Chapter Fifteen

"He's coming."

Lon's gun given a rub with his thumb, he slunk farther into the depot's shadows. "Let him come all the way in."

That was definitely difficult to obey. Mort's gun not sitting in his holster like Lon's was doing, he had his thumb ready to rock the hammer down. And his finger was already in position to squeeze. But even without Lon's whisper ringing in his ears, Mort knew that he couldn't put a bullet in Spinner like that. As it were, he would rather wring his neck.

Crouching lower as the last outer step was made, Mort held his breath as Spinner entered the depot. The moment the door banged shut, he leapt toward the man, and while he could have released a bullet, could have smacked both hands into his hide in a repeated fashion, Mort merely stood, letting his presence say every word.

Spinner's eyes flew wide. "How? You should be dead!"

"Let's just say I'm made of tougher stock, and my friend here, he's made up of something similar."

Spinner shifted his stare to the other star. "Who are you?"

"Lon Matthews. Mort's replacement. Although right now, it looks like I'm merely helping the regular Laramie sheriff round up a pack of no-goods."

A nervous swallowed made his Adam's apple take a jump. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, you don't, do you?" Mort asked, eyes narrowing as he took a step toward Spinner. "I saw you with Buck Brooks, first when my deputy was killed, second when you dropped me into that shaft. But let's skip that for now. Stealing that one hundred thousand is what I really want your hide for."

"That wasn't me. I was right here! The Overland detective already proved it."

Mort shook his head. "I don't care what's been proven. You being with Brooks is all the evidence I need to get you behind bars, if not for the robbery, then for the murder of my deputy and the attempted murder of me."

"But I…" Spinner's tongue tripping, he spun toward the door.

Mort rocked the hammer back on his gun. "And if you think there's any chance of escaping, don't. Cheyenne's sheriff is waiting right outside the door. It's over, Spinner. There's no lying your way out. In fact, the only way out for you is the gallows."

"But I…"

"You're under arrest, Spinner," Lon said, jingling the iron bracelets. "Whatever you want to stammer over, you'll be doing it inside a jail cell. Let's go."

Three badges outside of the lock that was clicking its seal, Spinner glared at the middle one. "You'll get nothing outta me, Cory."

"That's where you're wrong. You'll talk."

"If you think you're gonna sweat me, save your breath."

"Oh, I'll sweat you. In fact, we all will. And it doesn't matter how many breaths I use up. I can wait."

"For twenty years?" Spinner's laugh was eerily clipped in half. "Or make that sixty."

Mort's sunken cheeks took on new life as they turned bright red. "You'll only wish Yuma will be your sentence, Spinner. The judge will throw a rope at you, guaranteed."

He couldn't stop his eyes from darting toward the window. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"So that's it," Mort said, looking at the two lawmen beside him before returning his gaze to the cocky print Spinner wore over his face. "You think your friends will bust you loose. Don't count on it."

"I helped Buck get outta Yuma. He owes me."

Mort shook his head. "You're a fool if you think that. Brooks won't come for you, none of them will. I bet as soon as he hears you're in the lockup, he'll start dreaming of the twenty-five thousand of your share that he gets to keep now. Not to mention the other holdups you and that gang must've pulled off recently. I'm sure you're going to lose a much bigger number than I'd imagine."

"Shut up, Cory."

"Glad to know that I've touched a nerve."

"Let's go for the punch, then," said Lon, leaning closer to the bars. "Where's Buck Brooks, Spinner?"

He snorted at Lon. "Like I'm gonna spill that to a bunch of gray-haired badge-toters."

"Let's see if we can loosen his tongue with a little softness and then let him have the hard shots," Mort said, watching as Spinner swung his head back and forth. "Jess smelled your cigar during the robbery, so I know you were there. How did you get back and forth between the robbery site and here in time to be seen on duty?"

He held onto his smirk for a long thirty seconds before finally lifting his shoulders to shrug. "I didn't."

