Shawn Starbuck Double Western 1 Read online

  “ Where’d you send them?” he had asked.

  “The bunkhouse,” Amy had replied. “I saw them go in.”

  He had walked to the window, glanced out just in time to see the men coming out of the crew’s quarters. His spirits had sagged once more as all the harsh fears lifted again within him, began to claw at his guts.

  He had guessed right. Guy Rutter—Pete Brock—Rufe Mysak. All of the bunch who’d been with him that day at Medford’s Crossing, all but Billy Gault.

  “Do you know them?” Amy had asked.

  “Know who?” Holly, entering the room at that moment, had broken in.

  “Some men to see your father, honey,” Amy had answered. “No one you should meet.”

  An instant later everything in the yard was in confusion as some stranger, who had been talking to Tom Gage, suddenly tore from his horse and took on Brock and Rufe Mysak, knocking them about like dummies.

  Sam Underwood had watched briefly, marveling at the stranger’s ability and deriving some enjoyment from the punishment being meted out to Mysak and Brock; and then he had turned away from the window to the door.

  “I’ll take care of this,” he had said in a firm, decisive way, and gone out into the yard to meet the specters from his past.

  Now, facing the three men in the cooling shadow of the cottonwood—one he’d hauled in from the river bottom and planted with his own hands ten long years ago—he looked each one over, masking his apprehension with an impersonal smile.

  “What brings you men here?”

  Rutter’s reddish hair was much thinner than it once was, but his small, mean eyes had not changed; the blue was colder, if anything.

  “You,” Guy Rutter said.

  “And I can’t say you seem real pleased to see your old army pals again,” Mysak, much heavier than in previous years, observed. “Does he, boys?”

  Brock, still somewhat dazed, shook his head woodenly. Rutter shrugged, spat.

  “All right,” Underwood snapped. “I’m glad to see you.” And then in an effort to further prove his words, he added, “Where’s Gault?”

  “Billy? Hell, he’s dead,” Mysak answered. “Got his fool head shot off in a poker game. About a year after he was mustered out.”

  “Too bad,” Underwood murmured. “Figured you’d all be living back east somewhere. Surprised to see you in this part of the country. Where you headed?”

  “Right here,” Rutter said in his flat, emotionless way.

  The rancher’s head lifted in surprise. “You came on purpose to see me? Didn’t think anybody—that is—any of the old bunch knew—I—”

  “We heard,” Rutter said blandly. “Heard all about how you had yourself a big ranch and was doing fine—and how you were in the banking business—was even about to become governor. Told ourselves you’d be real happy to help us with a job we’ve got in mind.”

  “Of course. Be happy to do what I can for you,” Underwood said, relief in his voice. “Have some influence around the Territory, if I do say so myself. Just what is it you’re planning?”

  “We’re robbing the bank in Las Vegas,” Rutter said, and smiled.

  Sam Underwood’s jaw sagged. “You’re what?”

  “Your hearing’s good. Was up in Denver, learned about this bank in Las Vegas—how all the big cattle growers kept their cash in it, same as the army at Fort Union does with its payroll. Sounded real good. We’d been looking for something easy for quite a spell.”

  “But—you—”

  “Sounded even better when we found out one of the owners was an old friend of ours—Sam Underwood.”

  “Wasn’t real sure it was our Sam, not at first anyway,” Mysak said. “Then we took us a little trip to Las Vegas and hung around till we got a look at you. Sure enough, it was our Sam—but we was betting it would be all the time. Be like old Sam, we told ourselves, to take his share of that payroll and set himself up in business.”

  The blood in Underwood’s veins had been turning slowly to ice. “That money—share—always intended to send it back, not keep it. . . .”

  “But you didn’t,” Rutter said drily. “Even if you did you got some way of bringing life back into them guards we killed taking it?”

  The rancher looked down and shook his head helplessly.

  “That was a mistake—a big mistake. I was a fool to throw in with you.”

