Stop ollinger, p.7
Stop Ollinger, page 7
‘This will do fine,’ Forrest said.
They dismounted and set about gathering material for a fire which they laid in a space between some rocks that gave them cover but also allowed a clear and uninterrupted view of the terrain. When everything had been tended to and they had relieved their hunger with a good meal of bacon, beans and coffee, Forrest handed round his pouch of Bull Durham. They built smokes.
‘Well,’ Forrest said, addressing his remarks to Ignacio, ‘I reckon we’re all curious to know how you happened along.’
Ignacio looked at them a little shamefacedly. He felt guilty about having taken the icon and wasn’t sure how to go about explaining his actions so as to put them in the best possible light. He needn’t have worried too much, though, because Dowd, especially, was so relieved that Ignacio had the icon that the right and wrongs of the matter were of no concern.
‘Hell,’ Forrest said when he had finished, ‘so it was you had the icon all along. I was just about convinced Cushman had lied to me and he had it.’
‘Where is it now, Ignacio?’ Dowd said.
‘Do not worry. It is safe in my saddle-bags.’
Dowd didn’t look happy. ‘Perhaps you’d better check,’ he said.
Ignacio got to his feet and walked over to where the horses were grazing. In a few moments he was back with a bundle in his hand. ‘Here it is. Take good care of it,’ he said.
Dowd unwrapped the bundle. As Ignacio had said, the icon was safe inside. Gently, he held it up to the firelight for the others to see. Ignacio crossed himself and muttered a prayer beneath his breath.
‘It is a lovely thing,’ Dowd said, ‘but I still can’t understand why Ollinger takes such an interest in it.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I can’t figure out,’ Forrest said.
He looked closely at the icon before passing it on to Burden. Ignacio looked uncomfortable again and Forrest assumed it was because he was concerned about the way they were handling the icon.
‘It is not that,’ Ignacio said when Forrest assured him that they would take care of the precious object. ‘It’s that I think I might have an idea about why Ollinger wants the icon.’ Forrest and Dowd looked at him with renewed interest.
‘I don’t know if you have heard anything of the rumours surrounding the icon,’ Ignacio said, addressing the priest. Dowd shook his head.
‘No, I have not heard of any rumours.’
‘It may be nothing,’ Ignacio said. ‘It may be just a story.’
‘Go ahead and say what you know,’ Dowd said. ‘Then we can be the judge of the matter.’
‘Well,’ Ignacio continued, ‘the icon of the Virgin of the Sign is said to be one of two which were brought here a long time ago.’
‘I knew something of that,’ Dowd interjected.
‘The other picture is said to be equally beautiful but together they make a whole. You have, of course, seen the writing on the back.’
‘Yes,’ Dowd said.
Burden turned the icon over and read out the single word Innere.
‘The word is German and means interior,’ Dowd commented.
‘Don’t seem to make a lot of sense,’ Forrest replied.
Ignacio’s eyes flickered from one to the other. ‘As I said, the icon is one of two. People say that there is something written on the back of the other one and if the two are ever brought together, it will spell out the location of a place where much treasure is to be found. I believe that Ollinger may have the other one.’
‘A lot of hogwash, I would think,’ Burden said. ‘But what do I know? I hadn’t even heard any of this before now.’
‘It may be hogwash,’ Forrest said. ‘But it would sure explain why Ollinger is so keen to get his hands on the icon. The prospect of a big horde of loot would be just the thing to lure him on.’
Dowd seemed to be musing over the writing on the back of the icon. ‘Interior,’ he repeated. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much in that one word. I’ve seen it many times and not thought about it twice.’
‘It wouldn’t matter whether it means anything or not,’ Forrest said. ‘As long as Ollinger believes there is some kind of message involved, he won’t rest till he’s got that icon in his hands.’ He turned his attention back to Ignacio. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘was that you last night prowling about near our camp? Both Father Dowd and myself were woken up by something.’
‘Yes, it must have been me. I saw your camp-fire and tried to get close to see who it was. I couldn’t get near enough to be certain it was you. Today, when I saw those gunslicks, I figured they were plannin’ to dry-gulch someone. I hid in the bushes. I wasn’t sure whether they were aimin’ for you or somebody else. It was too late to warn you. When I saw you ride into the water, I couldn’t think of anything to do but fire a shot.’
