Drift! (A Larry & Stretch Book 1) Page 4

  “You can have it, from here on,” he growled.

  “But I want to know just what ...!”

  “Use your eyes!” raged Shannon. “It’s plain enough, isn’t it? Those two must be the same ones that murdered the cook. They made a second try just now, and missed again. Valentine and Emerson happened along. There was a shooting match and the killers lost. I’m guessing they were professionals, so you’ll probably have something on them in your files. That’s your side of it. I’m leaving you to it.”

  He moved away from the lawman and beckoned to the Texans.

  Borden called after him, babbling one last question.

  “You still plannin’ on takin’ that nine o’clock stage?”

  Shannon raised his voice, making sure that his reply would be heard by the crowd.

  “Yes, Borden. We stick to our plan. We leave on the stage at nine sharp!”

  He elbowed his way through the throng and, with Larry and Stretch tagging along behind, turned the corner and headed for the main entrance. They trudged up the stairs to the top floor, walked down the corridor, and knocked on the door of Lucille’s suite.

  “Shannon?” came Wilkes’ voice, from inside.

  “Yes, I’ve got Valentine and Emerson with me.”

  Wilkes unlocked the door and threw it open. The three men marched inside. Wilkes shut and locked the door, then turned to his colleague.

  ‘That was a close one, Shannon,” he frowned.

  “Too close,” growled Shannon.

  “Who were they?”

  “I didn’t get time to ask ’em their names. Our driver and guard did all the talking ... with their blamed guns!”

  Valentine heard a soft gasp. He stared toward the girl. She was seated on the divan, looking very small, and very frightened. Her face was pale; but, from the tilt of her chin, it was evident that she was making an effort to pull herself together. Valentine’s fervent admiration was blatantly apparent, for he was a straightforward man. A little color began to return to the schoolteacher’s cheeks.

  “I need a pick-up,” muttered Wilkes.

  “That goes for me too,” nodded Shannon. As Wilkes moved to a cabinet and got out a bottle and glasses, he looked at the young woman and said gently, “You’d better have something, Miss Furness. You’ve had a bad scare.”

  “I’ll be all right, thank you, Mr. Shannon,” murmured Lucille. “Besides, I have no faith in alcoholic stimulants.”

  Wilkes poured two generous shots and handed one to his colleague. Then he eyed the Texans, his eyebrows raised in mute query. Valentine dug an elbow into Stretch’s ribs, then folded his arms and shook his head.

  “I reckon not, gents,” he announced. “Stretch an’ me can take it or leave it.”

  “Sure,” agreed Stretch. He grinned shyly at Lucille and added, “We already drunk a whole bottle ... an’ that’s plenty fer us modified drinkers.”

  “Sit down,” nodded Shannon, tiredly. “We’ve got some thinking to do.”

  Larry and Stretch found seats, their mystified gaze on the battered dummy that lay where it had fallen. Wilkes finished his drink, picked up the dummy, and stood it in a corner. Lucille looked at the Texans, as they sat fingering their hat-brims in their laps. Shannon sat sipping at his drink, a pensive frown creasing his forehead. A short silence followed. Then Lucille gave the cowmen a gentle smile and said, “Please smoke if you wish.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” they chorused.

  They dug tobacco sacks and papers from their pockets and began rolling smokes. Covertly stealing a glance at the woman, Valentine saw that her rapt attention was fixed on his partner. He looked at Stretch, and saw the reason. The lean cowhand was, with studied nonchalance, rolling a cigarette with one hand. Valentine stifled the fierce oath that sprang to his lips. Bending close, so that his mouth was near his friend’s ear, he muttered, “Quit showin’ off ... else I’ll tell her ’bout how you painted red flannel drawers on that gal in the pitcher!”

  Stretch’s hand shook, spilling tobacco onto the carpet Valentine finished rolling his smoke, lit it, then threw Shannon a shrewd glance.

  “You sure made no secret ’bout us leavin’ on that stage,” he accused.

  Shannon nodded and set his empty glass to one side.

  “I did that on purpose,” he grunted.

  “Figured you did,” agreed Valentine.

