How many people were involved? And what would be their roles? Plan the job yourself, he suggested to himself, and see how you would do it. You’ve associated with crooks long enough to know.
The fewer involved, the larger the cut for each, and the less likely they were to be noticed. What if the supposed railroad detective had been a crook? Was the girl involved? And George?
Tom Shanaghy walked up the street to the blacksmith shop and Drako was standing by his horse, waiting. He was wearing a badge.
EIGHT
Tom Shanaghy walked on up and stopped, facing Drako. The man was smiling but he was wary.
“Wearin’ a badge, hey? What do you think that will get you?” Shanaghy had been facing such issues since he first walked off the boat in New York. “I’ve been appointed town Marshal,” he said, “and one is all the town needs. I want your badge, Drako.”
“You think I’ll give it up? Just like that?”
“The authority is not the badge, it is in the vote of the council. They’ve chosen me Marshal. I want your badge, Drako.”
“All right,” Drako reached up to unpin the badge, and in that instant Shanaghy knew what the man would do, for it was just what he himself might have done. Drako unpinned the badge and took it in his left hand and tossed it to him.
“Here … catch!”
Shanaghy made no move to make the catch. He simply drew his gun, and he was an instant faster … Drako had tossed the badge and dropped his hand to his gun, but he was already covered by Shanaghy’s pistol. Drake’s hand froze, gripping his gun. Startled, he hesitated, but Shanaghy’s thumb was holding his hammer back. And slowly, carefully, Drako released his grip on his gun and moved his hand to the pommel of the saddle. “Smart, hey? We’ll see how smart you are when Vince Patterson comes to town.”
“He’ll be looking for you, not me, and he will know where to find you.”
“Maybe.”
“You and your boys … Come to town whenever you like, only come unarmed.”
“Are you crazy?”
“That’s it. They can hang their pistols in the saloon, but if they wear them on the street I’ll throw them in jail.”
“What jail? You ain’t got no jail!”
“My jail will be that hitching-rail right yonder. I’ll shackle them to it and there they’ll stay until their fine is paid … rain or shine.” Drako stared at him, then turned his horse sharply around and walked him out of town.
Shanaghy picked the badge out of the dust and put it in his pocket. He looked up to see Holstrum watching him. Greenwood was standing in the door of his saloon and Carpenter had stopped work. He ignored the others and walked over to Carpenter. “Be busy for a few days. After that I’ll lend you a hand.” “My offer stands. You can buy a piece of my business.”
“Maybe … later.”
Shanaghy went to his room and checked the shotgun. Then, trusting to nothing, he reloaded it with buckshot.
Sitting down on the bed he studied the situation. First he must find out where Patterson might be. Coming up the trail, of course, but where was he now, and moving how fast?
What had he gotten himself into, anyway? There he was, just waiting for the train to take him back to New York, with everything settled in his mind, and now where was he? Marshal of a hick town with all the trouble in the world about to come down on him. What did he know about being a marshal? Well, someone said, “Set a crook to catch a crook,” but he had never been a crook, exactly, although he had known enough of them and had witnessed a lot of their activities.
He looked around the room. Only a bed, a chair and a small table with a lamp on it. In the corner a washstand with a bowl and pitcher. Beside the table was a strip of what passed for a towel, and at the end of the hall a bath. First thing, he’d better step on down the street and buy some clothes. All he had was what he stood up in, and that was too little. He’d need some shirts, a new suit, and some of those pants they wore around here … maybe a hat. Give up his derby? Not by a damn sight!
That Drako would act. Somehow he was sure. The man was not about to take this lying down, nor would his boys be willing to do so. Shanaghy knew he could expect trouble from them, and soon.
What bothered him, as it must have bothered the missing Rig Barrett, was the mechanism of the robbery that he believed was to come. How did the crooks expect to handle it, and how many were involved?
He could scarcely believe that the fashionably dressed young woman was involved, and yet why would such a woman be meeting with George? And who was she, anyway? Tom Shanaghy walked down the street to Holstrum’s. There was another man in the store but Holstrum came to wait on the new marshal himself. “You picked yourself a tough job, Marshal, but we’ll give you all the support you need.” “Thanks. What I need now is some clothes. I packed light when I came west.”
“This on credit?”
Shanaghy smiled. “Cash … I always pay cash, Mr. Holstrum. I like to keep the decks clear.”
Luckily, he found some shirts. “Most womenfolks make shirts for their men,” Holstrum explained. “Pendleton buys shirts here and there’s a few others.” He bought shirts, underwear, two pairs of pants, a thick leather belt and some boots. He also bought one hundred rounds of .44-pistol ammunition, a Winchester rifle and fifty shotgun shells.
“Expecting a war?” Holstrum asked, curiously.
“No, I’m not. But if one comes, I’ll be ready.” “Rig Barrett must figure you could do the job. I never heard of him sending anybody in his place. Didn’t know anybody was that close to him.” “Rig kept his personal affairs to himself,” Shanaghy replied. “I intend to do the same.”
Shanaghy thought for an instant of his past. There had been fistfights, knife fights and gun battles. He could scarcely remember a time when he had not been fighting.
“However,” he added, “this is only a precaution. I don’t think there will be trouble.”
When he had taken his clothes back to the hotel and changed his shirt, Shanaghy came downstairs and went to the restaurant for a late supper. George was not there, but the young woman was. She looked up as Shanaghy entered and her eyes fell to the badge. She stared at it, then lifted her eyes to his. He thought he detected a glimmer of anger or impatience.
“How do you do, ma’am?” he removed his derby. “Welcome to our fair city.”
She regarded him cooly and then simply turned her head away, ignoring him. A voice spoke suddenly from behind him on his left, and he looked around quickly. There was a table there, in the corner, and another girl sat there, a younger, perhaps prettier girl. “You’re a stranger here yourself, aren’t you, Marshal?”
“I am, and saddled with a job before I’ve got me feet on the ground. But then, by the look of the place, nobody has been here much longer.” The younger girl held out her hand. “I am Jan Pendleton and I want to thank you.”
“Me? Wait until I’ve done something, miss. I am only just marshal.”
“You saved Josh Lundy from hanging, and Josh is my very good friend.” “I can’t take credit,” he said. “They were going to hang me, too, just because I happened to be there. It seemed to me my neck was long enough, without getting it stretched.”
“Thank you, nevertheless.”
“May I join you?”
“Please do.”
He sat where he could see the other woman. She looked annoyed, and that pleased him. He put his derby on the chair beside him and ordered what the restaurant had to offer. There wasn’t much variety but he was accustomed to that and had always been a healthy eater.
“Glad you got your horse back,” he told her. “Too bad there’s so many thieves about. Never could figure out why anybody, man or woman, would take to stealing. They never get as much as they stand to lose.”
“You take a woman now. Suppose she was a thief and went to prison? They work ‘em almighty hard there, and they’ve no chance to take care of themselves. And when they come out, they’re not only old but they’ve lost their looks.” The young woman across the room looked up and their eyes met. He smiled and her lips thinned to a hard line.
“Biggest trouble with being a crook,” he added, “is the company you have to keep.” He paused. “If I saw myself getting involved in such a thing, I’d grab the first train out of town.”