"Did you bribe the detective to say you were there? You certainly had enough money to wave it around."

"If I'm gonna bribe any kinda lawman, Cory, it'll be you three so you can let me walk outta here. Jail cells stink."

"So do your cigars, which, by the way, you won't get to smoke in here."

Spinner cussed. "Not even a cigarette to tame my insides?"

"The only smoke you'll get to breathe in will be from the potbelly stove over there to heat the morning coffee. But that's enough of that. Back to the real subject at hand. So if you didn't toss some heavy coins around, then how do you account for being in two places at once?"

"I suppose I can let this much loose. We keep a man that looks enough like me on the team so I can have a clean alibi. Since I work at night and the doors are all locked, he sits in the office when I need to be somewhere else."

"So now the final tally is a bit smaller for everyone involved," Lon said, holding up his open hand. "Five men are on the payroll. Or are there more?"

Spinner let another laugh roll off his tongue. "Still just four hands in the cookie jar, Lonnie."

"It's Sheriff Matthews to you, Spinner. So what about the extra man?"

"He's dead. Men like that are dispensable. After a hit that size, we didn't need him anymore."

Mort crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, at least you're admitting you were in on a hit that size. But like I already said, you've already lost your share, so that makes the cookie jar suddenly get divided by three. Since you had the job at counting columns for the stage line, I doubt you need me to tell you what the others are going to pocket now."

"Buck won't let me fall. That'll be you, Cory. That'll be all of you!"

"We'll see," Mort said, motioning with his head for the others to retreat to the opposite corner of the room.

"He's not willing to bury Brooks just yet," said Rob Olson, Cheyenne's regular lawman. "Too bad. I've wanted to get my hands on Brooks for a long time. His original gang shot up my town pretty bad a few years ago."

Lon looked at the smug face behind bars. "You just might get that chance. Spinner's convinced that help's coming."

"I'm not."

"That's not a risk we can take."

Mort nodded through his answer. "I know, Lon. Brooks is not a name we can gamble on, except for the fact that he's ruthless."

"That's the truth." Lon gave a point to the man at the desk. "Well, with the deputy here, there's four of us. That's a pretty good stand against the three of them."

"I've got a few more reliable men I can hire on," Rob said.

"That's fine. If we can make it six total, then we'll use two man rotations around the clock. Eight hours each."

A hopeful smile in place, Rob walked toward the door. "I'll get out there now and round them up."

When the door went closed, Lon lowered his voice to a whisper. "Do you really think Brooks will abandon him?"

"I'm hoping so. If not, what with the power they showed during the stagecoach's getting turned over, I'm afraid that two, four or six men won't be enough to stop him."

"I suppose you're right," Lon said, taking out his gun. "Well, you ready to take the first watch?"

They sat still for three days. Anxiety high, even the men not on the night watch refused to sleep. They lay awake, listening for a gunshot, a scream or even the sound of a bomb lighting the entire town on fire. It never came. By the fourth morning, as he worked on a heaped up plate of breakfast fare, Mort realized he didn't have to wipe the sweat from his brow as frequently. His eyes weren't flicking to the window as often, and his hand wasn't forever poised on his gun. It looked as if he was going to be right. Brooks was going to let Spinner hang.

And as it was his turn to go on duty, Mort noticed that the same expressions he had worn had shifted to the prisoner. Sweating, his eyes were darting toward the barred window, and while he didn't have anything to occupy his hands with, they forever opened and closed in front of him.

"I see you're getting a little green around the edges."

"Go away. I'm sick of looking at you, Cory."

He waved a hand over his appearance. "I'll admit I'm not the nicest looking fellow after what you all did to me. But I'm having a fine time eating thick steak and even thicker stacks of pancakes. How was that bread and water you had for breakfast?"

"Leave me alone."

"Not until—" Mort flipped open his watch "—six. That's when my shift ends."

"You could sit outside the front door with that other star."

"It's cozier in here. Besides, the coffeepot's a lot closer by. I've still got a mighty thirst, you know."

