Ralph Compton - West of the Law

‘‘The people were right, Smith. I am pretty good.’’

‘‘Fancy work, but it could get you killed if a man was shooting at you.’’

To McBride’s surprise, Prescott laughed. ‘‘You never said a truer word. When I aim to kill a man, I leave the fancy work back at the barn.’’

‘‘And do you aim to kill me? If you do, draw that revolver again and we’ll see what happens.’’

McBride was poised, ready to make a dive for the Smith & Wesson. The rifle he’d taken from Rusty Prescott was standing in a corner, but he’d never make it.

Reading the other man’s eyes, Prescott smiled. ‘‘Relax, Smith, I’m not going to kill you. You did what you had to do and I have no quarrel with that. I’m here because I want the name of the man who paid my brother the blood money. The way I figure it, that man killed Rusty, not you.’’

McBride stepped to the bed, picked up his gun and slid it into the holster. Prescott watched, but made no attempt to stop him.

‘‘The man’s name is Gamble Trask.’’

‘‘The owner of the Golden Garter?’’

‘‘Yes, the very same.’’

Confusion showed in Prescott’s eyes. ‘‘Why would Trask want to kill you?’’

‘‘Because Theo Leggett talked to me. Gamble Trask is a small man, but he wants to grow a lot bigger. He has political ambitions, the honorable senator from the great state of Colorado being one of them. Theo wanted to expose Trask’s dealings in drugs and Chinese slave girls, and that’s why Trask couldn’t let him live. Carrying baggage like that, his political career would go nowhere. Now I know what Theo knew, and he sure can’t leave me around either.’’

Prescott chewed on the end of his mustache as he thought through what McBride had just told him. Finally he said, ‘‘What Trask does with drugs and Celestials is none of my concern. What does concern me is that he got my brother killed.’’ Prescott touched his hat. ‘‘Thanks for the information, Smith. Now I’ve got it to do.’’

The man turned to leave, but McBride stopped him. ‘‘Prescott, you’ll be bucking a stacked deck. A man named Hack Burns is always with Trask, and he’s no bargain.’’

‘‘You mean a man with a purple taint on his face?’’ Prescott’s hand moved to his left cheek. ‘‘Here.’’

‘‘Yes. Do you know him?’’

‘‘Our trails have crossed a time or two. We stepped around each other.’’ The man was silent for a few moments, thinking. He said, ‘‘I can take Hack Burns.’’

‘‘Could be. But Stryker Allison will back him, and his brothers.’’

Prescott was surprised. ‘‘The Allison brothers are here in High Hopes?’’

‘‘Stryker is. I don’t know if the other three have joined him yet.’’

Luke Prescott looked like a man who’d just been slapped. ‘‘The Allisons are men to be reckoned with, Stryker and them. Seen them operate down in Texas one time. They’re hell on wheels, leave a lot of dead men behind.’’ He stepped to the window, pulled the curtain aside and looked over at the Golden Garter. ‘‘Place is busy,’’ he said, more to himself than McBride. Prescott took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He turned from the window. ‘‘Well, no matter. I still got it to do.’’

He was a small man, but at that moment he looked tough and hard to kill.

‘‘There’s a better way,’’ McBride said. ‘‘Or at least another way.’’

‘‘I’m listening.’’

‘‘We hit Trask where he can least afford it—in his pocketbook. He hires gold miners to bring the Chinese girls into town. That could mean they spend some time at the diggings in the Spanish Peaks, and I’ve got a feeling Trask’s opium is delivered from there as well.’’

Prescott shook his head. ‘‘I don’t get your drift.’’

‘‘We disrupt the shipments, free the girls and destroy the opium. When Trask’s money dries up, guns for hire like Burns and the Allison brothers won’t stick around for long.’’

‘‘And he’ll be alone,’’ Prescott said, his mind working.

‘‘Exactly. And there’s something else. I hear that Trask is planning something big, so big that after it comes off he’ll be able to leave town with enough money to guarantee his entry into Washington high society. I’d say that’s why he hired the Allison brothers.’’

‘‘What does he have in mind?’’

McBride shook his head. ‘‘I have no idea. Maybe something to do with orphan trains. You ever heard of those?’’

‘‘Wagon trains, I have,’’ Prescott said, smiling. ‘‘But never orphan trains.’’ He looked long and hard at McBride. ‘‘What’s your stake in this, Smith? You could avoid getting killed by just leaving town on the next train. What’s keeping you in High Hopes? You some kind of law? A Pinkerton maybe?’’

For a fleeting moment McBride thought about revealing his true identity to Prescott. But he decided against it. Byrnes had told him to trust no one, and so far he hadn’t been making a real good job of it.

‘‘I’m here because a friend of mine is in danger,’’ he said.

‘‘A woman?’’

‘‘Yes, a woman.’’

‘‘I thought so. Only a woman can hog-tie a man and keep him in one place. Have I heard of the lady in question?’’

‘‘Her name’s Shannon Roark. She works for Gamble Trask at the Golden Garter.’’

Prescott whistled between his teeth. ‘‘You sure set your sights high, Smith. Everybody’s heard of the beautiful Shannon Roark. They say she’s never taken up with a man, though plenty have tried.’’

McBride shrugged. ‘‘She seems to like me well enough.’’

Prescott was grinning. ‘‘Could be you found the secret, have her feel sorry for a man.’’ He circled an eye with his forefinger. ‘‘I mean, did she take one look at that swollen peeper and swoon into your arms?’’

‘‘The man who gave me that is dead,’’ McBride said, stung. Then, by way of turning aside any more of Prescott’s comments: ‘‘I believe Shannon loves me as I love her and I intend to make her my wife.’’

‘‘Then good luck to you, Smith, and I hope I didn’t speak out of turn.’’

‘‘No harm done,’’ McBride said. ‘‘Now, what about my plan to bring down Trask? Are you willing to draw the line?’’

‘‘I’ll go along with it, at least for now. Like any other feller, I don’t want to die on the sawdust after trying to outshoot half a dozen men.’’ Prescott stepped to the door. ‘‘Meet me at the livery stable at first light with your horse saddled. We’ll ride out to the Peaks and take a look-see.’’

After Prescott left, McBride lay on the bed trying to work through a major problem—he’d never sat on a horse in his life.

Chapter 14

The T. J. Williams Livery and Feed Stable was the only adobe building in High Hopes. Just before sunup McBride stopped and read a notice painted on the wall beside the door.

CITY TRANSFER AND HACK LINE ~

EXPRESSING AND HAULING

Fine saddle horses let

by the day, week or month

That, McBride told himself, was what he needed, a fine saddle horse. If it was nice and quiet.

He opened the livery door and stepped inside. The stable was in darkness, but from somewhere in the gloom he heard a horse stamp a foot and blow through its nose. The noise did nothing to reassure him, but he had little time to think about it as a door opened to his left and an old man stepped out of the office. He was wearing red long johns and slippers, and a battered black hat sat on his head.

‘‘What can I do fer ye, mister? Kinda early, ain’t ye?’’

‘‘I guess. I need a horse.’’

‘‘Purchase or let?’’