Lassiter Tough Page 6

  “On a dark night I want to be able to stomp on his grave an’ bellow at the moon.”

  Busher and Krinkle laughed.

  Then Busher looked Sanlee in the eye. “How much pay, in dollars, not talk?”

  “One thousand each.”

  “The sooner you give us that signal, the sooner I can start spendin’ the money,” Busher said, a pleased look on his scarred face.

  Sanlee nodded, feeling confident that Lassiter was as good as dead.

  The following day, Lassiter glanced at the sky. It was midmorning, and he could make Santos well before noon. He had a hunch that Millie would be early for her meeting with Chandler. He told Herrera to take over for him and rode in the direction of town.

  With most able-bodied men hired on extra for roundup, the town was practically deserted. Spring heat bore down and some old men were in chairs under an overhang out of the sun. Women in tight-waisted dresses fanned themselves as they picked up supplies or examined the latest in yard goods at the Hartney Store.

  Isobel Hartney saw Lassiter coming with a long-legged stride, his dark face a blend of the piratical and benevolent. She quickly removed an apron, smoothed her yellow hair and put on a bright smile.

  “Mr. Lassiter! It’s an honor to have you in my store. What can I show you?”

  He remembered her from that day on the east road. He stood by one of the crowded counters, admiring her. Women customers looked at Lassiter, then at Isobel Hartney standing tall in a blue silk dress, much too fancy for a small-town Texas store. Some of them exchanged glances and spoke together in whispers behind fingertips.

  Isobel knew they were gossiping about her and she didn’t give a hoot and a holler what they said or thought. She found Lassiter to be an interesting man and was toying with the idea that he just might be a companion—until she tired of him—which she did with all the others. One day she’d probably get around to marrying Brad Sanlee, but until that day… .

  He stood at a counter, his dark face tight, looking over the customers in the store. Isobel waved away one of her clerks and personally sold Lassiter a sack of tobacco and some papers. He had just paid her and she was about to initiate some bright conversation when he stiffened at the sight of someone through a front window.

  Isobel stood on her tiptoes so she could see who he was staring at. Her smooth forehead creased in a faint frown as she saw Millie Sanlee just dismounting at the tie rack in the big vacant lot beside the store. Millie had her black hair peeled back with the usual sullen look on her face. Her brother Brad was with her.

  He said something and crossed the street to the saloon.

  Lassiter had gone outside and removed his hat as he stood talking to Millie. “Damn,” said Isobel under her breath.

  In the vacant lot, Lassiter was saying, “I heard you were coming to town. So I gambled that I’d have a chance to talk to you.”

  “You’re Lassiter. My brother told me about you.”

  “I’m here to give you a hand, if you’ll take it.”

  She glanced across the street and up the block at the long two-story building that housed O’Leary’s. Sunlight was reflected off the windows. She saw her brother go inside.

  “It’s about you marrying Rep Chandler,” Lassiter said when she continued to stare at the saloon. “Millie, are you listening?”

  She faced him, a faint smile on her lips. “Let’s take a walk,” she suggested and started for another vacant lot behind the store. It was deeply rutted from wagon wheels.

  “My real name is Millicent,” she said with a little laugh. “My mother named me. I love it. But nobody ever calls me that.”

  “I will … Millicent.”

  “You don’t have to.” Smiling wistfully, she looked up into his face as they walked together. Then she sobered. “My brother’s in town.”

  “I saw him.”

  “You’re not afraid?”

  “Come what may.”

  Her eyes were excited for a moment, then the fire went out of them. “You mentioned Rep Chandler.”

  “Yeah, it’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “I’ve concluded that the only door left open for me is to marry him.”

  “You’re your own boss. You can do what you want. You ran away once, why not again? I’ll help… .”

  “Brad would hunt me down like he did last time.”

  “No …”

  “Brad says Vince was your friend. Rep told him.”

  “A good friend,” Lassiter said, the scene of death coldly etched in his mind.

  “All the time we were together, Vince Tevis never made a move on me.”

  “What if he did? I sure wouldn’t hold it against you. All I want to do is help… .”

