Last Reckoning For the Presidio Kid Read online

  Bendix nodded. ‘OK. If he was who I think he was, his name was Moss, Bolton Moss.’ The marshal continued to look at Bendix for a moment before replying.

  ‘Yeah. That was the name. And now I think it might be an idea if you told me just how you really came by that limp.’

  Bendix could see that the marshal had sized him up pretty accurately. In a few words he told him about what had happened at the cabin.

  ‘Never did like bounty hunters,’ the marshal said when he had finished. He rose to his feet and came round the corner of the table to stand beside Bendix.

  ‘Name’s Jennings,’ he said. ‘Will Jennings. I was just about to take a break when you came through the door. Why not join me in a mug of coffee? I can surely recommend the Rendezvous restaurant.’

  After locking the door of the office behind them the marshal guided Bendix across the square and a short way along the main street to the eating-house. Inside there were a few tables covered in white linen cloths. A sideboard with plates and glasses stood against one wall and behind a counter a door led into the kitchen. The place was quiet and they seated themselves beside a window. A waitress brought them coffee.

  ‘I guess you’re wonderin’ what your friend Gilpin got himself involved in?’ the marshal said.

  ‘Yeah. The poster said he was wanted for robbery and murder.’

  ‘It was some time ago,’ the marshal replied. ‘I don’t remember the details. I only remember it at all because I’d only recently taken over as town marshal. Besides, most of it happened somewhere else. As I recall, there were a series of railroad hold-ups. They got away with a lot of loot. Used to bring the train to a halt by ripping up the line or placing somethin’ in the way. Used dynamite a lot of the time to blow up the safe. They struck lucky too often for them not to have had inside information. The leader of the gang was an hombre went by the name of the Presidio Kid.’

  ‘I remember readin’ somethin’ about it,’ Bendix replied. ‘I still can’t quite figure how Gilpin would have got involved in somethin’ like that.’

  The marshal shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘Seems there was about dozen of ’em altogether, includin’ the Presidio Kid. There were pretty good descriptions of most of ’em – they didn’t seem to take a lot of effort to disguise themselves. So far as I know, though, none of ’em was ever caught. The railroad company employed extra guards and the last time the gang attacked they were taken by surprise. A couple of them got wounded. After that things quieted down. They seemed to just melt away. Maybe they decided to retire on what they’d stolen. There was more than enough for them to make a pretty good life for themselves.

  ‘You say there were good descriptions of ’em?’

  The marshal shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t take much for a man to disguise himself. It’s a big country. Nobody asks too many questions.’

  ‘When did you say the last of these train robberies took place?’ Bendix asked.

  ‘Couple of years ago.’

  The marshal had been looking out of the window. Now he turned back to Bendix. ‘I guess that about clears things up as far as you’re concerned,’ he said. Bendix poured himself another mug of the thick black coffee. ‘In a way,’ he replied. ‘But there’s somethin’ about all this that doesn’t seem to fit. You don’t ride with a man and not know somethin’ about him. I still can’t see Gilpin bein’ involved with this Presidio Kid or his gang.’

  ‘Things happen to a man. Circumstances change. There’s no denyin’ the evidence of that Wanted dodger.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Bendix replied.

  The marshal was leaning back in his chair and looking out of the window again. Just coming into view along the street was a bunch of three riders. His flinty eyes watched them as they approached the restaurant, then passed by in a cloud of dust.

  ‘What is it?’ Bendix asked.

  ‘Probably nothin’. Just some riders.’

  The marshal got to his feet and walked out of the door. Leaning on a post, he watched the horsemen as they carried on down the street and then dismounted outside the Yellow Duster saloon. After tying their horses to the hitch-rack they climbed the boardwalk and entered through the batwing doors. The marshal turned and came back inside. Bendix poured the last of the coffee.

  ‘Well,’ the marshal said to Bendix, ‘I guess I’ll leave you to it. Call in and see me before you leave town.’

  ‘Thanks for the help,’ Bendix said.

