Riders of the Silver Trail Page 7

  They could hear the rifle still booming behind them as they rode at a furious pace away from the gap speeding out of range. They kept on going.

  At the opposite end of the gap, rolling at top speed in the other direction, the Colonel’s team and wagon sped on into the darkness, heading for home and safety.

  The Dark Rider on the rim, turned and rode into the moonlit horizon and was swallowed up by the darkness of shadow.

  “That blasted Dark Rider!” Ben Colby fumed, pacing back and forth in the Glory Hill mine office, late that night. “I thought we had put him out of business. Ragan!” He shouted, “How could you let this happen? You’re supposed to be so good. What happened?”

  Jack shrugged, non committally. Rio interjected, “It wasn’t his fault. You shouldda seen him go after them before that Dark Rider fella ambushed us. Besides, he saved my life.”

  “So!” Colby boomed, turning on Pierce savagely. “Now you’re bosom buddies all of a sudden.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any idea who this Dark Rider is?” Jack said calmly, changing the direction of the discourse and trying to cool Colby down.

  “If only I did,” Colby growled, burying his right fist into the palm of his left hand.

  “Seems to me, we need to prioritize things, here,” Jack said taking control. “We need to get the boys patched up and then get this Dark Rider out of the way. If we have an opportunity to get rid of the Gordon girl in the meantime, fine. Otherwise, we get rid of the Dark rider before he can get in the way again. The girl’s already been put in danger twice. Right now she may still think she was caught in circumstances. Too many attempts and she’s likely to realize, and the Sheriff too, for that matter, that she’s the real target. And that might just lead straight back to you. Mr. Colby. We don’t want that.” Then he added, “Do we?”

  Colby grimaced, paced some more. Then, swung back to Clayton. “You’re right,” he agreed with a sigh of resignation. “You’d better get the boys into town and get them fixed up by the doc. Tell Dooley that the raiders hit us tonight and the boys got hit.”

  “I’ll tell him, I drove them off. That way it will look like I’m doing something.”

  “Good idea. You might even blame it on the Dark Rider while you’re at it.”

  ****

  CHAPTER 11

  ENCOUNTER AT GLORY HILL

  The grass was still wet from the early morning dew and glistened in the rays of the rising sun. The chill of night was quickly dissipating and a low ground fog arose around the pinto’s jogging hooves, as the warming sun steamed the moisture off the leaves of grass.

  Tamara Wild had risen early and now astride the pinto, clad in divided riding skirt, blue blouse and brown vest, riding boots and a flat crowned western style hat that covered her red hair and was tied tightly in place with a chin strap, set off for the Glory Hill mine following the directions that Colonel Montrose had so graciously provided. She had spent a most pleasant night at the Colonel’s home. He and his wife had risen early to provide the girl a hearty breakfast, although they tried to discourage her from riding off alone, especially after the attack the night before.

  She insisted that the attack could not have had anything to do with her, but it must have been the Colonel, the attackers were after and he should be the one to be careful. She told him that she should be in good hands when she got to the mine. She was sure she would be safe with Ben Colby. Besides, she was anxious to see the mine and examine the books, so she could see for her self what the financial situation was.

  It was mid morning when Tamara arrived at the mine site. It was already a beehive of activity with a full crew of mine labor on the job, as Tamara rode into the valley and guided her horse to the hitch rail in front of the mine office. She could see Colby through the front glass window sitting with his back to her, at his cluttered roll top desk that was propped up against the back wall. She knew he couldn’t see her as she stepped down from the pinto and spun the reins casually over the hitch rail bar.

  Colby was preoccupied with some papers, he was intently studying, and didn’t turn around right away when the door creaked open and Tamara’s boot heels tapped across the wood floor. She halted behind him to the left, glimpsing over his shoulder. He was pondering over a hand written letter, but the imprinted letterhead looked official.

  She shifted her weight and the plank flooring creaked beneath her feet. Suddenly, startled, Colby swung around sharply in his swivel chair, clasping the note to his breast with both hands. “Oh,” he grunted. “Miss Gordon, I didn’t hear you come in.” Then realizing his reaction with the note, he flipped it face down on the desk and slid some papers over it nonchalantly. “This is a pleasant surprise. I must say, you certainly are an early riser.”

