Applejack Read online

  Applejack

  When old-timer, Applejack, disappears after claiming to have struck it rich, Marshal Rupe Cooley has more important things to take care of, like dealing with the vicious outlaw, Cage Drugget.

  When Applejack is recognized carrying out a bank robbery with Drugget’s gang, Cooley saddles up and sets out after them. Meeting more of Drugget’s victims along the way, his resolve to bring the gang boss down intensifies. Will he find the hideout in time? And what is the truth about Applejack’s fortune?

  By the same author

  Last Reckoning for the Presidio Kid

  Payback at Black Valley Forge

  A Message for McCleod

  Applejack

  Emmett Stone

  ROBERT HALE

  © Emmett Stone 2012

  First published in Great Britain 2012

  ISBN 978-0-7198-2303-9

  The Crowood Press

  The Stable Block

  Crowood Lane

  Ramsbury

  Marlborough

  Wiltshire SN8 2HR

  www.bhwesterns.com

  This e-book first published in 2017

  Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press

  The right of Emmett Stone to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  Chapter One

  Marshal Rupe Cooley leaned back in his chair on the sidewalk outside his office and looked up to see old Applejack come into view, riding his burro. The oldster came alongside and the marshal touched his hand to his hat.

  ‘Howdy. What are you doin’ back in Little Fork?’

  The oldster drew to a halt. The donkey’s ears twitched as his head turned to look at the marshal with baleful eyes. At the same moment the door to the office opened and the deputy marshal stepped out.

  ‘Hello, old timer,’ he said. ‘Ain’t seen you in a while.’

  The oldster gathered phlegm into a ball and shot it in a stream through a hole between his only remaining two front teeth. He seemed to ponder the marshal’s words for a few moments till a slow smile stole across his bearded features. He reached into one of his saddle-bags and drew out a pouch, which he opened and shook into the palm of his hand.

  ‘Take a look, Marshal. It’s pure gold, and there’s plenty more where that come from.’

  The marshal tipped his chair forward and stood up. He peered into the oldster’s palm.

  ‘Well, I’ll be goldanged,’ he said.

  ‘On my way back after stakin’ my claim,’ the oldster said.

  ‘Just be careful who you show that to,’ the deputy commented.

  ‘You two run this town real orderly,’ Applejack said. ‘Ain’t seen it so peaceful.’

  ‘I aim to keep it that way,’ the marshal replied. ‘Baines is right. Once word gets out there’s gold in the territory things is likely to change, so for now just keep it to yourself.’

  ‘Sure will, Marshal. No one ain’t gonna know nothin’ about this except you two, me and old Suky here.’

  He turned and rubbed his hand along the donkey’s nose.

  ‘Yup, I’ll just take me a day’s break and then I’m headin’ right on back to the Indian River, up above the oxbow lake.’

  The marshal shook his head and laughed.

  ‘You never were too discreet, Applejack,’ he said. ‘You just gone and told us where you found the gold.’

  A crease appeared in the oldster’s brow.

  ‘Guess you’re right,’ he said. ‘But the Indian River country is wide and the breaks is rough goin’. Ain’t half a dozen people in this here burg ever taken the trouble to ride up there.’

  ‘Let’s keep it that way,’ the marshal said.

  The oldster climbed back into the saddle. Considering he was a small man, his legs reached down almost as far as the ground.

  ‘One other thing,’ the marshal said. ‘Better check in your gun before you go any further.’

  Applejack looked puzzled.

  ‘A new rule I introduced since you’ve been away,’ the marshal said.

  The oldster drew a .22 calibre Smith & Wesson from his belt and leaned over to hand it to the marshal.

  ‘You aimin’ to stay around for long?’ the marshal asked.

  ‘Nope. Not more than one night. Just long enough to get tired of the town, and that won’t take long.’

  ‘If you like, you could stay with me and Selma.’

  The oldster rubbed his hand across his chin.

