Sample of

Two Pair Beat Three Deuces

By

Hank Valon

The four riders drew rein on the grassy ridge above the little town of Carson Spring.  The leader, a tall freckle faced rider wrapped his reins around the saddle horn.  He drew the makings from his vest pocket and built a smoke.  At nineteen he was the youngest of the four. 

       A slight of build Mexican rider to his right coiled his reins around the big Mexican horn on his saddle.  He didn't build a smoke.  He pulled a New Model Remington forty-four and cranked the lever down over the six loads to make certain they hadn't jarred loose.  When done he eased the hammer down in the safety notch between two cylinders and put it back in his high-riding cross draw holster.

       The rider on the other side of the leader pulled his pistol and checked the five loads in it.  He was packing a Colt Forty-Five Peacemaker.  He spun the cylinder and slid it back into his holster.

       The fourth man, a sizeable man, obviously going to paunch, gave an audible sigh.  Only gray hair protruded from under his bowler hat.  One at a time he pulled a pair of  Army Colts and filled the sixth chamber in each with a live round and returned them to their high-riding cross-draw holsters.        

       The leader struck a match on his saddle horn and lit up.  "I hope you fellas ain't gonna start any trouble," he said through eyes squinted from the smoke curling up from his cigarette.  "We're just looking for the Boss and the Segundo.  We ain't lookin' to make trouble."

       "Johnny," said the older cowboy, "I never go lookin' for trouble, but the Boss being gone for weeks don't sound good."

       "I don't like trouble either," said the Mexican.  "But sometimes people try to push me around because of my size.  It is best to let them know that is not wise.  If I do not then I might have to hurt someone."

       "I don't care," said the fourth.  "I don't like these sodbusters.  If one of 'em steps on my toe I'm gonna clean his plow."

       "Dooley, no you ain't," said Johnny in a very cold voice.  "You will be polite and nice to these folks.  You understand?  If somebody steps on your toe YOU will apologize for stickin' your toe in his way.  If I think somebody needs worked over I'll let you know.  Otherwise you pretend you are in Sunday School, understand?"

       "Yes," replied Dooley.

       "That goes for you other two.  Pedro?"

       "Yes sir."

       "Charlie?"

       "Just like in church," replied Charlie with a grin.  "Now Johnny, you ever know me to start a fight?"

       "Cain't say as I have," replied Johnny as he uncoiled his reins.  "Let's keep it that way.  When we get there you and Pedro check at the store to see if they got there.  Dooley and I'll go talk to the law."

       The town was not very big, but the surrounding country apparently supported a sizeable general store, three saloons, one church, a barbershop, a blacksmith and livery barn  and a one-room jail.

       Charlie and Pedro tied up in front of the store while Johnny and Dooley went to the nearest saloon looking for the law.

       "Pete, you oughta git rid of that old cap 'n ball gun and git a cat'ridge gun," said Charlie as they went through the door.

       "Aw, the Old Remington does good.  It shoots straight, and I can carry six shots without having to worry about shooting my leg."  Pedro slipped his sombrero back and let it dangle down the middle of his back.  "Besides I haven't seen a new gun I liked better."

       "Let's see what they got?" said Charlie.  "Maybe you'll change your mind."

       The light was much dimmer inside the store, but small windows  up high provided light to examine the piles of goods.  Two women, apparently mother and daughter, were minding the business.

       "May I help you?" the mother asked sternly.

       Charlie politely doffed his bowler.  "I sincerely hope so ma'am.  My name is Charles Parker, and my small friend here is Pedro Garcia.  We ride for the Bar over Dub ya.  We're 'bout sixty miles west.  Our Boss and Segundo headed here 'bout three weeks ago to buy some supplies.  Somehow they must've got lost, cause they never came home with the supplies.  Might you have seen them?"

       "Is one a medium sized fella with a red mustache?" she replied.  "Goes by the name of Thad Goforth?"

       "That's the Boss," said Charlie.  "He was here then?"

       "Not exactly," she replied.

       "What do you mean, "not exactly?"" asked Charlie.

       "He and another man, named Dewitt are over in the jail."

       Charlie swallowed hard.  "Our Boss is in jail."

       Pedro laughed.  "He doesn't drink.  He doesn't fight and he doesn't spend time with bad women."

       "What did he do?" asked Charlie.

       "Shot a man," she replied.  "In fact the two of 'em shot three men.  One of 'em may die."

       "What for?" Charlie snapped.

       "That's where things get real interestin'," she said.  "You fellas care for a cup of coffee?"

       "Yeah, I mean yes, ma'am," said Charlie.

       She turned to her daughter, "Callie, bring some coffee."

       "At a Saturday night dance about three weeks ago four masked men kidnapped four young ladies from the dance.  They shot two young men and beat up two others.  The ones that got shot are doing okay."

       "Ain't no way the boss would raid a Saturday night dance, or kidnap a bunch of girls," said Charlie firmly.

       The girl set four cups on the counter and filled them from a pot.

       "Didn't say he did," said the woman.  "By the way I'm Sadie Fulton.  This is my daughter, Callie."

       "Pleased to meet you," said Charles.

