Cain just Cain (Shad Cain Book 2) Page 7

  Pagosa Springs was roughly forty five miles due north of Red River, and about half of that was in the tail end of the Sangre de Cristos. The rest of it was made up of the San Juan Basin and the lower end of the Front Range.

  It took me a couple of days to make the trip. I figured they’d be riding through the same country as I was, so they couldn’t be too far ahead. I was traveling light and riding from first light till there was none… I had to be gaining time.

  Riding into Pagosa Springs, I was sure surprised to see that things had picked up a bit. The town not only had a bank, but it was a nice stone building with a chiseled limestone sign over the door. The town had added a couple of stores and a church. There were maybe twenty or so buildings of one sort or another strung out along the main street. People were walking on the boardwalk… going that way and coming this way… it was just a regular bee hive.

  It seems as folks are coming in from the East and the North, all wanting to get over to Animus City and then up to Silverton, Ouray, and Telluride so they can all strike it rich. They’re even putting in a railroad between Silverton and Animus City, which some folks are calling Durango. It’s a long way around, but it’s a might easier than trying to cross the backbone of the Rockies in any weather.

  So Pagosa Springs has become the beneficiary of all that migration. Folks come through Wolf Creek Pass and when they got to the springs, they’re ready to sit and rest up a bit… maybe even have a hot mineral bath. No matter what the cause or reason Pagosa was catching fire.

  My first stop was at one of the three saloons. If there’d been a bank holdup that would be all they would be talking about. Sipping on a lukewarm beer and listening to the talk around the bar, I didn’t hear anything but news about the latest gold or silver strike over west of here. There were a few cattlemen in the mix, but most everyone had the look of pilgrim or seasoned miner. I was about the only one dressed in buckskins.

  The more experienced miners were just hoping to find a pocket and make enough to live on until the next boomtown turned up. Many of them would wind up working for wages in someone else’s mine. The pilgrims were another matter. They had the look of storekeepers and farm boys from the farms and cities on the other side of the Mississippi. They came with dreams and illusions only to find themselves broke, sick, or both.

  Some of those pilgrims would find minerals, and a small few would cash in and go home. There would be some who would find enough to make a living, only to lose it in one of the many places a man can throw away his money. It could be a slick dealer, rot gut whiskey, or cheap women. But sooner or later, his dreams would be gone along with the family or sweetheart back home, who he could never face again… Luck to them.

  I went through a couple of saloons and heard nothing about any bank holdup, so I went looking for the town marshal. They had one, but when I asked him about a bank holdup and the Dooly gang, he looked at me like I had been kicked in the head by too many mules. So I settled down to explain everything… up to that point.

  He sat there in his split bottom chair and drummed his fingers on the table that served as a desk, “Well, Mister Cain, you can relax and go on back to New Mexico. We…I’ve got this town under control…. There ain’t been any bank robbery, and there ain’t gonna be any while I wear this badge. The last thing I want around here is amateurs gettin’ in the way of professional law men”.

  When I heard him say that, I knew the town was in trouble. He was a young fella, not more than twenty three or twenty four. Now, I’ve known a lot of men who have stood the trial of fire at a much younger age, but I’d never known one who wouldn’t tell you that they’d been damned lucky to have lived through it. That pup had all the swagger and the confidence, but only a fool will tell you he’s got a frontier town under control.

  I didn’t say anything. I just figured to stick around town for a few days and see what happened. I didn’t have to wait long because as I was sitting on the hotel porch the very next morning, I saw them ride in. Four men and a woman pulled up in front of the bank. I recognized the one they called Jesse. Rita went inside and Jesse and the tall fella followed. The other man stayed with the horses.

  I hotfooted it across the street to the Marshal’s office, where I threw open the door and yelled, “They’re Hittin’ the Bank…. Right Now!”

