Treachery at Baynes Springs

  Treachery at Baynes Springs

  The money stolen in a train robbery was supposed to be split three ways; to each of the planners of the crime. However everyone has his own plan: a plan that will require no sharing of the money. First the lawyer involved seduces the sister of one partner with the goal of taking over the partner’s ranch and the sister’s bank. Another, the outlaw leader, after paying off his men, also plans on using the money to take the ranch and in doing so leave the owlhoot trail behind. The rancher who came up with the plan simply wants to take his share to save the ranch he’s mishandled and the bank whose money he’s borrowed with no means to replace. Deputy Marshal Nate Stewart is on the job but doesn’t understand what the job is until a number of people are killed.

  By the same author

  The Vigilance Committee War

  Writing as Carlton Youngblood

  Buck and the Widow Rancher

  Gold Country Ambush

  The Range Shootout

  Gold for Durango

  Waiting for the Hangman

  The Branded Man

  Writing as J.D. Ryder

  Sacred Hills Massacre

  Short Creek Rustlers

  Gone to Texas

  Kendrick’s Quest

  Treachery at Baynes Springs

  Bill Sheehy

  ROBERT HALE

  © Bill Sheehy 2017

  First published in Great Britain 2017

  ISBN 978-0-7198-2234-6

  The Crowood Press

  The Stable Block

  Crowood Lane

  Ramsbury

  Marlborough

  Wiltshire SN8 2HR

  www.bhwesterns.com

  Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press

  The right of Bill Sheehy to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  Chapter 1

  Roy didn’t know the man who shot him. Didn’t even know there was anyone there in the rail car, except for Otto. He and Otto had been promised twenty dollars each to ride guard on the bank’s strong box all the way over to Dodge City. The man with the gun was just suddenly there. Someone had once said you don’t hear the gunshot that kills you, but that was the last thing he did hear. Until coming awake lying in a hospital bed.

  Everything was fuzzy as his eyes opened. Unable to clearly make out much, his eyes barely focusing, he felt someone holding his hand. Elizabeth. ‘Beth,’ he said weakly, the pain in his chest starting to throb. ‘I was hoping you’d get here before. . . .’

  ‘Don’t, darling,’ she interrupted him, ‘don’t talk. Save your strength.’ Holding his hand, so cold and clammy feeling that she almost dropped it. She moaned to see how pale and still his face was.

  It took a bit, but slowly his lips lifted in a smile. ‘Ah, hell, Beth. I don’t want to leave you like this, but I can feel it. I can’t seem to move much more’n my arm. Can’t take a full breath either.’

  ‘The doctor has probably given you some kind of medicine. Don’t worry. I’ll stay right here until you’re better. Love, Marshal Adkins is here and wants to ask you some questions. Can you help him?’

  Roy’s eyes closed for a long moment. Fighting off sleep, he forced himself awake. ‘Yeah,’ he said weakly.

  ‘Mr Havilah,’ said the marshal, sounding anxious, ‘I’ll be quick. Did you see who shot you?’

  The dying man faintly smiled. ‘Naw, me’n Otto was just sitting on a coupla hay bales, talking, when I heard a noise,’ he tried to explain, his words coming slow and broken as sharp stabs of pain shot through his chest. Breathing was hard. ‘I looked around and there was this little fella, pointing a gun at me. From what I saw, he musta been hiding in that big wicker box that’d been put on board at the stop before. That’s all I can remember. Next thing I knew, here I was lying here, having a hard time keeping my eyes open.’

  ‘Anything you can tell me, it’ll help catch the gang what did this. What did the fella look like? Can you remember?’

  Letting his eyes close, he smiled faintly before saying anything. ‘You know,’ his words coming so soft the Marshal had to lean in close. ‘I remember the men who’d carried that wicker box into the rail car. They was big men, their clothes all dirty and needing a good wash. One of them laughed when his hands slipped and he dropped his side of the box. It wasn’t a nice laugh either. The other one, he had something wrong with his offside eye. Like he was looking thata way when he was talking to ya. When he saw I was watching, he smiled and said the box was fulla blankets, going to the Indian reservation. That got another laugh from his partner. Those fellas smelled like they hadn’t seen water in a long time, too.’