  He watched through the net curtains as the marshal made his way down the street. Instead of carrying on in the direction of the town square he crossed the strip and walked up to the horses tied outside the saloon. He spent a few moments looking at the mounts of the three men he had watched as they rode into town, then he strode through the saloon doors. When Bendix called the waitress he found that the marshal had already paid.

  Marshal Jennings examined the horses to see if they carried any brand markings. Two of them were marked with a Rocking-Chair, the other was unbranded. Bending down to examine the markings more closely, he thought he could detect possible signs of alteration but he couldn’t be sure. It would be easy enough, he reflected, to change, say, an Eleven Half-Circle to a Rocking-Chair. Maybe he was being too canny, but there was something about the three riders that aroused his suspicions. They didn’t look like regular cowpokes.

  He stepped on to the boardwalk, pushed aside the batwings and strode into the saloon. The three riders were standing together at the bar. They had their backs to him but he could see that they were watching his approach reflected in the mirror behind the counter. Other eyes were on him and a couple of the customers slipped out through the batwings. The bartender looked up at his approach.

  ‘What can I get you, Marshal?’ he said.

  Jennings shook his head. ‘Just a courtesy call,’ he replied. ‘Maybe later.’ He turned to the nearest of the riders. ‘You gentlemen aimin’ to stay or just passin’ through?’

  There was no response. The man’s eyes met the marshal’s in the bar-room mirror.

  ‘Either way,’ Jennings continued, ‘you seem to have missed the sign on the way into town.’

  The man’s head turned slowly. ‘Yeah? What sign was that?’

  ‘The one sayin’ to check in your guns with the marshal. That’s me.’ The man looked at his companions. A slow grin spread across his features.

  ‘Anybody notice a sign?’ he asked.

  The others looked thoughtful. One of them dragged a hand across his stubbled blue chin.

  ‘Nope,’ he said after a moment’s pause. ‘Can’t say as I did.’

  The one next to the marshal turned to him. ‘Nobody saw no sign. Maybe it just got blowed over.’

  ‘Well, makes no difference either way. Now I’m here in person, I’ll just ask you to unbuckle your gunbelts and hand in your weapons right now.’

  The man raised his glass and swallowed what was left of his whiskey. Jennings was suddenly aware of how quiet the saloon had become. The chatter of voices had died away. The piano player sat with his hands on his knees. Jennings caught the eye of the bartender. He was inching away from the centre of the bar. The man refilled his glass and took another swallow.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Can’t oblige.’

  ‘I ain’t askin’ again, but I’ll give you two choices. Either hand over the artillery or mount up right now and get out of town. And make sure you don’t come back again.’

  ‘We don’t like takin’ orders,’ the man said.

  ‘I’m givin’ you ten seconds to make up your mind,’ Jennings replied.

  The man looked towards the others. Almost imperceptibly they had begun to fan out away from the bar. The other customers had moved as far away as they could. Jennings had known from the start of the conversation what the outcome would be. He was ready and waiting for one of them to make the first move.

  ‘OK,’ the man next to him said. ‘Guess we’ve about finished anyway.’

  He made to move away from the bar and in the
same instant that his hand fell towards his gun, Jennings’s Navy Colt was already in his hand and spitting lead. The man’s grin transformed into a look of disbelief as he slid to the floor. The other two had been taken by surprise at the swiftness of Jennings’s draw and it gave him the fraction of time he needed to turn and fire. The bullet caught the man on the right in the shoulder and he reeled backwards. A bullet from the third man went whining past Jennings’s ear and the mirror splintered into a thousand pieces.

  Jennings dived for the floor as another bullet thudded into the wall. As he rolled over he fired again, but the man flung himself behind a table. Jennings was in an exposed position and it wasn’t looking good, when suddenly the batwing doors flew apart and Bendix burst into the room, the Smith & Wesson in his hand. Sizing up the situation in a moment, he fired at the man partly concealed behind the table. The bullet crashed into the wood and splinters flew into the man’s face. Before he could react another bullet caught him in the chest and he fell forward. The other man was fanning the hammer of his gun as he made a desperate attempt to reach a side door but he got no further as lead from both Jennings and Bendix lifted him from his feet and sent him clattering to the floor. The noise of firing had been deafening. Now a deep silence descended on the smoke-filled room. Bendix looked towards the figure of the marshal still sprawled on the floor.

