Читать книгу Gunsmoke Talk: A Walt Slade Western - Bradford Scott - Страница 8

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SLADE HURLED Cardena back through the open door and went sideways along the wall in the same lightning ripple of movement. The old doctor hit the floor as the room fairly exploded to a bellow of gunfire.

Back and forth gushed the orange flashes, paled by the lamplight. The smoke clouds rolled and swirled. A gurgling scream knifed through the turmoil. A slug ripped Slade’s sleeve. Another burned a red streak along the side of his neck. He staggered, recovered, shot with both hands. Then he lowered his smoking Colts, peered through the fog at the two motionless forms sprawled on the floor and began ejecting the spent shells from his guns and replacing them with fresh cartridges.

Cardena came back through the door, his face white as a sheet. The doctor got creakily to his feet and glowered at them both.

“Why in blazes couldn’t you show up a little sooner?” he demanded. “I wasted a whole roll of bandage.”

Despite the grisly scene on the office floor, Slade chuckled; the old gent was okay.

“We’ll make ’em pay for it from what we find in their pockets,” he said. “You all right, Doctor?”

“Bruised my elbow but to heck with that,” replied the old fellow, vigorously massaging the injured member. “Come here, you, and let me have a look at your neck.”

“Just a scratch,” Slade deprecated the injury.

“Shut up! I’m the best judge of that,” growled the doctor. “The bullets that sort use might be pizened. Come here!”

Slade obeyed, grinning. The doctor examined the slight crease, from which a few drops of blood were oozing.

“I’ll smear some salve on it and it’ll be okay,” he said, and proceeded to do so.

“There, that’ll hold you,” he remarked. “You were darn lucky, though. Another inch to the right and you’d be there on the floor with those other blankety-blank-blanks. What you young squirts doing here—something wrong?”

Slade gestured to the bodies. “We came on the chance that you might have treated that pair,” he said. “Hardly expected to run into what we did. Suppose you tell us just what happened.”

“I was sittin’ at my desk when that pair came through the door, one of them hobbling on one foot, the other with his hand inside his shirt,” the doctor replied. “Both were holding guns on me and demanded to be patched up. Of course I’d have had to treat ’em, guns or no guns—Hippocratic Oath, you know—but them guns decided me to get busy pronto and ask no questions. Was mighty glad to see you gents amble in. A mean soundin’ pair, and their eyes didn’t look good glintin’ through those holes. Was wondering if they mightn’t pay my fee with a gun barrel or a sticker, to keep me quiet till they got in the clear. Had been up to some hellishness, is my guess.”

“Good guess,” Slade nodded. “Tell you about it later.”

The bodies lay face downward. Slade turned them over on their backs.

“Got the one that yelled through the neck,” commented the doctor. “Caught the other hellion dead center. Good shooting, son! Mighty good shooting!”

Ripping the masks free revealed rather grubby faces with nothing particularly outstanding about them. Except that the glazed eyes, Slade thought, hinted at better than average intelligence.

Cardena leaned close. “I’ve seen them both before,” he announced. “They were in my place a few nights back. Got to talking with one of the bartenders. Said something about riding for a spread over to the east. He told me they asked him quite a few questions—if the place was doing all right, and so on.”

Abruptly he ceased speaking and shot Slade a questioning glance. The Ranger nodded; they were both thinking the same thing—that Cardena might be in for an “approach,” or would have been had the two devils stayed alive long enough.

Slade began turning out the dead men’s pockets, revealing various odds and ends of no significance and a rather large sum of money.

“Hellions been doing all right by themselves.” he remarked. “Never earned that much following a cow’s tail.” He shoved the dinero to the doctor.

“Help yourself,” he invited.

“Reg’lation fee for treating gunshot wounds,” the old doctor replied cheerfully, pocketing a couple of bills and shoving the rest back to Slade.

“That should be your divvy, son,” he added. “You earned it.”

“Sheriff Serby can take charge of it when he shows up,” Slade answered, stuffing the bills and coins in one of the pockets.

The doctor snorted disapproval. “My name’s Doc Tredway, Joe Tredway,” he said. “Don’t believe I caught your handle.”

Slade supplied it, and they shook hands.

“Tomas, what shall we do with the bodies?” he asked the mayor. “We’ll send Serby a wire right away, but there’s no sense in them cluttering up Doc’s office.”

“I’ll have them packed to my barn,” answered Cardena. “Listen!”

Excited voices were sounding outside, drawing nearer.

“Guess folks heard the shooting and are trying to locate where it came from,” he said. “Shall we let them in, Slade?”

“Might as well,” the Ranger replied. “They can pack the bodies to the stable, and there’s no reason for secrecy about what happened. They were forcing Doctor Tredway to treat them, at gunpoint, and started shooting when we entered. Naturally, I had to shoot back.”

“Slight understatement, but it’ll pass,” chuckled Doc Tredway. He stepped to the still open door.

“All right, you loafers,” he shouted. “This way.”

Another moment and half a dozen men crowded into the office, with more to follow. They stared, volleyed questions. Mayor Cardena did the answering. Suddenly somebody voiced a remark that struck the gathering of curious to silence—

“Betcha they belonged to the Starlight Riders.”

