CHAPTER NINE

Jess put his horse up at the livery stable. He rode the same buckskin that had first welcomed him to the ranch all those weeks ago. They liked each other; they both had a short fuse, and were wary of strangers.

“Take good care of him, Nate,” he said. He stroked the silky neck, and was rewarded with a gentle nudge against his chest.

“Sure thing,” the old stable hand grinned. “Slim always was a good judge of horseflesh. That’s a mighty handsome animal. I’ll look after him, never fear.”

Nate Jenks shot Jess a curious glance. He had heard all the rumors about him, but the old man wasn’t one to judge someone by other people’s gossip. He had led a pretty restless, colorful life himself, before finally settling in Laramie some twenty-odd years ago. He could recognize some of his own wildness in the lean, young man with the shadowy past.

“Heard you was ridin’ shotgun on that payroll shipment,” he commented as he unsaddled the horse. “That’s a whole lot of money, ain’t it?”

Jess gave him a startled look. He swore silently, news sure traveled fast.

“Yeah” Jess nodded at the old man, wondering who had leaked the information. “I’ll see you when I get back, Nate.”

“You take care, son,” Nate grunted, as he led the big horse to an empty stall.

Jess noticed the sideways stares he got from passersby, and smiled thinly. It must be all over town that a gunfighter was riding shotgun on the payroll run. He passed the general store, and Hugh Elders called to him.

“Say, Jess, boy, how are you?”

Jess halted. He had been on cautiously friendly terms with the elderly shopkeeper and his wife since the shootout with Lou Coulter. They thought very highly of Slim, and knew that Jess had most likely saved his life by stepping between him and the gunman that day.

“Hugh,” Jess acknowledged “how’re the puppies doin’?”

“Oh, running all over the store, getting into mischief,” Elders sighed. “Looks like we’ll be able to find a home for all of them. What’s this I hear about you riding shotgun?”

“Looks that way,” Jess said. “Got roped into it by a man named Sherman.” He grinned. “I don’t have time to stop, Hugh, stage’s waitin’ on me. Say hello to the missus from me.”

“Will do. You be careful now.”

Jess continued on down the street. The stage was parked outside the depot, and Mackenzie was already in the driver’s seat. Jess pushed open the door to the depot, and went inside. Ted Benson and another man were engaged in a violent argument that stopped when they saw Jess, but not before he’d heard his name mentioned.

“Gentlemen,” he said with a sardonic smile, “don’t let me interrupt you.”

Jeremy Clayton reddened slightly, and extended his hand.

“I’m Jeremy Clayton,” he said, “managing director of the Laramie Bank. Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Harper.”

“I’ll bet it does,” Jess said, and turned to the stageline superintendent.

Benson eyed him uneasily. Harper was a like a coiled spring, wound too tight. His chill blue eyes cut right through him. Benson shivered, and cleared his throat uncertainly.

“That would make you Ted Benson,” Jess said and shook hands with the man. The stageline boss’ hands were sweaty with nervousness.

“Sorry we haven’t had a chance to meet before, Harper,” Benson said, trying to sound genial, and not quite succeeding.

“That the strongbox?” Jess asked, nodding towards the steel edged crate on the desk next to Benson.

“Yes, it is,” Benson said hurriedly. “Mackenzie’s is all set to go, so any time you’re ready.”

“Mr. Harper,” Clayton said, “I won’t deny that I am uncertain about having you ride guard on this shipment. I’m sure that doesn’t come as a surprise to you.”

Jess revised his opinion of the bank manager. At least the man was honest, which was more than could be said for the Overland stage superintendent, whose face was wreathed in a worried smile.

“I reckon I can understand that,” Jess said quietly.

“Slim Sherman’s an old friend of mine, and his opinion is good enough for me,” Clayton continued. “Well, I have to be getting back to the bank. Good luck, Mr. Harper.”

“Thanks,” Jess nodded and held open the door for him.

“If it had been up to me you wouldn’t be riding out today,” Benson stated flatly, once the bank manager was out of earshot. “I wanted Sherman to do it, but he seems to think you’re the better man for the job. Thinks a lot of you, apparently. I just hope his trust isn’t misplaced.”

