Ralph Compton Rusted Tin Page 4

  Juan shook his head. “No. You got your money. Let him out.”

  “I want to have a word with him.”

  “You’ll get it. Open the damn door.”

  Knowing that any further argument wouldn’t have been well received, Wolpert fished the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Not surprisingly, the prisoner wasn’t quick to run for the exit after having been put in his place the night before.

  “Come on out, Frank,” Wolpert announced.

  From the back of the single room, one shadow separated from the others. It shuffled toward the light and stopped just shy of the sheriff’s reach. Squinting to get a look at what was behind the lawman, Frank asked, “Is that Juan and those other two card cheats?”

  “That’s us!” Tom announced happily. “We raised the money ourselves. Who needs Burt Sampil?”

  When Frank strode outside, Wolpert placed his hand flat upon the horse thief’s chest and stopped him in his tracks. “You won’t go anywhere near that livery, you understand?” the lawman warned.

  Basking in the knowledge that his three friends were there to back him up, Frank snarled, “You’re bought and paid for, law dog. Get your hand off’a me and step aside. If’n we need anything else from you, we know where to find you. And if we decide to get us some of the fine horseflesh I saw at that livery, we’ll help ourselves.”

  Narrowing his eyes to intense slits, Wolpert said, “You’d best think that over.”

  “Oh, I had all night to think.”

  “You take one step toward the livery or cast so much as a glance at that lady and I’ll kill you.”

  All three of the men from the saloon backed up a step and put their hands upon their guns. Seeing his friends’ reaction, Frank grinned and smugly said, “That’s real tough talk from an armed man. Funny how it’s directed at the only one of us that ain’t heeled.”

  “It’s directed at you,” Wolpert replied. “And if it makes you feel better, go ahead and arm yourself. You’re free to do whatever you please.”

  That put a dent in Frank’s bravado, but Tom liked the sound of it well enough. The big fellow drew his pistol, flipped it around in his hand and extended it so the grip was pointed at the newly freed horse thief. “There you go, Frankie.”

  Wolpert’s eyebrows flicked up as he said, “Right. There you go. Take it if that’s what you need to listen to the advice I got to give.” Since Frank was slow to reach for the gun, Wolpert stepped to one side and positioned himself so he was facing all four of the others. “What I got to say goes for the rest of you. The deal was for you to keep your noses clean while you’re in my town. I got jurisdiction in plenty of other towns in this county, but this one is my home. I don’t piss all over your homes, so don’t piss on mine. Is that clear enough?”

  Snatching the gun from Tom’s hand, Frank kept it lowered. He even hopped back a step when Wolpert snapped the full brunt of his glare onto him. “Since when do you start laying down rules?” Frank asked. “We been payin’ you to do worse than look the other way when some horses get stolen.”

  “That was before,” the sheriff said. “I’m telling you now to take your dirty business elsewhere. Also, I won’t be part of harm coming to women.” He looked around to all the faces in the vicinity. All three of the men from the saloon nodded grudgingly.

  “Maybe it’s just one particular woman,” Frank snapped. “One thing’s certain. I don’t take guff from some crooked lawman who thinks he’s better’n me.”

  “You’ll take it,” Wolpert said. “Or you’ll do something about it.”

  And there it was.

  Hearing those words while carrying a loaded gun, Frank knew what was expected of him. He could either tuck the gun under his belt and his tail between his legs, or he could answer the challenge that had been laid down. With the other three standing right there as witnesses, the horse thief didn’t have any other options.

  For a second, Sheriff Wolpert thought Frank was going to throw a punch or spit some more foul language at him. Then, a grim resolve drifted onto the horse thief’s face and his grip tightened around the borrowed pistol. Tom’s gun was a newer model .45, but Wolpert’s Cavalry pistol might as well have been a part of his own hand. When the .45 started moving to aim at him, Wolpert drew his weapon, thumbed back the hammer and pulled the trigger in a fluid motion.