  “On nights if we had a roof over our heads, Vince gave me the bed. He slept on the floor in his bedroll.”

  “Millicent, Millicent, I don’t care.”

  “Before that, we slept out till one night horse thieves hit us. From then on, we went by stagecoach.” Her voice caught. “So Vince died. I’m sorry.”

  “Your brother killed him… .”

  “No. It was Bolin who shot Vince. I’m pretty sure of it.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “But it’s true.” She described Bolin so accurately that Lassiter knew he was the one killed in front of the adobe shack. But he still didn’t believe her story. It seemed she was trying to protect Sanlee. But why, after the way he had treated her?

  “I knew that if I ran this time, Brad would hunt me down if it took five years. You see, he’s made his plans and no one better interfere. So that’s why I’ve decided to marry Mr. Chandler. It’s what Brad wants. And it’ll save trouble in the end.”

  “He’s threatened you in some way.”

  “My mind’s made up.” Her black hair had the sheen of pure silk in the sunlight.

  “It’s your life, but I think you’re foolish.” They had halted next to a storage shed beside the store. Across the vacant lot on the west side of the store was a saddle shop, next to that was the bank.

  “If you stay on as Chandler’s foreman, my brother will be afraid to make his move.”

  “Did Chandler suggest that?”

  Instead of answering, Millie’s black eyes sparkled. “Oh, I know what Brad wants to do. He thinks I’m weak. He’s always planned to use me as a pawn.” The corners of her generous mouth were firm. “He thinks I’m worthless. A lot of people do… .”

  “That’s fool talk, Millicent.”

  She gave a little laugh. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, call me Millie. I’m more than used to it by now.”

  Lassiter tried to argue against the marriage, but she was adamant. “Brad Sanlee is my half brother. His father and my mother were … friends. Even before the wife, Brad’s mother, died. I’m only telling you this because everyone in this part of the country knows it and you’ll hear it soon enough.” She sounded bitter.

  “What happened after the old man’s wife died? Did he marry your mother?”

  “Things went on just as before. My father lived at the ranch, my mother and I here in Santos.”

  “He never married your mother, then.”

  Millie gave a small laugh. “My mother was half Mexican. And the old man had lost three uncles in the fighting when General Santa Anna was driven out of Texas. Some memories are the longest.”

  “I know,” Lassiter said, thinking of Luis Herrera.

  “But after my mother died, I guess Mr. Sanlee’s conscience got to bothering him. Until then, I didn’t know he had one. Anyway, he brought me into his house to raise as his daughter—despite my so-called mixed blood.” They were walking back when she suddenly halted and gripped his arm. “Stay on as foreman, won’t you?”

  “I don’t know about that… .”

  “At least for a year.”

  “And what about you?” he asked her. “What about your life?”

  “I’ll be a good wife to Mr. Chandler. I’ll hold up my end of the bargain. But
I’ll need help against my brother. Will you do it, Lassiter?” She gave him a sad smile, stood abruptly on her toes and pressed warm lips against his cheek.

  Then she started walking away, the fringe of the leather riding skirt whipping around booted ankles. There was a sadness to her beauty that touched him deeply. He liked her and felt sorry for her. But did he owe her a year out of his life? She had rejected his offer to help her run away and elected instead to submit to her half-brother’s wishes, and marry the man he had selected. But still she had asked for Lassiter’s protection. Maybe he’d stay until she was married and settled. Then it was up to Chandler to protect not only his wife but the ranch.

  Then the reason for him coming to Texas in the first place came crowding back. And he was remembering what she had told him about Vince Tevis’s death.

  He found her in front of the store, peering nervously down the twisting road in the direction that Rep Chandler would take from his Box C.

  He saw her look around at him. “Brad can see us from O’Leary’s. You shouldn’t be seen with me.”

  “No matter what you said, I think he killed Vince Tevis.”

  “No.”

  “You’re trying to save your brother’s life,” he said coldly, “by claiming that Bolin …”

  “You killed Bolin. So you said. So you already avenged poor Vince.”

  “You’d stick up for Sanlee? After all he’s done to you and the way he humiliated you at roundup? Then forcing you into marrying a man twice your age or more?”