“I’ll get the payroll there,” Jess snapped. “If the stage’s ready to roll I’d better get goin’.”

He slung the strongbox onto his shoulder, and stomped out. Mackenzie reached down and got hold of it, and stowed it in the compartment under the driver’s seat.

“’bout time you got here,” he said sourly as Jess climbed up next to him. He handed him the shotgun. “Here, you’ll need this.”

“I can see it’s goin’ to be a real pleasure ridin’ with you,” Jess retorted.

*****

Some fifteen miles north of Laramie, at a sharp bend in the road, two riders waited in a clump of trees, slouched in the saddle. One of them rolled a cigarette and scraped a match against his bootheel. His companion scratched his unshaven chin and shifted his weight. Leather creaked, and his horse turned his head inquiringly.

“Waitin’s the worst part of it,” Jake Boyd muttered. “Where the hell are they?”

“Oh, I reckon they’ll be here afore long,” Cullen yawned. “Relax, Jake, yer nerves’re gettin’ to ya.”

“Ten thousand in gold makes me nervous,” Boyd breathed, his eyes shining feverishly. “Think on it, Mel; think what we could do with that kind of money.”

“We ain’t gonna think on it,” Cullen said sharply. “Tyrell’s paying us five hunnert apiece to lift it, and make sure Sherman takes the fall for it. We take off with all of it, and there won’t be a place on this earth where we kin spend it without old man Tyrell findin’ out about it. I don’t aim to spend the rest of my life lookin’ over my shoulder, so you jest put that notion outa your head, Jake!”

“Aw, hell,” Boyd sighed. “Just seems like a waste’s all. We could kill Sherman, and hightail it for Mexico. Tyrell’s got no pull south of the border.”

“You wanna bet your life on that?” Cullen laughed, but there was no mirth in his laugh. “I tell you that man’s got half of Colorado and a good piece of Wyoming Territory in his pocket. That kinda money buys an awful lot of information, even ‘cross the Rio Grande.”

Boyd shrugged and gave him an annoyed stare. His thin lips clamped down on his cigarette.

“What if they start shootin’?” he asked, fingering his gun. “I know Tyrrell don’t want ‘em dead, but I sure ain’t gonna be no sittin’ duck.”

“With two rifle barrels starin’ ‘em in the face, I think they’ll reconsider startin’ sumpin’,” Cullen grinned.

*****

Scott Mackenzie handled the reins expertly, and they made good time. Jess leaned back in his seat, the shotgun across his knees. He kept a roving eye on the terrain, but so far the hours had been uneventful.

Mackenzie was a taciturn man, who spoke little. When he did, he made no bones about his feelings for sharing the driver’s seat with a gunfighter with a shady past. Jess couldn’t really blame the man for being suspicious, not the superintendent either, for that matter. Benson had no cause to trust him, but he had still taken Slim’s word for it.

Jess tightened his grip on the shotgun as he thought of his friends back in Laramie. He had ridden a lone trail for so long that the warmth and friendliness of the people at the Sherman ranch filled him with conflicting emotions of gratitude, and a nagging fear that their kindness would be repaid by spilled blood. He couldn’t allow that to happen, and yet the thought of leaving that little ranch house and the people who called it home, turned him cold and empty inside.

Mel Cullen pulled a spyglass from his saddlebag when he saw the dust the stage kicked up in the distance, and searched out the driver and the shotgun rider.

“Shit! That ain’t Sherman,” he swore. “I know that mug. Harper’s ridin’ guard!”

“What? What the hell do we do now, Mel?” Jake Boyd sputtered.

Cullen put the spyglass away, thinking quickly. There were only two options; they could abandon the plan, and be out five hundred dollars apiece, or they could follow through on it as originally laid out. It wasn’t much of a choice.

“So Harper takes the fall instead of Sherman,” he said curtly. “Old man Tyrell should be happy with that. We don’t alter the plan, Jake.”