  “But you did—and you’re coming in with us again or—”

  Underwood’s eyes, unseeing, were on Pete Brock, now finally recovered and gingerly probing his bruised, discolored face with careful fingers.

  “Or—” he prompted halfheartedly.

  “This whole country’s going to know right quick about the real Sam Underwood—about how he was in on robbing an army paymaster during the war, and how three soldiers got killed trying to stop it.”

  “But I—”

  “How’s that going to sound to all those folks who’re backing you for governor? How’s that fine wife of yours going to take it? Hear she cuts quite a figure with all the high society muckity-mucks in Santa Fe—Denver, even! And you got yourself a daughter who—”

  The mention of his family stiffened Sam Underwood. His features hardened and a sternness came into his eyes.

  “You’ll find it won’t be so easy—not with me—”

  “Oh, it’ll be easy, all right,” Rutter cut in. “About the easiest thing a man could imagine. We just haven’t worked this deal up overnight, Sam. We’ve been planning it out for better’n a month.”

  “Ever since we run out of cash,” Pete Brock volunteered.

  “Last little job we done over Kansas way didn’t pay off so good,” Mysak added.

  Guy Rutter waited in sullen patience for the two men to speak, and then again turned to Underwood.

  “We got a good look at your bank, know just how to handle it. Vault ain’t much. Rufe can blow it with no problems. And if you’re getting an idea about tipping off the sheriff or somebody, you better forget it damn quick.”

  “You don’t think—”

  “That part’s all covered, too. We brought us a lady friend who’s sort of been running with us the last couple of years. She got herself a job in that Gold Dollar Saloon in Las Vegas. She’s keeping a letter for us.”

  Underwood said, “A letter?”

  “A real important one. It’s made out to the U.S. Marshal, and it tells all about that payroll robbery and killing at Medford’s Crossing. Gives all our names. I even dug up some of the newspaper stories about it, put them in the envelope. If anything happens to us while we’re cleaning out your bank—or after—she hands that letter over to the first lawman she can get to.”

  The rancher’s features had drained of all color. “Then she knows—”

  “All she knows is what she’s to do with the envelope if you double-cross us.”

  “Guy’s fixed things up plenty good,” Mysak said. “Guess you can see that, so it’s up to you to make sure everything goes off all right.”

  Underwood mopped at the sweat covering his face. “But—I’m half owner of that bank. Some of the money in it is mine—”

  Rutter shrugged. “Make you feel any better, we’ll give you a little cut of what we get. Maybe it’ll be enough to cover your losses.”

  The rancher wagged his head. “No—I won’t touch it! I’m not going through again what I did after that payroll robbery—and killing.”

  “Up to you. But you figure yourself in, clean up to the collarbone. Now, first thing we want is a key to the back door of that bank building. Never mind the safe. Rufe’ll take care of it. And we want a place to hang out. Just won’t be smart for us to lay around the town for the next couple of days. Somebody might get nosy.”

  “You can hire us on as cowhands,” Mysak suggested. “We’ll make real good ones—doing nothing.”

  Rutter nodded. “Gives us an alibi, too, in case somebody gets lucky and sees us coming out of the bank. Be up to you to speak up and say it couldn’t have been us b
ecause we work for you, and we were all here together on the ranch the night of the robbery. Nobody will dispute the word of Sam Underwood.”

  “I can’t do it,” the rancher mumbled uncertainly. “I can’t get mixed up—”

  “You’re already mixed up in it,” Guy Rutter snarled. “Don’t you forget that—not for a minute! Now, if you don’t want your share of the cash we’ll be taking, all right. Makes more for us. Thing is—just don’t get in our way and be goddamned sure you do what you’re told and that you keep your mouth shut.”

  “Yessir,” Mysak said. “You don’t, everything’s going to blow right up in your face—and the next thing you know you’ll be peeking through the bars of a cell in the Federal pen!”

  “But—I—well, I’ve got to think—” ‘Think—nothing!” Rutter snapped. “You’ve got that done for you. You’re in this deal whether you like it or not.”

