Outlaw's Reckoning Page 9

  The closer he got to the Mogollon Mountains, the slower Gus was forced to ride. There were fewer options where trails were concerned, and fewer still if he wanted to move quickly without risking a nasty fall. In some spots, the trees were too thick to navigate, and at others, the ground was too uneven to cross at any pace faster than a walk. Gus didn’t fret about his progress, since it didn’t truly matter. He was going as fast as he could and so was Doyle. If that wasn’t fast enough, there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

  When he finally got to Ewell’s Pass the next day, Gus was caked in layers of dirt and his eyes had narrowed to intense slits against the sun and wind. His horse’s breath had become haggard and its hooves hit the ground heavier and heavier with each step. As he pulled back on the reins, Gus wondered if he would get the animal up to speed again.

  Between the pace he’d set and the terrain they’d covered, both of them had taken a powerful beating. Every bone in Gus’s body ached. His muscles were strained to their limits and his hands had all but locked up around the reins. Upon getting close enough to see the pass, Gus had to close his eyes and check the map in his head once more.

  That was it, all right. The Mogollon Mountains were directly east of him and there was a smaller batch of hills to the west. Tres Alamos lay to the southwest and Benson was at the end of a long stretch in his wake. Although his eyes rattled in their sockets after the long and arduous ride, Gus trusted what they told him. Now all he needed to do was look for the camp.

  He was surrounded by rough, rocky terrain that could hide any number of settlements from view. Most folks would have considered themselves lost with only the rocks, scorpions and snakes to keep them company. Gus McCord, on the other hand, felt at home. It was the closest thing to a level battlefield that any man could ask for, and if he was to fall in a place like that, it would suit Gus just fine.

  Gus surveyed the land without anything to disturb him. The peace and quiet felt so good that he considered staying put for a while longer. He knew his tuckered horse wouldn’t mind having a bit more of a rest. Unfortunately for the weary animal, Gus caught sight of the same kind of signal he’d used to catch Doyle’s attention not too long ago. The smoke that rose up had thinned out thanks to the churning winds, but was still enough to let him know there was a settlement nearby.

  Gus climbed back into his saddle and rode toward the smudge he’d spotted in the sky. Before long, he happened upon a trail that was marked by signs pointing to a place called Last Chance a mile or so farther down the road. The signs didn’t say if it was the name of the camp or merely a warning about what lay beyond it, but Gus figured he’d found the spot the kidnapper had told him about. Even if Last Chance wasn’t the place he was after, he could at least get a hot meal there.

  Having spent so much time avoiding trails and keeping his head down, Gus felt like he was riding into Last Chance as the prize target in a shooting gallery. He nearly drew his gun on several occasions when folks were simply looking his way to tip their hats or watch him the way they would any other stranger.

  The camp was quite larger than Gus had been expecting. It was nestled among a bunch of hills that were covered with trees that spilled down the slope in a wooden cascade. Last Chance might have gone unnoticed even if Gus knew it was there in the first place. Its larger structures backed against the hills and the smaller ones were scattered among the trees so the entire place seemed to have sprouted there right along with the mountains, themselves.

  Like most other camps Gus had visited, Last Chance didn’t have particularly organized streets or boardwalks. There were shops, saloons and carts selling all manner of items or food. There was even a fairly good-sized hotel stuck in among it all, making Last Chance appear as if it had been scooped up and tossed down again like a bucketful of mismatched dice.

  The farther Gus rode into the camp, the more closed in he felt. Smells ranging from animal scat all the way to freshly baked bread assaulted his nose. He could hear a banjo being played, and when he looked toward where the sound of the music came from, Gus found a wide, flat building marked simply as the Cheyenne. That place looked like a saloon, so he climbed down from the saddle and hitched his horse in front of it. That was when Gus realized just how hungry and tired he was. Fortunately, his nose brought him some encouraging news.

  The Cheyenne was a saloon, all right. Either that or it was the least respectable steak house he’d ever seen. Scents of cooked beef mingled with smoke from cheap cigars and even cheaper perfume. Several warped planks and even a few sections of broken furniture had been cobbled together to form the bar. It stretched along a back wall that had holes in it that were so big, they’d just been fashioned into windows.

  The banjo player sat on a stool in the corner closest to the door. He nodded to Gus and then shifted his eyes toward a much prettier sight. Two women stood with their arms draped over some men playing cards. As they worked their way from one gambler to another, they leaned down to display the natural assets showcased by the plunging neckline of their dresses. Gus admired the ladies for a few seconds, as well, but he looked away before he was noticed and singled out by one of them. He didn’t have time for that sort of thing. Not right now, anyway.

  Cutting as straight a line as he could through the room, Gus had to weave between tables of all different sizes and shapes. By the time he finally made it to the bar, he felt as if he’d walked a mile uphill through timber country.

  Knocking on a section of the bar that just happened to be an old door, Gus caught the bartender’s attention and said, “I need a drink. What have you got?”

  “Beer or whiskey. The owner makes some other sort of liquor from his bathtub, but I don’t recommend it.”

  “Where’s the beer from?”

  “I brew that myself,” the bartender replied as he puffed his chest out proudly.

  Against his better judgment, Gus said, “I’ll take one of those, with a whiskey to wash it down.”

  “A popular choice, my friend. You just get to camp?”

  “That’s right.”

  The barkeep set a mug and a shot glass down on the bar. Both were filled with liquid that looked hardly fit for human consumption. “You here to do some mining?”

  Gus picked up the beer, which put more of a smile on the other man’s face. Since that seemed to be enough to put him in the barkeep’s good graces, he replied, “That and a bit of work for the Bates Company. You heard of them?”

