The Only Man I Can Trust
Chapter 4
Dillon walked back to the boarding house, trying to sort out what he had learned so far. Was Holcombe the instigator of what was going on in this town or was it Carp? The easiest way would be to arrest them both - but first he needed some kind of evidence. He wondered if any of the honest business owners in town would be willing to talk to him. Maybe he would try the bank in the morning.
He lay in bed, planning to get at least a few hours sleep. He thought about Fleur and the sad life she led, then wondered what it was that had given Kitty the ability to move up above such an existence. He had to admit he felt a certain pride in the young woman who had stepped off a stagecoach in Dodge City five years ago. Instead of sinking down to the depths that Fleur had found, Kitty had risen to the top - becoming part owner of the best saloon in town. He smiled as he thought of her. Sometimes he wished he could give up this badge and settle down, then he could spend every night with her sleeping next to him, but he knew it wouldn't work. There was a job that had to be done, and unfortunately for him, he was one of the few men capable of doing it. He felt no pride in that, just a deep sense of responsibility.
Somehow the image of her face had forced its way into his head, and he tried to push it aside. His present problem was to find out what happened to John Hicks and then arrest the people responsible. He developed a vague plan but knew he would need some help. He needed to talk with Chester, preferably somewhere outside of Great Bend, that way they would not appear to be known to each other.
Next morning he got up early, which was not difficult for him since he usually made early morning rounds in Dodge City. He liked to make sure that no troublemakers, left over from the night before, were still skulking around the town's dark alleys. If he found them early enough, he could make sure they were gone before the rest of Dodge was up and about.
He knew the telegraph office in Great Bend was at the other end of town, and hopefully the operator would be there. As he set of in that direction he began to compose a note in his head.
Meet me tomorrow at fishing hole we found last year. Big catfish. Bring gear and come alone.
That seemed to cover everything. Dillon knew that most people didn't give Chester much credit for being smart, but he had always found him to be capable of rising to the occasion when needed. He just hoped that the jailer remembered where they had camped, a year or so ago, while trailing a pair of bank robbers. It was a quiet place on a branch of the Arkansas River where a small grove of Soapberry trees made good shade, and the fishing had been exceptionally good. Chester had caught a large catfish, which they had cooked over a fire, then camped for the night before continuing after the robbers the next day. Chester always remembered good fishing holes - he hoped this time would be no exception.
As he approached the telegraph office he noticed a man propping up the corner of a building across the street. He was holding a Spencer carbine and looked like one of the men who had removed the poker player from the saloon yesterday evening. Undeterred, he entered the office and picked up a form on which to write his message. The clerk looked at him; Matt could see fear in the man's eyes. It reminded him of the scared little operator in Elkader. Hinkle had been his name. Matt had been forced to use him to find the ruthless killer, Lou Shippen. He didn't like using people like that, but sometimes, like now, options were limited.
"What do you want, Mister?"
"I want you to send this wire to Dodge City."
The man hesitated. Matt stepped up and took him by the collar. "For your own good, I suggest you send it now, and don't try fooling me. It wont work."
The man glanced through the window at the figure with the gun across the street.
"Now, would be a good time." Matt told him.
"Look Mister, I'm scared of what's going on in this town."
"I'm here to help, so just send that message. If they ask me, I'll tell 'em you refused. Just do it now. Hurry."
The little man looked at Dillon for a second or two then scurried back to his desk and started tapping frantically on the terminal key. "Who you want it to go to?"
"Chester Goode, Dodge City. Just sign it MD."
"We sure need help Mister. There's all kinda bad things goin' on here."
The clerk continued to tap on the key for a few more seconds.
"It's sent," he announced.
Matt was watching the man across the street. He had left his post and was walking towards the telegraph office. He pocketed the note he had written just as the door burst open.
The operator began to shake, "I…I… told him the lines were down, Mr. Farrell. I said I couldn't send anything."
"That's right," Matt confirmed, "Guess I'll try again tomorrow." He pushed past the newcomer and walked out into the street.
The man with the rifle turned to the hapless clerk, "I hope, for your sake, you're telling the truth. You know the rules - no telegrams to be sent or delivered unless Mr. Carp or me sees 'em first."
"Honest, Mr. Farrell, I told him I couldn't send any messages because the lines were all down."
Pete Farrell wasn't sure if he believed the man or not, but since Carp had told him they needed the telegraph to be operational, he only struck the clerk across the head with the rifle barrel. Not enough to seriously hurt him, but sufficient to let him know who was boss. He hadn't got much information from the girl last night either. She had claimed that the only name the man had given her was Matt. She thought he was a cowboy just passing through and looking for a little pleasure. Farrell had slapped her around quite a bit too, but she never changed her story. Still, he wasn't quite sure if he believed her because he hadn't hit her that hard. Sometimes he went so far as to feel a little sorry for the woman, and had even availed himself of her services a time or two. There was something about that tall man though. The way he walked and looked at people. He was too confident to be just a regular out of work cowboy. He had to go talk with Mr. Carp. It was time to bring this tall man down a notch; otherwise, he had a feeling that things weren't going to run as smoothly as they had been in Great Bend.