Jess straightened up and pushed his hat off his forehead. It was a hot afternoon, but the sun was at last dipping lower on the horizon, and a slight breeze afforded some relief. Mackenzie eased into a sharp bend in the road, sawing gently at the reins, slowing the fourspan to a fast trot. They came out of the turn and found themselves facing two riders with rifles leveled at them. One of them fired two shots that cut the air right over their heads.

“What the hell!” Mackenzie yelled, pulling the stage to a halt.

Jess leapt to his feet, bringing the shotgun to bear.

“Nice goin’, Jess,” one of the men yelled. “Ya make it look real good. Now, drop the shotgun. You there, driver, toss down yer gun.”

Jess clenched the rifle in his hands. There was nothing familiar about either of the men, and bandanas covered the lower half of their faces. Swearing, Mackenzie kicked the brake, and swung on Jess.

“I might’ve known,” he grunted in disgust. “You dirty, doublecrossin’…”

“Mackenzie, I had nothin’ to do with this,” Jess said fiercely, throwing his rifle down on the ground. He made a move to unbuckle his gunbelt.

“Naw, you kin keep yer iron,” Cullen drawled. “Jest take it easy, and ya won’t git hurt. All we want is the gold, so git the strongbox out, and toss it over here, Jess.”

“I don’t know you two,” Jess said.

“Why, Jess, we’re old friends, remember,” Cullen grinned, “no need to play that game any longer. There’s gonna be plenty for all of us.”

“The strongbox,” Boyd yelled impatiently. “Come on, time’s a’wastin’!”

Jess bent to pull the strongbox from its compartment, and Mackenzie lunged at him with an angry growl. Jess staggered back, and almost fell off the coach. Cullen’s rifle spat once; the driver let out a strangled cry and tumbled from the driver’s seat. He hit the ground hard and lay still. Jess stared at the motionless figure, and turned a white face to the two holdup men.

“Why?” he shouted. “He wasn’t even armed, for God’s sake!”

“Shut up,” Boyd snapped. “Get that gold down here, now! Or you can join your friend and eat some dust.”

Jess hoisted the box, gauging his chances, but as long as both rifles were pointed straight at him, there wasn’t much he could do. He swung the box over the side, and dumped it on the ground. The lid flew open on impact, and a startled yell escaped Cullen when he saw the contents. The two men gaped at the pile of rocks that littered the road, and Jess seized his chance. He dropped to one knee, his gun flashing into his hand. With a savage snarl he fanned the hammer, spewing lead.

Boyd slammed out of the saddle, his rifle flying in an arc over his head, and landing in the grass. Cullen got off one shot, and then Jess’ bullet caught him in the throat. He clutched at the wound, and with an astonished look on his face he slowly slid off his horse. The animal rolled its eyes, and sidestepped him nervously as he hit the ground.

Jess stood motionless, his chest heaving as adrenaline raced through his veins. Tensely he waited, his gun ready, but neither of the holdup men moved a muscle. It had all taken less than ten seconds. He jumped down, and knelt by Scott Mackenzie. There was nothing he could do for him; the man had been dead when he tumbled off the stage. He turned Boyd over with the tip of his boot, and yanked the bandana down. He had never seen the man before.

Jess walked over to Cullen. The man died as he bent over him, blood pulsing through his fingers. Jess holstered his gun and unmasked him. This man, too, was a total stranger. Yet they had known him. How? Why? Jess turned away from the smell of blood, and fought the bile rising in his throat. He examined the open strongbox, and an icy rage took hold of him as he straightened up. The whole thing smelled of a setup, with himself in the middle, and three dead men at his feet.

Someone had a lot of explaining to do.

ooo0ooo

CHAPTER TEN

“You’re going out on a limb for Jess with this payroll run, Slim,” Mort Corey commented as they sauntered slowly down Front Street. The sheriff was making his early evening rounds, and Slim walked along with him. He was headed for the stage depot to pick up the new schedules.

“Someone has to, Mort,” Slim said. “I know I’m not wrong about him. He’s his own worst enemy; if I can get him to take that chip off his shoulder he might ease up on himself. I tell you, he’s a different person when he’s around Mike, and as for Daisy, she’s just about adopted him.”

