Tiff's Game (Perry County Frontier Series) Read online

  Tiff rose, his light-footed grace immediately apparent. He gathered his coins and nudged the scattered cards. His smile remained cold and straight mouthed. "I held a weak hand anyway."

  Responding chuckles held relief, and chairs scraped as the rest found their feet. They walked together through the bat wings and onto the muddy boardwalk. Heavy mist shrouded the bayfront, disguising passing figures. Tiff settled his flat brimmed hat and offered a final observation.

  "Hell, Captain, I could dodge Saul Shade for a year or two right here in San Francisco fog."

  The policeman busied himself lighting a thick cigar and sucked a few mouthfuls before responding.

  "Shatto, you didn't have a choice in there—the same as you won't have one if Saul finds you here.

  "Don't waste time. Saul won't, and remember what I'm saying. Leave these parts and don't ever come back. Luke Shade is only a little older than you, and he's pushed by his father. He will hunt for you. Keep watching behind because the Shade's will be coming."

  The captain held out his hand and, although surprised by the gesture, Tiff took it. "I feel badly about this, Shatto. The law should protect a citizen. That's what it is for, but it couldn't help when Baker came at you, and it can't help you now.

  "Ride, boy, and let all this die behind you."

  Tiff saw it the same way. Staying on, facing up to Saul Shade would be to choose suicide. Ride out? Tiff had a better scheme.

  Chapter 2

  Before he found the man he wanted, Tiff Shatto's route took him to other drinking dens. Captain Ables, a youngish New Englander, shared an evening meal with his hard-looking first mate. A week before, when Ables had lost money at Tiff's table, the same mate had protected his captain's shoulder. In strange lands, seamen stood together.

  Captain of a trading barque that frequented Pacific islands, picking whatever trade could be found, Ables would be open to even small profit making. The captain nodded at Tiff's proposal, and the mate snorted, his eyes amused.

  In leaving, Tiff spoke loudly. "I will board within hours, Captain."

  Ables answered, "Your quarters will be comfortable, Mister Shatto. The Feather Company prides itself on good service."

  The mate called after Tiff's retreating figure, "If the fog clears, we sail on the morning ebb. The Ajax lies northeast of the ferry landing, about five hundred yards out. Be aboard before then."

  Tiff's wave reassured them.

  At a livery, Tiff sold his horse and hired a cart and boy to transport his possessions. Clearing his hotel consumed an hour, and a few good-byes required another.

  At the Embarcadero Tiff's goods were loaded aboard a bumboat. Tiff hoisted his saddle and bridle into the rowing craft with wry comments.

  "I ought to sell these things. I doubt there are horses in the Pacific."

  The boatman questioned, "You're sailing on the Ajax, sir?" At Tiff s nod he explained. "Captain Ables will take you clear to China, and I've heard horse trappings can bring good money there."

  Tiff brightened. "Is that so? Then keeping the saddle may turn out well after all."

  They cast off and entered the heavy fog. Tiff sat in the stem holding the boatman's compass so that the oarsman could watch its needle. With the fog closed around them, they could see nothing outboard. Waves lapping invisible hulls whispered beguiling rhythms, but the rower held his course, and in due time a ship's lantern glowed eerily ahead. The Ajax's gray hull loomed suddenly, and the boatman barely fended off. A hail brought the anchor watch, and lines were dropped to the small boat.

  Tiff's baggage was hoisted aboard, and he clambered agilely up a rope ladder, across a broad gunnel, to drop onto a white holystoned oak deck. The bumboat was gone into the fog as silently as it had appeared.

  Within hours, the Ajax would pass through the Golden Gate and into the broad Pacific. Her course would turn south, almost to Mexico, before she could pick up the powerful easterlies that would carry her west. It seemed unlikely that Saul Shade could follow.

  Like a summer storm, the Shades thundered into the city. In a raging surge their horses drummed down Van Ness Avenue and onto the waterfront, a dozen hard faced riders, heavily-armed, intent on savage vengeance. Before the Miner's Pick, the band dismounted and stomped loose saddle-stiffened legs on the heavily planked sidewalk. Men cursorily checked rifles and shotguns. Then they went in.

