Ralph Compton Sixguns and Double Eagles Page 18

  “They gave it up,” Wes said. “I reckon I can qualify El Lobo and me by telling you this much. A gang of border outlaws murdered my father in El Paso, and I followed them into Mexico. They had tried to kill my amigo, and he joined me in hunting them down. The gang was just part of the same bunch that brought us here, and we were sent here because Washington is aware that we destroyed the Dragon in Mexico. Good enough?”

  “Yes,” said Murray. “The kitchen’s at the end of the hall. But wait until I’ve drawn the curtains and lighted a lamp.”

  Wes and El Lobo waited while Murray closed and locked the front door and made his way down the hall. When he had lighted a lamp, Wes and El Lobo joined him in the small kitchen, which also served as a dining room. There was a table with four chairs. To the surprise of Wes and El Lobo, Elton Murray proved to be a little man with spectacles and a head that was almost totally bald. The Colt that nosed under his belt seemed too large for him. He nodded toward the table. Wes and El Lobo each took a chair and sat down, while Murray remained standing.

  “Now,” said Murray, “whatever you have in mind obviously involves me, so why don’t you tell me what you want of me?”

  “Our only hope of busting up this outfit,” Wes said, “is to capture one of them who can be forced to talk. That means we have to set a trap, and the only bait seems to be the United States mints, with their gold.”

  “But why the mint in Carson City?” Murray asked.

  “Because they’ve struck here before,” said Wes, “and having been successful, we think they’ll try again. Don’t you?”

  Murray sighed. “Yes. I know of their successes and of those who have died during the raids. They’ll get their chance the first of the month, when we must move a shipment of newly struck double eagles. I’ve been considering calling on the Treasury to send soldiers, unless you have a better idea.”

  “I don’t know if it’s better or not, where you’re concerned,” said Wes, “but if we’re to capture one of the gang, it must appear the gold is unprotected. The presence of soldiers might discourage them temporarily, but they’ll find another way.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” Murray said. “The gold must become the bait.”

  “Tell us your procedure for the transfer of the gold,” said Wes. “Then we’ll come up with a plan to save the gold and maybe capture one or more of the gang.”

  Chapter 12

  Turk Pardue had been watching the Murray house for two weeks. He had been growing more and more impatient, and he sighed with satisfaction when Wes and El Lobo arrived. When they rode away, aware of the dog, he followed at what he considered a safe distance. Once he had an idea as to where they were camped, he returned to town, where he called on his superior, Dent Shankler.

  “They’re here,” Pardue said triumphantly. “I could of gunned them down as they went to the house, or as they left.”

  “It’s well for you that you didn‘t,” said Shankler. “We have plans for them. How long did they remain with Murray?”

  “Close to an hour,” Pardue said.

  “They’ve enlisted his help, then,” said Shankler.

  “You reckon Murray will go ahead with the transfer of the gold?”

  “I’m counting on it,” Shankler replied. “I want you to set this up. Hire at least five dependable men.”

  “I have some in mind,” said Pardue. “We’ll fill them hombres full of lead.”

  “You will not,” Shankler said. “That’s exactly what I don’t want. They are to escape. I will tell you who is to be shot, when the time comes.”

  “Ah,” said Pardue, “you’re settin’ ‘em up for something.”

  “Yes,” Shankler said. “They’re going to be guilty of attempting to rob a United States mint, among other things.”

  Wes and El Lobo bided their time, always visiting the Murray house after dark. Elton Murray seemed more sure of himself, explaining the procedure for transferring the newly minted gold coins from the mint to surrounding banks.

  “We’ll use an armored wagon, with a driver and two guards,” Murray said, “if that fits your plan.”

  “I reckon it’s better if you don’t take any extra precaution,” said Wes. “So far, we’re not sure they know we’ve arrived, unless they’ve been watching your house. It will be a considerable advantage, if we can take them by surprise.”

  “They watch,” El Lobo said.

  “But they’ve made no move,” said Murray. “How do you know?”