  Both guns fired nearly simultaneously. The .45 sent its round into the dirt several yards behind Wolpert and the Cavalry pistol’s drilled a hole through the center of Frank’s chest. After that, things took a turn for the worse.

  The three men from the saloon weren’t quick enough to save their friend. By the time Wolpert turned on them, however, all of their guns were clearing leather.

  Rather than fire another three shots, Wolpert holstered his pistol and charged straight at the man closest to him. Juan was just about to pull his trigger when the sheriff took hold of his gun hand and forced him to aim at Cade. Even if Juan hadn’t been fighting to regain control of his weapon, Wolpert wouldn’t have allowed his next shot to draw any blood. If that’s what he’d wanted, he would have just kept firing his own trusted pistol.

  Juan’s gun spat its rounds into the air well above Cade’s head. Even though he could have returned fire, Cade chose to retreat to find cover behind a barrel near the corner of a neighboring building. That left Tom to contend with and that’s where Wolpert directed his next few shots. One hissed through the air and punched into a wall several yards behind the big man and another ricocheted off one of the bars of the jailhouse’s window. This gave Juan enough time to get his bearings and start pulling his wrist out of Wolpert’s grasp. When he could feel Juan preparing for a powerful tug, Wolpert let his arm go so Juan’s momentum sent him staggering backward. Before Juan could come back at him, Wolpert drew his pistol and cracked the side of the gun against the other man’s temple.

  Juan dropped and the lawman set his sights on Cade. Having dealt with all of these men plenty of times, he knew what they were made of. Wolpert took quick and careful aim as he fired three shots into the barrel that Cade was using as refuge. Sparks flew from the hoop toward the bottom of the barrel and splinters flew as holes were punched through the rounded barrier. Sure enough, the moment Wolpert let up, Cade scampered away from the barrel and bolted for the street.

  “That leaves you and me, Tom,” Wolpert said. “Frank dug his own grave, but that don’t mean you have to lie in there with him.”

  The bigger man had his gun in hand, but didn’t have the weapon raised. Judging by the look on his face, his temper was fighting with common sense as to what he should do from there. “Holster that shooting iron and I’ll know you don’t intend on killin’ me.”

  “I’m the law in this town. You’ll drop your weapon first and there won’t be any trouble after that.”

  Scowling at Wolpert as if he were looking at a disease on two legs, Tom extended his arm and opened his hand. His gun slipped from between thick fingers and hit the dirt with a solid thump.

  True to his word, Wolpert eased his Cavalry pistol back into the leather holster strapped around his waist. “There now. That wasn’t—”

  Tom’s fist chopped through the air like a club and connected with Wolpert’s jaw, snapping the sheriff’s head to one side. Wolpert ran forward before his vision even had a chance to clear and wrapped Tom up in a bear hug while forcing him back. At least, he tried to force him back. Wolpert’s boots ground against the dirt, digging uneven trenches and moving Tom back less than only an inch or two. The big man balled up a fist and dropped it onto the sheriff’s spine. Wolpert’s legs trembled on impact, but didn’t allow him to drop. After shoving away from Tom, Wolpert took a stand and began punching.

  The lawman’s fists knocked against the solid meat of Tom’s midsection without doing one bit of damage. Only when he delivered an uppercut straight to Tom’s chin did he even catch the big fellow’s attention. Spitting a wad of blood to the ground, Wolpert said, “Call a stop to this right now and I
’ll let it pass.”

  “Let it pass, huh?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Whatever you do now, there’ll be hell to pay for killin’ Frank. Burt’s gonna hear about it.”

  “I’m sure he will,” Wolpert replied. “If he doesn’t hear the news from you or either of those other two, I’ll tell him myself.”

  Confusion registered on Tom’s face like a wince that had been brought about from a powerfully bad smell. “Why would I believe you’d do a fool thing like that?”

  “I don’t care if you believe it or not. You want to argue about it, fight some more or call an end to this mess?”

  Tom considered that for a couple of seconds and looked over to Juan. He was rubbing the bloody wound on his temple and figuring out where he was. It looked as though it would be another few minutes before he arrived at an answer. Looking back to Wolpert, Tom said, “Hand back that money we gave you.”