  Saul Shade led his people. Beginning to bow with the weight of years, the Shade patriarch still towered above most patrons. Hawk-lidded eyes were spaced wide in a gray-maned head too large even for the sequoia-like body supporting it. Thick arms ended in huge fists, with fingers gnarled and scarred by hard outdoor labor.

  An almost visible aura of arrogant power flowed from Saul Shade. Clearly, ordinary men did not stand against him. Those few who had tried, he had buried. Shade had come to bury another.

  The Shades strode through the bat wings, eyes searching, weapons menacing. A bartender surreptitiously jerked a bell cord to summon the saloon owner. Card players froze in place, and drinks were forgotten half way to thirsty mouths.

  The Shades were expected, but not for at least another day. Their sudden appearance, led by the old man himself, dried throats and dampened palms. Old Saul could turn maniacal, and a snap of Saul's fingers could turn the Miner's Pick into a charnel house. Shade's son had been killed here. Some present wished they were elsewhere.

  Captain Pat O'Malley was as surprised as any by the Shade's arrival. His calculations said 'Too early', but here they were.

  Unlike most others, Captain O'Malley was not particularly disturbed. He had known Saul Shade too many years to expect the rancher to go off half-cocked.

  Still, Shade had lost a son. It would be wise to remain calm. O'Malley slid back his chair, rose almost wearily, and got at it.

  He said, "You're early, Saul."

  Shade towered above the blocky police captain and his voice hissed with venom.

  "Where is he, O'Malley? Don't try to protect him. I'll not be put off."

  The policeman did not avoid an answer. "He's gone. Left town for good."

  Shade had expected it. "Then we'll ride him down. Where did he go?"

  O'Malley snorted shortly. "If it mattered, I would not tell you, Saul. Your mind is not clear and you would only cause more killing." The policeman shrugged resignedly. "As it turns out, your knowing will hurt nothing."

  The police captain was too wise to gloat. Saul Shade did not need goading. "Tiff Shatto sailed on the Ajax, Pacific bound. Gone for at least a year and more likely two."

  Shade's features twitched as though a lash had been laid on. At his father's side, Luke Shade cursed coldly in brutal-voiced anger.

  O'Malley waited them out. The Shades were not stupid. Their rage would lower to a banked but determined hatred. They would feed the hatred, keeping it alive, barely glowing, but ready to be again fanned into a raging ferocity when the right time came.

  In old Saul's mind, the time would come. A year was nothing. Shatto would return. The Shades would be waiting.

  For an extended moment Saul Shade hulked un-moving, as though weighing the policeman's words. Then his body lost tension. His weight settled more evenly on his heels, and he turned his head to exhale explosively.

  His eyes, still mean and bitter, returned to O'Malley. Saul's words did not warm, but his voice was calmer.

  "All right, Captain, maybe he did sail. My men will check." He turned to his son.

  "Luke, start people asking. I want to know just what happened here—all of it. Find out who saw this Shatto go off on a boat. Hell, he might just of gone across the bay. Find out."

  Saul saw an empty chair and went to it. The seat had been O'Malley's but the captain let it go. Shade was calming. Before long there would be talk. Hell, the man might even listen, although no one O'Malley knew would have bet on it.

  The saloon owner personally served Saul Shade's table. He was almighty thankful for O'Malley's presence. Shade's mood had been killing, and in frustration t
he rancher might have burned the saloon to the ground.

  O'Malley drew in a chair and the table occupants edged sideward to give him space.

  Shade tossed his whiskey in a swallow and laid his glare on O'Malley's broad Irish face.

  O'Malley nodded awareness that Saul was now ready to listen. He took time to sip beer from another mug whose arrival had coincided with his choosing a seat. The saloon keeper knew who had power. It paid to stay on the right side. Unlike some, Captain O'Malley accepted only free beer. A bar owner could be grateful for that restraint.

  O'Malley said, "It probably won't change your mind, Saul, but you should hear the truth of how Baker got shot."

  "Whose truth, O'Malley? A bunch of half-drunk hangers-on and assorted barflies that weren't watching anyway?"

  O'Malley reined his temper. "No, these men at this table. They saw it all. There are no bums here, Saul, and no one was drunk."

  The captain paused, examining the rancher almost quizzically. "Offhand, Saul, I can't think of a single reason any of us would lie to you about how Baker got killed. If you have cause to doubt our word, I'd like to hear it right now."