  “Dragon always watch,” El Lobo said.

  “He’s likely right,” said Wes. “The very fact they seem to be overlooking us could put us all in real danger. It’s not too late to back off, if it bothers you.”

  “It bothers me,” Murray said, “but I can’t very well back off. Not if I intend to keep my job. With Virginia City’s Comstock practically sitting on top of us, the mint here in Carson City will play an important part in the development of the territory for years to come. I’ll be driving the armored wagon myself.”

  “We’ll need to know the route the wagon will take,” said Wes. “Somewhere before you reach your destination, the Dragon’s outfit will make its move.”

  “I can arrange for you to be inside the wagon,” Murray said. “The armor plate would provide some protection.”

  “Thanks,” said Wes, “but we can’t concern ourselves with protection. Since we’re not sure when or where they’ll strike, or in what manner, we’ll need our horses. They always send more than enough gunmen to do the job, so when they challenge you, don’t resist. I can’t see them taking a load of gold coin on horseback, but however they transport it, we will be following them.”

  Murray sighed. “I only hope you’re successful. Carson City’s mint has already suffered two substantial losses, and I fear that we cannot survive a third one. Should the bankers and mine owners lose confidence in us, it could be destructive.”

  “We’ve been made well aware of that,” said Wes, “but the situation can only worsen until the Dragon’s back is broken. Nothing less than gold will lure them into a position that might make it possible to capture one or more of them.”

  “So be it, then,” Murray replied. “We shall begin the transfer at dusk tomorrow.”

  “Then do it as you normally would,” said Wes, “but don’t look for us. We’ll be within sight of the armored wagon, but not close enough for them to see us.”

  Carson City, Nevada. February 1, 1885.

  It was already dark enough for the shadows to conceal Wes and El Lobo, but they had taken a position where they could see the heavy back doors of the mint. The armored wagon had been backed up for loading. Looping the reins of the four horses about the brake handle, Elton Murray stepped down from the box. A guard, armed with a shotgun, stood on either side of the wagon. The wagon, a boxlike affair, was loaded quickly. When the shotgun guards were inside, Murray locked the heavy doors at the rear and mounted the box. He clucked to the teams and the wagon rattled away down a dark street. Keeping the vehicle in sight, Wes and El Lobo followed.

  Along the street the armored wagon must travel, Turk Pardue and five men waited in a canvas-topped wagon. In the darkness it appeared abandoned, for the teams had been led away and picketed.

  “When they get close,” said Pardue, “nobody gets out except Duke and me. The rest of you stay under the canvas, out of sight. The hombres we’re expectin’ will come ridin’ hell-bent-for-election, but we don’t want ‘em shot. Use your Winchesters and make it hot for them, so they’ll have to run for it.”

  “What about the shotgun guards and the driver?” one of the gunmen asked.

  “I told you Duke and me will take care of them,” Pardue said. “Once them two that’s trailin’ the armored wagon is on the run, a couple of you bring the teams on the double. While you harness ‘em to this wagon, Duke and me will take care of the gold.”

  Wes and El Lobo rode slowly, keeping to grassed-over areas, lest the sound of their horses’ hooves betray their pres
ence. The challenge, when it came, was sudden. Two men stepped out of the shadows ahead of the armored wagon.

  “Rein up,” Pardue said, “and get down.”

  Elton Murray reined up and stepped down.

  “Now you guards lay your weapons on the wagon box and come out with your hands up,” Pardue ordered.

  “And if we don’t?” said one of the guards from inside the wagon.

  “Then we’ll shoot the driver,” Pardue said.

  “Come on, Harvey,” said Elton Murray. “They mean business.”

  Wes and El Lobo had reined up and had drawn their Colts, aware that the robbery had begun. Wes spoke quietly.

  “With Murray and the guards under the gun, we’ll have to let them take the gold. I’d say they aim to use that wagon, and in the dark there’s not much they can do to stop us from following.”