‘It worked,’ Burden said. ‘And not a second too soon.’
‘Did you see how many of them there were?’ Forrest inquired.
‘Not exactly,’ Ignacio replied. ‘About eight, I reckon.’
‘Then Ollinger must have split his forces,’ Forrest mused. ‘There was a lot more than that involved in burning down Mud Wagon Creek.’
‘What do you reckon he’ll do next?’ Burden asked.
‘Who knows? But he’ll be plannin’ somethin’.’
For a while they lapsed into silence, finishing off the coffee and smoking their cigarettes. Forrest was meditating on what Ignacio had told them.
‘Sooner or later Ollinger is goin’ to head back to the Grand Springs,’ he said. ‘Probably after he’s done another job or two and wants to lie low for a time. That might be the time we catch up with him.’
‘It’s worth keepin’ in mind,’ Burden said.
‘Yeah, but I’m thinkin’ of somethin’ else,’ Forrest replied. ‘Until that time, the Grand Springs will be pretty quiet. He’ll have left men behind to look after the place but there probably won’t be too many of ’em. The ones that have been left ain’t likely to be among his best gunslingers.’
‘You got somethin’ in mind,’ Burden said. It was a statement rather than a question.
‘I might be all wrong about this,’ Forrest said, ‘but it seems to me that if Ollinger is in possession of that other icon Ignacio was talkin’ about, then it’s likely he keeps it at the ranch.’
‘That seems reasonable,’ Father Dowd said. ‘But how does that concern us?’
‘A lot of Ollinger’s thinkin’ seems to revolve around those icons. He figures that if he can bring the two icons together, he’ll have the clue to this horde of treasure. If there’s any truth in the rumour, I dread to think what he might get up to with that sort of money behind him. So why don’t we steal a march on him and see if we can lay our hands on that other icon, the one he apparently has?’ The others thought about his proposition.
‘I see what you’re gettin’ at,’ Burden replied. ‘And I got to say, it’s beginnin’ to make sense to me.’
Father Dowd looked less convinced. ‘You might have a point,’ he said, ‘but, apart from other considerations, how do you propose to get hold of the icon?’
‘Like we just agreed, the number of Ollinger’s men remainin’ at the ranch is likely to be down to a minimum. I figure we could ride right on in there without bein’ detected. Once we get to the ranch house, we sneak in and do a little search.’
‘That would amount to burglary,’ Dowd commented.
Forrest gave him a quizzical look. ‘I reckon, in view of what’s been happenin’, that’s the least of it,’ he said.
The beginnings of a smile lifted the corners of the priest’s mouth. ‘Yes, I see what you mean,’ he replied.
Burden burst into a laugh. ‘You sure ain’t like most other people I can think of,’ he said to Dowd. ‘Hell, I don’t know anyone else who would have rode into that ambush without a gun. What would you have done if I hadn’t had mine?’
Dowd did not reply, deciding to treat it as a rhetorical question.
‘So what do you say?’ Forrest continued. ‘Do we head for the Grand Springs ranch?’ They exchanged glances.
‘I’m for it,’ Burden said.
‘I’ll go along with what you decide,’ Dowd answered.
Forrest turned towards Ignacio. ‘What about you?’ he said. ‘You get a say in this as well.’
Ignacio glanced at Dowd who acknowledged his look with a barely perceptible nod. ‘I came all this way to be with you,’ he said.
‘OK, then it’s decided,’ Forrest concluded. ‘For now, I guess we’d better arrange guard duties. I don’t figure those gunnies are gonna return tonight, but I guess we can’t afford to take any chances.’