Furtive glances were exchanged, and one or two began edging toward the door. Then abruptly a big fellow stepped up to Slade and stuck out his hand.

“Feller,” he said in a deep and growling voice, “put ’er there! My name’s Hodges, John Hodges, and I’m here to say you did a raunchin’ good chore. And if those two skunks belonged to the blankety-blank Starlight Riders, you did a still better one. Them’s my sentiments and I aim to back ’em up. Put ’er there!”

Slade “put ’er there” and supplied his own name. They shook hands vigorously.

“Thank you, Mr. Hodges,” he said, and turned the full force of his pale, cold eyes on the silent gathering.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “You cannot stamp out evil by fleeing from it. If you display fear, you strengthen the grip it would appear a criminal organization has on this section. I have good reason to believe that the Starlight Riders, as they are called, plan to move into your town, as it would seem they have already moved into El Paso. If you knuckle under, you will ultimately find yourselves helpless to combat their depredations. But honest men who show a bold front always come out on top, sooner or later. Tell the Starlight Riders to do their damndest and go jump in the Rio Grande. That will give them pause, and I promise you I’ll do all in my power to help you fight this thing.”

“And that’ll be puhlenty!” rumbled Hodges. “What you say, boys, goin’ to crawl for that bunch of mangy sidewinders? Or are you goin’ to string along with Mr. Slade, here, like I’m going to do?”

Faces were hardening, those who had edged toward the door halted, turned back.

“Men,” Cardena put in, “your fathers and grandfathers, and mine, fought the Apaches and Comanches and bandits from south of the River to a standstill and made this valley a decent place to live in. I figure we’re not showing much respect to their memory if we don’t keep it that way. Who’s with us to fight this thing to a finish?”

There was a hearty chorus of assent.

“What you want us to do, Mr. Slade?” a voice called.

“If anybody approaches you and demands a portion of your wages or of the profits of your business, bend a gun barrel over his head and get in touch with me or Sheriff Serby pronto,” Slade replied.

“We’ll do it,” voices declared. “We ain’t going to knuckle under to a bunch of hyderphobia skunks. We’ll do it.”

Cardena grinned and chuckled. “You’ve got ’em,” he whispered to Slade. “They’ll follow where you lead, come hell or high water. How in blazes do you do it? They were scared silly a minute ago.”

“They just thought they were,” Slade answered with a smile. “Now let’s dispose of those carcasses so Doc can get to bed.”

“Uh-huh, I’d better get a mite of rest while I’ve got a chance,” said Tredway. “With you in the section, I figure to be a busy man for a while.”

“There are a couple of stretchers in my barn,” Cardena said. “Some of you fetch ’em, and we’ll pack the carcasses back to the barn. Tell Pedro, the keeper, I sent you; he’ll understand.”

The crowd, which was constantly being augmented by new arrivals, filed out to attend to the chore. Slade and Cardena were left alone with the doctor.

Old Doc twinkled his eyes at Slade, cast a questioning glance at Cardena. Slade nodded.

“How’s McNelty?” Doc asked. “Haven’t seen him in a coon’s age.”

“He’s fine,” Slade answered. “Will be glad to hear from you.”

“Jim’s all right,” said the doctor. “And he sure knows how to pick ’em. Sends us El Halcon, the notorious outlaw, to uphold the law. As the British band played at Yorktown when Cornwallis surrendered, ‘The World’s Upside Down’!”

Slade and Cardena both laughed at the sally. Old Doc chuckled creakily.

“Now what?” he said.

“Everything appears to be under control here, so Tomas and I will head for the railroad telegraph office and send Sheriff Serby a wire,” Slade decided. “After that, I’m going to bed.”

“You’ll sleep at my casa, you’ve been there before,” said Cardena. “Take the room you had last time—first at the head of the stairs. My criados will let you in—they never go to bed. Then I’ll amble back to the cantina before the barkeeps rob me blind. They won’t put anything over on the customers, but they figure I’m fair game. Let’s go!”

“See you tomorrow, Doc, and tell you about the run-in I had with that pair, down on the trail,” Slade said.

“He knew you right off but didn’t let on a mite,” Cardena remarked as they left the office.

“Yes, he didn’t know for sure how much you knew,” Slade replied. “I met him first over in Pecos—he’s always on the move. How long has he been here?”

“Four or five months,” Cardena replied.

“About time for his feet to get itchy,” Slade laughed. “He’ll stay so long as things are lively here, though. Thrives on excitement, and he’s seen plenty in his seventy-odd years. Fine old fellow, a real square shooter with plenty of sand in his craw.”

“Yes, he’s all of that,” agreed Cardena. “Say, wonder what became of that fellow you believe those hellions wounded?”

“I wish I knew,” Slade answered. “Perhaps we’ll learn something relative to him, before long, if he managed to survive and get in the clear. I wish, too, that I knew where the third member of the bunch is; he wasn’t hurt, so far as I could see.”

“If he was in town and heard what happened to the other two, I’ve a notion he made himself scarce pronto,” Cardena predicted. “Chances are about now he’s telling a mighty angry yarn about you to some others of the bunch, if they happen to be anywhere around. Well, here’s the railroad station. I’ll send the wire, and then you head for a session of ear pounding; you look tired. And Pete knows you’ve had enough excitement for one day to satisfy even you.”