"Then go drown it in the saloon."

"Not while I'm on duty."

"Likely not off, either. You reek of goodness and glory."

"Could be that you're right, but I'd imagine that's better than smelling like a pair of mangy boots were afire. Wherever did you get those cigars?"

"I have a better question. Whatever did you have to catch me for?"

Mort held up two fingers. "For Slim and Jess."

"Oh, yes. You're bosom chums."

"They're far better friends than what you can say about Brooks and the others he runs around with." Seeing the beads of sweat multiply, Mort jumped on the chance to make them pour. "He's not coming, Spinner. You really think Brooks is going to chance getting caught? No one wants to go back to Yuma. Sure, he's a murderer, but I'd bet he'll be sent straight back to the hottest cage in hell. He knows that, too. That's why he's not coming for you."

He thrust a thumb in his chest. "I get nothing if I tell you where he is."

"That might be true. But you'll be rid of me."

He opened his mouth, but whatever had been ready to jump off his tongue was swallowed instead. "No. I won't do it."

"I'm surprised you're that loyal, Spinner. Let me ask you something. What would you do if Buck or one of the others were in your seat instead?"

"I already told you I got Buck outta Yuma and this tin can would be a lot easier to open than what happened down there."

"Maybe so, but like I already said, Brooks doesn't want to go back there. He'd rather watch your skin burn and then peel off than have it happen to his hide again. And you remain loyal to someone like that?"

Spinner jabbed a finger at Mort. "Buck will come for me and you will pay his price."

Mort shook his head and the finger wilted back to Spinner's side. "He would've been here by now, Spinner. You know it. So do some good for a change. Put Brooks back in Yuma, and help me get Slim and Jess out. They're too good of men to be rotting in that hole. You know that as truth, Spinner. Come on and open up before it's too late for them!"

A fist against his thigh, Spinner turned toward the barred window and stared through the narrow opening. They had discussed getting caught. Buck said no one should worry, that he would pass through fire and flood to rescue one of his men, but Spinner had long since began to doubt his word. While it normally would have made Spinner sick to agree with a lawman, Cory was right. Buck would have knocked the doors down by now if he was going to. He wasn't. Buck was a liar, a dirty, cold-blooded liar who wanted more money in his possession.

Now both fists were formed and Spinner's knuckles cracked as he banged them against the wall. "All right, Cory."

Breath held, Mort leaned close. "Well?"

"All I can tell you is where the hideout is. Honestly, Buck and the others could be anywhere right now, except bailing me out of here in Cheyenne. But if you want someplace to snoop your nose in, and preferably get it shot off, he has a shack in the south section of the Laramie range. And Cory…"

He lifted a brow. "Go on."

"If I ever do get sprung outta this cell, I'm making a personal invite to your front door."

"If that ever happens, I'll be looking forward to it," Mort said, but as he felt time loudly ticking in his ear, he hurried to where Lon sat outside of the sheriff's office. "I hope you can handle the watch with five men instead of six."

"Where're you going?"

"Spinner caved. He told me that Brooks has a hideout in the Laramie range."

The chair underneath him was given a hard thump as he jumped to his feet. "You're not going without me."

"Then you best get the next watch over here fast, because I'm not waiting any longer than it'll take to stuff my saddlebags with food and get in the saddle."

"Five minutes fast enough?"

"Make it four."

It was actually done in three, but none of them were really counting. Neither did they bother to time the journey between Cheyenne and Laramie, although if there was a watch wide open in front of them, it would have stated that the two sheriffs made the distance in half the span than it would have normally taken a rider. The urge to get Brooks in handcuffs stronger than any other emotion, they even bypassed the Sherman ranch. Lon wouldn't want to know how Fran would have objected to him being that close and not stopping to give his wife a kiss. They could have that argument later. The only argument to be had now was whether they were going to split at the south section to search a wider area of the mountains or remain together.

Both eyes being held together for a full minute, the decision was made to stick it out side by side.