  Shade said, "Just get on with it, Pat."

  The use of his first name was a concession and O'Malley accepted it.

  "I've already asked the questions you will want to know, so I can tell it all. Any time these witnesses don't agree, they can speak up. Any details you need, they can fill in.

  "In short then, Baker gambled at this table. He sat where I am sitting. Tiff Shatto sat just where you are. Baker lost some money. Not a lot, but he was drinking, and he took it personal. Anyway, he left the game, offering a few insults that could have gotten him shot then and there.

  "Baker went to his room at the Parker House, just down the street. He took the hotel clerk's sawed-off Greener and came back.

  "Your boy called out to Shatto saying something like, "Now you crooked bastard!" and let go with one barrel. You can see the buckshot in the wall right behind your back. You can tell how close he was by how little the shot spread."

  Almost reluctantly, Saul Shade turned to examine the shot-pocked wall. He offered no comment, so the captain continued.

  "Shatto leaned aside and Baker's charge missed. Shatto got his gun out and started shooting. Baker was hit three times. First in the belly, square in the chest, and finally through the throat. He was still trying to shoot when the last bullet dropped him." O'Malley's description was clinical and cold. It left little to the imagination.

  Blood had fled from Saul Shade's features leaving his face drawn and old. He shook his massive head like a tormented bull and asked, "How could the gambler get a gun out before Baker finished him? What you're telling isn't right"

  The banker cut in before O'Malley could respond. "Tiff Shatto was fast, Mister Shade. I dove on my side, and I saw Tiff's end of it when Baker braced him. Tiff had cards in one hand and money in the other, but I was still sitting when he was moving. He sort of slid to the side and went to one knee. Baker's charge passed where he had just been.

  "Tiff carries his pistol cross draw in front of his left hip. Darn near on his belly. Anyway, he snatched his gun while he was moving and started shooting when his muzzle cleared the table."

  The banker whistled in awe, then flushed as he remembered to whom he was speaking. He resumed with less obvious enthusiasm. "I was still ducking when Shatto opened up. Three shots he let off, but they sounded almost like one. Fastest darned shooting I ever saw."

  The ship owner said, "If Baker had had both hammers cocked, Shatto wouldn't have made it."

  Blood returned to Saul Shade's head in a rush. The red rage again caught him, turning his voice into a strangled croak.

  "So the tinhorn gunfighter shot my boy dead, right in front of you all."

  O'Malley spoke straight, aware that Saul Shade already knew the truth.

  "What else could Shatto have done, for God's sake? Baker was trying to kill him. It was self-defense, Saul, pure and simple, and as clear as any case I've ever come across."

  Shade's jaw muscles swelled, and his eyes turned stubborn.

  "This Shatto killed my boy, and he will pay for it."

  O'Malley too could plant his feet. "This is 1880, Saul. We have law in California. If you or your men kill Shatto, it will be murder, and you will be tried for it."

  Saul Shade's lip curled. "This Shatto will draw first, O'Malley. I'll have witnesses to prove it."

  Shade's voice grew increasingly stubborn. "He killed my boy. He'll pay for it."

  O'Malley sighed in resignation, then spoke with vehemence. His words bit and were dangerous to lay onto a man like Saul Shade.

  "You are about the last of the old ones around here, Saul, and this city will be glad when you are gone. You ride roughshod over whatever displeases you, and to hell with what's right or who gets hurt.

  "There are a few things you had better keep in mind. The first is that if you ever do come up on Tiff Shatto, you should let someone else do your shooting. Shatto would take you and Luke together, just about as easily as he dropped Baker."

  Ignoring Shade's rising fury, O'Malley said, "The next thing is that you had better have real witnesses. This state isn't going to take your riders' words. And, I doubt we will look kindly on the say so of a bunch of barflies or half-drunk hangers-on."

  Shade's muscles bunched, but the police captain was not finished. "Finally, I've got a warning to give. You are setting a poor example. Baker thought and acted like you do and it got him killed. Luke is just as bad and the same could happen to him. You're on a down trail, Saul, and a wise man would cut his losses and go home."

