Riders From Long Pines (14 page)

Upon seeing the ranger's badge and recognizing him by his horse, his pearl gray sombrero and the dark-haired woman riding at his side, the lead townsman said as he approached, “I can't tell you how glad we are to see you ride in, Ranger. I take it you
are
Ranger Sam Burrack?” Without pausing to take a breath or hear a reply, he continued, saying, “I'm Al Sheer? I own Sheer's Mercantile?” His every sentence ended as a question, as if he wasn't quite sure of anything. “As you can see, we've had a terrible tragedy here?”

“Yes, so it appears,” said Sam. He gazed toward a body lying wrapped in a tarpaulin in the rear of a freight wagon sitting at a hitch rail, in front of the River Palace Saloon. “We're tracking four riders from over near Albertson,” he said. “I wonder if they had anything to do with this.” He didn't mention the stage robbery or the killings, or Stanton Parks just yet. He didn't say any more than he had to, wanting to hear what the townsfolk had to tell him.

“These are the ones who robbed the stage near there, if that's the ones you're tracking,” said Sheer.

“How do you know?” Sam asked. He gazed up the street, spotting four more canvas-wrapped bodies lying on the boardwalk in front of the barbershop.

“He told us. That's Bart Frazier,” said Sheer, nodding toward the saloon owner who sat dejected, rocking in his chair and staring at the burnt stubs and ashes of the Blue Belle Saloon. “He owns the Blue Belle—that is, he
did
own it. Frazier and some of his gambling associates tried trapping the four drovers inside the Blue Belle. . . . You can see how well that turned out. The drovers killed three of them. The other body is our former deputy, Fred Mandrin. I tracked the robbers up to Three Forks and found Fred lying there dead. Once a lawman always a lawman, I suppose.”

Not in “Fearless” Fred Mandrin's case
, Sam felt like saying. But he kept himself from commenting on the matter, knowing that if Mandrin was there it was to get the money for himself, not as an act of upholding the law.

Sheer nodded toward the rubble. “The drovers confessed the killings and stage robbery to Frazier. So now there are four more murders and an arson charge you can arrest them for. I'll formalize the complaint myself if you wish me to.”

Now, why would they confess to Bart Frazier . . . ?
Sam only stared at Sheer, still offering no reply. “Hold up on the complaint,” Sam said, “until I get to the bottom of all this.”

“To the bottom of this?” said Sheer. “My goodness, Ranger Burrack, isn't it obvious, giving what we saw, and what Frazier said—”

“Frazier was lying,” Art Mullens said abruptly before Sheer could finish his words. “He's also a
grinning rattlesnake
,” Mullens added with a chuckle, he and Thesis Sweeney having eased in behind the armed townsmen. “That's what the four cowhands called him—
a grinning rattlesnake
.”

“Art, stay out of this,” said Sheer. To the ranger he said, “Pay him no mind, Ranger Burrack, that's old Art Mullens. He's always got to put his two cents' worth into anything that happens here.”

But the ranger ignored Sheer's advice and stared at Mullens. “Lying about what, Mr. Mullens?”

The old man's chest swelled a little at hearing himself called
Mr.
“Hell, about everything. Them drovers didn't rob no stage—”

“Of course the drovers robbed it,” Sheer cut in impatiently. “Where else would cowhands get something like this?” He handed a broken money band up to the ranger. “A stack of bills flew out of one of their saddlebags. This was all that was left of it, of course, after Frazier's
gambling associates
began plucking it out of the dirt and the air.”

“Having the stolen money doesn't make the cowhands thieves, Sheer, any more than having a red rabbit jump out your ass makes you think you're going—”

“Hey, that's enough of that,” said the ranger, cutting Mullens off.

“Begging the lady's pardon,” said Mullens, snatching his flop hat from his head with a repentant expression.

Beside him, Sweeney said, “But what he's saying is true, Ranger Burrack. I'm Thesis Sweeney. I tended bar at the Blue Belle. Them drovers was as polite and respectful as any bunch I've ever met. They didn't rob no stage, and they didn't burn down the Blue Belle.” He pointed at Frazier in his rocking chair. “That idiot had his pals from the River Palace throw torches through the window to smoke out the drovers.”