  ‘That’s real neighbourly of you, Marshal,’ he replied. ‘But I got ole Suky to think about and she’s no more fond of what you might call civilized livin’ than I am.’

  ‘You could both share the barn if that would suit you better than a room with a bed and sheets.’

  The oldster’s face creased in a gesture of distaste.

  ‘Never took a fancy to those high-falutin’ things,’ he replied. ‘I git all kinda scratchy if I’ve got anythin’ next to me apart from my own skin. But I’ll be grateful to pick you up on the offer of the barn. A bed of straw for me and ole Suky might suit just fine.’

  ‘I’ll be back after sundown,’ the marshal replied, ‘but go on over any time. Selma will be glad to see you.’

  ‘You hear that, ole girl?’ the oldster addressed the burro. ‘Seems like we got us some real nice lodgin’s.’

  He turned back to the two lawmen.

  ‘See you later,’ he said.

  The burro trundled off. The marshal grinned and watched Applejack carry on down the street.

  ‘See you later,’ Baines said.

  He walked away and the marshal, getting to his feet, opened the door of his office and went inside. He slung the gun he had taken from the oldster into a drawer from which he produced a crumpled Wanted poster before shutting and locking it. He held the poster up to the light. It read:

  Wanted for murder and robbery.

  Cage Drugget.

  $1,000 dollar reward for arrest or capture.

  ‘Sure hope he ain’t thinkin’ of headin’ this way,’ he murmured. ‘Thought I’d seen the last of that no-good coyote.’

  He put the poster back into the drawer and, after pacing up and down the room for a few minutes, turned and went back through the door into the street. Walking rapidly, he made his way to the telegraph office. A bell above the door rang as he opened it and went inside.

  ‘Howdy, Marshal,’ the man behind the desk said. ‘It’s like you said. I got another message for you.’

  ‘Figured there might be,’ the marshal replied.

  The telegraph operator handed him a piece of paper and the marshal scanned its contents. A scowl appeared on his face.

  ‘Everything all right, Mr Cooley?’ the telegraph operator asked.

  The marshal looked at him and then screwed the paper into a ball.

  ‘I guess it ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle,’ he said.

  He stepped back outside. The lowering sun was beginning to cast shadows across the street.

  It was getting dark when he finally closed the door of the office behind him. Lights were springing out along the main drag and the sounds of merriment billowed out from the Blue Horse saloon. For a moment he contemplated calling in on his way past but contented himself by glancing at the horses tied to the hitchrack. His deputy, Ed Baines, would check out the saloon later. As a general rule there wasn’t much trouble these days, at least nothing serious. People got drunk and started fights, there were arguments over card games and women, but things had quieted down since the days he had first taken on the job of marshal. His ban on firearms was the final link in the chain of law enforcement measures which had rendered the town more or less fit for decent folk to live in. Turning away, he continued to wa
lk down the street, nodding to one or two people he passed, and raised his hat to a woman who was just coming out of the grocery store carrying a parcel.

  ‘Gettin’ late, Mrs Lake,’ he said. ‘Can I escort you home? I’m goin’ that way.’

  ‘Why, that would be nice,’ she replied. ‘You can walk me as far as Mr Tench’s general store. It should be about closing time and I can pick up Melvin.’

  ‘How is Melvin gettin’ on?’ the marshal said.

  ‘He gets a bit restless but he’ll be fine. Old Sam Tench is just the man to show him the ropes.’

  ‘Melvin’s a good boy,’ the marshal replied. ‘I’m sure he’ll do you proud.’ They continued to walk together side by side.

  ‘How is Selma?’ the woman asked.

  ‘My sister is keepin’ well, thank you, ma’am. And yourself?’

  ‘I guess I got nothin’ to complain about and my mother is as well as can be expected at her age.’

  ‘You do well to look after her and that boy of yours the way you do.’

  They arrived outside the general store.

  ‘Well, I’ll be leavin’ you now,’ Mrs Lake said. ‘Why don’t you and Selma call round when you get a chance?’