  I’ll have to give that marshal credit; he came out of that chair and out the door. He stood for a second and when he saw one rider holding three horses he took off running down the street toward the bank. I was a step behind him. We were in the middle of the street when we heard the first shot and another right behind it. They were boiling out of the door as we came sliding to a halt.

  There were a few civilians standing like statues right between us and them. That Rita woman was carrying a sack in one hand and a big old pistol in the other. We couldn’t do a thing, with those people in the way but point our weapons in their direction. The tall one handed his sack of money to Jesse and grabbed a woman who had been standing there, like a tree rooted to the boardwalk. He spun her around and put his arm around her waist and the gun to her head.

  While we were all staring at that gun aimed at the woman’s temple, Rita calmly cocked her gun and shot the marshal. I saw the blood splatter and his hat fly from his head. I’d never even thought of shooting a woman, but at that time I was considering it as I turned my weapon in her direction. That’s when I felt the red hot branding iron slam into my right shoulder and heard the shot.

  I spun back toward the one I figured to be Frank only to see that woman hostage being shoved right at me. Now, she wasn’t no little tiny gal. She was a full bodied lady and she hit me like a bull buffalo in full stampede. I went back stumbling off the boardwalk and crashing through the hitch rail scattering two or three horses.

  There wasn’t any way of knowing what was going on with that woman’s bosom smashed against my face. She must have passed out because she wasn’t making any effort to move, and I wasn’t sure if I had any part of my body that was in working order. My gun was pinned under that woman and my right shoulder hurt like hell.

  Dog was giving someone a hard time and horses were cutting up something awful. I heard a lot of cussing and some fabric ripping. Then there were a few more shots, and somebody started lifting that lady off me. I could breathe again, and I started to roll over to get my left elbow under me. I still had my gun in my hand, but my wrist had a boot on it. My six-gun was yanked out of my hand, and before I could move the barrel came crashing down on my head.

  I had no idea how long I was out, but the next time I woke up it was pitch black. My head felt like it was cracked open. I felt around and felt a bandage wrapped around it, and what was probably a bloody pad. I started to lift my right hand up to check it from that side and all I got was a new level of pain. It took me a second or two to remember that I’d been shot also.

