Ralph Compton Rusted Tin Page 3

  “Them were working girls. We didn’t do nothin’ more than what they’re used to. After the lily-white customers that frequented that place, those girls were probably sad to see us go.”

  “Except for the one whose teeth were knocked out. Or the one that was put in the ground.”

  “Yeah,” Frank grunted as he plopped to a seated position with his back against the wall. “Except for them two. So when the hell do I get these ropes off?”

  “You heard what I told the lady.”

  “Mornin’? What kind of service is that?”

  Sheriff Wolpert let his head hang as a tired smile drifted across his face. There wasn’t the first trace of humor in his expression, but more of an amused sense of disbelief. After checking to make sure there was nobody close enough to see the front section of the jailhouse, he unlocked and opened the door once more. Keeping one hand on the gun holstered at his hip, he used the other to pull the door to within a fraction of an inch of being shut. “You got some nerve. You know that, Frank?”

  The thief looked up at him and shrugged. Considering his current predicament inside all that rope, it was one of the few movements he could perform.

  “You remember what I told you after that cathouse business?” Wolpert asked.

  “Sure I do. You told it to all of us plenty of times.”

  Reaching down to grab the ropes crossing Frank’s chest, the lawman hauled him to his feet and slammed him against the wall. “Seems like I should have told you one more time since you still didn’t listen.”

  “We listened, Zeke. We just don’t take orders from the likes of you.”

  “I don’t approve of harming women. There’s no cause for it.”

  “So you said before.”

  “Why would you muck about with that lady from the livery? And in my own town? What on God’s green earth were you thinking about?”

  “I was thinking about what any red-blooded man would think when he’s got a fine lady in front of him. Now, are you gonna get me outta these ropes or not?”

  “You’re lucky I don’t string you up with them,” Wolpert growled.

  “Now, what would Burt think about that when he came around again? He would take a cut out of yer pay—that’s for certain.”

  The sheriff’s mouth became a tight line. Although Frank didn’t wipe the grin off his face, he at least knew when to quiet down. Eventually, Wolpert reached into his pocket for a folding knife. Holding the little blade up to the thief’s eye, he said, “I won’t stand for any of that cathouse business anymore. You got that?”

  “Oh, yes, sir, Sheriff.”

  “You’re spending the night in this jail whether you like it or not.”

  “I got my corner all picked out. Just cut them ropes and I can stretch my legs proper.”

  As the lawman cut the rope strand by strand, he never took his eyes off Frank’s face. The small blade lingered near the tender spot of Frank’s stomach as if waiting for an excuse to turn and cut into something more vital than the binding. But like most rodents who lived longer than a day, this one knew when to keep to itself and not make any waves. When the rope was all cut and piled at his feet, Frank stepped away and rubbed his arms where the circulation had been cut off.

  “What time are you gonna let me out tomorrow?”

  “I’ll bring you something to eat. After that, we’ll have to wait and see what the judge says.”

  Frank had started to slide back down to have a seat upon the floor, but quickly reversed course and clambered back up to his full height. “Judge?” he snapped. “What judge?”

  “The judge that makes his rounds through this county and the three neighboring ones. He should be along in a few days. No more than a week or two would be my outside guess.”

  “I ain’t waitin’ for no judge! Burt don’t pay you to wait for any damn thing!”

  When Frank moved closer to the lawman, he bumped against the barrel of a Cavalry model pistol. The gun had cleared its holster with a quick whisper of movement that had gone completely unnoticed by the fuming outlaw. The touch of the well-oiled iron brought Frank up short. The metallic click of the hammer being thumbed back sent a wary twitch through his entire face.

  “Burt isn’t here,” Sheriff Wolpert said. “And neither is his money. Until that situation changes, you’ll sit in the jail and stew. If you had any sense, you’d steer clear of this town.”

  “Them saloons are nice,” Frank muttered.

  “I warned you to keep your nose clean and stay away from any woman you didn’t pay for. Are you trying to make a fool out of me, Frank? In my own town?”

  The anger had run its course through Frank’s system. The arrogance that had been there earlier had boiled off like water that had been left in an unattended kettle. “I, uh, didn’t think about that, Zeke. Honest.”

  “I know you didn’t think. You never think. That’s your problem. If my arrangement with Burt is going to stand, I can’t have mangy dogs like you sniffing around making things difficult for me.”

  “When I went into that livery, I just—”

  “Shut up!”

  When Wolpert said that, Frank jumped as if he’d heard the bark of the Cavalry pistol in the lawman’s hand.

  “You’re going to sit in this jail until I come for you. Understand?”

  Frank nodded.

  “Burt should be coming through town before too long and I’m sure he’ll want to hear about what happened. He may even come up with enough money to spring you out of here before the judge comes along.”

  “You’re really gonna put me in front of a judge?” the horse thief asked as his eyes grew wider than saucers.

  “It’s either that or try to explain to that nice lady why I cut you loose after what you did.” Wolpert eased the hammer of his pistol down and holstered the weapon. “What do you say to that?”

  Making his way to a corner far from the sheriff and the only door leading out of the shack, Frank grumbled, “I say you’re a crooked, backstabbing son of a bitch.”