  “You know what they say,” she beamed a broad smile. “Early bird gets the worm.” But thought, ‘gets the snake.’

  “Yes,” his voice lowered and his eyes darkened, though he tried to hide his chagrin. “I didn’t expect you out so soon. I’m afraid, I haven’t gotten the files and records ready for you, yet.”

  “That’s alright,” she retorted. “I’ve got all day. I’ll just look around the mine until you can get to it.”

  “Oh, no, no, you can’t,” he stammered. Then gaining control, “I mean. It’s not safe to be wandering about the area alone. I’ll be glad to show you around, later. I am very busy, but I suppose I can take time to get those records for you.”

  “Well, if you’re sure, it’s not too inconvenient.”

  “No, not at all,” he said, rising from his chair striding across the room and knelt in a corner in front of a heavy steel safe. He twirled the combination lock It clicked and he twisted the iron handle and opened it. He extracted a bound ledger and placed it on top of the safe. Then, standing and turning to a row of file cabinets along the adjacent wall, he opened a drawer and selected several file folders. He stacked these on top of the ledger book and carried the whole pile of records to a small work bench on the other side of the room near the front window.

  “You can work here, Miss Gordon,” he said pleasantly, sliding a wooden straight backed chair in place for her.

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Colby,” she trilled.

  Dizzy dame, Colby thought to himself. “No trouble,” he said. “Now if you will excuse me, I have some other paper work to attend to. He scurried back to his desk, and sat hunched over as he pondered over the papers strewn on his desk.

  After a few minutes, the girl said, “Mr. Colby?”

  “Yes,” he grunted, not interrupting his thought.

  “These are really pretty numbers,” she said. “I like the color scheme.”

  “Huh? Colors?” He swiveled his chair around.

  “I really like the black, and the reds.”

  Dizzy dame, he thought again. Well at least she wouldn’t know what she was looking for anyhow. “I’m glad,” he muttered, feeling a little relief that this woman may not be such a threat after all. Then as he looked past her and out the front windows, his eyes darkened as his brows drew together with consternation. Out there riding into the valley he could see Tom Ragan and his big red stallion entering the valley. He was riding in alone. The other men were not with him.

  “Excuse me, Miss Gordon,” he said brusquely. “There’s something I need to attend to outside. I’ll be back shortly. Quickly he returned to his papers, scooped them up and stuffed them into the safe. He slid the iron lever in place to latch the door and gave the dial a spin, making sure it was locked. He did not like leaving the girl alone in here, but he wanted to intercept Ragan and find out what had happened to the others without the girl around to hear anything. Satisfied that he left nothing incriminating about, he left the girl to her own silly devices and left the office.

  ****

  CHAPTER 12

  ACTION IN TOWN

  It was almost mid morning when the tall man in the black broad cloth suit, rapped on the door of Arnold Daggett’s door. He waited impatie
ntly for a moment and rapped again before noticing the placard in the window that said “Gone to Lunch.” The man cursed to himself. Lunch at mid morning? Probably drinking was more like it. He looked down the street checking possible places the lawyer could have gone.

  He was still looking about when a thin, wizened, old man passed by saying, “If you’re looking for Daggett, I just saw him in the Red Bull Saloon a minute ago.”

  “Thanks, old timer,” Tom Ragan said, tipping the battered black Stetson he had taken from one of the three men who had held him captive briefly before he had overpowered them and made his escape, leaving their bodies lying dead on the trail.

  He strode quickly across the street and passed the undertaker’s funeral parlor. A buckboard and team was parked outside. Two rangy saddled horses were tied behind and a skinny young man in raggedy overalls and suspenders was in the wagon bed sliding a pine box coffin toward the front of the wagon. His long blond hair fell over his eyes and dirty face as he labored. Another disheveled youth had just helped load the box, turned from the wagon and disappeared into the open door of the parlor.