  “After all, we did have the same father, Brad and I… .”

  Lassiter gave a harsh laugh and shook his head. He started to speak, but she stepped close, her lovely face showing sudden strain.

  “I hoped you’d leave,” she said in a tight whisper, “so I kept talking… . Now I’ve got to tell you. Doug Krinkle is …”

  She broke off, a look of terror in her eyes.

  “Krinkle is … what?” he demanded, looking both ways along the nearly deserted street.

  “While we were talking, I saw him slip out the back door of the saddle shop next door.”

  Lassiter wheeled, one hand clamped to his gun. He stared at the adjoining building beyond the weed-grown lot. It was one story of weathered lumber with a parapet along the roof. A sign on the side in black letters said: SIMON’S SADDLE SHOP.

  And at that moment there was a rattle of wagon wheels, the hoofbeats of a hard-running team. Lassiter jerked his head around and saw Rep Chandler driving up in his hack wagon, a broad smile under his mustache as he saw Millie. Then it faded into a look of surprise as he spotted Lassiter standing beside her.

  From a corner of his eye, Lassiter finally spotted movement, possibly Krinkle. It came from the storage shed behind the store. He gave Millie a hard shove that sent her stumbling toward the front door of the store. And at the same time he yelled at Chandler. “Get out, Rep! I smell a trap!”

  Chandler, with his splinted leg resting on the dashboard, awkwardly hauled in the spirited team. And as he brought them to a halt, there was a gunshot. It came from the roof of the saddle shop. A bullet splintered a corner of the wagon seat.

  Lassiter had already noticed movement on the roof. He saw part of a face and the gleam of a rifle barrel over the edge of the wooden parapet. And as if jerked by wires from an observation balloon, a man popped into view on the roof. As women began screaming, he dropped the rifle. He lurched to the parapet, blood pumping from a hole in his neck. He bowed low as if to inspect the descent of his falling weapon. Then he pitched over and followed it to the ground. Lassiter had a glimpse of a badly scarred face.

  9

  *

  “I’m callin’ you, Lassiter!” It was the screech of Doug Krinkle in an off-key voice. He had been running from the protection of the shed along the west side of the store. Now he had halted, his mouth hanging open, probably because the man on the roof had fired too soon and taken him by surprise. Now Krinkle was snapping into action and apparently going ahead with the plan, whatever it was. But his gun was already out and you don’t call a man unless your weapon is holstered. Obviously, he had been told to shout the challenge and so he had done so, belatedly.

  He was coming at a run, firing at a corner of the store where Lassiter had ducked. Millie was crouched near the door. Women inside were still hysterical. Rep Chandler had backed his team and was reaching on the floorboards for a rifle. Adobe chips were flying as bullets dug into the wall of the store, which were fired erratically by a nervous Krinkle. The man was running hard now; Lassiter could hear his footsteps. And in another handful of seconds, Millie and Rep Chandler could be in danger.

  Krinkle’s third shot was aimed chest high as he swung away from the store for a glimpse of his target. But the bullet went screaming in ricochet off the wall. At that moment Lassiter sprang into a crouching run into the open before Krinkle could fire again. He glimpsed the look of surprise on Krinkle’s face and saw the man recover quickly to try and bring down Lassiter’s sprinting figure with a snap shot. But it missed. As Krinkle thumbed back the hammer for another desperate try, Lassiter shot him twice—once high in the chest, the second just above the belt buckle.

  As Krinkle collapsed, someone yelled a warning. Lassiter spun around in time to see Brad Sanlee just kicking through the weeds of the vacant lot. He held a big .45. In his wild run, Sanlee’s hat sailed off and his coarse, reddish hair bounced at each step.

  The .45 came up, but not aimed at Lassiter. Sanlee fired into the weeds. “He was tryin’ for your back, Lassiter!” Sanlee shouted. “I got him for you!”

  Men were coming at a run, some of them crowding around the one who had fallen from the roof. Sanlee had just fired into the side of the skull.

  A white-faced Millie came to grip Lassiter by his arm. “Are you all right?” she breathed.