       "Me too," said Pedro taking the cup from Callie.

       "The posse chasing after those raiders came onto your boss's camp.  Shooting started.  Your boss and his friend defended themselves quite well.  When the shooting stopped long enough for some talking, the mistake came to light.  The men in the posse insisted your Boss and foreman go to jail."

       Charlie finished.  "Pete, now's the time to buy that new gun, better make it a couple of 'em.  I'm gonna go find Johnny and Dooley.  Meet us at the jail.  Nice meeting you ladies.  See ya."

       Charlie left hurriedly clamping his bowler on his head.  Pedro continued to sip his coffee.

       "Could I see some pistols?"

       "You and your friends aren't going to shoot up our town?" said Sadie.

       "I hope not," said Pedro with a big grin.  "It seems like a nice town."

       "Show him the pistols, Callie.  Maybe they'll shoot some of the ignoramuses across the street."

       Callie led him to the far end of the counter.  "We don't have many pistols."  She began drawing them from a shelf under the counter and lying them side by side.  "You probably know more about these than I do."

       He looked over the various models.  He passed on the Colt's just from past prejudice.  There was a Remington cartridge model but it didn't feel right.  Then there was the Schofield.  It was different.  It broke down at the top, opening the cylinder to be emptied all at once or just one or two cartridges and then loaded quickly.

       "The salesman said Jesse James used one of those," said Callie.

       "How much?" asked Pedro hefting the weapon and sighting at a stack of shovels.

       "Seventeen dollars and fifty cents," she replied.

       "Give me two and a box of shells."  Pedro pulled open his shirt and fished out two twenty dollar gold pieces from his money belt.

       "Do you have a pistol belt?" Callie asked.  "We have a man here who makes them.  We have several of his models."  She led Pedro to a rack holding cartridge belts and holsters.

       Two men came into the store.  They paused and directed their steps toward Pedro.

       "You Two want something?" demanded Sadie attempting to head them off.

       "No ma'am," said one.  "We know just what we want."  They stalked over to where Callie was showing Pedro the pistol belts.

       "We don't 'low greasers to talk to our wimmen."

       "Now see here, Duffy," interrupted Sadie.  "You take your saddle-bum friend and get outa here.  This man is a customer.  You aint, so git."

       "Now, Miz Fulton, you just stay back.  We'll take care o' this."  His first mistake was to take his eyes off Pedro to speak to Mrs. Fulton.  He turned back to the loud click as Pedro thumbed back the hammer of the old Remington.

       "Don't move," said Pedro.  "I don't know you, two, but I don't think I like you.  One at a time lift your pistols out of their holsters and drop them on the floor."

       "You'll be sorry for this," threatened Duffy.

       "Drop the pistols," hissed Pedro as his eyes flared.  The two quickly dumped their guns on the floor.

       "Now, take off your hats and apologize to these two ladies," ordered Pedro.  The two doffed their hats reluctantly and turned to the two women and apologized weakly.

       "Turn around and get out of here," ordered Pedro.  "If you ever offend these ladies again I will hunt you down and shoot you to pieces.  Now, git!"

       The two ran for the door.  Pedro's smile returned.  "Please excuse my anger, Ma'am," he apologized.  "Those two have no manners."

       "You can say that again," said Mrs. Fulton.  "I think you handled the situation quite well.  You watch out, now.  Those two no-accounts will try to shoot you when you're not lookin'."  She came out from behind the counter and gathered up the pistols from the floor.

       Pedro and Callie turned back to searching for a pistol belt and holsters that would fit his narrow waist and hold the Schofields.  They finally resorted to cutting a section out of the back of a pistol belt and riveting it back together.  With two holsters rigged just like Charlie's.  The pistols rode high just in front of his kidneys.  They came out quickly and were in no danger of being lost while bouncing on a running horse.  Pedro loaded the two pistols and the belt loops of the cartridge belt.  The old Remington he shoved through the belt at the buckle.

       "He looks rather dashing, don't you think, mother?" said Callie.

       "Yes, but looking dashing can get you shot.  He better be dashing, too."

       "You are very kind," said Pedro.  "Would I be permitted to call on Miss Callie sometime?"

       "I don't see why not," said Mrs. Fulton.  "The calluses on your hands show you ain't a stranger to hard work.  Most of the so-called gentlemen that call on her can't put together a day's work inside a week.  If you ain't doing anything next Sunday come by for a fried chicken dinner.  Tell that big friend of yours he's welcome, too.  We live in the little green house with the yellow trim back behind the store."

       Pedro bowed low.  "We thank you for the invitation, ma'am.  If  at all possible we will be there." He bowed to Callie and turned and went to the door.

       He put his hat on before going out and carefully looked up and down the street.  He couldn't see any obvious sign of danger.  He stepped out onto the boardwalk.  A rifle cracked and a puff of dust flew up from the middle of the street.  He dropped to his knees drawing the Remington.

       Across the street Duffy came hurtling into the street landing on his back.  A rifle lay on the ground at Charlie's feet.   He rushed Duffy as he got to his feet and promptly put him on his back again.  A dozen yards away Dooley was punching the second bum senseless against the side of a building.  Johnny was standing nearby with his hand on his pistol butt.