  “What was that?”

  Although he had the sand to glare at Wolpert from his corner, Frank didn’t have enough to make another sound.

  The lawman nodded slowly and headed for the door. “Didn’t think so.”

  Chapter 3

  The first few hours of daylight were Lucy’s favorite. Deep oranges and yellows filled the sky. Winds slowed into breezes that brushed the cold against her cheeks as opposed to stabbing it through her entire body. Most important, however, the entire town was quiet.

  During her childhood years on a ranch in eastern Wyoming, quiet was easy to come by. It was so cheap that she never fully appreciated it. After coming to Sedley, she’d quickly learned to cherish any moment when the drunks weren’t hollering, the saloon girls weren’t cackling and her brothers weren’t grousing about something or other while rattling about in the house or livery. After the previous night’s events, Lucy needed some peace more than ever.

  After tending to the horses, she straightened up the livery to get rid of any trace of the horse thief’s presence. Her tasks included sweeping the straw so it covered the floor evenly, testing the latch on the doors to make sure they hadn’t been weakened, arranging the stalls to the exact state they’d been in before the attempted robbery and making sure the pitchfork was somewhere she could get to with a minimum of fuss.

  After all of that was done, she stepped outside to enjoy the last few moments of calm before more folks started wandering up and down the street or hollering their greetings back and forth at each other. Despite the fact that it was a bit cooler than the day before, Lucy wore a coat that was thinner than the shawl she’d wrapped around her yesterday. The breeze’s icy fingers found her a little faster, which sharpened her senses and made the new day’s scent that much more enjoyable.

  Right on schedule, more people emerged from the houses and businesses on either side of the street. She watched them go through their daily motions, wondering if her own routine was s
o predictable. One figure broke from the pack and wandered up the street toward her end of town. She picked him out immediately and studied him even harder once it became clear that he was headed for the Thrown Shoe.

  It was Sheriff Wolpert. Even with his black coat wrapped tightly around him, Lucy recognized the lawman from a distance. His narrowed eyes somehow seemed colder than anything the weather had to offer. By the time he came to a stop in front of her, Lucy was standing at attention and returning his gaze with one of her own.

  “Good morning, Lucy.”

  His soft tone didn’t match the harshness of his features. Hearing her name spoken by that voice went a long way to putting her at ease. Of course, she wasn’t about to let him know that.

  “Sheriff,” she stiffly replied.

  “I came by to see if you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Wolpert took a moment to look around at the livery and then took in the sight of her. Unlike the hungry looks she got from other men, this one was carefully subdued. “So you truly weren’t hurt,” he surmised.

  “Why all the interest, Sheriff?”

  “The man who tried to steal your horses . . . I know what he’s capable of.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “You won’t be bothered by him anymore.” After one more look at her, the lawman tipped his hat and turned away.

  “When’s he getting set loose?” she asked.

  Wolpert stopped. “I’m not sure yet. Maybe never. Depends on what the judge says.”

  Lucy didn’t even try to stifle the little humorless chuckle that came up from the back of her throat like an unexpected burp.

  Spinning around on his heel, Wolpert closed the distance between them in just two steps. “You don’t believe me?”

  “Most folks around here wouldn’t believe that. The only difference between me and them is that I’m not in the mood to keep up appearances anymore.”

  “Appearances regarding what?”

  “Being stuck with you,” she replied with disgust tainting her words.

  “Stuck with me? I was elected to this spot, in case you didn’t know.”

  “Not by me and not by any of the other honest business owners around here. Word has it that you slid in behind your desk after Sheriff Vincent was killed. There’s even been word that the ones who put that badge on your chest are the same ones who put Sheriff Tate in the ground.”

  The instant she said those things, Lucy wanted to take them back. No matter what she thought about the validity of her claim, she knew she’d crossed a line. She could feel it all the way down in the marrow of her bones in the same fashion that a cat knew when a bigger predator was getting ready to pounce. Lucy held her ground, since it was the only option left open to her.

  The lawman ground his teeth together and eyed Lucy carefully. Nothing on his face betrayed whether he was watching to see what she would do or waiting for the chance to do something himself. Finally, he said, “Whatever you heard, I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to you. When I tell you there’s no need to worry about that horse thief in my jail, I mean it.”

  “Fine.”

  Sheriff Wolpert nodded to himself and took half a step away from the livery. Suddenly, he stopped and looked at her once again. “What did I do to make you so cross at me?” he asked.

  “Nothing. You do nothing,” Lucy replied. “Maybe that’s my problem.” Since she’d come this far, she didn’t see a reason to hold back. “Until last night, I didn’t even know where your office was. My brother knew, but that’s only because he’s been tossed out of both of those saloons more times than he can count.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve always treated both of your brothers fairly.”

  She drew in a lungful of cold air and let it out in a burst of steam that drifted from between her lips. “This town doesn’t even have a church and it sure doesn’t have anyone interested in reading the Good Book, but that’s got nothing to do with you. I suppose I should pack my things and find somewhere else to live. That way, nobody will have to listen to me complain anymore.”