  But from that moment on, everything went wrong. The evening silence was shattered by gunfire as Pardue and Duke began firing, riddling Elton Murray and the two shotgun guards with lead. The suddenness of it shocked Wes and El Lobo for a moment, but before the thunder of the shooting died away, they were galloping toward the distant wagon. But within the canvas-topped wagon, four men cut loose with Winchesters, and while they did not shoot to kill, the deadly slugs forced Wes and El Lobo to seek what cover they could find. The fusillade continued just long enough for the teams to be harnessed to the wagon, and it rumbled away.

  “Come on,” said Wes.

  Wes and El Lobo dismounted beside the armored wagon. The shotgun guards and Elton Murray lay in pools of blood, while the wagon’s teams nickered in fear.

  “The murdering sons of bitches,” Wes said through clenched teeth. “There’s nothing we can do for them, but we can follow that wagon.”

  But as they mounted their horses, a cold voice spoke from the darkness.

  “Halt, in the name of the law.”

  Wes and El Lobo kicked their horses into a fast gallop, barely reaching the shadows of overhanging trees, as the night again blossomed with gunfire. When they were far enough ahead, they took cover, watching as a dozen mounted men galloped past them.

  “The law be after us for what we don’t do,” said El Lobo.

  “We were set up,” Wes said. “That’s why there was no ambush as we went to and from Elton Murray’s place. They had plans for us. Three good men are dead, the bastards have the gold, and the law’s after us.”

  “What we do?”

  “With the law after us,” said Wes, “all we can do is follow Silver’s advice and try to avoid them. In a gold-conscious town, with a charge of robbery and murder hanging over our heads, we wouldn’t have a prayer. We’d be strung up by a lynch mob before the light of day. We’d better quit the territory and head for San Francisco.”

  Washington, D.C. February 2, 1885.

  When Bryan Silver reached his office, he found Treasury officials Simpkins and Taylor waiting for him. Without a word, Simpkins handed Silver a telegram.

  “Damn,” said Silver when he had read the message.

  “Three men murdered in cold blood,” Taylor said, “and one of the two responsible was said to be an Indian.”

  “Doesn’t it strike you as a mite unusual that a twelve-man sheriff’s posse was saddled up and ready to ride the very minute the robbery took place?” Silver asked.

  “Not necessarily,” said Taylor. “It wouldn’t be the first time the law was warned that a robbery was about to take place. What better way than to catch the scoundrels in the act?”

  “According to this telegram,” Silver said, “two mounted men rode away from the scene of the robbery. Since a wagon was necessary to transport the gold from the mint, how do you account for two mounted men riding away with it?”

  “That’s not up to us to decide,” said Simpkins angrily. “All we know is what the law had to say. With near a million in newly minted gold coins missing, the Treasury is in big trouble. Your gunslingers accomplished nothing in New Orleans, and now it appears they’ve had a similar failure in Carson City.”

  “At least they’ve tried,” Silver said. “They’re up against a diabolical conspiracy that so far has defied us at every turn.”

  Taylor sighed. “You needn’t remind us of that. The question is, where do we go from here? Our efforts have gone for naught in New Orleans and Carson City. Obviously, we’ll be forced to take some kind of action in San Francisco, and you know our opposition will be ready and waiting.”

  “I know,” said Silver, “and I’m well aware that tactics which have failed in New Orleans and Carson City are even less likely to succeed in San Francisco. I’m convinced, however, that Wes Stone and Palo Elfego are capable. The fact that they’re still alive is proof enough of that, and while they’re bold and brave enough, they must change their tactics.”

  “That’s the God’s truth,” Simpkins said, “but how will you contact them?”

  “Frankly,” said Silver, “I don’t know. Because of our need for security, I told them not to expect any contact from us. Gentlemen, that was a mistake. We can’t keep the lid on this thing much longer. I’m going to San Francisco. Let the chips fall where they may.”

  Dressed in range clothes common to his native Texas, Bryan Silver buckled on his gunbeit and booked passage by steamboat to Omaha. There he would board a Union Pacific train bound for San Francisco....

  San Francisco, California. February 6, 1885.