  ‘We surely will,’ the marshal replied. He stopped and waited in the street till Mrs Lake was inside the shop. Then he carried on walking till he reached his own house, a similar building but with a dormer roof, which stood near the edge of town. He knocked on the door before opening it and stepping inside.

  The place was warmly lit by a couple of oil lamps and a delicious aroma of cooking came from the kitchen. After a moment his sister poked her head round the kitchen door.

  ‘Grub’s nearly ready,’ she said. ‘Come on in and take a seat.’

  The marshal loosened his shirt and took off his gun-belt, hanging it over a peg on the wall. He pulled out a chair. The table was covered in a clean white cloth and a vase of flowers stood in the middle of it.

  ‘How are things in town?’ his sister called.

  ‘Fine. Sure feel hungry,’ he replied. ‘I saw old Applejack earlier. I said he could stay in the barn if he liked.’

  ‘In the barn? What’s wrong with the spare room?’

  ‘Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it but you know how the old goat is. Ain’t you seen him yet?’

  ‘Nope, he hasn’t stopped by.’

  ‘I thought he’d have been here by now.’

  While they ate they exchanged the usual pleasantries, but the marshal couldn’t help feeling that something was wrong. It was unlike Applejack to turn down the chance of a good meal. When they were finished and the dinner table was cleared, he strolled to the porch and leaned against the veranda rail. After a few moments Selma came to join him.

  ‘You’re still thinking about Applejack,’ she said. ‘He’s a cussed old devil. Like as not he’s either tucked between the sheets in a hotel room or he’s left town and set up camp somewhere.’

  ‘He certainly wouldn’t be stayin’ in no hotel,’ Cooley replied. ‘He might have left town but I don’t think so.’

  His sister pressed close to him and he put his arm round her.

  ‘Is there somethin’ else?’ she said. ‘You seem distracted.’

  ‘It don’t amount to anythin’ much,’ he replied, keeping the focus of attention on Applejack, ‘but when he came ridin’ by he told me he’d struck gold. He said he’d staked his claim and was on his way back to the Indian River.’

  ‘He told you where it was?’

  ‘Yup. Somewhere above the oxbow lake. He showed me some of the dust he’d panned. Looked real enough to me. Trouble is, he probably showed it to a lot of other folks too.’

  ‘That would be like him,’ Selma replied. ‘He’s always been too trustin’.’

  The marshal looked down at his sister.

  ‘I reckon I might just take a walk back into town,’ he said. ‘See if I can find out what’s happened to Applejack.’

  He walked back into the house, took down his gun-belt and strapped it round his waist.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ he said.

  ‘Just you be careful,’ Selma replied.

  The marshal made his way back towards the centre of town. A wind had sprung up and the night had grown cool. From somewhere a dog began to bark. The main street of town was completely deserted and all remaining activity was concentrated at the Blue Horse saloon. Some of the horses that had been fastened to the hitchrack had gone but there were still a number remaining. With a glance in their direction, the marshal stepped on to the boardwalk and pushed through the batwings. The smoke-filled room was quiet; a few people sat at tables just drinking or playing at cards and a couple of men he recognized from neighbouring ranches were standing at the bar. As he moved to the bar rail some of the card players looked up and acknowledged his presence with a nod. The men at the bar turned and one of them said, ‘Howdy’. The marshal’s quick eyes observed that none of them was wearing a gun.

  ‘Good to see you, Marshal,’ the bartender said. ‘Care for a drink?’

  ‘Nope. Thought I’d just glance in as I was passin’ by.’

  The bartender continued wiping a glass, which he then placed back on a shelf.

  ‘Don’t suppose you’ve seen old Applejack?’ the marshal said.

  Reflected in the mirror of the bar, the marshal thought he detected a quick glance pass between the two cowboys. The bartender appeared entirely unmoved.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘He was in earlier.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  The barman shrugged.

