Ralph Compton - Bluff City

“I work for the Courier, sir,” Clay said.

“They sent two of you? One would have been enough. All we know is that Jesse Stark is to blame. His gang opened fire on my boys as they were coming up the switchback. Blasted five of them from the saddle. The sixth was hit but crawled into a deadfall. He saw Stark—saw them take the strongbox—so there is no doubt who to blame.”

Melanie bestowed her most ravishing smile. “We would very much like to talk to him.”

“He’s in the infirmary,” Cavendish said, pointing again. “The sawbones says he’ll live but he won’t be on his feet for a month or more. The slug nicked his lung.” As an afterthought he added, “The guard’s name is Ward.”

The infirmary consisted of three cots and a medicine cabinet. The wounded guard lay on the middle cot with his eyes closed and a blanket pulled to his waist. Half his chest was swathed in bandages and he was ungodly pale.

“Maybe we should come back,” Clay suggested.

“Nonsense.” Melanie lightly shook the guard’s arm and, when he did not come around, she pinched him.

Ward’s eyes snapped open and he looked about him in confusion. “What is it? Who are you?” Melanie introduced them. “If you don’t mind, we would like to ask you a few questions about the robbery.”

Ward weakly fluttered his fingers. “Not now, lady. I’m awful tired and I hurt like hell.”

“We’ve come all the way from Bluff City,” Melanie said pleasantly. “Surely you can spare a minute or two.”

“Talk to Mr. Cavendish,” Ward said. “I have already told him all there is to know.” He closed his eyes.

“Please, Mr. Ward,” Melanie said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “We understand you saw the whole thing. What can you tell us about Stark and his men? How many were there? Can you describe Stark for me? Is there anything you did not tell Cavendish that you have remembered since?”

“Go away,” Ward said.

“Details are important,” Melanie persisted. “The more the people of the territory know about Stark’s wild bunch, the sooner the outlaws will be taken into custody.” She gently shook him when he did not reply. “Mr. Ward?”

The door opened and in walked a stoop-shouldered man in a black suit, carrying a black bag. He took one look and exploded, “What in God’s name do you think you are doing, young lady? You will desist this instant. That man is not to be disturbed.”

“We are with the Bluff City Courier,” Melanie said.

“I don’t care who you are, you are leaving this instant.” He held the door open for them. “I am Dr. Johnson, by the way, and Mr. Ward is my patient.”

“We only wanted to ask a few questions.”

“Do your ears function as they should, young lady? If they don’t, I can examine them and establish why your hearing is impaired.”

Clay took Melanie’s elbow. “We should listen to the doctor.”

“But—” Melanie began.

“There are no buts, miss,” Dr. Johnson said firmly. “Ward came close to dying. A slight infection has set in, and unless we are extremely careful, the infection can get worse.” He impatiently motioned for them to leave. “In case you haven’t heard, more gunshot victims die of infection than from being shot.”

Melanie walked with Clay to the door, but paused. “When will I be able to talk to your patient?”

“In a week or so, I should say,” Dr. Johnson answered.

“A week?”

“Come on,” Clay said. The sunlight was bright after the inside of the infirmary, and he squinted as he guided her toward the main office. A horse was at the hitch rail, a horse that had not been there before, and as they reached the steps, the office door opened and out came Cavendish, Franks and another man. The newcomer wore a brown leather vest, a badge and a leer.

“I just heard you were here, Miss Stanley,” Deputy Wiggins said. “Imagine my delight.”

“I’d rather not,” Melanie said. Then, to Cavendish, “Your man won’t talk. How about if you and I sit down and go over everything he told you?”

“We can do it on the ride down, if you like,” Cavendish said. “The deputy wants to see where the robbery took place. I am taking him there.”

The company bookkeeper, Teckler, appeared out of the shadows. “Is that wise, sir? Surely one of the men can do it.”

“I never have the men do anything I wouldn’t do myself,” Cavendish said. “And I can use the exercise. I’m tired of sitting on my backside. Have someone fetch horses for us.”

“No horse for me, thanks,” Franks said. “I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m not exactly dressed for riding,” Melanie said, “but I will take you up on your offer.”

“We both will,” Clay said.

Teckler insisted that two company men with rifles accompany them, and Cavendish relented. He rode alongside Melanie. Clay rode next to Deputy Wiggins. They descended from the bench and were winding along the rutted track when Wiggins shifted his pasty complexion from the surrounding woods to Clay.

“You are working with Miss Stanley now, are you?”

“Looks that way,” Clay said.

“Lucky you.”

High above, a bald eagle soared on outstretched pinions. In the nearby firs a squirrel spotted them and squatted on a branch to chatter its displeasure. Lower down flew a pair of ravens, their black feathers glistening.

“I heard about your tiff with Harve Barker,” Deputy Wiggins remarked. “That wasn’t very smart.”

“I think it was.”

“You are new to Bluff City. You don’t realize how powerful he is. He crushes those he doesn’t care for like you or me would crush an eggshell.”

“Are you scared of him, Deputy?”

“Anyone with half a brain would be,” Wiggins said. “No one bucks Barker and goes on breathing.”

“He’s killed before? You’re sure?”

“As sure as I am that you’re too headstrong for your own good.”

“Then why hasn’t he ever been arrested?”

“Men like Harve Barker are above the law. They never do the deed themselves. They hire it done, and there is never any evidence they were involved. If I were you I would light a shuck. Nothing in Bluff City is worth losing your life over.”

“That depends on your notion of worthwhile,” Clay said.

Presently they came to the meadow. Wildflowers grew in profusion. Deputy Wiggins idly swatted at a bee and remarked, “I can’t wait to get back to Bluff City. I could use a whiskey right about now.”

Clay breathed deep of the scents of the flowers and the earth.

At the top of the serpentine switchback they reined up. Pines hemmed them on both sides.

“The exact spot is about halfway down,” Sam Cavendish announced. “We can’t miss it. There are bloodstains, and the ground is all trampled.”

“No need to go any further, old-timer,” declared a gruff voice from out of the woods.

Clay Adams stiffened.

“Who’s there?” Sam Cavendish asked. “Who is that?”

“I am,” said the gruff voice, and into the open strolled Jesse Stark.

Chapter 11

Clay Adams smiled fiercely. His right hand flew under his jacket. But the next moment more figures came out of the forest on both sides of the switchback. The two guards started to level their rifles, but stopped when Jesse Stark warned, “Try that and you’ll be shot to pieces.”

The guards had no choice. They were covered by over a dozen gun muzzles. They mimicked trees, their arms the branches.

Sam Cavendish’s mouth was opening and closing like that of a fish out of water. “What is the meaning of this outrage?” he sputtered. “Who are you?”

“Can’t you guess, old man?” Jesse Stark rejoined. “I’m the gent who relieved your men of twenty thousand dollars.”