  The Pinkerton man settled back in his chair and lit a black cigar. He blew a smoke-ring, then cleared his throat, in preparation for telling his listeners of his new strategy. He was destined never to put it into words. From the divan, the woman’s soft voice was heard, and the four men immediately gave her their full attention.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she told them, “about tomorrow. I mean …”

  “Shucks, ma’am,” growled Stretch. “Don’t you worry yourself none. Larry an’ me’ll be right there to keep our eyes on you.”

  “I know that,” she nodded. “And I appreciate it ... but I was thinking of something else.”

  “Such as?” prodded Valentine.

  “Our mode of travel,” she frowned.

  “Huh?” blinked Stretch.

  “I have an idea,” Shannon put in, “that you and me’re thinking along the same lines, Miss Furness. I’ve already made it known that we plan to leave at nine ... but now, I have a different notion. We’ll leave earlier than I said, around seven-thirty. That way, we’ll ...”

  “Would you be willing to consider a suggestion from me?” murmured Lucille. “You see, I think I have a better plan.”

  “You?” queried Wilkes.

  Lucille looked at him, tilting her determined little chin.

  “Yes” she chided. “Me. Schoolteachers must have some intelligence, Mr. Wilkes.”

  “Don’t mind me,” grinned Wilkes. “You took me by surprise, that’s all. I’m sure Mr. Shannon and I will be mighty interested in your suggestion.”

  “Certainly,” nodded Shannon. “Go right ahead and say your piece, Miss Furness.”

  Quietly, and with infinite patience, Lucille offered her suggestion. She explained it carefully, as though she were back in her Coyote Creek school, instructing her class. For five minutes, she outlined her plan. When she had finished, her listeners gaped at each other, scarcely able to credit that one slim wisp of a young woman could devise such a strategy.

  Larry and Stretch were lost in wonderment for, like most men of their time, they were inclined to the belief that women were fragile creatures, born to be loved and protected by men ... but ill-equipped for the plotting of strategy.

  The plan had simplicity ... and cold logic. For that reason, Shannon and Wilkes were deeply impressed. Lucille’s idea was that they should leave almost immediately, thus gaining a valuable start. They would travel not by stagecoach, but in one of the cumbersome ore wagons of the type used by the Millsburg Mining Company. Two of the men would ride on the driver’s seat, two on horseback. They would secure an eight-horse team, to ensure strength and speed for the run to Nash City. She would travel inside the wagon, concealed beneath a covering of boards. Onto those boards would be loaded a single layer of rock. She would be completely hidden and, outwardly, the wagon would look like a regular consignment of ore.

  “These gentlemen can travel just as they are,” Lucille went on, nodding at the Texans. “But you, Mr. Shannon, and you, Mr. Wilkes, would be conspicuous in your town clothes. I suggest that you dress as miners ... and it might be advisable to refrain from shaving. That way, you could pass for miners.”

  Shannon and Wilkes exchanged glances. They were not chagrined at this evidence of Lucille’s formidable intellect. As detectives, they could do naught but agree on the obvious merits of her scheme.

  “You make a lot of sense, Miss Furness,” Shannon told her. “I’ll admit I’m surprised you’ve figured it so neatly.”

  “If you’re prepared to do this my way, well have to act at once,” she pointed out.

  “Uh huh,” nodded Shannon.


  “Borden,” grunted Larry Valentine.

  Shannon looked up and stared at the Texan. Valentine met his stare.

  “Borden,” he repeated. “He’s sheriff of this town. He could fix it ... I mean about gittin’ an ore wagon an all ... if you call him here right away …”

  “And tell him to git the lead outa his boots,” grinned Stretch. “You could have him wake up one o’ the storekeepers an’ git some outfits fer you two.”

  Shannon stared hard at the Texans for a moment longer. Then he turned to his colleague and said, “Wilkes, what do you think?”

  “It’s a chance,” frowned Wilkes. “And we can’t afford to pass up an opportunity of getting through to Nash without being challenged.”

  “You think we can fool those outlaws, travelling in an ore wagon?”

  “I think we ought to try.”

  “Okay, then,” nodded Shannon. “Will you go find that sheriff? Better not try telling him about it at his office. Bring him back here.”

