Running Irons

did most of the talking for the other side, winding up by saying, “Start the wagon, cookie.”

“They’s in the way, Cap’n,” replied the cook reaching for the reins.

“Happen they’ll move,” Dusty Fog replied.

Well, the two fellers who hired Wren had moved, but the gunman could not without losing face. Instead he grabbed for his gun, meaning to down the small man. Only Dusty Fog did not look small any more. Suddenly he seemed to be the tallest of them all; and never had Wren seen such speed at drawing a gun. The Rio Hondo gun wizard’s left hand flickered across his body and fetched out the Army Colt from his right holster even before Wren could clear his Remington. Wren remembered the sudden shock hitting him, the stunning knowledge that his speed failed to bring him through. Flame licked from Dusty Fog’s gun and Wren’s world dissolved first into red agony, then sank into black nothingness. When Wren recovered, he found he had lost a job and gained a bullet scar across the side of his head.

Now Dusty Fog’s brother came toward Wren. Cold fear gripped the man, driving out the smug superiority which formed a gunfighting hard-case’s best defense. Faced by Wren’s look of expectancy and complete assurance that the gunman expected to be the one on his feet at the end of the affair, most men felt scared, unsure of themselves, hesitant and marked down as victims. Only this time Wren could not adopt the attitude as he studied the resemblance between the Fog brothers.

Uncertainty filled Wren. Maybe Danny Fog was not as fast as his brother. If so Wren ought to have a chance. If Danny Fog should be fast—Wren did not wish to think of the possibility. Yet Danny had not looked fast that first day. Of course, Fog would not have shown his true speed, knowing it might excite interest he wished to avoid in the performance of his Ranger chore. The thoughts ran through Wren’s head as Danny and the deputy came closer, by the end of the saloon and halted not thirty feet away.

“Throw down your gun, Wren!” Danny ordered.

“Like hell!”

Letting the words out in a screech rather than a defiant snarl, Wren went for his gun. He beat Danny to the shot, but in his present nervous state the bullet missed the Ranger by inches. On the heels of Wren’s shot, Danny got his right hand Colt out and working. Twice Danny fired, cocking the Colt on its recoil and slamming the two .44 bullets into Wren’s chest. Danny shot the only way he dared under the circumstances, to kill. Knowing Wren to be faster, Danny did not dare give the man a chance to correct his aim. Caught by the bullets, Wren reeled backward. His gun fell from his hand as he crumpled to the ground.

Clyde Bucksteed had practiced fast drawing and shooting and now the training saved his life. Drawing, the deputy slammed a bullet into the bouncer an instant before the other threw down on him. Spinning around, the bouncer hit the hitching rail and hung on it yelling he was done.

Before leaving the saloon, Wren had sent the other bouncer through the side door to cover him. Coming down the alley between the saloon and the Wells Fargo office, the man stepped on to the street behind Danny and the deputy and brought up his gun. A rifle cracked further down the street and the bouncer—he had been the second of the hired guns reported by Jacobs to Murat—keeled over, a bullet in his head. Whirling to meet what might be a fresh menace, Danny and Clyde saw Simmonds standing outside his office, a smoking rifle in his hands.

“Watch Soskice!” yelled the sheriff, ambling forward.

Although he wore a gun, Soskice did not stand and fight. Instead he turned and flung himself back through the batwing doors, meaning to make his escape by the rear of the building. No sooner had the lawyer entered than a thud sounded and he shot out again, reeling backward across the sidewalk and crashing to the ground at Danny’s feet.

Blowing on his knuckles, Izzy walked out of the building and looked down at the fallen lawyer. Having seen the way things went in the street, Izzy decided a change of sides might be to his advantage. So he prevented the lawyer’s escape in an effort to prove his sterling regard for law and order.

His head spinning from the unexpected blow, Soskice looked up at the three lawmen as they gathered around him. Licking his lips nervously, he forced himself to his feet. Suddenly he no longer felt smug and superior to those humble, dull-witted fools who became peace officers because they lacked intelligence to do anything better with their lives.

“I—I want to help you!” Soskice whined. “I’ll tell you enough to convict Ella Watson. It was her who sent Wren to kill that old pedlar.”

Danny gave a look of disgust as he turned to the sheriff. At least Ella Watson had refused to say anything either to avoid the blame or shift it on to somebody else.

“Take him to the jail, will you, Sheriff?” Danny said. “Hey what made you change your mind and cut in like that?”

“Got to figuring what Maw’d say if anything happened to Clyde and reckoned I didn’t want it, her doting on the boy way she does. ’Sides, I might not be the best lawman in the world, but I reckoned the folks paid me for more than I’d been giving ’em. Let’s go, Mr. Soskice, unless you know some law’s says I can’t take you down to the pokey.”

Clearly Soskice could not think up a single law to avoid his arrest, for he went along with the sheriff in silence. Danny watched Clyde start some of the onlookers on cleaning up the street, then turned to the bartender.

“Is Mousey all right?” Danny asked.

“Got her a black eye and a few scratches and bruises, but nothing worse,” Izzy replied. “She licked Dora good though, Phyl and Maisie stove each other up bad but the doctor tended to them. I wasn’t in on anything, Ranger.”

“I just bet you weren’t,” Danny said dryly. “Why’d Soskice and Wren stay on instead of running?”

“Miss Ella’s got all the money in her safe and they hoped she’d get back to give them travelling money. Is there anything I can do?”

“Sure, go back in there and hold the place until we come and see you.”

Leaving Izzy to take care of the saloon, Danny walked along to the sheriff’s office. There he and Simmonds interviewed the scared Soskice. At first the lawyer tried to lay all the blame on Ella Watson, but found he failed in his attempt to shift the blame.

“Us folks down in Texas might not be so full of high-minded ideas as fellers like you,” Danny drawled. “So I’d surely hate to see what folks around here do to you when they hear that you’ve sold out your partner and tried to rail-road a woman to save your hide.”

“They’ll start reaching for a rope and looking for a tree,” the sheriff went on.

Nor did Soskice doubt Simmonds’s words. “Y—you’ll protect me!” he whined, yet his tones lacked conviction. “It’s your duty to protect me!”

“After the way you’ve belittled and mean-mouthed me all these months?” the sheriff replied. “You’ve dripped contempt over us lawmen all the time you’ve been here. So we’ll be as useless as you reckon we are. If folks come a-lynching, me ’n’ Clyde’ll be long gone out of town.”

“You—you won’t let it happen, Ranger!” Soskice squeaked, turning to Danny.

“My work’s done here,” Danny answered. “I’ll be riding real soon.”

Raw fear glowed in Soskice’s eyes. “W—would you protect me if I told you what brought me here? It’s important to the peace of Texas.”

“Try telling us,” Danny said.

With the words pouring out in a flood, Soskice told all and laid bare a vicious scheme to wreck the flimsy peace of the Lone Star State. He belonged to Henry George’s Socialist Party and was one of a group of college- educated intellectuals who wished to see Reconstruction continued until the Southerners they hated were smashed and the ex-slaves ruled the South. So some of their number came to Texas with the intention of stirring up so much trouble that the Federal Government brought back the old Reconstruction regime. In his fear for his life, Soskice named his friends and mentioned how the Sutton-Taylor feud and the Shelby County war had come about through the machinations of the intellectual bigots.

“Another range war going would have done it,” Soskice finished, after telling how he helped Ella organize the cow stealing. “Not that I wanted things to go as far as that.”

“Got to talking to Vic Crither the other day,” drawled the sheriff. “He said as how it was you as first put the idea of hiring Gooch in his head.”

“That’s a lie!” yelped Soskice. “You can’t prove it!”