  Beth stopped him from saying any more. ‘You’re talking too much, dear. Now stop and get some rest. You just lie there and let your body do its job of healing you. I’ll be here, holding your hand.’

  The wounded man’s smile was weaker as his eyes closed. For a long time Elizabeth could only sit and stare at the man she loved.

  ‘Naw, honey,’ said her husband quietly, his lips barely moving. ‘I’m already feeling cold. Afraid I’m gonna be leaving you. Sure sorry. But we did have some good years together, didn’t we?’

  Elizabeth tried to stop crying, but the tears just flowed down her cheeks. ‘Yes, love. We’ve been happy.’

  ‘That’s what I like about you, honey. You always hope for the best. But truth to tell I’m kinda afraid to go to sleep. Don’t feel like I’ll be able to wake up.’

  As he was afraid would happen, Roy didn’t wake up from his sleep. She had a hard time doing it, but finally let go of his hand.

  Chapter 2

  Deputy Marshal Nathan Stewart had expected to get a few days off after bringing in a man he was sure had been part of the gang behind the recent train robbery. Not much was known about them except for what one of the men hired to guard the bank’s strong box said. Whatever it was, the description was enough for Marshal Adkins to send his deputy man hunting.

  ‘Two men were killed,’ exclaimed the marshal, ‘and the bank’s money stolen. Damn it, not long ago it was a stagecoach what was robbed and now these outlaws have hit the train.’

  ‘You got any idea about who these fellas are?’ asked Stewart quietly. He was familiar with the marshal’s bouts of anger. There usually wasn’t much crime in the territory, mostly due to the Federal Marshal’s office having control of things. That fact was only because Marshal Adkins was a strong believer in being a hard man. Rumor had it that he had once ridden the outlaw trail himself. However, nobody was brave enough to ask him about it. One characteristic you could count on, though, any time someone got away with a crime the marshal’s anger took over.

  Not settling down, but no longer gritting his teeth and pounding on his desk top, Adkins grimaced. ‘No, not for certain, anyway. Not any of the top men. However,’ speaking slowly now, ‘we got a bit of a description of one of them. Not much really, but enough that it gives me a good idea who they were. It had to have been Morgan Runkle’s bunch. One of the men who was shot talked about a crooked-eyed man having been in the rail car just before the holdup. Only one cant-eyed fella I know anywhere in the territory is Willie Widler. There’ve been rumors Willie’s taken up with Runkle. On top of that, he said the fella that shot him was what he called a little fella.’

  ‘A little fella and Willie Widler? Yeah, that fits a couple outlaws supposedly running with Runkle.’

  ‘If Runkle was involved with this, then the so-called little fella had to be Little Carly Morse. Now, you and I have run into Little Carly more’n once. Enough to know how he likes to head out into the back country to hide out. So,’ Adkins went on, draggi
ng it out, ‘I reckon you better be heading out in that direction. Your ability to bring men out of that part of the territory is pretty good.’

  Having been given his marching orders, the deputy headed out, returning a few days later with a prisoner. The man Deputy Stewart brought in wearing handcuffs riding a tired-looking, underfed old horse was pretty well known around as Little Carly. It’d been better, Stewart knew, to be bringing Runkle in. That would have made the deputy marshal look good. As the most inexperienced deputy in Marshal Adkins’ office, Nate Stewart was always ready to prove his worth.

  Having some little success, he reached town tired and saddle-weary, looking forward to a single whiskey, a bath at the Chinaman’s and a night’s sleep in a real bed. After so long in the saddle, he was sure he could feel tired in every one of the bones of his body. Being as he stood pretty close to six feet tall, he was certain he had more bones to feel tired than most folks. But a drink and a bath was not to be. After turning Carly over to the jailer, Butch Wilson, and writing up his report, Stewart was almost out the door when Wilson stopped him.

  ‘Dang it, Nate, I almost forgot. Old man Adkins wuda ripped me a new one if’n you’d gotten away. He wants to see you. No matter what time you get in, he told me, he wants ya to go over to his office.’

