Benedict and Brazos 10 by E. Jefferson Clay

Author:E. Jefferson Clay [Clay, E. Jefferson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: westerns, heroes, gunfighters, the, Old, west, Piccadilly, publishing, wild, western, ebooks, James, Reasoner, Ron, Schwab
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Eight – Jailbreak!

The yard of the old, disused Jackson’s barn stood shadowed by the heavy flanking trees under the moon. The secondary shadow of the impressive two-storied National Bank, thrown by the lights of Front Street, encroached on the southern side where the gate had once stood.

In a bright patch of moonlight in the gateway, Bullpup sat on his haunches grinding on the remnants of a shinbone. Before the dog lay an alleyway that went all the way past the jailhouse’s back yard. Bullpup had checked the alley out for cats on his way down from the livery with his master, but had been disappointed.

Moving quietly about the yard, Brazos made a final check on the horses. There were three in all: his high-shouldered appaloosa, Benedict’s sock-footed black, and the sorrel gelding he’d bought at Willigan’s Livery to accommodate, hopefully, the terrified Arnold Woodcock.

Satisfied that everything was in order, Brazos moved to the gateway and stood in the tree shadows with his dog.

It was a fine night for a jailbreak.

Torching a freshly rolled smoke into life with the sweep of a match, he snapped his fingers to Bullpup and started along the alleyway in the direction of the jailhouse. He halted after ten yards or so to squint along the tall brick wall of the National Bank. All was quiet. He could hear the professor at the Days of Glory playing “Oh Susannah” on the open-topped piano. He nodded in approval as he moved on, the cigarette a red, glowing dot under the shadow of his hat brim. The Yank had picked a good spot for the horses; quiet, shadowy and not too close to the jailhouse but not too far away either.

He walked to the back of the jailhouse and stood listening below the window of Woodcock’s cell. The sound of pacing steps drifted out. Circling the jailhouse to the rear, Brazos reached the main stem by way of the side street near the bakery, then sauntered casually along the walk with Bullpup swaggering beside him.

The jailhouse door stood open to catch any breeze that might come. He had a glimpse of Barney Rudkin’s big-nosed face. The deputy sat behind the desk talking to somebody out of sight across the room. Brazos identified the second voice as that of turnkey Hutch Stovey as he tramped by. There was no sign of the sheriff or the Hanging Judge.

Halting at the edge of the jailhouse porch to flick his butt away, Brazos glanced across the quiet street. A tall figure leaned against an upright three doors down. Benedict lifted a casual hand—the signal that all was as it should be at the jailhouse. Brazos replied in kind to tell Benedict that he’d fixed up the horses and was now ready to move into the next stage of the plan.

Though he’d had more than his share of tight scrapes in his life, big Hank Brazos was tense as he mounted the porch of the Red Dog Saloon three doors down from the jailhouse.

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