"With two of us, it's less likely that I'll get dropped into another hole," Mort said, giving his head a toss to point to which path he wanted to take first. "Don't bother to look for tracks. Just look for any kind of structure, a wisp of smoke. Maybe even the smell of a cigar."

"A lot of miles of land up here."

"I know. So much of its impassible, though, so that narrows our chances some."

"How about the first stream we find, we follow it straight up?"

Nodding, Mort pointed to their left. "I can hear it gurgling over there."

When it turned into a waterfall, the horses were left to take in its chilled taste, while Lon and Mort continued on foot. It blended into the rocky slab that was somehow still holding onto a portion of winter white, but they saw the slant of the rooftop. While they knew it could belong to a miner, trapper or a different kind of outlaw, it was just as possible that they were about to greet Buck Brooks.

While riding across the territory, Lon had said that the Sharps he wore never missed. Well, here was to the first time. Mort's gun in his hand, he nodded and crept along the cabin's east wall. Lon was mimicking his steps along the western half. Without a window, there would be no peeking in to know who or how many. When the doorknob wouldn't turn over, they gave a deciding nod. They wouldn't be going in quietly.

Lon's leg stronger, he waited until Mort was in the position to fire and then punched the door off its hinges. "Hands up! You're under arrest!"

A chair falling backward, a body darted under the round table in the center of the small room and fired two shots. Lon's arm clipped, his grunt increased the unnamed outlaw's desire for more of the same. Firing again, he sought the gray hat and the skull that was underneath and reached for the trigger. Mort would never let him pull it.

He had wanted it in the shoulder. But with death staring at his companion, he couldn't stop to make a perfect aim. Mort's bullet hit him in the chest. The gasp quick to turn into a sputter, Mort hurried to the man's position and tossed the table into the corner.

Mort's fingers dug into a collar more red than brown. "Where's Brooks?"

"He's dead, Mort."

He knew it by touch alone, but Mort couldn't let the man go. "Where is he?"

"Mort!" Lon gripped his hand around Mort's wrist. "Let him go. He's dead."

Head dropped, he pushed out a long dose of air through his mouth and his fingers loosened their grip. "I know. I just didn't want to let go of the only key to a pair of Yuma prison doors."

"We still have Spinner back at Cheyenne."

"His hide's not worth the amount of gold that it'll take to spring Slim and Jess. We've got to have Brooks and the money."

Lon looked around the room. "It couldn't have been that long ago that he was here. Several plates and cups lay unwashed in the basin there."

"Could be that he just doesn't like to do dishes."

"True. What man does?"

"He's got a name on him," Mort said as he emptied the contents of the man's wallet. "Saul Welch. Ring any lawman bells?"

"Wasn't there a Welch in the old Brooks and Meadows gang?"

"If there was, he was killed with the rest of the bunch."

Holding up his hand, Lon closed his eyes and folded a finger into his palm with each name. "Let's see. Obviously there was Buck Brooks and Clayton Meadows. Drum Kroger, Will Cushman and Dennis… I was right. Dennis Welch. And unless she's been put to rest in the Laramie cemetery since I left town, Claudia Welch just might be our next stop."

"She was still living last I heard. Dennis' mother?"

"Step-mother."

"Let's go."

.:.

A woman that had seen badges come onto her property more times than she ever wanted to count, Claudia Welch didn't raise an eyebrow when the two stars came in on horseback. The third horse would gain her attention, for there was a dead man draped over the saddle. Ignoring the lawmen, she walked straight for the body. At the huff of anger through her lips, she couldn't ignore them any longer.

"What'd you bring him here for?" Claudia asked as her wrinkled hand roughly let go of the blanket that covered Saul Welch's head.

"Thought you might know him, Ma'am," Mort said, showing her the identifying papers from the deceased's wallet. "You share the same last name."

"We might share the name, all right, but not the blood. Get him off my property."

"We'll do that, as soon as you tell us if he's your dead husband's son or not."