“What about you?” Mort asked quizzically, glancing over at his friend.

Slim smiled ruefully. “If he would keep a tighter rein on that temper of his, I think we could be good friends,” he said. “I know he most likely saved my life by squarin’ off with Lou Coulter that day. I didn’t handle it very well at the time, Mort. When he gets back from Fort Sutton I aim to sit down and have it out with him.”

“He got a raw deal in Bowdrie, with that Billy Tyrell killin’,” Mort said. “The boy’s old man practically runs the county. Jess ever talk about it?”

“He gave me the bare facts once,” Slim shrugged. “It’s a touchy subject. I don’t want to press him.”

He stopped outside the stage depot.

“Join me for a drink when you’re done with your rounds, Mort?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Corey grinned and continued on down the street.

*****

An hour later Mort Corey was making his way back when he heard a commotion up ahead. As he got closer a stage came roaring onto Front Street, fourspan at a full gallop, and he caught a glimpse of Jess in the driver’s seat, murderous fury on his face. The sheriff knew everything had gone wrong with the payroll run. Muttering an oath he hurried along the sidewalk to the stage depot.

Jess slammed the coach to a halt, and tied up the reins. The horses stood heaving, their coats lathered with sweat and dust. He jumped down and opened the door to the coach. He yanked out the damaged strongbox and holding it by one hand, he kicked open the door to the depot, sending it crashing against the wall. Slim, who was pouring over the new stageline schedules with Benson, swung around in surprise. The superintendent jumped to his feet with a startled yelp when he saw Jess.

“Harper!” he gaped.

“Jess! What happened?” Slim asked and took a step towards him.

“As if you didn’t know!” Jess snarled, and with a violent gesture, he threw the strongbox across the room. It hit the wall and spilled open, the rocks clattering all over the floor.

“What the hell…,” Slim exclaimed. He stared at his friend’s white face, seeing the anger, and something else, a bleak disappointment that brought him up short. He turned to Benson.

“Benson? What’s the meanin’ of this?” He indicted the rocks littering the office.

Ted Benson opened his mouth to reply, but Jess cut him off.

“Scott Mackenzie is dead,” he shouted. “So are the two men who tried to rob us. They’re outside, in the coach.”

He lunged forward and grasped the quivering man by the shirtfront.

“You hear me, Benson? That’s three men dead!” he grated, shaking Benson like a cornered rat. “I hear Mackenzie was married and had a family. Well, I hope you’re satisfied. You got a good man killed for a crate full of rocks!”

“Let him go, Jess,” Slim said and put out a restraining hand.

Jess shook it off, and Slim flinched at the look in his eyes. It was the same look he had when he’d first come to Laramie, cold and haunted.

“What did you do with the payroll, Benson?” Jess snarled. He stepped back and his fingertips brushed his holster. “We sure as hell didn’t carry it.”

Ted Benson took a deep breath, and moved cautiously towards the window, out of Harper’s reach. The man was violent and unpredictable, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Sheriff Corey come running across the street and enter the office.

“Slim! Jess! What’s goin’ on around here?” Corey demanded, looking from one to the other.

“I got three dead men in the coach, and no payroll,” Jess said harshly. “Was there any money to start with, Benson, or was it all just a test, to see if I would run with it?”

Corey saw the broken strongbox and the rocks that were scattered on the floor. It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together, and he shot Benson a quick glance.

“Want to tell me what this is all about, Ted?” he asked calmly.

“You keep him away from me,” Benson quavered, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs. “I told Clayton it was a bad idea, but he insisted the money go out today. I couldn’t afford to take a chance on Harper, no sir, not with his record. The payroll left with the morning run. This one was just a decoy, and you can see where it led to!”

Jess looked at Slim, and slowly shook his head.

”You set me up, Slim,” he said, his voice strained. “The two of you set me up. I suppose I ought to thank you for having so much faith in me.”