  ‘You OK, Jennings?’ he called.

  ‘Sure. Don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up.’ Jennings got to his feet. Together, he and Bendix examined the bodies of the gunmen. All three of them were dead. Slowly the saloon began to return to life. People emerged from where they had attempted to find shelter. A ripple of conversation started up. From behind the bar the swamper appeared with a bucket and a mop.

  ‘Somebody get the undertaker,’ Jennings said.

  Together he and Bendix made for the batwings. As they emerged on to the boardwalk the piano player began to strike up a slow tune.

  They made their way back to the marshal’s office. When they got there Jennings produced a bottle of bourbon and poured drinks.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it’s my guess that you’ve got the Presidio Kid on your trail now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Bendix replied.

  ‘Seems to me it’s no coincidence that first Moss turns up out of the blue and now those three owlhoots.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

  ‘I reckon somethin’s happened to resurrect a few old scores. Somebody, maybe Moss, found out where Gilpin had been hidin’ out. Moss set out to claim the bounty. It’s my opinion that word got out. The Presidio Kid and his gang are followin’ on close behind Moss. Maybe some of them are at the cabin right now.’

  ‘Even if you’re right about Gilpin’s cover bein’ blown, why would they do that?’

  The marshal shrugged. ‘Who knows? Why did Gilpin drop out? Maybe he let them down in some way, maybe he knew somethin’. Those three are just the first arrivals. Once the Presidio Kid and his gang got to the cabin and found Gilpin was dead, they’d probably have been on your trail anyway. Now you’ve had a hand in killin’ some of ’em, they’ll want to even the score. They’ll want revenge.’

  Bendix savoured the whiskey on his tongue. ‘You might well be right,’ he said, ‘but it’s still just a guess.’

  ‘It’s more than that,’ Jennings replied. ‘I recognized one of those coyotes in the saloon. He’s wanted for murder and he’s suspected of once ridin’ with the Presidio Kid.’

  Bendix’s brow creased in concentration. ‘If the Presidio Kid wants to even the scores with me, he’ll want to do the same by you.’

  ‘You’re right. And since I don’t aim to plunge this township into real trouble, I figure to hand things over to my deputy and leave town for a whiles. If I was to stay, the place could become a bloodbath.’

  ‘I’d be around to help out,’ Bendix said.

  The marshal looked at him frankly, ‘Sure appreciate that,’ he said, ‘but it seems a better idea for us both to leave town. Together.’

  Bendix smiled. ‘Be glad to have you along. But where are we headed?’

  ‘It’s a pity all three of those gunslicks got killed,’ Jennings mused. ‘If one of them had been alive, we might have got some information out of him.’

  ‘We could head back to the cabin. If the Presidio Kid is following in Moss’s wake and reckonin’ to find Gilpin, that’s where he’ll go.’

  The marshal was thinking. ‘Makes sense,’ he said. ‘You say you spent time up there when Gilpin was still alive?’

  ‘Yeah. Helped take care of him.’

  ‘He never said anythin’ to you . . . I mean about his time with the Presidio Kid?’

  Bendix shook his head. ‘Nothin’ that I can recall. Maybe somethin’ might occur to me if I look back on it real hard.’

  ‘Seems to me those outlaws are takin’ a lot of effort to come after Gilpin after all this time. I reckon there’s more to it than just a settlin’ of old scores.’

  They both lapsed into silence, considering the situation. The marshal poured another glass of whiskey for each of them.

  ‘I took a look at the horses those owlhoots was riding,’ he said. ‘Two of them carried a Rocking-Horse brand. But I suspect they’d been interfered with. Likely the original brand was an Eleven Half-Circle. Maybe we should start by findin’ where the Rocking-Horse spread is located and takin’ us a look around. Expect we’ll find the Eleven Half-Circle pretty close.’

  Bendix tugged at his ear. ‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘But where do we start? There could be a few places with either name.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ Jennings said. ‘But the Presidio Kid didn’t get his sobriquet for nothin’. I figure that the Rocking-Horse, assumin’ it exists, is goin’ to be not too far from Presidio.’