  He nodded and saw a stricken Rep Chandler at a limping run toward Millie. Lassiter gave her a shove toward the rancher and turned to look at Krinkle. He pushed through a circle of men to stare down at the crumpled figure.

  “Dead as last night’s beer,” a man said with a shaky laugh. “That was some shootin’, mister,” he added to Lassiter.

  Lassiter smeared a shirt sleeve across his forehead and watched Sanlee lumber up.

  “That was close,” Sanlee said, breathing hard from the run. “I saw him about to make a try for your back.”

  The man was already dead. I’ll bet on it!

  Lassiter kept his thoughts to himself. Swiftly, he punched out empties from his smoking .44. They bounced along the hard ground, then he reloaded.

  A round man with a jiggling belly under an immaculate white shirt came hurrying up to stand next to Sanlee. “I’m Arthur Hobart of the bank,” he said to Lassiter. “You certainly owe Mr. Sanlee a vote of thanks. He saved your bacon.”

  Lassiter wondered about that. The bank was beyond the saddle shop. But, of course, Hobart might have been in the street when the shootout took place. He saw Hobart turn away, give Sanlee a small smile, a pat on the arm, then walk away through the crowd. In Lassiter’s mind, a strong affiliation had been established between Diamond Eight and the Bank of Santos.

  Sanlee was helping his sister into Chandler’s wagon, where she sat, stiff as a mud wall, pale about the mouth.

  “I reckon Krinkle carried a grudge on account of you messin’ him up the other day,” Sanlee said over his shoulder to Lassiter. “The other fella was his no-account cousin. I reckon Krinkle talked him into backin’ his hand.”

  “I reckon,” Lassiter said dryly, his eyes as cold as a sleet-driven sky.

  “You could use a drink, Lassiter,” Sanlee suggested. “Rep’s got some talkin’ to do to my sister. Let’s you an’ me go over to O’Leary’s an’ …”

  “I’m due back at roundup.”

  “Suit yourself,” Sanlee said shortly. He walked over to where a ring of men were staring down at Krinkle. “Damn it, Doug,” he said to the corpse. “You an’ your temper. I told you that holdin’ a gr
udge can get a man killed. An’ it sure did.”

  Lassiter walked stiffly to where he had left his horse. Millie was rattling away in Chandler’s wagon, and Sanlee was crossing to the saloon.

  As Lassiter untied the reins at the rear of the store, Isobel Hartney opened the back door and leaned out, blond and beautiful. She was wearing her apron again and a stub of yellow pencil was behind an ear.

  “The other day you were lucky, Lassiter. Today you had even more luck. That’s twice. I dread to think of a third time.”

  “Tell you the truth, I’m not lookin’ forward to it.”

  He gave her a tight smile and rode out.

  Only after a mile or so from town did he begin to let down. He could have used the whiskey Sanlee had suggested. But Lassiter had no intention of drinking with him. He knew as sure as there was sun in the Texas sky that Sanlee had put the pair up to it. Kill both of them, Chandler and Lassiter. Then Sanlee could bargain away his half-sister in another direction, perhaps with one of the ranchers whose names had appeared on the death list.

  Strangely enough, the cattle drive to railhead went without incident. With two money sacks holding $74,000 in cash, Lassiter made a much faster return trip. While away, he had done a lot of thinking and concluded that his obligation to Rep Chandler had been fulfilled. It was time to settle the business he still felt he had with Sanlee, despite Millie’s insistence that her brother was not involved in the death of Vince Tevis. With the Sanlee matter out of the way at last, he would head for Arizona. He liked the country and had friends there.

  Upon his arrival back at Box C, he was surprised to find the ranch yard strung with Chinese lanterns. There was a bustle of activity, men moving long tables into the yard. The Romero brothers, who did all the barbecuing for the area, were digging their pits.

  Rep Chandler spotted him through a window and came limping to the door with a cane. He grinned broadly. His leg was no longer splinted. “Thank the good Lord you got home in time, Lassiter. Millie will be awful pleased… .”

  “Time for what?” Lassiter asked as he handed over the money sacks. Chandler hardly gave them a glance.

  “Why, for the weddin’, that’s what. Only time we could get the reverend, as he’s due north in a coupla days.”