“For God’s sake, use your head, Jess,” Slim said tersely. “I didn’t know about this run ‘til yesterday afternoon, when Benson came by the ranch. You can’t for a minute believe I had anything to do with this?”

“I know when someone’s pissin’ on my boots and tellin’ me it’s a rainstorm,” Jess yelled.

“Harper, he’s right” Benson cut in. “He wasn’t part of it. It was my idea, only I knew about the decoy.”

He gestured at the broken strongbox. Jess locked eyes with him, and some of his anger died as he read the truth in the superintendent’s anxious face. His throat constricted, and he turned away quickly, raw emotion tearing at him.

“What about the holdup men, Jess?” the sheriff asked. “Anyone you know?”

“Never saw ‘em before,” Jess said, shaking his head. “They seemed to know me, though. Made a point of callin’ me by name. I got the feelin’ it was all for Mackenzie’s benefit. Things went sour went he jumped me, and one of them shot him. He never had a chance, wasn’t even armed.”

His shoulders slumped, and he ran a shaking hand over his dust-streaked face. The fight had gone out of him, and the long, neck-breaking ride back to town was beginning to tell on him.

“I’ll be at the hotel if you want me, Sheriff,” he said wearily and turned to go.

“Jess, I know it’s a long ride back to the ranch, but don’t you think…,” Slim broke off as Jess shook his head.

“You go on ahead, Slim,” Jess said, “I need some time to sort things out.”

*****

The afternoon stage from Bowdrie pulled to a halt outside the Laramie stage depot. Hurd Tyrell stepped down, followed by his two sons.

“What now, Pa?” Johnny Tyrell asked impatiently, hitching at his gunbelt.

“You go check us into the hotel,” his father replied. Get a suite, if they have such a thing. Matt and I will have a chat with the superintendent. We’ll meet you at the hotel later.”

“All right, Pa,” Johnny shrugged.

He sauntered down the street towards the hotel, taking in the layout of the town as he walked. It might come in handy, he mused, when it came to a showdown with Harper. Johnny was itching to take the gunfighter on. Just as well the holdup hadn’t gone as planned; it had at least caused his father to move forward.

Matt glanced furtively at the older man as they entered the stage depot. To an outsider, he looked calm and business like, but his son saw the tense lines around his eyes, and the tight set of his jaw. He had been furious when the cable came in about the foiled robbery attempt. He had wanted Sherman ruined and instead he found himself indirectly responsible for the death of three men. Matt didn’t know Cullen and Boyd, but the stage driver had been married with a family. Hurd Tyrell was a man driven by a blind quest for vengeance, and Matt knew there would be no stopping him now, not as long as Harper drew a breath.

Ted Benson was sorting papers on his desk, and sprang to his feet when the Tyrell’s entered.

“Ted, I don’t think you’ve met my oldest son, Matt.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Matt,” Benson said genially.

Matt nodded noncommittally and wondered what his father’s game was. He hadn’t said anything further about his plan of action to either Johnny or himself.

“You’re looking fit, Ted,” Terrell smiled, and indicated the man’s ample girth. “A little too fit, perhaps?”

“Ah, ha-ha, yes, well, it’s an easier life than riding up top on that hard driver’s seat,” Benson laughed, and patted his belly. “I have you to thank for that, Mr. Tyrell. If you hadn’t recommended me to the Board I’d still be plying the route between Laramie and Cheyenne.”

“You deserved it, Ted,” Tyrell said. “I knew you were the right man for the job.”

“Now, then,” Benson said briskly, and indicated a chair. “I guess you’re here about the holdup. As I mentioned in my cable, your payroll is perfectly safe and on its way to Fort Sutton. If I may say so myself, sending out a decoy run was a good call. ”

Tyrell declined to sit down. He wanted to strangle the obsequious little man who had inadvertently upset his careful plans, but short of admitting that he had set the whole thing in motion, he had no choice but to play along

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “You did very well with that, Ted. I’ll tell you what’s on my mind, though. You have a fellow by the name of Slim Sherman working for you, right?”