“See?” said Sheer. “That makes no sense at all to me, or to anybody with their wits about them. Why would Frazier do something like that?”

“Because it all got out of hand on him, Sheer,” said Sweeney, getting irritated. “Are you an idiot too, that you can't see that?”

Sam handed Maria the broken money band. “Take a look at this,” he said to her while the men argued back and forth. Maria read the printing on the band and gave it back to the ranger. She looked at him with a raised brow. Then she cut into the conversation between Sweeney, Mullens and Sheer, saying, “Excuse me, Mr. Mullens. My horse is thirsty. Will you please accompany me somewhere so I can water it?” She stepped down from her saddle and stretched, a hand to the small of her back. Mullens and Sweeney watched, their mouths agape. “Perhaps we can talk some more?”

“Uhhh . . .” Mullen looked dumbfounded for a moment, as did Sweeney. Then, snapping out of it, Mullens said, “My God,
yes, ma'am
! I most certainly will.” He grabbed the reins from her with a trembling hand, almost spooking her horse. The dog sat watching her walk away, the two men flanking her. But sensing no danger, he made no sign of wanting to follow.

“Thank goodness,” said Sheer, seeing what he thought was Maria leading the two away so he and the ranger could talk. Looking back at the ranger, he gestured at the dog. “I recognize this dog, he belonged to Colonel Tanner.”

“
Belonged?
” Sam said, eying him closely.

“Yes,” said Sheer, “Frazier told us the colonel is dead, that these four drovers killed him.” He shrugged. “I suppose it was part of what they must have confessed to him.”

He could see he needed to talk to Bart Frazier, Sam told himself, studying the broken paper money band in his gloved hand. “I'm also searching for another man . . . a fellow named Stanton Parks,” he said.

“Buckshot Parks?” said Sheer.

“You've heard of him?” Sam asked.

“Oh yes, indeed,” said Sheer, “I know the name. I've seen his face on many wanted posters. I haven't seen him in person, though, I'm happy to say.” He paused in reflection, then said, “But wait. I did see a lone rider approaching Fred's shack. . . .” He considered it further. “I wondered why he was riding off the trail, through the brush and weeds, as if he did not want to be seen. I thought that was odd. You don't suppose . . . ?” He let his words hang for a moment, then tacked on “No, I hardly think Fred Mandrin would have any dealings with a man like Buckshot Parks.”

Yep, it made sense to him, Sam thought, not replying to the naïve townsman. Parks was after the money and threw in with Mandrin, he surmised to himself. He closed his hand over the band and looked over at Frazier.

“You'll find Bart Frazier
very
upset, Ranger Burrack,” said Sheer, anticipating what the ranger had in mind.

“I bet I will,” Sam replied, nudging his horse forward. He glanced at the pile of debris, then at the back of Bart Frazier's head as the former saloon owner sat rocking back and forth slowly. The big cur loped along beside him.

“I know it's you, Ranger Burrack,” Frazier said without turning to face him when Sam stopped his horse a few feet behind him and stepped down from his saddle. “I'm not receiving any company just now, so you can feel free to ride on.”

“I'm here on business, Frazier,” Sam said calmly, walking up behind him, the big cur at his side. “I need to know the truth about everything that happened here. I don't want to go away searching for four innocent men.”

“Innocent? Ha! Innocent of what?” said Frazier with a bitter tone.

“You know what I'm saying, Frazier,” Sam pressed. “If these four have really broken any laws, I need to know about it. If they haven't I need to know that too.”

“I've never cared much for you, Burrack,” Frazier said, still staring at the black and gray pile of ashes and debris, “and I know you have never cared much for me.”

“I'd say that's a fair assessment both ways,” Sam replied. “But I am sorry to see the Blue Belle burnt to the ground.”

After a sigh and a pause Frazier said, “Let me ask you something, Burrack. How would you feel if you saw everything you've worked for go up in a black puff of smoke? Wouldn't you want to see the ones responsible for it punished?”

“Only if they really were
responsible
for it, Frazier,” said Sam. “That's why I want to know everything about this shoot-out.”