  Shade's chair crashed backward. His expression was murderous as he glared at the still seated police officer. Silence engulfed the bar, all attention on the enraged rancher. With visible effort Shade controlled his fury. He turned away, booted his offending chair aside, and wordlessly stomped from the saloon.

  The bat wings slapped behind him, and the ship owner exhaled noisily and swiped at a sweating forehead. "My God, Pat, you put the spurs to him. I doubted he would take it."

  O'Malley stayed grim. "I wasn't sure myself, but a man can take only so much of Saul Shade."

  "Well, he'll have a long time to stay mad. The Ajax won't see this port for at least a year, and Shatto will probably get off some other place anyway."

  O'Malley hoped so. As good a gun fighter as Tiff Shatto appeared to be, Saul Shade would not give him a chance. Most likely, Shatto would look up to find himself ringed by cocked shotguns and rifles. Then he would be led out and hanged. Nobody would dare to even admit seeing it for fear of Saul Shade coming down just as hard on them.

  O'Malley set down his empty mug. It disappeared and his hand closed around a filled one.

  The dawn had been windless and a side-wheeled tugboat had taken the Ajax in tow. The first mate oversaw the helmsman, watching with suspicious eyes the iron steamer's performance. Tugboats had been known to break down or otherwise lose way. The heavier and swifter sailing ship could smash into its tug almost before the wheel could be put over.

  Until they were clear of the Mount Tamalpias wind shadow, the tug would have to haul the Ajax like a dead thing, unable to move itself. Embarrassed by being in tow, Captain Ables would not appear until the tugboat had cast its lines and plain sail was being made.

  On a windless day, that could be almost to the Farallon Islands. Prevailing winds blew from the west making the rugged California coast a lee shore. The Ajax would reach south, well beyond the land's hungry grasp.

  Heavily burdened with manufactured goods for the island trade, the barque would choose a safe course with only reasonable sail drawing. Ajax would not start her seams or strain her rig saving days of travel.

  Time meant little in the Pacific trade. Hands would mend and repair. Scrimshaw carvings and belt knotting would occupy off watches. Another island always waited and who knew what cargo might turn up just beyond the next atoll or archipelago.

 
Tiff Shatto waved in answer to the tug's parting steam whistle and watched it churn its way back through the bay entrance. He wished he were headed landward as well. The ship's motion made his stomach churn and brought saliva to his mouth. Yet the Pacific was calm with only occasional whitecaps. Ocean swells were long and the deep-hulled Ajax rode them with surging power.

  A cabin door slammed, and Captain Ables' voice answered the mate's hearty greeting. They sounded content with themselves. Tiff supposed most aboard were pleased to again be at sea. He wondered why? Poor food, bad water, endless days repeating the same tasks lack appeal. Could the mystical Spice Islands offer enchantments worth enduring a year's shipboard imprisonment? Tiff shuddered at the thought.

  Tiff Shatto was a born westerner. His father's ranch lay north of Taos and south of Denver in a mountain stronghold too high and too wild for civilized tastes. The Arrowhead ranch prospered by raising carefully bred cattle which were sold to drovers who shipped the animals to choice markets both east and west, where the finest of marbled beef was understood and paid well for.

  Ted Shatto had begun breeding his cattle in 1858, long before there were markets for even the half-wild Spanish longhorns that roamed as freely as the deer or Outlaws and raiding Apaches had challenged the ranch, but the Shattos had planned well. They won the battles and in time, the wars.

  Owlhoots traveling secret trails still appeared, hats in hand, seeking traditional, unquestioning handouts, but to challenge the might of the Arrowhead was beyond consideration. Ted Shatto's vaqueros pursued even small rustlers to their bitter ends, and few survived to face the unforgiving justice of Shatto's law.

  The Apache had faded away and were no longer ensconced in nearby mountain jacarals. But, where strong-willed men clustered, violence also rode. Arrowhead hands still carried guns and were trained to use them.

  A number of small ranches ringed the Arrowhead holdings. The encirclements were not accidental; Ted Shatto had planned them from the earliest times. Owned by men loyal to the Shattos, the ranches further buffered the big outfit from hostile incursions. The Shattos had come to stay. They had planted roots in the valley some called Falling Water. Of Ted and Beth Shatto's four children, only Tiff had ridden away.