Riders From Long Pines by Ralph Cotton Page B

cowhands, take the money and ride away?”
    â€œYep, that’s it, more or less,” said Parks, “if you can pose as a lawman when we catch up to them.”
    â€œI can do that easily—I’ve got enough practice at it.” Mandrin stood up. “Let’s go kill them and get done with it.”
    Parks stood up and said, “We’re going to have to lure them out of town first.”
    â€œWhy?” Mandrin asked. “There’s nobody here to stop us. We can do as we damn well please.”
    Parks grinned “I like your way of thinking, but we want to do this in a way that neither the law nor Grissin and his men ever suspect us of anything. After acquiring this much money, I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life, do you?”
    Considering it for a moment, Mandrin said, “No, I don’t.” He rubbed a hand across his dry lips. “Let’s go get a bottle and you tell me everything I need to know about this deal.”
    â€œNow you’re talking, Mandrin,” said Parks, “or should I say, Sheriff Mandrin?”
    Â 
    As soon as a boy had been summoned from the livery barn and the spare horses taken away, the drovers moved their own mounts to the hitch rail out in front of the Blue Belle Saloon. Tad Harper had volunteered to stay with the animals while the other three accompanied Bart Frazier to his office in the rear of the barroom.
    Frazier sat listening closely to everything Jet Mackenzie told him, about the stagecoach, the dead robbers and coachmen, the unopened strongbox and the bag of money belonging to Davin Grissin. The only thing Mackenzie didn’t tell him was that the money was out front, divided and hidden among each of the drovers’ personal affects.
    â€œJust where is all of this money?” Frazier made a point in asking, showing great concern. “Somewhere safe, I hope?”
    â€œVery safe,” is all Mackenzie replied in a tight-lipped voice. Then he went on with the story, mentioning how they had gotten a raw deal from Grissin and were afraid that this fact alone might cast suspicion on them.
    â€œYes, I see how one might think that,” Frazier said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
    When the young drover finished, Frazier picked up the half-full bottle of whiskey standing on his desk, poured himself a shot, tossed it back and sighed. He looked studiously at Brewer, then at Thorpe, then back to Mackenzie.
    â€œIt’s most fortunate for you young men that you came to me,” he said. He pointed at Mackenzie and told the other two, “Your ramrod here has a head on his shoulders. I always admire a man who can think on his feet.”
    Mackenzie stared at him. He didn’t need to be told what a good job he was doing. He only wanted to get things straightened out. “Obliged, Mr. Frazier,” he said humbly. “Do you think you can help us out? All we want to do is get this money to the stage line and get shed of it. We don’t want to get blamed for something we didn’t do.”
    â€œCertainly I can help you out,” Frazier said with confidence. “Put your minds at ease.” He gave an even pearly white smile. “Can you do that for me, while I go send a wire to some of ‘the right people’ I know in Flagstaff?”
    â€œWe can sure try,” said Mackenzie, making an effort to return Frazier’s smile.
    â€œVery good,” Frazier said. “I’ll bring you back their reply, so you can read it for yourself.” He reached out with the bottle and filled the empty shot glass sitting in front of Mackenzie. Then he filled Brewer’s and Thorpe’s shot glasses as they held them out toward him. “Of course I have to say, it would be much easier to declare your innocence if I could tell ‘the right people’ that I have the money sitting safely in front of me.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” said Mackenzie,