After another pause, Frazier said, “Ask away, Burrack.”

“I'm curious as to why these four drovers came to you and confessed that they had robbed the stage,” said Sam.

Frazier shook his head slowly and said without looking around at him, “You must not know much about the drinking and gambling business, Burrack. People get a little whiskey in them, they tell you everything when you own a saloon.”

“I know a
bartender
hears a lot, Frazier,” Sam replied. “But thieves don't tell saloon owners their business. Thesis Sweeney was tending bar, not you.”

“So?” said Frazier.

“So tell me why these four drovers would come and confess robbing the stage to you?” Sam said firmly.

“Well, you've got me there,” said Frazier with the toss of a hand. “Perhaps I just have a fatherly way about me.” He finally turned and faced the ranger, his hair disheveled, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. “They burned my precious Blue Belle to the ground, Burrack,” he said grimly. “Can you not understand why I want to see them dead?” He eyed the big dog who sat staring at him intently.

Sam didn't answer.

“That's Colonel Tanner's dog,” he said. “Does he bite?”

“Only when he thinks it's necessary,” the ranger relplied. “How well do you know Davin Grissin?”

“Grissin, hmmph,” said Frazier, turning away from him and staring once again into the ashes. “Well enough, I suppose. He's a businessman, like myself. Why do you ask?” He turned his bloodshot eyes back to the ranger in curiosity.

Sam played a hunch just to see what Frazier might know. “Because it was Davin Grissin's money those four drovers had on them,” he said. He studied Frazier's eyes closely. “If you know Grissin, I figure you might have been trying to get your hands on the money for him, gain yourself some favor with him.”

“I knew it was Grissin's money,” Frazier said. “This Mackenzie fellow told me Grissin's name was on the money bag. He said they stole the money because Grissin bought the spread they worked and fired them,” he lied.

“So these four drovers knew Grissin's money would be on the stage?” Sam asked, knowing there was no way the four could have known the bag of money would be in the hidden compartment.

“That's right, Burrack,” said Frazier, “that's what he told me.”

“I see.” Sam realized now that Frazier was lying through his teeth. There was no way for four cowhands off the grass range to know anything about Grissin's money or his method of shipping it.

“I hope you catch them, Burrack, and I hope you bring them here, for Red Hill to deal with. They also killed a lawman, in case you don't know it.”

As they spoke, Sam took note of a man approaching them with a rifle in his hand. Yet he continued with Frazier as if paying the man no regard.

“I heard they killed Fred Mandrin,” Sam said.

“Deputy
Fred Mandin,” said Frazier, correcting him.

“Former
Deputy,” said Sam, countering him. “If these men are guilty of anything, you can bet I'll bring them in,” he added. “You can also bet that I'll get to the truth about what happened here, and why.”

The man with the rifle stopped a few feet away and looked at the back of Frazier's head with a cold, bitter stare. “Ask him who killed Nate Bryson,” he said.

“Mind your own damned business, Hughly!” said Frazier.

Sam only observed in silence as Frazier rose with a snap from his rocker and turned toward the man with a look of rage. “Those four murdering bandits killed him, that's who! They killed Bryson, they killed Sadler, they killed Duffey and Yates—”

“He a lying son of a bitch, Ranger,” the man said, raising his rifle as he spoke.

“Hold it,” said Sam, his big Colt up, cocked and pointed at the man at arm's length. “Lower that rifle.”

The man caught himself, lowered the weapon and let it hang from his hand. “We were all of us playing poker at the River Palace until this turd came in wanting to pay us to go shoot those cowhands,” he said.

“Not to
shoot
the cowhands, you idiot,” Frazier growled at him. “I asked all of you to
capture
the cowhands, did I not?”

“Shoot, capture, what's the difference?” said the rifleman, Hughly Rhodes. “My pards are
dead
either way.” His anger began to rise again. “And you killed Bryson, there's no ifs or buts about it! I all but saw you do it!”

“Let me hold that rifle for you,” said Sam. He stepped in closer, reached out and took the rifle from him as he asked, “What do you mean you ‘all but' seen him shoot your friend Bryson?” The big cur sat watching, his head going back and forth as the men spoke, as if following their conversation.