  From the crest of the Sierra Nevadas, Wes and El Lobo had viewed the distant Pacific, and upon reaching what they believed was the shore, discovered there was yet a bay and a neck of land between them and the ocean. The bay bristled with the masts of sailing ships anchored there.

  “Much water,” El Lobo said. “How we cross?”

  “I don’t know,” said Wes. “I reckon if the need arises, there’ll be a bridge or ferry. I’d say the place is big enough for us to lose ourselves until we decide what to do next. Maybe we can find us an out-of-the-way hotel or boardinghouse near the waterfront.”

  They had no trouble finding exactly the kind of place they sought. There was a series of small cabins facing the bay, and in back of the main house a corral for their horses. Their hosts—a man and his wife—spoke only Spanish, and they didn’t object to Empty’s presence. There were various shops and cafés within walking distance.

  “Bueno,” said El Lobo.

  “If we didn’t have another reason for bein’ here,” said Wes, “this could be downright pleasurable.”

  “Sí,” El Lobo agreed. “When we start?”

  “For a day or two,” said Wes, “we’ll take a look at the town and allow it to take a look at us. We might as well find out if somebody’s been expecting us. For certain, we’ll have to come up with somethin’ more sensible than involving ourselves with the mint. All we were able to do in New Orleans and Carson City was leave some dead men behind.”

  “We not know the law in Carson City be sold out,” El Lobo said.

  “No,” said Wes, “but it wouldn’t have made any difference to us, either way. Even if the law was honest, they’d been told there was to be a robbery, and we were set up to be the thieves. The killing of Murray and the two guards was to have put a noose around our necks. We won’t walk into that kind of trap again.”

  Wes and El Lobo visited one of the cafés for supper. Not only was there a variety of seafood, but melons and fresh fruit as well. Empty was fed beside the table, and none of the other patrons seemed to notice or to care. Mostly, they were rough, bearded men with the look of the sea about them. Many had Colts or Bowie knives slipped under their belts, while scars on brawny arms attested to knockdown and drag-out brawls. When Wes and El Lobo left the café, they returned to their small cabin before venturing into the town.

  “Empty,” said Wes, “I know you don’t like towns, so I’m leaving you here.”

  The hound didn’t like being left behind, either, but there were saloons in the town, and he hated them. He lay down facing the door.


  “Saloons, per‘ap?” El Lobo said.

  “Per‘ap,” said Wes as they headed toward what might be a business district. “Since we don’t exactly know where to start, the saloons may be as good a place as any. There’s just a chance we might learn something about the Dragon before they discover we’ve arrived.”

  Saloons were plentiful, the most prosperous of which appeared to be the Bay Casino. A mahogany bar extended all the way down one side, while the rest of the place had been devoted to tables for poker and other games of chance. There was the slap of cards, the clink of glasses, and the occasional curse from one who had played out his hand. Wes and El Lobo each ordered a beer, and choosing a secluded comer table, sat down. Drawing no attention, they finished their drinks, and Wes got up.

  “I reckon I’ll set in for a few hands of poker. Watch my back.”

  A four-handed game had been in progress at a nearby table, and a man who had folded had been sitting with his back to the bar. Wes took the empty chair, while El Lobo, taking a position behind him, appeared to be watching the game. Before winning a pot, Wes lost three. A bearded man next to him was an even bigger loser, and he dug into his pocket for coins. But in his hand, among the double eagles, there was something else. For just a second, in the pale lamplight, Wes beheld a gold coin which bore the sinister likeness of a dragon! Quickly the coin disappeared in the gambler’s pocket. Wes continued to play, losing more than he won and eventually folding. As Wes approached the bar, one of the barkeeps raised his eyebrows in question.

  “Two beers,” said Wes.

  Wes chose a table so that he could watch the poker game still in progress. El Lobo sat with his back to the wall. He knew Wes had seen something, and he waited. Wes had finished half his beer when he spoke.

  “The bearded one facing us—the one who sat next to me—has a coin with the Dragon image on it.”