  Wilkes went on out. As always, Shannon locked the door. He returned to his chair and subjected the woman to a thoughtful stare. She lowered her eyes, blushed, and said, “One more thing. I’m fully aware that I’ll have a ... a rather cramped position, on the floor of the wagon. There’ll be times when I shall have to come out for air. You’d better have a spare saddle-horse for me.”

  Shannon frowned and rubbed his jaw.

  “That could be mighty dangerous,” he muttered.

  “I know,” she nodded. “But, you see, I intend to be ... dressed as a man ...”

  Stretch’s limp cigarette dropped from his gaping mouth to the floor. Hurriedly, he bent and retrieved it. He looked at his sidekick. Valentine was staring at Lucille, amazement written on his weather-beaten features.

  “I’d be less conspicuous that way,” Lucille went on. “I ... I’ll cut my hair short ... and wear a shirt and pants ...”

  “It might fool them, at that,” grunted Shannon.

  They remained silent, until Wilkes returned with the tubby sheriff. From then on, events moved swiftly. Shannon lost no time in acquainting Borden of their change of plan. The sheriff heard him out, then nodded his head in agreement.

  “It sure beats travellin’ by the stage,” he opined. “I’ll go wake up Will Shields and arrange for the wagon and team.”

  “Don’t forget those outfits for us,” Shannon reminded him.

  “Uh huh,” grunted Borden. “Will can fix that too. His brother’s got a store.”

  He waddled over to the door and Wilkes let him out. Shannon stood up, stretched, and said, “Well, we’d better get ready. None of us’ll get any sleep tonight ... that’s for sure.”

  “We’re leavin’ as soon as the wagon gits here?” queried Valentine.

  “We sure are,” Shannon told him. “With luck, we could be out of town and on our way, in a couple of hours.”

  “Excuse me,” muttered Lucille Furness.

  She knelt, picked up her scissors, then got to her feet and walked into the other room.

  ~*~

  Two hours after midnight, they were ready. In the gloom of the back alley, the wagon waited, the eight-horse team snorting in the chill early morning air. The Texans lowered the tailboards of the vehicle and helped the slim young woman to climb inside.

  “You got plenty air?” queried Valentine.

  “I think so,” came her muffled reply. “I’ll knock on the sides when I want you to let me out.”

  As he swung into his saddle, Valentine found himself remembering her calm face, her lithe movement as he helped her into the wagon. The lustrous auburn locks had been shorn and the trim figure was garbed in jeans and a shirt. With a Stetson covering her head, Lucille’s real identity would be difficult to discern ... from a distance.

  Shannon and Wilkes, heavily armed, clambered up to the driver’s seat, the former taking the reins. Stretch moved his mount close and asked, “You sure you can handle an eight-horse team, mister?”

  “Dead sure!” growled Shannon.

  He glanced behind him. A layer of ore was strewn on the boards that had been fitted along the top of the wagon. The schoolteacher’s plan had been carried out to the letter, and the result was a clever camouflage. Just how completely it would defy inspection remained to be seem

  Wilkes rested a Winchester across his knees and looked at the Texans,

  “You fellers ready?” he muttered.

  They nodded. As they brought their mounts up into position on either side of the driver’s seat, the detective felt a sudden surge of confidence. Both of the cowmen seemed eager for the first sign of trouble ... and infinitely capable of handling it. Their cartridge belts were heavy with shells, their six-guns loaded. Each of them carried a rifle in a saddle sheath. They sat their cowponies in the nonchalant posture of the range riders, their right arms hanging loose, two shiftless cowpokes, who would galvanize into violent action the moment the need arose.

  From the darkness below, Sheriff Borden’s voice called to them, softly.

  “You all set?”

  “Were on our way,” nodded Shannon.

  “Watch yourselves,” warned Borden.

  “We’ll do that,” grunted the detective; He raised an arm at the outriders and said, “Let’s get started.”

  He clucked to the team. The heavy animals moved forward and the wagon trundled out of the alley with Larry and Stretch at either side. Borden watched them go, perspiring despite the chill air. His own next move would be to go downtown and wake Bob Quigley. Shannon had given orders for the stage to depart one hour ahead of schedule. The windows were to be covered and the relief driver and guard were to send the vehicle clattering out of Millsburg in an atmosphere of great urgency. Outside town, they would drive the stage to Grimes Cutting and keep it there, out of sight. To all intents and purposes, the stage would be on its way to the county seat, carrying the vital witness. If this ruse served to confuse the opposition for a while, it would have been worthwhile. Shannon could hope for nothing more than that.

