“That’s different. You enjoy this life, but I want something different for Tom. I want him to go to school back east. I want him to have a fine education. I don’t want him to grow up riding after cows or wearing a gun.” He glanced toward the station again. He knew how she felt, but what could he do back east? She just didn’t understand. He had always been somebody wherever he was, but that was because all he knew was the west.
Back east the best he could do would be to manage a liverv stable or do common labor. He was a fair hand at blacksmithing but not at the kind of work he would have to do back east.
Right now he was holding down two jobs and getting paid far them both. He was sheriff of the county and marshal of the town, and for the first time in years he was saving money. If he could work a couple of years more he could buy cows and go back to ranching. All he had now was about sixty head running on open range ant’s about thirty head of horses, five of which did not belong to him, but ran with his stock.
“I have thought about it, Bess. How would I make a living back there? All I know is cattle and range country. I got my start hunting buffalo and went to cow punching and then ranching. Drouth and a tough banker broke me, and these folks were kind enough to give me a job as town marshal.” “You’d find something, Borden. I know you would. I just don’t want Tom growing up out here. All he does is run with that orphan McCoy boy, and he thinks about nothing but guns and horses.” “Billy’s a good boy,” Borden said. “Ever since he lost his pa a few years ago he’s been batching. You should see that cabin. Keeps it spotless. That’s a good lad, and he will do well.” “At what?” He shifted uncomfortably. This discussion occurred at least once a week, and Bess was living a dream. She wanted to go back where she’d come from, wanted Tom to grow up as her brothers had, as her father had. What she wasn’t realizing was that they would be poor. You could be poor in the west and if you worked nobody paid much attention, but back east you fell into a different class. There were things you were left out of, places you weren’t invited. At least, that was the way he heard it. He had only been east twice, for a few days each time.
The first was when he took Bess east after they were married. He saw at a glance the-money he was earning out west wouldn’t take them far in the east.
comIf he could just get started ranching again . . .
well he knew he could make it. Right now, for example, the range was good. What he needed was three to five hundred head. With that kind of a start and a break on the weather he could soon build himself a herd. Back east? He would be a poor relation, and that was all. “You just wait, Bess. I’ll get back to ranching again. I’ve been thinking about those cows of Hyatt Johnson’s. He’s going to sell out, and I could pick them up if I had a little cash.
Maybe-“ ., Borden? Why did Mr. Sackett come over here to see you? Is there trouble?” He sipped his coffee. “No, not really. Just something we’re interested in. Maybe it’s a fool idea, Bess, but you recall those letters I had? The one I wrote to Fort Worth? And El Paso?
“Well, Sackett thinks the same as I do.
He believes most of those robberies were pulled off by one big outfit, with one man in charge.” “What kind of a man would it take to keep that many outlaws in line?” Of course, that was it. Bess, as usual, had put her finger on it. The kind of man needed to ramrod that sort of operation wouldn’t be any average sort of man, he would be something special, and he would have been noticed, and if noticed, remembered.
Between them Sackett and he had now come up with eighteen jobs in which the robberies were pulled off with quick, neat work-nobody shot, nobody caught, no trail left. Men appeared, pulled off the robbery, and disappeared.
Usually one or more of the men loafed around town beforehand, studying the bank, getting the layout. No strangers had been spotted that could not be accounted for.
Yet a few days ago comhe’d had an idea and had written to Sackett. Whoever was ramroding that gang had been keeping his men under cover, so how about checking up on known outlaws who hadn’t been showing themselves and were not in prison?
It had been his experience that they couldn’t stay under cover for long.. They showed up in another robbery, got into a saloon brawl, something of the kind. Most of them were the, sort who craved attention, and it was unlike them to stay out of sight for long.
His thoughts returned to the kind of man to control such an operation, and: suddenly, he had a hunch.
Bess, who had come up with the key question in the Joe Sackett murder when she asked how he got to town, had done it again. What kind of a man would it take to keep such. men in line? Or words to that effect. And he knew. At least, he had a hunch. That big man who had left the horses with him, the big man who might have been a big cattleman or something. He might not be the man but he was the kind of man who could do it. If anybody could.
Borden Chantry puked out his watch, glancing at it. Barely nine o’clock. Mary Ann would be up even if the rest of her girls were sleeping. Bess wouldn’t like it but he would have to see Mary Ann, and it was best to tell her first. Somebody else certainly would mention it if he was seen going to her house. Police business occasionally called him there, and she had been a help in that murder case. Moreover, Mary Ann had been around.
There was little she did not know about outlaws.
He emptied his cup and got to his feet, reaching for his hat. “Bess, I’ve got to see Mary Ann.” Her face stiffened. “Is that necessary?” “Bess, you just gave me a lead when you spoke about the kind of man it would take. You’re right, as always. Remember how your question opened up that murder case? I think you’ve done it again.” “’Then why see Mary Ann?” “That woman knows more outlaws than anybody in the country, and she’s on the grapevine. Whatever is going on, she knows.” “But will she tell you?” “Bess, this is her town, too. She has money in that bank. was Mary Ann was in the kitchen drinking coffee when he rapped on the door. “Come in,” she said, “but keep your voice down. The girls worked late last night.” He accepted the coffee she offered. Mary Ann was no longer young but she was still a beautiful woman, and during her rare appearances on the street she dressed sedately and conducted herself modestly.
She was a shrewd, intelligent woman who listened as he laid it out for her. “What I want to know,” he said, “is who the boss man is, or the name of any other outlaw who has dropped from sight.” He paused. “And it is just possible that boss man stopped overnight here in town five or six years back. Maybe less.” She gathered her kimono a little tighter.
“What’s happening?” “I think, among other things, the local bank. It’s just a hunch, but Tyrel Sackett thinks so, too.” “I’ve money in that bank. Most of my savings.” Chantry waited, letting her think. Most of the outlaws were known to girls such as these, and the girls moved around a good bit and talked among themselves. There was not much they did not know. “Rigger Molina,” she said.
“I don’t know him.” “Not the boss. He hasn’t brains enough, but he’s big, tough, and very, very good with a gun.” .
“And . . . ?” “Nobody has seen anything of him for two or three years. That’s unlike him. ‘The girls-were talking of it the other day with some fellow who was in here. Molina isn’t the sort of man you can miss. “He’s big, powerful, thick arms and legs, shock of hair, broad jaw, smallccddeyes, moves like a cat, and he swaggers. He doesn’t brag, doesn’t have to, you can look at him and you know he’s got it. The point is that he is not a man to remain unnoticed. If he had been around he would have been seen, talked about.” “Odd that I don’t know him.” “No, it isn’t. Not really. He’s out of Vernal, up in Utah. He worked in Montana, the Dakotas, and Idaho. He killed a man in Catlow Valley, up in Oregon. Some dispute over a steer. When they came after him he killed two more and wounded the sheriff. He loaded the sheriff on his horse and took him to a doctor, banged on the door, and left him. “The think was, Molina rode ten miles out of his way to get help for that sheriff. He could have let him die.” She got up. “Wait . . . I’ll get Daphne. She’s the new girl. was Daphne was a tall, slinky blonde who looked from the badge on Chantry’s vest to his face. “How’d a good-lookin” man like you start to wearin’ that thing?” “Lay off, Daph. He’s married, and happily.” “All the good ones are.” She sat down and lit a cigarette. “You want to know about the Rigger?