  ‘Ah, Butch. C’mon. Give me a break, huh? Can’t you just forget and let me get out the door? I need a bath and a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘And where am I gonna go look for another job? No sir. When the marshal says fetch, I start looking for sticks. Now you can take your report along with ya. Fer sure he’ll be wanting to see what you’ve brought in.’

  Frowning and letting his shoulders droop, the young deputy grabbed the papers and, not saying another word, headed out.

  Chapter 3

  Stewart was the youngest member of the territorial marshal office and hoping to make himself look older he wore his mustaches long, hanging down nearly to his chin. Both the hair under his nose and that on his head was black, so black some people thought he had Indian blood. That hair so thick that within a week of getting it barbered, it looked shaggy and ready for another cutting. Pushing into the marshal’s office, he was sure even his hair was tired-looking.

  ‘Ah, Deputy Stewart,’ said Marshal Adkins almost cheerily when Stewart stepped through the man’s open door. ‘It is about time you got back. Now tell me you brought in that damn Runkle.’

  Dropping the report on the Marshal’s desk, Stewart shook his head and folded himself into a chair. ‘No sir, ’fraid I can’t say that. All I got for my riding is a heap of saddle sores, a tired horse and Little Carly Morse. Sorry to report, there weren’t no sign of any of the others in that gang.’

  ‘Hm,’ said Adkins quickly reading the brief report. ‘Guess that’s better’n coming back empty-handed.’ Slapping the paper down on the desk top, the lawman looked up, frowning. ‘Well, that’s enough of going after that gang, for a while anyhow. I’ve got something new for you. Do you know a man named Jackson Drazen?’ When the deputy shook his head, he went on to explain. ‘He’s a big time lawyer. Has an office over in Kansas City. I thought you might have heard of him. Has a bad habit of getting his clients off. And his list of clients seems to take in all the outlaws that roam the Territory. How’n hell are we supposed to clear the Territory of crime and criminals so the homesteaders the government is wanting can come in if the judges let the bastards go as quick as we catch them?’ He wasn’t really asking a question and didn’t wait for an answer.

  ‘Ah well, I guess that’s the way of it. Anyhow, here’s the job I got for you. That Drazen is going down to Baynes Springs. You ever been down that way?’

  For a moment Stewart had almost dozed off. Jerking awake he once again shook his head. ‘Uh, no. It doesn’t sound familiar.’

  ‘Well, no matter. It’s no more than a wide place in the road. A handful of big cattle spreads that the government would like to open up for homesteading. And that’s where you’re going. Drazen has got himself appointed to go talk to the banker down there. Seems like that train that your friend, Morgan Runkle and his boys, I believe went and held up, was carrying a strong box filled with new fifty and hundred dollar brown-back bills. So brand new the printer’s ink was barely dry. That money was supposed to get the little community bank out of trouble.’

  It was Stewart’s turn to frown. ‘There was one of those bills in Little Carly’s pocket. New paper, crinkly even. I asked him where he got it and he just laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said.’

  The marshal nodded. ‘Well, I can tell you, it came from the Kansas City branch of the National Bank. It’s the government at work again. Shoring up banks in all the cowtowns out in the Territory. The idea is to show people back east that the Territory may be a way from the city, but they’ll still find towns when they make the move west. You know, towns with schools, churches and the like, even working banks. Of course, you and I know that isn’t exactly true, don’t we?’

  The question caught Stewart in the middle of a jaw-breaking yawn. ‘Guess you’re either tired or bored, huh?’ said Adkins. ‘Alright. Go get yourself some shut-eye. But be ready to catch the stage for Baynes Springs in the morning. I want you to bird-dog the man. Supposedly his job is to inform the bank manager of the robbery. The Pinkertons are hot on Runkle gang’s trail, that’s why I’m taking you off it. But I don’t trust Mr Drazen. I’d like to catch him out and let a judge work him over.’

  Stewart’s frown wrinkled his forehead. ‘You want me to baby-sit this big city lawyer?’

