and said calmly, “Don't shoot. I'm not here to cause you any trouble.”

Behind Summers and Webb the other men rode forward, their rifles coming up from across their laps. Summers heeled his horse ahead of Webb's and turned it sideways to Cherokee Rhodes, keeping his pistol pointed down at Rhodes' face. “You never travel alone, Rhodes! Tell your pals to come out with their hands high.”

“I'm alone this time, Summers,” said Cherokee Rhodes, watching Webb and the rest of the posse spread out along the trail, facing him with their weapons cocked and ready. “You boys took care of most of my pals last night.”

“We left them lying back there in the rocks,” said
Summers. “If they're your friends, you best go bury them before the critters get into their bellies.”

Rhodes shrugged, keeping his hands up. “Critters can have them, far as I'm concerned. Serves them right for not listening to me. I told them to leave you boys alone. Told them Will Summers ain't nobody to be trying to rob in the night. But you know how that goes: Nobody listens till it's too late. Can I lower my hands now?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” said Summers. “While you're at it, raise that pistol from your holster real easylike and pitch it aside.”

Cherokee Rhodes looked at the ground. “I hate getting it all dirty.”

“I'd do it anyway if I was you,” said Summers.

Rhodes nodded, stone-faced, then raised his pistol with two fingers and pitched it halfheartedly aside. Summers stepped down from his saddle, picked up the pistol and stepped forward. He spoke as he reached his free hand out, opening Cherokee Rhodes' vest one lapel at a time and looking for any hidden pistol. “So, you're telling me you wasn't a part of all the commotion last night?”

“Think I'd be sitting here waiting for you if I was?” asked Rhodes.

Will Summers didn't answer. Instead, he offered a tight smile, stepped back, shoved Cherokee Rhodes' pistol down behind his belt and said, “Why
are
you sitting here waiting for us?”

“Dick Vertrees told me you're looking for Moses and Goose Peltry,” said Rhodes. “As soon as I heard it, I knew you and me would be riding the same trail.”

“You're looking for the Peltrys too?” Summers asked.

“Yep,” said Cherokee Rhodes. “I've been wanting
to run into them ever since last year, when me and some of the boys delivered a wagonload of ammunition to them over in Mexico. You might say there's bad blood twixt Goose and me.”

“You don't say.” Summers looked him up and down, uncocking his pistol and lowering it. “Are you sure you're not just saying that because Dick Vertrees mentioned that I'm hunting them for money?”

“To be honest, that did have a lot to do with it.” Cherokee Rhodes looked embarrassed. “But what's the difference why I'm looking for the Peltrys? The fact is, I know their stamping grounds across the border, and I'm betting you don't.” He looked pleased with himself. “I always wanted to be a guide; I suppose it runs in my Indian blood.”

“If I agreed to let you ride along with us, what kind of money are we talking about?” asked Summers without revealing whether or not he knew his way to the Peltrys' hideout in Mexico.

“Hold on, Summers!” said Abner Webb. “You're not really thinking about letting this cutthroat gunrunner ride with us? I won't stand for it.”

“It never hurts to hear a man out, Deputy,” Summers replied. “If he can save us some long days in the saddle by leading us to the Peltrys, I say it's worth giving some thought.” He turned his attention back to Cherokee Rhodes. “Okay, Rhodes, what kind of cut are you looking for?”

“Let me do some figuring….” Seeing Summers' interest, Cherokee Rhodes cocked his head to the side as if considering it for a moment. “I see where it could be worth as much as a third of the bounties to you, seeing as how it's going to save you all those long, hard days in the saddle you just mentioned.” His smile widened. “How does that sound to you?”

“A third? You've got to be joshing me.” Summers
shook his head, chuckling under his breath as he raised his pistol and cocked it toward Cherokee Rhodes. “It's better to kill you right here and take our chances finding the Peltrys on our own.” He drew a bead down his pistol barrel. “So long, Cherokee.” The half-breed watched Summers' knuckles grow white as he braced the pistol for the coming shot.

