Charles West - Lawless Prairie

His next stop was Maggie Pitts’ rooming house where he found the proprietor setting the table for supper. She turned around and gasped slightly when she was startled by the sudden appearance of the gaunt lawman standing right behind her. “My stars!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He pulled his coat aside to show the badge on his vest. “I’m interested in two of your boarders,” he said, “name of Ballenger and Yancey.”

“Well, I don’t have but two guests right now, but their names are Mr. Johnson and Mr. Smith.”

“Are they here now?”

“Why, no. I think Corrina said they went to the saloon a little while ago.” She displayed an impatient frown. “That’s where they spend all their time when they’re not here.”

Thompson nodded. “I need to see their rooms.”

She shrugged indifferently and led the way up the stairs. “Those two at the end of the hall,” she said, pointing.

“You stay out here in the hall,” he said as he went past her and entered the first room. It didn’t take much of a search to find the money, stuffed in the saddlebags. A clumsy attempt to hide it had been made by cramming some pieces of clothing on top of it. He found much the same in the other room, leaving little doubt that these two were the men who held up the bank. Back out in the hall, he told Maggie to leave the doors closed and not to enter the rooms until he returned. He considered taking the stolen money with him then, but decided it would be safe enough right where it was for a short time. Besides, he had taken a good look, and felt he would be able to tell whether any was missing when he came back for it. The first order of business was to get Ballenger and Yancey in irons. Maggie promised the rooms would not be disturbed.

The two bank robbers were sitting at the back table when Thompson walked in. He glanced at Jake behind the bar when the bartender asked him if he wanted a drink. “Maybe later,” Thompson replied casually, and walked back to the table.

They had been sitting there playing two-hand poker while they worked on a bottle of Jake’s best, hoping the owner of the sawmill would show up for some cards. Clell, his back to the wall, studied the man walking toward them. “Well, now, maybe we got us somebody to get up a little game of cards,” he said to Yancey. To Thompson, he said, “You lookin’ for a little action?”

“You could say that,” Thompson replied, eyeing Ballenger coldly. “Whaddaya say we start with you two puttin’ your hands in the air and standin’ up?” he ordered, pulling his Colt .45.

Momentarily stunned, both men sat bolt upright. It was only for a moment, however, before Ballenger recovered from the surprise. “Now, what’s the trouble, friend?” he said. “Is this a holdup, right here in front of a witness?” He nodded toward Jake, who was equally astonished.

“Nope,” Thompson replied. “This is an arrest for robbin’ the bank in Helena.” He cut his eyes only briefly toward Yancey, who was starting to shift in his chair. “You’d best get your hands up on the table where I can see them,” he warned. “You, too,” he told Ballenger. “I’m not gonna tell you again, so if you don’t wanna get shot right where you sit, get ’em up there.”

“Now, take it easy, there, Sheriff,” Ballenger said. “Ain’t no sense in anybody gettin’ shot. Me and Yancey ain’t gonna cause no trouble.” He placed his left hand on the table, but before following with his right, he grasped the .44 he habitually rested between his legs anytime he played cards. Thompson had no time to react. Automatically recoiling when the pistol exploded under the table, the bullet striking him in the groin, he was in no position to fire before Ballenger and Yancey turned the table over on him, both men pumping bullets into the doomed lawman as he went down on the floor, his life draining from his body.

“Not today, Sheriff,” Yancey hooted excitedly.

Ballenger swung around to level his pistol at the wide-eyed bartender. “Don’t get no ideas about pullin’ that shotgun from under the bar, unless you’re lookin’ to be a dead hero.”

“No, sir!” Jake responded, and immediately slapped both hands palms down on the bar.

Ballenger turned his attention back to the dying lawman on the floor. He reached down and ripped the badge from Thompson’s vest. “Huh,” he grunted. “He ain’t a sheriff, he’s a marshal.” He gave Yancey a disgusted glance. “It might be a smart thing for us to move on.”

“Yeah,” Yancey replied, “and I was hopin’ to stay around here a little longer.”

Leaving the marshal’s body for Jake to dispose of, they sauntered out of the saloon. Seeing Thompson’s horse tied at the hitching rail, Ballenger said, “I don’t reckon the marshal has any use for his horse now. We might as well take it with us.”

Back at the rooming house, Maggie Pitts was on her knees, rifling through Ballenger’s saddlebags. “Gawdamighty!” she squealed. “There must be a million dollars in here!” She hadn’t waited long after the marshal left. As soon as Corrina called from the front window that Thompson was out of sight, she had rushed into Ballenger’s room to verify what she had suspected. “Look in the other room,” she directed her maid. “See if there’s anything in the other one’s saddlebags.” In a few minutes when she heard Corrina’s gasp of surprise, she stuck her head out in the hall and yelled, “That marshal has gone to arrest those two. He ain’t gonna know exactly how much was in these bags. He didn’t take enough time to count it. Take two or three of those little bundles and stuff the clothes back over the rest.”

Both women were so busy with the confiscation of this unexpected treasure that they were not aware they had company until the sound of footsteps in the upper hallway caused both to freeze. Caught red-handed with several packets of bills on the floor at her knees, Maggie could only stare fearfully up at the glowering Clell Ballenger in the doorway. She could find no words to defend herself until Yancey came in behind Ballenger, dragging Corrina by the arm. Clell scowled at the half-breed and grunted, “Huh,” before walking over to stand directly over Maggie.

“We were just cleaning up your rooms,” Maggie whimpered. “We were gonna put everything back.”

“I’ll bet you was,” Ballenger snarled, delivering a sharp backhand that knocked her over on her side. He went immediately after her. “Thinkin’ you was gonna steal from me, was you? And I’d never know the difference. Right?” He administered a steady rain of blows as he scolded until her screams of pain turned to pitiful whimpers and she fell limp. Unable to satisfy his anger, he grabbed her blouse with one hand and held her up while he pummeled her with his closed fist.

Again and again he struck until Yancey finally said, “Hell, Clell, she’s dead. You done beat her to death.”

Half-crazed in his fury, Ballenger turned to look at his partner as if just realizing he was not alone. The rage that had erupted inside him slowly began to ebb like an angry ocean’s tide, and he dropped the lifeless body to the floor. “All right,” he said, calm again. “I expect we’d best pack up and get the hell outta here.” He looked then at Corrina, held firmly in Yancey’s grasp. “I ain’t leavin’ no witnesses,” he said.

“I know it,” Yancey said, “but I ain’t through with her yet. I’m takin’ her with us.”

“The hell you are.”

“The hell I ain’t,” Yancey retorted.

He and Ballenger glared defiantly at each other for a few moments before the big man backed off. In the moment of calm, it occurred to him that he might have use for the woman himself. “All right,” he said. “But you’re gonna keep an eye on her. The first time she causes trouble, I’ll slit her damn throat.” He glared directly at Corrina then. “You understand? The first time.”