  “And since we’re working for you and we’re all flat busted,” Pete Brock said, managing a grin, “we’ll take a little of our wages ahead of time. Maybe fifty apiece.”

  “Now, that’s a smart idea!” Mysak exclaimed, rubbing his big hands together. “I recollect a little yellow-haired gal back there in the Gold Dollar that I got me some unfinished business with. Supposing you make that a even hundred dollars a piece, Sam.”

  Underwood’s shoulders settled into a helpless slump. “Don’t carry that kind of money on me.”

  “But I’m betting a big man like you’ll easy have that much in the house—maybe in a tin box or a safe. You want us to have a look?”

  “I’ll get it,” the rancher said heavily.

  “Make it a hundred flat, like Rufe said.” Rutter’s words came as an order, uncompromising.

  Underwood nodded, started to turn away when Rutter caught him by the arm.

  “Better tell that foreman of yours about us working for you. He don’t cotton to us much.”

  “I’ll tell him,” the rancher said, “but if you’re planning on hanging around here, you’d better play it smart and get along with him.”

  Six

  Tom Gage pulled off his hat and rubbed at his balding head while a puzzled expression covered his weather-seamed face.

  “That sure does kind of put us in a fix, don’t it?” he drawled. “You’re a-looking for somebody but you don’t know who.”

  “Guess that’s the way it sounds,” Shawn replied with a smile. “Fact is, it’s my brother Ben ... Ben Starbuck. Pretty sure he’s not using that name nowadays.”

  The old foreman pursed his lips. “I see. What’s he look like?”

  “Can’t tell you much about that either. Been ten years since I last saw him—and I was just a kid. Likely he’ll be dark, on the stocky side. He had blue eyes.”

  “You sure don’t give a man much to go on,” Gage murmured.

  “Only thing I know for sure is he’s got a scar just above the left eye. Only about an inch long and it’s kind of hard to notice.”

  Tom Gage studied his gnarled hands. “Just don’t right off recollect anybody around here with a mark like that. Somebody say we had a man who did?”

  “Ran into a cattle buyer up Kansas way. Was asking for Ben. He said your trail boss sort of fit the description.”

  “Henry Smith?”

  “Buyer didn’t know his name, only that he bossed Underwood’s trail drives—and been doing it last three or four years.”

  “That’s Henry, all right. It’s where he’s at right now. Come to think on it, he does kind of match up to the man you’re looking for. Don’t remember the scar, though.”

  “You’d have to look close for it. He got it when we were kids playing in the rocks back of the farm. You say he’s on a drive now?”

  “Drive’s over. Likely on his way back. Ought to be showing up next day or two.”

  Shawn glanced at the four men gathered under the Cottonwood. The rancher appeared strained, upset. Rutter and the two others were half smiling, joking in a smug sort of way.

  “Hate to hear that,” he said, touching his jaw with a fingertip. Pete Brock had got in one good blow during the fight, and the spot was tender. “Was hoping I could find out one way or another today—know if I’d made another long ride for nothing.”

  “It real important you find him, that it?”

  Starbuck nodded. “Guess I could ride on to Las Vegas, put up there a couple of days, then drop back. How far is it?”

  “Half a day—less if you get right along. But there ain’t no sense in your doing that. Henry’ll be here tomorrow most likely—for sure the next day—all depending on how drunk him and the rest of the drovers get after the settling-up’s done. You can wait here.”

  Shawn ducked his head at Underwood. “What about him? Don’t think he’s going to feel very kindly toward me after the ruckus I had with his friends.”

  Gage shrugged. “You know what, I ain’t so sure they’re all that much friends. But don’t let it bother you none—Sam, I mean. He leaves running this ranch up to me, him being busy politicking and banking and squiring his missus around to all the high-toned shindigs going on.”

  “I understand. It’d be a favor if you’d let me pull off in those trees back of the corrals, set myself up a camp there, and wait—”

  “I’m damned if you’ll do any such thing!” Gage snapped indignantly. “Long as I’m around any decent man’s welcome to stop over, stick his legs under the crew’s vittle table, and use an empty bunk. Been that way since I can recollect, and I ain’t about to let it change.”