  Feeling around with my left hand, I was able to tell that the shoulder was bandaged too. I must be in a hospital or a doctor’s infirmary of some sort… Well that made at least some sense. Somewhere about there I went out again.

  ~~~~~ 0 ~~~~~

  The next sensation I had was voices. I tried to open my eyes and was stabbed with a bolt of lightning. The sun must have been high in the sky because it was shining right in my eyes. You’d have thought that they’d keep a doctor’s place a little darker with sick people and all. Moving my left hand over my eyes, I shaded them enough to let them adjust to the light.

  The voices sounded like they were coming from about a thousand miles away but I heard one of them say, “Yessir, Marshal we got one of ‘em… mumble… mumble… and we’re sure nuff gonna hang ‘im… Sure, you can talk to him.”

  That’s when I was able to open my eyes and saw a barred window and a barred door….Damned! They’d gone and put me in jail!

  I was getting ready to raise holy hell when I heard the outer door being unlocked. The door swung open and two men came in. One looked like an idiot who stood a good chance of getting
his head handed to him as soon as mine quit hurting. The other one looked a lot like a rancher and sometimes US Marshal named Blue.

  “Deputy, I think you need to let this man out… you seemed to have made a grievous error.”

  “Well, Marshal, I just cain’t do that… With the marshal laid up, I’m in charge… and I got me a bank robber and I’m keepin’ him.”

  Ben just reached over and snatched that fool’s badge off his chest and said, “There, now you’re no longer in charge… I am… the federal government is taking over, since this office has been deemed incompetent… Get That Key!”

  With Ben’s help I got up and was getting my feet back under me by the time we got to the outer office. I sat down in the marshal’s chair as the deputy was collecting my belongings. When he laid my gunbelt on the table, I pulled my Colt out and checked the loads, spun the chamber, cocked it, and pointed it at the deputy.

  “Mister, there was a money-belt with three hundred dollars in it… it better show up on this table dammed quick… I’m in a foul mood… I got a headache, a bullet hole in my shoulder, and spent the night in jail when I had a perfectly good hotel room waitin’ for me.” I was sure hoping that this wasn’t going to be the highlight of my day.

  Ben turned to the deputy, removed his gun, took a handful of shirt, and started shoving him toward the cellblock. The man was beside himself in a panic.

  “Hold on! … Hold on, I can explain… it’s not what it looks like.”

  “Start talkin’.” Ben said as he twisted the deputy’s collar. Now, Ben Blue is a big man’s big man, and when he twists a collar it could get almighty uncomfortable trying to breathe.

  “The boys and me was just gettin’ an advance on the re-ward we was gonna collect for catchin’ this bank robber… It wasn’t like stealin’. He probably stole it anyhow… We just sorta divvied it up among us.”

  Ben took a quarter turn on that collar and said, “Do you not have any brains at all? Don’t you get it? This man ain’t no bank robber? He’s a nationally known wood sculptor with bank presidents and railroad chairmen standing in line to buy his art. If you’re lucky, I’ll be able to get him out of town before he’s able to burn it down around your scruffy neck.”

  “Now you hear me and hear me good, I’m taking Mister Cain over to the eatin’ house for some breakfast, which will be billed to the Marshal’s Office. While we’re eatin’, you go round up ‘the boys’ and retrieve that money… and the money-belt. Then you bring it over to him at the café… Don’t make us have to find you.”

  “Yessir yessir, I’ll git right on it… I’m on my way.” He said as he went through the front door.

  We were half way through our meal, when the deputy came in. He looked around and finally spotted us. Standing at the table like a school kid in trouble he started counting out money on the table. He counted out two hundred and fifty two dollars.

  “That seems about forty eight dollars short by my count.” Ben said matter of factly. We both looked up at the sweat streaked face of the deputy, who was starting hem and haw.

  “Y-yessir, Marshal… old Earl got drunk on his part last night, b-but don’t worry, he’s at the livery right now makin’ a deal on his saddle… it’s a real good saddle, you know.”

  “We’re gonna finish our breakfast and coffee, so you run over to the livery and hurry him up a bit.” He was out the door without a word.

  Just as we were getting ready to leave, the deputy and a fella who looked about like I felt came through the door and straight to the table. The fella with the hangover shakily counted out forty eight dollars on the table. The deputy pulled the money-belt from his back pocket and started to turn.

  “Now you take old Earl with you and march yourselves over to the jail, get into a cell, lock it and toss the key out on the floor.” Ben told him. “I’m taking Mister Cain over to the doc for a look over, and then we’ll have a talk with the marshal if he’s up to it. If he says to let you out, we will. Otherwise you’ll be in there till he lets you out.”

  The marshal was sitting up when we went into the ward, which consisted of three beds with curtains in between. One of the beds had the curtains drawn. I introduced him to Ben, and he commenced to talk. “Cain, I sure want to apologize for not taking you serious the other day. When I woke up and didn’t see you in here, I sure thought you were dead… the nurse told me, when I come out of it last night, that the doc was patchin’ you up.”