  ‘About five.’

  ‘How long did he stay?’

  ‘He had a couple of drinks and then went. Not long.’

  ‘He didn’t say anythin’ about where he was goin’?’

  Again the barman shook his head.

  ‘What is this, Marshal? The old goat ain’t gone and robbed the bank or somethin’?’

  The two at the bar laughed but it sounded hollow to the marshal’s ears.

  ‘Not this time,’ he said.

  He glanced at the ranch-hands.

  ‘Some of you boys leave early?’

  The elder of the two put his glass on the counter.

  ‘Sure.’

  He turned to his friend.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I guess it’s about time we were gettin’ back too.’

  ‘Tell Starr Schandler I’ll stop by one of these days,’ the marshal said. ‘Ain’t been out to the Triangle S in a whiles.’

  The two left and the marshal soon followed. He had learned nothing definite but he had a feeling there was something they had left unsaid. He carried on walking in the direction he had been following before going into the Blue Horse till he arrived at the end of the street. A few ramshackle buildings tailed off into the darkness of the open country across which the dusty road lay like a dropped ribbon, glimmering faintly in the starlight. The marshal stood with his arms folded across his chest. He still had an uneasy feeling. He reached inside a pocket for his pouch of tobacco and felt the crumpled telegram. Cage Drugget had been let out of jail. It was confirmed. That didn’t mean Drugget would necessarily think of making his way to Little Fork, but the marshal couldn’t help but think it was a fair bet. After all, he had been responsible for capturing Drugget and putting him behind bars. The gunslinger had sworn to get even and Cooley had no reason to think that a spell in prison would bring about a change of mind. The man was a ruthless killer and it would only be common sense to prepare for the worst. And now, to add to his unease, the oldster had failed to show up at his house and he had an uncomfortable feeling that it was not because he had changed his plans. He built a smoke and pondered the situation. For the time being there wasn’t much he could do. He decided to leave it till the morning. He would take that ride out to the Triangle S and keep his eyes open for any clues as to the oldster’s disappearance as he rode. Finishing the cigarette, he turned on his heel and walked back through the town. On the way he stepped into th
e only hotel on the slim chance that the oldster might have checked in, but as he expected, there was nothing in the register and the hotel clerk had not seen him. Maybe Applejack was camped out on the prairie, but Cooley doubted that was the case.

  Next morning Cooley was awake early, but early as he was, his sister was up before him.

  ‘I thought you’d appreciate a good breakfast before you set off,’ she said.

  ‘How did you know I was leavin’ early? I never said anythin’.’

  ‘You came back last night disappointed at not having found old Applejack. I kinda figured you wouldn’t wait long.’

  She placed a plate of bacon and eggs on the table.

  ‘I figured I’d take a look out towards the Triangle S, maybe pay Schandler a visit while I’m doin’ it.’

  Selma gave her brother a searching glance.

  ‘Watch what you’re doing,’ she said. ‘There’s something about Schandler I don’t like.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Some of his boys were in the Blue Horse last night. I got a feelin’ they knew somethin’ they weren’t sayin’.’

  Selma left the room and returned with a pot of coffee.

  ‘Are you takin’ Baines along with you?’

  ‘Nope. Figured I’d leave him behind to keep an eye on things here. It don’t take two of us to handle Starr Schandler.’

  She poured out a mug of black coffee.

  ‘Like I say, just be careful,’ she said.

  ‘I always am,’ he replied.

  He didn’t mention anything about the telegram or Cage Drugget because he didn’t want to worry her any more than was usual.

  Across the hot and lonely landscape, a wagon crawled. Sitting high next to one another were a man past his middle years and a young woman.

  ‘I figure we must be over half way to Harpington now,’ the man said.

  ‘I don’t care how far it is,’ she replied. ‘I’m just enjoying the ride.’

  ‘I hope I’ve done the right thing,’ he said. ‘After all, what do we know of life on a farm?’