  Starbuck smiled. “Appreciate that—and I’ll be glad to lend a hand. Worked cows and horses aplenty, all over the country. And I’m not above doing yard chores.”

  “Help’s something we sure don’t need. Sam’s maybe kind of got big ideas for hisself, but he’s square when it comes to dealing with the hired hands. Never lays a man off when things get slack the way most ranchers do. Just keeps them on, paying regular wages every month.”

  “Shows it,” Shawn said, glancing around. “Can see the men take pride in the place and keep it looking fine. One way of them saying thanks, I guess.”

  “There’s them that likes to stay busy doing things,” Gage said drily, “and there’s them that don’t.”

  “Man’s lucky to ride for an outfit like this.”

  The old foreman stroked his moustache. “Cows is cows. Makes no difference what kind of a place they’re on, they’re still plain ornery, mean, cantankerous critters that can drive a man to plucking out his eyeballs. But there ain’t no sense us standing here in the hot sun jawing. Expect you’d like to wash off some of that dust, and then—”

  ‘Tom—”

  Gage turned, faced Underwood who was approaching with his friends trailing slightly behind.

  “I’m hiring these men.”

  “Hiring—to do what?”

  “Whatever you can figure out for them,” Underwood snapped, nettled at the foreman’s belligerence. “Names are Guy Rutter, Pete Brock, and Rufe Mysak. We were in the war together.”

  “So they was telling me ... Hell, Sam, hired help’s so thick around here now you can’t stir them with a stick—”

  “Realize that, but I want them put on anyway. They can do range riding.”

  “We’re real good at doing that,” Mysak said with a broad wink at Pete Brock.

  Gage sighed resignedly. “All right, Sam, it’s your money. I’ll fix them up.”

  Starbuck, waiting off to one side, felt the rancher’s eyes upon him.

  “You waiting to see me?”

  “Waiting to see Hank Smith,” the foreman replied before Shawn could answer. “I’m inviting him to bunk in with me.”

  The rancher studied Starbuck speculatively. “You an old friend of Hank’s?”

  “Maybe. Not sure yet.”

  Underwood looked puzzled, then shrugged, said, “You’re mighty fancy with those fists of yours. That gun, too. It your line of work?”

  “Cowhand, mostly,” Shawn said.
r />   “I see,” the rancher murmured, and turning, strode for the house.

  Starbuck watched him briefly, and then, arms folded across his chest, faced Rutter and his two shadows. All were considering him intently.

  “We take things up where we left off?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  Guy Rutter’s features hardened fleetingly, and then he produced a forced smile. “All forgot, far as I’m concerned. Same with you boys?” he added, glancing to Brock and Mysak.

  Rufe nodded. Pete Brock made no answer, but continued to stare sullenly at Shawn. Rutter’s small eyes glittered.

  “What about it, Pete?”

  “I ain’t making no promises,” Brock answered. “I figure I got me a few good licks coming.”

  “Any time you say,” Starbuck countered. “Everything’s settled and I’m holding no grudge. Got my stuff back. That’s the main thing I was interested in.”

  “And you’ll forget it, too, Pete!” Rutter snapped. “Told you we didn’t have no time to be messing around with a penny ante thing like that belt. Forget it, hear? We can’t afford—”

  Guy Rutter’s words ended abruptly. He looked away as if regretting what he had said, and then, after a moment, came back to Tom Gage.

  “All right, Grandpa, where you want us to put up?”

  The foreman bristled. “My name ain’t grandpa—it’s Tom Gage—and you can roost with the crows far as I’m concerned. But Sam said I was to take you on, so I reckon that mean’s you’ll bed down with the crew.”

  “In there?” Rutter asked, thumbing at the bunkhouse.

  Gage nodded. “In there. You’ll find some extra bunks. Pick some.”

  Guy Rutter turned away. “Pity we ain’t friends of yours instead of the man that owns the place, then maybe we could have a special place to stay.”