       Pedro shoved the Remington back into his belt, and walked into the street.  The two women came to the door behind him.  Their worried looks faded at sight of the two ruffians lying in the dust.

       "What'd you do to these two," demanded Charlie.

       "They insulted the ladies in the store," replied Pedro.  "I made them drop their guns, apologize and leave."

       "We was over at the jail talking to the boss when we saw them come running out," said Johnny.  "They just didn't look right, so we followed 'em.  They got their rifles and set up to shoot you."

       Several people came running, including two gentlemen with badges penned to their vests.  The two ladies hurried across the street from the store.

       "What's going on here?" demanded the taller of the two officers.  "We don't allow no shootin' or fightin' in town."

       "It was those two, sheriff," said Mrs. Fulton.  "Those two ruffians come lookin' for trouble in the store.  This young man disarmed them and run them off.  They must've come out here to ambush him when he came out.  These other gentlemen stopped them.  So, what are you gonna do about it?"

       "Lock 'em up, I suppose," said the sheriff.

       Charlie grinned.  "Oh that's rich.  The boss will just love having you two for bunkmates."

       "These, three are with you I bet," said the Sheriff.

       "You betcha," said Johnny with a big grin.  "Now what?"

       "We could just shoot 'em," said Dooley leering at the one he had dragged into the street.

       "We'll have none o' that," said the sheriff.

       Johnny suggested a solution.  "Why don't you get your jaypee to set bond on the Boss and our foreman.  The Boss has a big ranch. He ain't likely to run away.  The case against him is purty weak to start with.  That will make room in your jail for these two.  If you don't lock 'em up somebody is liable to shoot 'em."

       "That's just great," said the sheriff.  "Your boss shoots three men.  One of those is the son of Dan Adams, one of the biggest ranchers in these parts.  Two men git into a scrape with your Boss's men.  Guess who they work for?"

       "Adams?" said Johnny.

       "Exactly," said the sheriff.  "But I think I may have a solution."

       "A solution?" said Charlie.

       "Yeah," said the Sheriff.  "While your boss shot Adams's son.  Adams's daughter is still missing along with three other girls.  Now, you see, I ain't up to runnin' down a bunch of kidnappers.  You fellas seem purty rough and tough.  If  your boss was to promise me you fellas would go find those girls and bring 'em back I might let him and your foreman go.  What you say?"

       "Let me put it to him," said Johnny.  "Don't go away.  I'll be right back."

       Duffy tried to struggle to his feet.  The sheriff put his foot in Duffy's back and shoved him back down.  "Stay put, Duffy.  I ain't real sure that suggestion to shoot you might not be the best course of action."

       Johnny came back.  "It's a deal.  The Boss 'll put up in the hotel.  He'll let you have Charlie and Pedro for deputies to go find your stolen girls.  Fair enough?"

       "Fair enough," said the Sheriff.  "Couple of you boys drag those two along to the jail.  Now we got room for 'em.  You two," he pointed to Pedro and Charlie, "raise your right hands.  You swear to uphold the laws of the state of Kansas and this county?"

       "Yessir, " they both answered.

       "Good, you're now deputies.  You now work for me, Sheriff  Clell Barringer, but your boss is paying your salaries.  Come on over to the hotel after 'while.  I'll leave a couple badges with the desk clerk.

       Charlie turned to Pedro.  "So we get to play detective.  You got any suggestions?"

       "Yes," grinned Pedro in a whisper.  "We don't want to find 'em before Sunday."

       "Why not? Presuming we could of course."

       "Mrs. Fulton and her daughter have invited us to a fried chicken dinner on Sunday."

       "You don't say!  Sounds good to me."

       Charlie turned to Johnny.  "Have the boss git us a room at the hotel.  We're gonna go talk to some of the folks that was at that dance.  See if we can find out what those kidnappers looked like."

       "Let's start with the Fultons," suggested Pedro.

       "Brilliant idea," agreed Charlie turning to Mrs. Fulton who was returning to her store.

       "Uh ma'am," he called. They hurried to catch up to her and Callie.  "We need to find out more about that dance.  You did say you two was there?"

       The two ladies stopped and then were escorted back to the store.  There, over another cup of coffee, the two new detectives learned the details of the kidnappings.

       Four heavily armed men showed up at the schoolhouse dance.  Those few people outside getting some air were hustled back inside.  One young man, the new schoolteacher, was pistol whipped when he tried to protest.   Only three of the desperadoes went inside.  The leader stood in the shadows outside the front door and shouted instructions inside.

       Four young women were singled out.  The victims were the Adams girl, Lacy, Alice Goodnight, the daughter of a farmer to the south.  The other two were girls from the little German community of St. Joseph about thirty miles east, Katherine Bohr and Magda Schmidt.  Two young men inside the school were shot and wounded trying to defend the women.

       The desperadoes were average in size.  They wore flour sack masks and white dusters.  Their boots and trousers had nothing about them to be remarkable.  They took four horses for the girls to ride and ran off the others.

To see the results of these two cowboys' efforts in the detective business

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