  It was still early in the day and the saloon was not yet busy when Ragan pushed his way through the batwing doors, paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimness as compared to the bright sunlight outside. He glanced around slowly and saw there were only a few patrons at tables and two men standing at the bar. Ragan quickly stepped up to the bar and said to the bartender, “I’m looking for Arnold Daggett.” His voice carried.

  “I’m Arnold Daggett,” the runty lawyer hunched over the bar at the far end said, pulling himself erect and striding toward Ragan. “What can I do for you?”

  As Daggett came close, Ragan said in a subdued tone, “I’m Tom Ragan. I was told to check in with you.”

  “R..Ragan?” Daggett stammered. “I..I’m afraid that’s impossible. Y..You can’t be. I..I mean you’re already here. I.I mean y..you’re not him.”

  “Will you stop your yammering,” Ragan said with annoyance. “What are you trying to say?”

  “A man calling himself Tom Ragan came to town yesterday. Say…what goes on here, anyways?”

  “That man’s an imposter,” Ragan raged. “His name is Jack Clayton. He’s a government agent.”

  “How.. how do I know you are not the imposter?” Daggett was still flustered.

  Ragan grasped the runt by the front of his collar and lifted him to his toes. He pushed his flushed face close to his. “Because, I’m telling you!” He boomed.

  The other patrons jerked around to gape at the altercation.

  “Y..yessir.” Daggett mumbled compliantly.

  Slowly, Ragan let the lawyer down and released him with chagrin as he realized he had caused a scene. He looked around the room, noting the eyes on him. Then with a start he saw Francy Jones. Although, his back was to her, he plainly saw her reflection in the long mirror behind the bar. She had been coming down the stairway and had stopped short halfway down the stairs, when she recognized Tom Ragan.

  Hoping, she had not been seen, she lifted the skirts of her blue gingham traveling gown, whirled and climbed quickly back up the stairs.

  Watching her go, Ragan smiled thinly to himself. “And she’s with him,” He growled. He pushed the lawyer, roughly aside and ran across the room and up the stairs after her.

  “I’m really sorry, Mr. Tait,” Evan Huntly, the undertaker said nervously for the umpteenth time.

  “Oh, shut up,” The grisled Josh Tait growled. “Ain’t nobody sorry and nuther are you. None of you high fallutin’ town folks ever cared a lick about the likes of us Taits.”

  Josh Tait was just as disheveled and dirty as his two remaining sons. Obviously, none of them had had a bath for quite some time, much less had they changed their clothes for quite a spell. His dark eyes peered out from his grimy, bony face from under the ragged and limp wide brimmed farmer’s hat that covered his long, greasy black hair. His sons Toot and Claude had just come through the door to retrieve the second coffin. “But somebody’s shore gonna be sorry, before me and my boys are through with him,” Josh Tait growled. “What did you say that varmint’s name was?”

  “Well, I’m not sure, but I heard it said his name was Ragan.” Huntly stammered as if he didn’t know but knew full well what it was. “Yes, that’s it.” He added. “I believe it was. Tom Ragan, I heard it said. Fancy dressed stranger. Came into town yesterday. Shot your boys down right out there in the street. We all saw it.” He didn’t dare add that the two dead Tait boys had started the fight.”

  “Sorry to hear about the attack on you last night. I sure wish I had anticipated that and been there to help.” Sheriff Mort Dooley said. He was sitting behind his desk in the sheriff’s office. Colonel Montrose sat in a straight back chair across from him, leaning his goateed chin against the handle of his ornate cane.

  “There is no way you could have known, Mort. It wasn’t your fault,” The Colonel said glumly. “I must say, I am confused though. I just don’t know whose side this Dark Rider is on. But I’m glad he was there for us last night.”

  “Funny,” Mort answered. “Tom told me it was the Dark Rider that attacked you.”

  “Tom? Tom Ragan? What about him?” The Colonel raised his gray head and sat erect.

  “He was in earlier this morning,” Dooley explained. “The Dark Rider hit the Glory Hill last night too. Shot up some of Colby’s men. Tom brought them in to the Doc. He told me you had been hit too.”