  “That was to pay for Frank’s release and I released him. What happened after that doesn’t enter into it.”

  “Burt’ll want it back when he hears about this.”

  “Then let him ask for it.”

  Finally, Tom let out a grunting laugh and shoved Wolpert aside. “Have it your way. Kill you now or kill you when Burt gets back. It don’t matter to me. At least the other way might earn me a bonus.” The big man ambled over to Juan and lifted his partner to his feet as if he were lifting a child by the back of his coveralls. The two left without another word and Wolpert let them go. If more bloodshed was what they were after, they wouldn’t have to wait long for it.

  Chapter 4

  Sheriff Wolpert didn’t have need of deputies. If he was bested in a town as small as Sedley, he intended to turn in his badge anyway. Most folks knew better than to cross him and the truly bad men paid him to move along without incident. Unfortunately, having no deputies meant not having anyone help bury a body. Wolpert set about the gruesome task, while taking the occasional break to tend to a few others, and had Frank planted by nightfall. When he was finished, he found his way back to a glass of some of the best whiskey in town.

  “Rough business today, huh, Sheriff?” the barkeep said.

  “Yeah.”

  “So ol’ Frank Wellsley is dead and buried?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You killed him?”

  Wolpert looked up from his glass and showed the bartender a tired, flustered glare.

  Throwing up his hands, the barkeep said, “Just making conversation.”

  “How about you make another one?”

  “Them other three ain’t been back to the faro table for a while. Word is they might be coming for you.”

  Wolpert shrugged and finished his whiskey. The comforting burn scorched all the way down his throat and warmed his body from the inside out. When the next wave hit, he welcomed the subtle dizziness. “They had their chance. Here,” he said while slapping some of the money he’d been given onto the bar. “I’ll take the bottle.”

  Pouncing on the sale, the barkeep had the bottle ready and in front of him in no time. “Burt Sampil’s coming to town.”

  “You waited for me to drop some real money before telling me about that killer, huh?”

  The barkeep’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Some of the color drained from his cheeks as he sputtered, “I was going to tell you! The last thing I’d want is to see you gunned down in the street like some sort of—”

  “It’s all right,” Wolpert chuckled. “I already knew about Burt.”

  “But I was still going to tell you before you left.”

  “I know. Take a breath. In fact,” the lawman added as he lifted his bottle, “take a drink. This one’s on me.”

  Even as the barkeep tried to say something else in his defense, his hands went through the motions of picking up a glass from behind the bar and filling it with the sheriff’s whiskey. After he had his drink, the only sound he made was a long, contented sigh.

  The saloon was busy, even without the main faro game running. There were still cards being dealt and working girls making their rounds. Sheriff Wolpert glanced about the room and kept his ears open for signs of trouble, but wasn’t expecting much with the three gunmen occupied elsewhere. When they made their move, they wouldn’t be sneaky about it.

  As if on cue, a hand dropped onto the back of his shoulder. Wolpert acted reflexively. He gripped the bottle around the neck, spun around and clamped his fist around the front of the other man’s shirt. Holding the bottle up in preparation to strike, he watched the other fellow’s expression shift from focused determination to stark terror.

  The man stood just a hair above average height. His simple clothes were rumpled and dirty as if they’d been picked from the top of a pile and thrown on in a rush. His hair was tussled in a similar manner and his bloodshot eyes were surrounded by deep wrinkles that could have been put there by laughter just as easily as by age.

  “I just wanted to shake your hand,” the other man said. “You helped my sister by putting that scum where he belongs.”

  “Your sister?” After taking a second to let the whiskey burn from his senses, the sheriff nodded. “You’re Matt Myles.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You really shouldn’t rush up on an armed man like that.”

  “I wanted to have a word with you before you left or—” Matt added while glancing at the bottle in Wolpert’s hand, “Before you wouldn’t remember what I said.”

  “How’s your sister?”