  ‘Yep, I shore do,’ declared the marshal, smiling. ‘That’s another thing I’m sure of but can’t prove . . . Drazen is dirty. The damn fool has got men off that shoulda been sent to prison. Or the hangman even. Now, I ain’t seen no proof but it wouldn’t surprise me to discover he and that Morgan Runkle weren’t somehow working together. If so, I want his hide.’

  Chapter 4

  Deputy Stewart wasn’t the only person traveling to Baynes Springs. When her husband died, Elizabeth Havilah had her own reasons for buying a ticket on the stage.

  Both she and Roy had been hard workers. He was a carpenter and all-round handyman, doing whatever it took. Elizabeth had found employment at one of the larger women’s dress shops.

  The shop’s owner, an older woman, Miss Bumgarten, had even sewn Elizabeth’s wedding dress. The only trouble came from the drunks who all too often came out of the saloon next door, walking down the boardwalk on their way to the whore houses down across from the railroad station. But that didn’t happen often and usually the two women had the quiet of the day to themselves.

  The first few days after her Roy was in the ground, Beth simply closed her window curtains and sat for hours in the darken room. Only when a worried Miss Bumgarten came knocking at the door did she let some light into the room.

  ‘You must not sit here in the dark, Elizabeth,’ the older woman chided the new widow. ‘It isn’t healthy. Plus I need your help in the store. Now while I make us a cup of tea, you go wash your face and put on that pretty soft blue dress you look so good in. Go on now.’

  The hustling around made Elizabeth feel like she was coming awake. Slowly as the days passed by she became more and more used to the emptiness of the house at night. The nightmare of Roy’s death came bursting into her life in the afternoon when she was closing up the shop. Two men came out of the saloon and, laughing at some joke, staggered past. Glancing up in disgust, Elizabeth’s stomach cramped when she saw one of the men had eyes that were looking in different directions. It was the man who’d killed her husband.

  Chapter 5

  That night, after fixing a meal she couldn’t eat, Elizabeth sat in the chair that had once been Roy’s and thought about the crooked-eyed man. Only when she had worked out a plan did she crawl under the blankets of the too-big bed, falling asleep almost instantly. She was going to kill that man.

  Now, many weeks later and halfway across the prairie, she was close to completing
her plan. A lot had changed since that night. The man with the off-canted eye had nearly died a few nights later as he came out of the back door of the saloon, heading for one of the privies. She had been standing in the shadows waiting. A number of men had already gone by, doing their business and then coming back. None of them had seen her. It was disgusting, but she had made up her mind.

  The first time she’d pointed her little pistol at the back of the man’s head, she’d almost been caught.

  ‘Now what the hell’re you thinking of, O’Hare?’ She hadn’t seen the other man. Quickly she ducked back into the darkness of the alley. ‘You and that idiot you run around with got paid for the job. What makes you think yore gonna get more?’

  ‘Ah, Mr Morgan, it ain’t like that all,’ whined the weird-eyed man. ‘Yeah, we got paid for dragging that damn’ box onto the train. It ain’t that. Nossir, it’s, well, now me’n Healy are broke. We figured that maybe you’d be willing to pay us a mite more, seeing as how we ain’t never told anyone about what we did fer ya.’

  ‘So it’s blackmail, is it? You two stumble-bums think . . . no, it’s clear you ain’t thinking.’

  ‘C’mon, Mr Morgan. You and yore gang got a pile off’n that train. It was all people were talking about. You know it was made easy by what me’n Healy did. We just think we should get a little of that pile. That’s all.’

  Elizabeth didn’t hear more of the conversation as the two men walked away. For a long time she stood in the shadow thinking. It wasn’t the squint-eyed man she wanted to kill, it was their boss, the man called Morgan.

  It didn’t take much to discover Morgan’s full name, Morgan Runkle. Finding out all she could about Morgan Runkle wasn’t hard either. The marshal had a file on him. Thought to be the leader of a band of outlaws that ranged over half the territory. Arrested a number of times, he’d always walked free from the court. The law demanded proof before hanging and a good lawyer was always able to get him acquitted.