Once they had worked out their turn at taking guard, they settled down for the night, Dowd taking the first watch. He moved to the front of the camp and settled himself behind a rock. The night was strangely luminous and he could see for a long distance ahead of him. There was no danger of him falling asleep on the job because his head was filled with conflicting ideas and impressions. Along with the sense of guilt which had come to haunt him and his mixed views about their current predicament, he found himself questioning his decision not to carry a gun. Burden’s comments had touched a nerve. Did he have any right to rely on other people when it came to a shoot-out like they had experienced earlier? Was he not putting the lives of other people in greater jeopardy? And what would he have done if he had been there when Ollinger attacked the township of Mud Wagon Creek, faced perhaps with the choice of defending a hapless citizen against one of Ollinger’s gunnies? Even more to the point, what would he do if they were attacked tonight and he had to do something to defend the others? As often happened, he found himself turning to prayer. He reached into his pocket and, drawing out the chain of beads, began to count his rosary.
It was not long past the middle of another night when they approached the Grand Springs ranch. They knew they were on Ollinger’s property when they rode under a huge gallows-like structure which marked the entrance to his range. Peering through the darkness, Dowd read the sign it carried: Grand Springs – Grubbin’ and Sharpin’ a Speciality.
‘Enigmatic,’ he said. ‘What’s it supposed to mean?’
‘A grub is a mark made by cuttin’ a cow’s entire ear off close to the head,’ Forrest replied, ‘only in this case I don’t think it’s referrin’ to cattle.’
‘Very welcomin’,’ Burden said. ‘I hope any visitors would understand the reference.’
They spurred their horses on, keeping their eyes open for indications of activity. Since they could see very little, however, apart from the occasional dim shapes of cattle, it was unlikely that anyone would be able to see them. Their horses’ hoofs beat a muffled rhythm and there was an occasional creak of leather but otherwise they were silent. Once they had entered the Grand Springs range, Father Dowd expected them to arrive fairly soon at the ranch house, but instead they seemed to carry on for mile after mile. Forrest knew how extensive Ollinger’s property was. It would be even bigger if Ollinger had his way and swallowed up other ranches in the region. Just as Father Dowd was beginning to think they would never get there, the long black shape of Ollinger’s ranch house loomed up like a natural barrier.
‘Better get down and leave the horses here,’ Forrest said.
They dismounted and tethered their mounts. It had already been arranged that Ignacio would stay with them while the others proceeded to the ranch house.
‘You sure you’re OK with that?’ Forrest said.
‘Yes. Good luck.’
Ignacio was more relaxed than Forrest imagined. He had the icon to give him support. Forrest looked at the others. ‘You know what you have to do?’ he said. They nodded their assent. ‘All right, let’s get movin’.’
They started forward towards the lowering bulk of the ranch house. The place was entirely shrouded in darkness. There were no lights in any of the windows and the place gave every indication of being deserted. Behind and to the right of it stood another building which Forrest guessed was probably the bunkhouse. He was more concerned about this than he was about the main building. Ollinger would have left some men behind to run the ranch in his absence and most of them must be there. He could only hope and pray that they were all asleep. Somewhere beyond the bunkhouse they could hear the occasional stamp and snicker of horses. They came through the open area of the yard and mounted the veranda steps. The difficult part was just about to begin.
Forrest tested the door but as he expected, it was locked. He moved round to the nearest window and attempted to raise the sash but to no avail. He tried the other windows without any luck. ‘OK,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll try the back.’
Silently, they crept along the veranda past the corner of the building away from the bunkhouse. A board creaked under Dowd’s foot and they froze. The sound seemed excessively loud in the silence of the night. After a few moments they continued. There were several windows along the side of the house and Forrest tried them, with the same results. They came round to the rear of the building. In front of them but still some distance away they could make out the corrals. The sound of the horses was louder and Forrest signalled to the others to take care not to spook them. There were a similar number of windows at the back but they were all tight closed. Forrest was not too concerned. He would have been surprised if any of them had been ajar.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘We’re gonna have to break the glass.’
‘I don’t like this,’ Dowd said.
‘Do you think we do?’ Forrest replied.
‘What about the noise?’ Burden whispered.
‘It can’t be helped.’
‘Hold on a minute,’ Burden replied. ‘I think I got a better idea. Let’s return to the front.’