  Bendix swallowed his whiskey and looked at the marshal. Suddenly they each broke into a laugh.

  ‘Holy Moses,’ Bendix said, ‘I’m not too sure about your logic, but what the hell? I ain’t been down to Texas in a long time. Be nice to resume acquaintances. Looks like we’re bound for the Rio Grande.’

  Chapter Two

  Marshal Ben Mercer sat in his office in the town of Horse Bend, north-west of Presidio. Things had been quiet for a considerable time but nevertheless the marshal was worried. Things seemed to be stirring out on the range. For the second time in as many days people had been coming to him with complaints about the Rocking-Horse spread: first Luke Grey from the Tumbling W and now Seb Coolidge from the Eleven Half-Circle. Their story was the same. Cattle had been disappearing from the range and they both blamed the Rocking-Horse, the biggest ranch in the territory. That in itself would have been significant, but the marshal had his own suspicions. He had had similar trouble from that direction before but it had blown over and things had settled down. There was still an uneasy atmosphere but nothing definite had occurred to disturb the relative tranquillity. Now the complaints were starting again. He wasn’t even sure that it was his concern. Maybe it was a matter for the sheriff at the county seat. Maybe the Texas Rangers were the ones to handle it. But for the moment he felt it was down to him. Besides, he would feel foolish calling in outside assistance at this stage. Thinking about it, he resolved to pay a courtesy call on Miss Otilie at the Rocking-Horse. He hadn’t been out there for a long while. It couldn’t do any harm.

  He had just come to this decision when he became aware of shouting outside, followed by a sudden outburst of noise. Getting to his feet, he strolled to the door, opened it and glanced down the street. A crowd had gathered outside the stagecoach office. The stage had just pulled in and the horses were stamping and snorting. A figure detached itself from the throng and came hurrying down the street towards him. It was Harvey Scott, the stageline clerk.

  ‘Marshal,’ he gasped, ‘there’s been trouble. Some owlhoots attacked the stage. They’ve got away with the strongbox and the mail.’

  ‘Anyone hurt?’

  ‘They shot the guard. He’s i
njured. I don’t know how bad.’

  ‘OK. I’m comin’.’

  The two of them ran back down the street. When they arrived the injured guard had been carried inside the depot and laid on a bunk.

  ‘Where are you hit?’ Mercer snapped. ‘Is it bad?’

  ‘It’s my leg,’ the man gasped.

  Mercer had begun to undo his bandanna to make a tourniquet when the doctor, a small thin man called Steiger, bustled into the room. A glance at the injured man told him what was required.

  ‘Get the rest of them out of here,’ he said to the marshal.

  Curious people were crowding into the room, others were peering through a window. The marshal ushered the intruders out.

  ‘Best get on with your business,’ he advised. ‘There’s nothin’ you can do around here.’

  Most of the crowd began to melt away but a few of the more inquisitive lingered. Mercer found the driver seated on a bench in the waiting-room, taking a long pull from a flask.

  ‘What happened?’ Mercer asked.

  The driver looked shaken-up but he was an old hand. He had experienced worse.

  ‘About eight miles out of town,’ he said. ‘Just before the fork leading in the direction of the Rocking-Horse. Six riders hit us. We didn’t have a chance.’ He paused. ‘Say, how’s Clem? The shotgun guard.’

  ‘Not sure,’ Mercer replied, ‘but I figure he’ll pull through. The doc is with him now.’ He stroked his chin. ‘I don’t suppose you recognized any of ’em?’

  ‘Nope. It all happened so quickly. Besides, they had their neckerchiefs pulled up. One of ’em even wore some kind of a mask.’

  ‘A mask?’

  ‘Yeah, a sort of long black cloth with slits cut out for the eyes.’

  Mercer looked thoughtful. ‘Anythin’ else about them?’ he enquired.

  ‘Nothin’, only that they got away with the strongbox. I guess it was just lucky nobody got killed.’

  ‘What about passengers?’

  ‘What about them? Like I say, it was lucky nobody got killed.’