  “If you have any problems with anyone, you come see me.” Walking away slowly, he glanced back at the livery and added, “You can complain all you want when you stop by. I’m sure I’ve heard worse.”

  Lucy watched him amble down the street toward the saloons. Even though he strode into the growing number of people walking up and down the length of the town, he was never swallowed up by the group. Folks didn’t acknowledge him outright, but they were careful not to get in his way. Even if Lucy didn’t quite know what to make of him just yet, something told her that she truly wouldn’t need to worry about that horse thief any longer.

  Sheriff Wolpert walked directly to the Second Saloon and took his spot at the end of the bar facing the door. While some locals may have disagreed about which saloon was First and which was Second, he had no such difficulty. Whatever the place was called, his regular haunt was the only place whose whiskey didn’t taste like sour piss in a dirty bottle.

  “Howdy, Zeke,” the bartender said as he set down a glass and filled it with firewater. “Heard there was some trouble at the Thrown Shoe the other night.”

  “Word travels fast.”

  “Sure does. Especially when it’s got help.”

  After tossing back the drink, Sheriff Wolpert glanced toward the back of the room where the faro tables were set up. His eyes went directly to the seats behind the table flanking the dealer. As always, the three bruisers sat in those spots like birds on a telegraph wire. They were the source of more than just rumor in town and were also another reason why Wolpert frequented that establishment. Tom was a big fellow with long hair and a brushy mustache. Cade sat next to him and kept his own mustache trimmed down to a thick line on his upper lip. The third man was Juan and he was the cleanest of the three. There was almost always a woman on his knee, and this time was no exception. She played with the chain crossing Juan’s belly, which was attached to a watch that had more than likely been stolen. All three of those men were armed. They made that clear enough as they rose from their seats and stalked across the room.

  “Fill it again,” Wolpert said.

  The barkeep looked nervously between him and the three men closing in on him. “You might wanna keep an eye out, Sheriff.”

  “I see ’em.”

  “Looks like they want to have a word with you.”

  “Then fill it before they get here.”

  Pouring enough whiskey for it to flow over the top of the glass and splash onto the bar, the barkeep found somewhere else to be before his presence was requested again.

  Wolpert listened to the approaching stomp of feet against warped floorboards as he sent the second gulp of liquor down to meet the first. While the tap of the glass against the bar was still rattling through the air, he pivoted on the balls of his feet and faced the trio of gunmen. “Your game’s busier than ever,” he said. “I must’ve done something right to pull all three of you away from it.”

  “Where’s Frank?” Juan asked.

  “He tried to steal some horses last night, so he’s in my jail. Didn’t you hear?”

  Tom was several inches taller than the other two, so when he moved forward it was like a wave of poorly groomed beef rushing the bar. “Yeah, we heard. And we’ve been tellin’ everyone that Frank won’t go in front of no judge. He’s a friend of ours and we don’t let our friends get treated that way.”

  When he spotted Tom’s hand wandering toward the holster slung over his shoulder, Wolpert slapped his hand against the butt of his Cavalry pistol.

  Cade had a youthful face that seemed even more so when he grinned. “Ain’t no need to pull that old gun of yours. I doubt it’ll even shoot straight anymore.”

  “It’ll do just fine,” the sheriff warned.

  “Be that as it may, we’re not looking for a fight. We’re just looking to get our friend out of his predicament.”

  “Let’s take it outside,” Wolpe
rt said.

  Once again, Tom started to lunge forward. This time he was stopped by the back of Cade’s hand. “There’s nothing to take outside,” Tom said. “If you wanna start something, you can start it right here.”

  Since he couldn’t push the larger man back with one hand, Cade stepped in front of him. “What’s on your mind, Zeke?”

  “Business,” the sheriff replied. “And I don’t conduct it in saloons.”

  After a second of consideration, Cade nodded and said, “All right. Lead the way.”

  As Wolpert turned to head for the door, he realized no less than half of the room was staring at him intently. The other half was trying their best to watch from the corner of their eyes.

  Once they were outside, Wolpert went down the street. The other three men didn’t try talking to him until they reached the jail. The sheriff stood in front of the only door leading into the barred shack, faced the three gunmen and held his ground. He knew he wouldn’t have to wait long before one of the others sparked a conversation.

  “Open that door,” Tom said.

  “Not until he pays for what he did.”

  Juan stepped forward, placing his hand under his jacket. Even as Wolpert reached for his gun, Juan pulled his hand out to reveal a bundle of money. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the cash sailing toward Wolpert. “There you go. Consider his debt paid.”

  When Wolpert ran his thumb along the edge of the bundle, Tom snarled, “It’s all there.”

  He was a long way from taking any of those men at their word, but Wolpert could tell he was speaking the truth. He’d handled more than his share of similar bundles to recognize whether or not one was light. “Burt usually handles this sort of thing.”

  “Sure,” Cade replied. “But he won’t be in town for a few days, and like you said before, the faro game’s been awfully crowded. What about that door?”

  Wolpert kept the money where he could see it for a few more seconds before tucking it into a shirt pocket. Finally, he looked at all three men in turn and said, “You mosey along and I’ll see to it that Frank catches up.”