“Yes, I do,” Benson said, taken aback by the question. “Hired him myself several years ago. He runs the relay station some twelve miles outside of Laramie. One of my best men. Unfortunately, he was not available for the payroll run.”

“Hmm, I see,” Tyrell murmured. He removed a cigar from his inside coat pocket, and bit off the tip. He took his time lighting it, inhaling pleasurably as Benson, an innocent smile on his cherubic face, waited patiently for him to continue.

“I’ve heard disturbing rumors about him,” Tyrell said. “Or rather about the man he hired to help with the relay station.”

‘Damn,’ Benson swore to himself. ‘Here it comes. I knew I shouldn’t have let Slim talk me into it.’

“You know who I’m referring to, Ted?” Tyrell’s voice was silky.

“Jess Harper,” Benson sighed. “Sherman’s been trying to hire some help for weeks, without any luck. It’s hard for a man to run a ranch and tend to a relay station alone, so when Harper showed up needing a job…”

He shrugged and patted his thinning hair with a worried frown. Hurd Tyrell’s eyes were no longer genial; they cut into him like barbed wire.

“You are aware that Harper is the man who gunned down my youngest boy two years ago?” Tyrell said sharply.

Benson gulped, and jerked back, his face turning pasty white. The bombshell hit him right between the eyes, sending his thoughts spinning frantically. Two years ago he had been in Montana on an extended leave of absence when his wife’s mother had passed away. The Tyrell case was old news by the time he got back, and he had paid little attention to it.

“N…no,” he breathed. “I didn’t…I had no idea, I swear, Mr. Tyrell. If I had known he would never have…”

Tyrell made a quick, dismissive gesture with his hands.

“I believe you, Ted. However, I am sure you realize that it doesn’t look good on the Overland’s roster to have a convicted criminal and known gunfighter on its payroll. I don’t think our passengers would feel comfortable about it, especially in light of what’s happened lately. Word like that gets around, you know.”

Matt Tyrell folded his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the wall, watching his father effectively make the superintendent wiggle like a worm on a hook. He felt sorry for Benson, but he was also filled with contempt for the man for not having the guts to stand up for his people. Matt grimaced inwardly.

‘I’m a fine one to talk,’ he thought. “I can’t even stand up for my own convictions against my father!’

“Yes, of course,” Benson said lamely. “I have been meaning to talk to Sherman, I assure you.”

“There’s a Board of Directors meeting in Cheyenne in a few weeks,” Tyrell interrupted him. “I don’t think they’ll take very kindly to your hiring policies, Ted. I want you to get rid of Harper immediately, or I’ll personally see to it that you’re back polishing the driver’s seat on the next coach out of Laramie.”

Benson shuddered as the trap closed around him, and reached for his handkerchief. He feverishly mopped the perspiration from his brow. His comfortable world was in danger of collapsing around him, and he quavered at the alternative.

“You…you can’t mean that, Mr. Tyrell,” he protested. “I can fire Harper, sure, but what’s to stop Sherman from keeping him on as just a ranch hand? I can’t tell him whom he should have working his land!”

“I realize that,” Hurd Tyrell smiled briefly, expelling cloud of cigar smoke into the stageline superintendent’s face. “But I happen to know that his contract with the Overland is up for renewal in a few months, so you’ll just inform him that unless he gets rid of Harper, it will be awarded to someone else.”

“There’s no one more qualified than Slim Sherman,” Benson gasped. “I can’t do that to him, Mr. Tyrell. Without the Overland franchise he won’t be able to pay his bills – or the bank. He…he might lose everything!”

“Exactly,” Tyrell said, rocking back on his heels. He watched smoke from his cigar trail towards the ceiling, filtered by sunlight.

“Exactly, Ted, which is why, given the choice, I think he’ll see things our way.”

He casually dropped the cigar on the floor, and ground it under his boot heel.

“Matt, I think our business here is concluded – shall we move on to the bank?”

“All right, Pa.” Matt pushed away from the wall.

“Don’t let me down, Ted,” Tyrell said gently as they walked out.

“Damn!” Benson swore and pounded futilely on his desk. “Dammit all to hell!”

ooo0ooo

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