  “Fine. She’s a strong one, you know. Still, it’s good to know someone was able to look after her when me or Dale couldn’t be there. Much obliged to you for that. Anything you need, just let me know.”

  The sheriff didn’t even try to think about what he might be able to use Matt for. As far as he knew, all Matt did in town was keep the whores busy. Plastering on his most convincing smile, the lawman raised his bottle and said, “I’ll keep that in mind. Care for a drink?”

  “Oh no,” replied a stout redheaded woman who’d appeared like a specter from the shadows to wrap her arms around Matt and drag him to the back rooms. “He’ll need to be at his best if he’s going to go another round.”

  Matt shrugged and draped an arm around her. “Whatever you say, Caroline.”

  As soon as Matt was out of earshot, Wolpert looked at the barkeep and muttered, “That was an easy sale.”

  “Yep,” the bartender sighed. “She’ll probably have him on the hook for more by the time they cross the room. That bottle’s less than half-full now. Want me to set another aside for ya?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  It was late by the time Lucy found her way to the side of Fancy’s clothing store, but not too late for her to hear two different songs drifting from the saloons. Each was sung by a chorus of drunks and neither of them was anywhere close to being in the right key. Since the singers’ voices were better than usual, Lucy counted herself lucky and enjoyed the night walk.

  A dusting of snow covered the street and was stuck on the buildings like cobwebs. When another breeze kicked up, it brought along with it a swirl of snow from the rooftops. She clutched her shawl around her and knocked upon the door to the sheriff’s office. There was no response, but a good amount of light seeped out from under the door.

  “Sheriff Wolpert?” she said to the closed door.

  After a few seconds, a voice replied, “Yeah?”

  “It’s Lucy Myles. Can I come in?”

  “Door’s open.”

  She tried the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. Trying once more just to be certain, she said, “No, it’s not.”

  When she heard footsteps from inside, she stepped back and tucked her chin down to protect her face from a powerful gust of steely cold air. The latch was fumbled back and the door was opened a crack. Then, the steps headed away. On her next attempt, the door swung open.

  Now that she didn’t have a shotgun in her hands and a horse thief in her sights, Lucy had a moment t
o examine Wolpert’s office. It looked every bit as cramped as what might be expected in the back room of a tailor shop. A small desk took up one half of the room. It looked to have been a rolltop model, but the top section was busted to leave only a flat writing surface. Not that it mattered, since there were only three pieces of paper stacked on top of it. A rifle rack hung on a wall next to a set of coat hooks and an old milking stool occupied another corner. Other than that, the only thing inside the space was Wolpert himself and a little metal pan containing a load of burning coals for heat.

  The sleeves of his shirt were rolled partly up and one suspender hung off his shoulder. The Cavalry pistol was in his hand and the glint in his eye made Lucy unsure of whether or not he intended to put it to use.

  Then, Lucy caught the scent of liquor in the air. She’d smelled that particular odor more than enough to recognize it as the source of Wolpert’s current disheveled state. “Remember me, Sheriff?”

  He squinted at her before snarling, “Course I remember you. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Is this a bad time?”

  Wolpert slid behind his desk and dropped onto his chair. Although he barely wobbled, Lucy recognized the unsteady way in which he moved. Between both of her brothers and memories of her father, she’d seen the telltale signs all too often.

  “Good a time as any,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I wanted to stop by and thank you.”

  “Thank me, huh? For shooting Frank Wellsley, I suppose?”

  “Not as such. I wanted to thank you for seeing that whole situation through. It’s a shame that it turned out the way it did, but honestly . . . I didn’t think it would get resolved at all.”

  “Why not?”

  She pulled in a deep breath and shut the door behind her. Feeling the need to sit down, she could find nothing but the milking stool. Rather than lower herself that close to the floor, she remained standing. “You don’t get a lot of visitors here, do you?”

  “Not as such,” he replied, while only vaguely mocking her earlier tone. A few seconds after that, a twinge of regret drifted across his face. “I suppose most folks know they can find me out and about. Have you had any more trouble?”