()()()
Farrell walked slowly towards the Aces High saloon. He watched as the tall stranger entered the cafe across the street. At least he would know where to find him if Mr. Carp wanted more information. There was a small room at the back of the saloon where Carp and Holcombe met every morning. He knocked on the door and went in.
Carp looked up from the desk where he was sitting. He had a thin face with a drooping mustache. His eyes were a cold gray color and, right now, they were focused on Farrell.
"What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"
"You asked me to find out about that man who was in the saloon last night."
"Well?" Carp had little patience, especially with Farrell.
"He went home with the whore who calls herself Fleur. I talked to her after he left. Had to persuade her a little, but all she could tell me was that his name was Matt, and he was a cowboy passing through town looking for a job. I don't think she was covering up for him. I scared her pretty good."
"Uh huh - what else?"
"This morning, he went to the telegraph office, but Johnny told him the lines were down."
"Bring him to me, understand? You better take a couple of the boys with you. Leave now, I'm busy."
Farrell closed the door behind him. He didn't like Carp and was easily intimidated by him, but Carp paid him well, and his position as Carp's right-hand-man gave him a feeling of authority which he enjoyed. Unfortunately, most of the time, Carp treated him as if he was some kind of moron, and he didn't appreciate that so much. What Farrell didn't know was that the other men had no respect for him either. They only went along with his orders because they didn't want to deal with Carp if things went wrong.
In the saloon, he gathered four men who were sitting around a table eating a free breakfast.
"Carp wants me to bring in a man who's been in town for a few days and has been asking a lot of questions. He might be a little reluctant to come, so I'll need some help."
()()()
Dillon had eaten a breakfast that was much like one he could have got in Delmonico's. He decided he needed to question Holcombe and Carp and find out more about their racket in Great Bend, and more importantly, what had happened to Sheriff Hicks and his deputy. He had been in town for almost two days now and had concluded that Trent Carp had probably been the one who arranged the murder of Hicks and his deputy, even though he may not have been the one to pull the trigger. He wasn't sure where Holcombe fitted into the picture, except that he was very skilled with a deck of cards. Crooked dealers had come to Dodge often enough, sometimes asking him to look the other way in exchange for money. Of course he could never accept that. Even if he didn't wear the marshal's badge, he couldn't go against his own principles of fair play.
So far, he had found only two people in town who admitted that they would like to see Carp gone. He knew of a rancher about ten miles out of town who he thought might be of some help if he was still around. He would ride out there today and find out. Then he would go to meet Chester.
As he approached the stable, everything was quiet, as if the town was not even up and about yet. That made him a little suspicious. Usually the mornings were busy times in a stable with people coming and going, and horses being tacked up ready leave. He stayed close to the wall of the building and inched his way towards the entrance. His hand slid to his right hip, just checking that his gun was ready if he needed it. Years of being a lawman had made him aware of situations that were somehow not quite right. He entered the stable and stood looking around to check every dark corner. He stepped forward carefully, intending to check on the buckskin before tacking up.
It came out of nowhere, a thud on the back of his head. It wasn't enough to make him fall to the ground but it did stun him for a moment. He spun around, intending to draw his gun, but another hand had got to it first. He saw two men in front of him, his vision was temporarily blurred from the blow, but he hit out with a right hook and connected with the chin of one of them, knocking him to the floor. There was the second man just beyond arms length. He threw himself at him so that both landed on the floor. The breath was knocked out of his assailant, and Dillon started to rise, only to feel someone else behind him. What happened next was confused. Two other men appeared as if from nowhere. With his gun gone, all he had to defend himself with was his fists. He hit out as the two men closed in. He was holding his own pretty well until they dragged him to the ground. A series of blows and kicks to his chest and stomach took away much of his strength. He tried to curl up to protect himself as much as possible, but that only resulted in a vicious boot landing squarely on his spine. Eventually the pounding stopped. The man he had seen escorting the poker player out of the Red Slipper last night stood there with Matt's gun in his hand.
"Get up!" he ordered. Farrell was good at giving orders when he held a gun and had several men to back him up.
Matt stumbled a little as he tried to get to his feet, some of it was for show, but some he couldn't help. He fell back to the ground. There was a small glint as a piece of metal dislodged from his vest pocket; he tried to grab it but Farrell was quicker. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand and was suddenly very proud of himself.
"A United States Marshal. Well how did we get so lucky? Mr. Carp will be interested in this."
Farrell suddenly felt a lot taller. He had been smart enough to take down a real live marshal. Surely Carp would recognize his abilities now. He couldn't block the smile from his face as he ordered his men to get the lawman to his feet and drag him along to the jail.
TBC