  “But how would he have known about that? I haven’t told anyone but you. Just now.”

  Mort sat up straight and tilted his head back. His old eyes widened, then his wrinkled brow pushed them to slits. He pursed his lips, seething with anger. “Unless…..”

  He pushed his chair back and jumped to his feet. “Come on. Let’s see if this Mister Ragan is still in town. He’s got some tall explaining to do.”

  Francy was feverishly turning the key to her room when Ragan caught up to her. He barreled into her, pushing her face forward into the door, pinning her tight so she could not move even as she tried to struggle and reach for the pistol in her purse. “You little hellion,” He growled, a tinge of a chuckle in his voice. “I’ve got a special score to settle with you and your boyfriend.”

  “Go ahead, big man,” Francy oathed, her cheek planted solidly against the door panel and slurring her words. “Jack will kill you.”

  Ragan laughed. “Not this time sister. Your boyfriend has just run out of luck.”

  Daggett had just sprinted down the hall and came to a halt behind Ragan. “What’s going on here?” He demanded meekly.

  “Never mind. Just do as I tell you. Where’s That G-man now?”

  “Out at the mine with Colby.”

  “Alright, then . We’ll take her with us. Can you get us some horses or a rig?”

  “I’ve got a rig at the livery.” Daggett answered.

  “Go get it and bring it around.” Daggett seemed immobile as he tried to process what was happening. “Now! Move!” Ragan roared.

  Daggett suddenly came aware and scurried off like a fleeing rat.

  Toot and Claude Tait was just lifting the pine coffin into the rear of the wagon bed when Sheriff Mort Dooley and Colonel Montrose stepped out of the Sheriff’s Office and into the street.

  Farther down the street, they saw Arnold Daggett pull up in front of the Red Bull. A man and a woman hurried though the saloon doorway and headed for the waiting rig. The man was dressed in a black suit and Mort assumed it to be Tom Ragan. The woman was the same one he had seen get off the train with Tom the day before.

  Mort quickened his step and hurried forward, raising his arm to flag the man down. The Colonel limped after as best he could with his cane.

  ‘Tom!” Dooley called urgently. “Tom Ragan!”

  The woman had just been seated in the center of the seat next to Daggett on his right and the black suited man was just starting to climb up, when he heard the call. He stepped back and turned to f
ace the oncoming sheriff.

  Dooley stopped abruptly, realizing his mistake. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mister.” He said with surprise. The resemblance was extraordinary. “I thought you were Tom Ragan.”

  “I am Tom Ragan, you old fool!”

  Mort stared dumfounded, speechless. The Colonel came alongside and they both watched the man climb to the wagon seat, barely seated when the team bolted forward rolling the rig and passengers at a rapid clip down the dusty street. They didn’t notice the two Tait boys had heard the name ‘Ragan’ and looked at each other briefly before releasing the pine box and hurrying back inside the funeral parlor.

  “Now what do you make of that, Mort?” The Colonel mused.

  “I..I don’t know,” Dooley muttered.

  Just then the Taits burst through the funeral parlor door and ran into the street, just in time to see Daggett’s wagon disappearing in a cloud of dust at the edge of town. Toot and Josh pulled the horses loose from the back of their wagon, swung into the saddles and thundered down the street after Daggett’s rig. Claude ran down the street, found a horse tethered to a hitchrail, climbed into the saddle and turned the stolen animal to follow his father and brother.

  “That doesn’t look good either,” Dooley cursed. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we’d better get after them all.”

  ****

  CHAPTER 13

  SHOOTOUT ON THE TRAIL

  Daggett had whipped his team into a frenzy and the rig bounced with every chuckhole and slewed around every curve, the passengers leaning back and forth as the wagon rolled on. Ragan gripped Francy’s arm tightly and she could feel that he was bruising her, but she remained silent and restrained.

  With all of their attention on the road ahead and with the clatter of the rig and noise of running hooves, leather and harness they were not aware of the pursuing Taits, who were fast approaching, behind them.