  “I’ll give you credit, Marshal, you stood your ground. There wasn’t a thing we could do with all those bystanders in the way. You played it by the book.” I told him.

  When Ben told him that the deputy had thrown me in jail and had taken my money, we had to hold him down.

  “That fool,” he said, “his uncle’s the mayor and I had to give him the job… this gives me cause to get rid of him… I sure am sorry.”

  The doc came in and wanted to check me over, so we went to another room. I told him that I’d have to be leaving right soon, and he told me it was out of the question. My head was sore, but he’d sewn it up real nice, so it wasn’t leaking. My shoulder had a hole that tore up some meat but he’d cleaned it up and put a few stitches in so it should be good as new in a few weeks.

  I asked him about the marshal and he said, “He’s one lucky pup. That bullet took about an inch of hair and a little bit of bone, he’ll be fine. It sure ruined his hat though.”

  He pronounced me on the mend, I paid him, thanked him, and went back to say adios to the marshal. He was asleep in the chair, so we left. As we walked back to the jail, Ben said that the marshal had told him to leave the deputy and old Earl sittin’ in the cell till he could get someone to let them out.

  Ben asked when the doc said I could travel and I told him, “Aw, he told me I could ride as soon as I felt like it… and I feel like it.” He gave me a knowing look, but he knew better than to argue.

  When we got to the jail, Ben asked if there had been a posse sent out. There hadn’t been. They had a wounded marshal, a dead bank clerk, a wounded banker, me, and a woman who may not survive from having my nose smashed between her breasts. But no one had thought to get a posse out… Unbelievable!

  Ben picked up the keys and put them on the hook in the outer office, then turning to the two men he told them, “The marshal was asleep, so we didn’t get to ask him about letting you out. The doc says he should be awake in a couple of days, so you boys make yourselves comfortable.”

  I gathered up my hat, which was hanging on a peg, and we left. Standing on the boardwalk in the warm sun I pondered, “Guess I better start lookin’ for the dog… hope nobody shot him.”

  “Oh, he’s all right,” Ben told me, “he’s layin’ at the corral gate near your roan… saw him when I came in this morning.”

  “I reckon he knew that I wouldn’t be walkin’ out of here.”

  Chapter 11

  The trail which we both expected to head west went northeast instead through Wolf Creek Pass and beyond. I didn’t know what to make of it. It was the same unmistakable trail we’d picked up almost at the front door of the bank. There were four horses running hard. When we found the place where they had stopped to rest their horses, I let Dog have a whiff of that petticoat. He went right to her shoe prints where she’d mounted and dismounted. That was good enough for me.

  “I reckon they changed their minds about Animus City and Silverton.”

  “Yeah,” Ben said, “it looks like their heading for South Fork. There’s nothing up there but a stage station…Oh there’s a little railroad work goin’ on, but it’s far from finished… It doesn’t make much sense, Shad.”

  “Willis told me that one of the bunch was pressin’ hard to go up to Deadwood, so they may have decided to head that way. I don’t know how they fared back there in Pagosa or Cimarron, but they didn’t do well in Red River. They might have got a rich purse and moved on up north.”

  “Who’s Willis?”

  “Oh he was the kid brother to one of the gang
members…. The brother tried to stand me up, and I had to keep him from doin’ it. He was the one who was bringing the ransom note. Willis played with your boy and more or less took care of him… I didn’t have time to be bothered with a prisoner, and there wasn’t any reason to shoot him, so I aimed him to Arizona or California and let him go.”

  “I’d have most likely done the same thing… Never was one to pull a trigger that didn’t absolutely have to be pulled.”

  We rode on through the pass following the trail toward South Fork. There was a good deal of traffic heading south west toward Pogasa Springs. We stopped several parties and they all agreed that they had passed three men and a woman going north.

  We seemed to be about a day and a half behind, but we weren’t gaining any ground. Along about the Park Creek area we come across a small cattle outfit, and we were in need fresh horses. So we rode off the trail and up a lesser trail for about two miles over a pine covered ridge and into a little grassy valley. That valley wouldn’t support more than four or five hundred head, but it would support them mighty well.

  Riding into the ranch yard, we sat our saddles and Ben called out. “Halooo the house.”

  I called it a ranch house, but at best it was a long shotgun style dugout and log affair. It was built right up against the side of the hill. I surmised that it had another room or two that were dug into the hillside. I called it a shotgun house because you could shoot a shotgun through a window at one end and the shot would go out another window at the other end. Most likely, it was just one long room.

  The house sat on a bench above the valley, which spread out like the bottom of a soup bowl. A man could sit on that porch of an evening and look at that valley and think about those surrounding hills full of game, and he’d just feel the smile creeping across his face.