"He is. What of it?"

"We think he's part of the gang that held up a couple of stagecoaches a little over a month ago."

"Oh. So that's why you've got a coupla shovels in your pack. You wanna dig up my yard and see if you can find a glimpse of that loot."

"No, Ma'am. But if any of it's here. I expect you better tell us."

"It's not. But I doubt by the looks of you that you believe it."

Mort let a smile tickle across his face. "Me, doubt a good woman's word?"

Claudia tipped her head back and laughed. "Don't tell me you're flirting with me, Sheriff? What are you, fifty?"

"I don't answer to any of those numbers."

"I do. I'm proud to be seventy-something, so don't go getting any ideas that I'll start swooning just because you're fairly handsome and single. I see the other one's wearing a ring on his finger. I reckon that's why you're doing all the talking, hmm?"

"Could be."

"There you go again. Smiling at a woman my age. Why, I'm old enough to be your ma!"

"I guess you're right, Ma'am. But now that you bring it up, I'd like to hear about your sons."

"Now you get this straight. It was my husband that raised up a coupla no-accounts. Not my doings. They was already reared up before I came into the house ten years back. And now they're all dead. I suppose I should be happy, considering."

"Has Saul been around much in the last month or so?"

"Now and then."

"Have you ever seen a man by the name of Buck Brooks?"

"He in on this too?"

"The leader."

"Yeah. I've seen him."

"When was the last time?"

"About two weeks ago. He and Saul were out by the barn having some heated words. I couldn't help but listen. Now don't go to furrowing that neat-and-tidy brow of yours. I was only doing the laundry!"

"What was the fight about?"

"Saul didn't like that he had to stay put while Brooks went up to Montana. But he didn't stay here. I don't know where Saul goes when he leaves here. Don't rightly care either. Mangy no-account. No good to me while he was alive. Even more worthless now that he's dead." Raising the blanket, she screamed in the dead man's ear. "You didn't give me even a nickel of all that loot. Not even a nickel!"

Mort cleared his throat, but she wouldn't let him interject her tirade. In fact, it only propelled her to turn to him with the same kind of fury.

"I won't say it again, Sheriff. Get him off my property. If he has a grave here, I'll do nothing but spit on it."

"We'll oblige, Ma'am. And thank you."

Walking the horses until her ears would no longer catch their tones, Lon turned toward the north. "Montana."

"Two weeks ago."

"That's a lot of territory to cover."

"I know. Well, there's no point starting straight up at this time of day. We'll start over back at Laramie. I'd imagine you'd like to see your wife. You can do whatever it is that married couples do while I see to getting Welch a place in the graveyard."

"All right, Mort. I'll be at the office at first light."

"I'll make sure the coffee's hot."

.:.

There was something else at the office at first light, even hotter than coffee.

Too stunned to move, Mort stood with it in his hand, mouth agape as he tried to envision the scene that was printed on the page. Unfortunately it was fairly easy to see, for everything was covered in blood.

Walking into the sheriff's office, Lon's face went as pale as the ashen cheeks across from him. "What's wrong?"

"There's been a prison break at Yuma."

"Slim and Jess?"

Mort gave the telegram a crunch in his palm. "It doesn't give names. But twenty-seven men are dead, sixteen more are injured. A dozen more made a clean escape. Every lawman from border to border is to be on the lookout."

"We might not have the keys in hand but at least we're on the right trail. It can't be them! With us getting this close, it just can't be them among the dead or missing."

"I know, Lon. But knowing Jess, I just can't help but think…"

He saw Mort's body shift toward the south, but Lon couldn't quite turn that direction himself. "Where do you want to go? Yuma or Montana?"

"I want to go to Yuma, but I'm afraid our answer to save those boys isn't in hell."

"It's not in heaven, either."

"No."

"And if it's not in Montana?"

"Then we'll keep looking. For as long as it takes, and God have mercy, don't let it be as long as twenty years."

"Or sixty."