When they had retraced their steps, Burden signalled for the others to keep watch and, producing a wire from his pocket, began to fumble with the lock. After trying for some time to spring it he stopped, put the wire back in his pocket, and produced another one. Again he began to manoeuvre the wire and just when it seemed his efforts would prove equally fruitless, something clicked. Burden turned to the others and they could just make out a thin smile on his face. ‘Comes of dealin’ with lawbreakers,’ he said. ‘You get to pick up a few tricks of the trade.’
He pushed gently on the door and it opened. Like shades of the night they slipped through into the ranch house. Burden immediately bumped into something and there was a clattering noise. They halted in their tracks, waiting to see if there would be any response. Nothing happened and as they waited their eyes gradually adjusted to the dark.
‘Seems like we’re OK,’ Forrest whispered. ‘But be careful. We can’t afford to take any risks.’ Burden had knocked over a small table, which he proceeded to set aright. ‘Chances are that the icon will be somewhere in the main room if it’s anywhere,’ Forrest said. He turned to Burden. ‘Me and Dowd will concentrate on here if you start on the rest of the house.’
Burden nodded and very carefully began to pick his way towards a staircase which disappeared into blackness over their heads.
‘You take that side, I’ll take this,’ Forrest said.
Dowd moved away and Forrest began to look closely at various items of furniture, starting with a large escritoire which stood near a curtained window. He pulled the drawers but they were all locked. He was thinking all the while of the most likely place for the icon to be kept. As he crept about the room, he almost forgot the presence of the priest until a small collision in the darkness reminded him of it. His thoughts kept returning to the escritoire. A piece of furniture like that seemed the likeliest place to find it. The presence of the escritoire made him wonder if Ollinger might have a private study where he conducted business. There was a door at the back of the room but when he placed his fingers on the knob and pushed he was disappointed. It, too, was locked. As he turned back he was struck by a thought. Maybe Ollinger kept his valuables in a safe. The moment the idea crossed his mind it seemed obvious. He looked up at the walls. There were a number of paintings as well as mirrors and a clock. Curiously, it was only when he saw it that he became conscious of its quiet steady tick. There didn’t seem to be anything resembling a safe. He was standing considering the matter when Dowd bumped into him again.
‘I don’t think this is a good idea,’ Dowd said. ‘If Ollinger has an icon, it could be anywhere.’
‘I’m beginnin’ to think you’re right,’ Forrest said. He was about to suggest they take a final look when there was a loud click and before they could work out what had caused it the door of the room was flung open. They heard a rush of feet as dim shapes loomed up out of the darkness. Before they could react they had been seized and their arms pinioned. A lamp was lit and they were faced by a man with a gun in his hand.
‘Take their weapons,’ he said. Forrest’s six-gun was deftly removed.
‘This one ain’t carryin’ a gun,’ someone replied. Forrest turned his head. Each of them was being held by two men.
‘Who are you?’ the man with the gun said. ‘And what are you doin’ here?’
Despite his predicament, Forrest’s eyes observed that one of the paintings on the wall hung slightly loose.
‘Start talkin’,’ the man said.
Forrest’s eyes dropped to their questioner. If he had ever seen a more low-down mean desperado than this one, he couldn’t remember where or when. He had little doubt that, though he could not see much of them, his colleagues were of the same stamp. He realized that they could expect no mercy. As if to confirm the impression, when Forrest and Dowd remained silent, the man stepped forward and punched Dowd hard in the stomach.
‘I said, start talkin’,’ the man repeated.
Dowd would have fallen if he hadn’t been supported. Forrest jerked forward in an attempt to throw off his own captors but they had his arms held as if in a vice.
‘Looks like we’re gonna have to try a little more persuasion,’ the leader said.
There was an answering chuckle but the laughter was caught short when a voice called out of the shadows: ‘Drop your gun or die!’
There was no mistaking the startled look on the gunman’s features. The voice seemed to be disembodied. Ignoring its command, he spun round, bent over with his arm outstretched in the shooting position. By way of reply there came a shattering explosion from the direction of the stairway and the man went reeling back, clutching at his arm and dropping his gun. The grip on Forrest slackened and he burst free, turning as he did so to aim a blow at one of the men behind him. The man staggered and crashed into the escritoire. The other two had released their hold on Dowd who slumped forward on to his knees.