“Wait, Summers! Damn it, man!” said Cherokee Rhodes. “That was just a starting figure I tossed out!” His face had turned pasty white. “Everything can be adjusted up or down either one—we both know that!”

“Then tell me your price,” Summers said, keeping his pistol pointed but letting his grip ease up. “This time tell me like you really mean it.”

Cherokee Rhodes swallowed hard. “All right, Summers. How about ten percent? That sounds fair, don't it?”

“Ten percent of what we collect,” said Summers. “If we get nothing, you get nothing. If you get us into a bad spot and try to cut out on us, I'll put a bullet in your back and leave you lying in the dirt. Sound fair enough to you?”

“I wouldn't have it any other way, Summers,” Cherokee Rhodes said quickly.

Will Summers turned to Abner Webb and the men. “What do you say, Deputy? I put up five percent of my money, and the town puts up the other five. If he ain't lying, it could save us a lot of time and trouble.”

Abner Webb let out a breath of exasperation. “I must be losing my mind.” He looked Rhodes up and down, then looked back at Summers. “Do you really think we can trust this man to lead us to the Peltrys?”

“If he wants to make any money, he better lead us to them,” said Summers.

“That's not what I mean,” said Webb. “I'm worried about him trying something while we ain't looking. For all we know, he could be working for the Peltrys. He could be leading us smack into a trap!”

“Then say the word, Deputy,” said Will Summers, his pistol coming up, leveled again at Cherokee Rhodes. “We both know I don't mind putting a bullet in him.”

“No,” said Webb. “You don't have to kill him. Unload his gun and throw it over in the rocks. We'll be long gone by the time he finds it. He won't cause us any trouble.”

“If you believe that, what you said is right, Deputy,” Summers replied. “You really are losing your mind.” He looked Cherokee Rhodes up and down, then said to Abner Webb. “Either he goes with us, or we've got to do something with him. I'm not leaving him on the trail behind me.”

Having sat quietly until now, Sherman Dahl said in a lowered voice to Abner Webb, “He's right, Deputy. Either we've got to kill him or take him in. He knew this when he stopped here and waited for us, didn't you, outlaw?” His eyes fixed on Cherokee Rhodes as he spoke.

Dahl's cold stare made Cherokee Rhodes shift uncomfortably back and forth. “All I can tell you is that I know where the Peltrys lay up across the border. If there's some money to be made, I want to make it. Can you fault a man for that?” He looked from Dahl to Webb, then to Will Summers, a look of desperation coming to his dark eyes.

“All right then, damn it!” said Abner Webb, jerking his horse's reins and putting the animal back onto
the trail. “But one false move, Rhodes, and it'll be your last.”

Cherokee Rhodes turned to Will Summers as Webb and the others fell into loose single file, casting a glance at him as they passed by. “I'll need my gun, Summers,” said Rhodes when he and Summers were the only two left alongside the trail.

“Don't push your luck, Cherokee,” Summers said, stepping up into his saddle. He gestured toward Rhodes' horse. “You said you always wanted to be a guide…. Get on out in front of us and start guiding. But make damn sure you keep in sight. Every time I look up, all I want to see is your back.”

The half-breed nodded. He stepped up into his saddle and heeled his horse forward, feeling the eyes of the men upon him as he rode past them and ten yards ahead. When Will Summers rode forward and cut his horse in beside Abner Webb, the deputy said, “I sure hope to hell you know what you're doing.”

“So do I, Deputy,” Summers replied.

The four soldiers had pushed hard throughout the night, only slowing for a while atop a high ridge where they listened to the sound of distant gunfire. As the posse battled Dick Vertrees' gunrunners five miles behind them, Sergeant Teasdale and his small, haggard band sipped tepid water from a canteen and offered opinions about the unseen combat. “I'm thinking it's some of the Peltrys' men,” said Hargrove, sloshing the water around in the nearly empty canteen. “They must've split up along here for some reason. Part of them went back along the high trail.”