  Before leaving the alley, the stout lawman scanned the immediate vicinity, to ensure that the departure of the wagon had been unobserved. Finally, satisfied that no spy lurked thereabouts, he waddled off toward Quigley’s home. He had seen no eavesdropper. He was unaware of the sharp-featured little man who had witnessed the departure from the ground floor window of the hotel. Rick Dinsmore, the hotel lackey, was a light sleeper. His eager eyes had taken in every detail of the camouflaged wagon. He had seen Valentine helping the girl into her hiding place. He had even recognized her, despite the clothes she wore, for like so many nondescript men, he had a sharp eye for a pretty face.

  For a few moments Dinsmore lay on his cot, pondering the significance of that secret leave-taking. All Millsburg knew of Curt Sharkey’s coming trial, scheduled for Wednesday ... the day after today. All Millsburg, and Rick Dinsmore, knew that Sharkey’s life depended on Lucille’s failing to reach the county seat by then. If the wagon got past Sharkey’s gang ... but if it didn’t! If somebody carried the word to the gang, warned them, that somebody would be entitled to expect a reward! The Sharkey gang was not short of money ...

  As the excited little man tumbled from, his cot and began pulling on his clothes, his eyes were gleaming. Greed had taken hold of him ... the kind of greed that only little men feel ...

  Four – Prelude to an Ambush

  Dawn had come, and the ore wagon moved steadily over the flat terrain of the prairie south of Millsburg. So far, they had made good progress, the willing team hauling the cumbersome vehicle along at a stiff pace.

  “They can’t keep this up much longer,” Shannon predicted to Wilkes. “Another half-hour and we’ll have to rest.”

  Wilkes nodded, then waved to the outriders to draw in close.

  “How do you place our position, right now?” he called.

  “This stretch is called Apache Flats,” Valentine told him. “It stays like this for another five miles or so.”

  �
�And after that?”

  “After that, we git to Robey Pass.”

  “A pass?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “A pass sounds like an ideal spot for an ambush!” frowned Shannon.

  “Damn right it does,” agreed Valentine, grinning. “I’ll bet Sharkey’s boys figure that way too!”

  He left them to digest that sobering fact, slowing his pony to bring himself level with the rear of the vehicle. At the tailboard, he lowered his head and called to the girl.

  “You all right, ma’am?”

  He heard a muffled “yes” from inside, then nudged his mount and rode around the wagon, taking stock. Spare saddles were concealed, with Lucille, beneath the dummy ore-load. There were at least two horses in the team that could be, in an emergency, used as saddle-mounts. Of ammunition, they had plenty. Well then, he mused, maybe they’d make it yet.

  A shout from Shannon brought him forward again. He drew level with the driver’s seat. Stretch turned in his saddle and jerked his thumb toward the west.

  “These city sheriffs got good eyes,” he grinned. “They done spotted that rider, same time as I did.”

  Shannon was frowning toward the distant horseman. Valentine followed his gaze. The stranger was passing them, far to their flank. Shannon muttered something, felt about behind the seat, and produced a telescope.

  “You ever used one of these things?” he asked Valentine.

  Valentine nodded. Shannon passed the instrument to him and pulled on the reins, halting the team. Valentine drew rein, hooked a leg over the pommel of his saddle, and applied the telescope to his eye. For several minutes he studied the far-off rider. Then he returned the glass to the detective exchanged a glance with Stretch, and said, “It’s Dinsmore, that little runt that works at the Grand. Now I wonder what in tarnation that little crittur’s doin’ out here?”

  “You say he works at the hotel?” frowned Shannon.

  “Yep,” nodded Valentine. “Sweeps floors, helps in the kitchen ... stuff like that. Why?”

  “I don’t like it,” growled the Pinkerton man.

  “Seems a mite mysterious at that,” agreed Stretch, scratching his head. “I don’t recall ever seem that Dinsmore on a cayuse before!”