  Rolling his eyes up and around as if his answers were scribbled upon the canvas ceiling or rickety walls, the barkeep finally shook his head. “Can’t say as I have. There’s the Bateman Supply Company at the other end of camp, but I think they’ve been out of business for a while. Is that what you were after?”

  When he sipped the beer, Gus couldn’t help but wince at the mix of bitter and sour flavors that assaulted his tongue. Swallowing the stuff didn’t do him any good, since it left behind something that felt like sandy sludge dredged up from the bottom of a swamp. Playing up his expression, he said, “Damn, I must have gotten turned around somewhere.”

  “Well, there could still be work for a man like yourself here.” Leaning forward to nod at the gun strapped around Gus’s waist, the barkeep asked, “If you know how to use that shooting iron, I know some men who might be able to use you. If you need an introduction, let me know.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  The next few seconds were very important. In that time, Gus would know if he’d tipped his hand by skirting around the subject of the Bateman Supply Company. He’d gotten the information he needed, but he had to be certain he didn’t draw any attention to the real reason he was there. If anyone could be relied upon to be the gossip of any town or camp, it was a bartender.

  Suddenly, the barkeep turned toward the end of the bar that was a collection of broken chair backs nailed together. A few grizzled old-timers were waving at him, so the barkeep collected the money owed for the drinks and bid a hasty farewell.

&nbs
p; As soon as the other man’s back was turned, Gus picked up the shot glass and tossed back the whiskey inside. It was only slightly better than the beer, but had enough of a bite to burn away the horrible taste that had collected in the back of his throat. Gus set the glass down and waited for the whiskey to work its way through him like a fiery spark tracing a path down a twisted fuse. The liquor burned like sin, but went a long ways in calming Gus’s frayed nerves. He watched the barkeep until he was convinced the other man had gone on to more interesting things than the newest thirsty stranger to ride into camp.

  Gus left the Cheyenne and glanced toward the cluster of buildings that were built against the steep face of the nearby hills. Since there wasn’t much in the other direction, he guessed he’d find the supply company over there. Before he could give it another thought, Gus felt the touch of iron against his ribs.

  Someone had come up behind him with a gun and they’d been real quiet about it.

  Chapter 10

  “You’re gettin’ sloppy, Gus,” Doyle hissed from a little less than arm’s length behind him.

  Gus turned around in a flicker of motion to face his partner and snatch the gun from his hand. “Looks like we both are a little off our game.”

  As always, Doyle looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary. “Just keeping you on your toes,” he said. “By the way, if you drank any of the beer from that place, you’ll want to know that there are some outhouses right around back.”

  “I’ve had worse,” Gus replied as he handed back Doyle’s gun. He started walking into the denser part of the camp and Doyle fell into step beside him. “How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough to get a look at the place we were after. I hope you didn’t go around dropping the name of that company where it could be heard.”

  “I just asked the bartender if—”

  “Aww, for Pete’s sake,” Doyle groaned. “Lord only knows how many of them kidnappers are around here waiting to see if anyone’s lookin’ for them.”

  “I thought you were supposed to know that by now. Ain’t that why you’re here?”

  “It sure is, but all my sneakin’ about may be for nothing if you just waltz in here and announce your intentions.”

  Waiting until a group of men walked past them, Gus said, “I’m not stupid. I know how to poke around without making a fool out of myself. That’s a skill you might want to practice.”

  “All right smart-ass, what did you find out?”

  “Someone’s looking to hire gunmen.”

  Doyle furrowed his brow and asked, “Is that so? Who’s doin’ the hiring?”

  “Don’t know yet. I didn’t want to waltz into camp and announce that I was here to start trouble.”

  “Fair enough,” Doyle grumbled.

  “The barkeep is the one who brought it up,” Gus continued. “He made the offer as soon as he spotted the gun in my holster, so that must mean someone’s out to find gun hands as quickly as they can get them. Judging by how eager he was to scout for new men to fit the bill, I’d say there’s a good fee being paid to whoever steers candidates their way.”

  “Either that, or the barkeep needs men to look after his place. Could be any number of things.”

  “All right then,” Gus muttered, “what have you been doing with yourself all this time?”

  Doyle rubbed his hands together and replied, “Glad you asked. First of all, I ain’t been here very long but it’s been long enough for me to get a look at that place you mentioned. See that pile of wood right yonder?” He pointed farther into camp.

  Gus looked in that direction to find several larger buildings clustered together. Of all the buildings, only two of them were three floors high instead of just two. One of those taller specimens looked as if it was leaning back against the hill to keep it upright. “You mean that one that looks about ready to fall over?”

  “No,” Doyle said, “the one right next to it. The shorter one.”

  Sure enough, there was a smaller building that looked slightly sturdier next to the tall one. The second floor of that one sagged, but the rest of the building seemed fairly sound. From where he stood, Gus could make out no more than one or two windows that actually had enough glass in them to reflect the sunlight.

  “I see it,” Gus said.

  “That’s the Bateman Supply Company. Far as anyone around here knows, it’s just another one of the businesses that went under when folks started to leave camp for greener pastures. Some still say there’s business being conducted there, but nobody really knows what kind.”

  Gus turned to look at his partner. “You found out all of that?”

  “I haven’t been dawdling about in saloons,” Doyle replied. “Well, actually I have. Just not the Cheyenne. There’s another place called the Broken Spur that serves better liquor. That’s also where most of the gambling in town is, and before you get all riled up again, I’ll have you know folks say plenty of things when they’re sittin’ and playin’ cards.”

  “Like what?” Gus asked.

  “Like there’s been a good number of men comin’ and goin’ from Bateman Supply as of late. Could be them gun hands you hear about, but I don’t know who’s doing the hiring.”

  “Maybe you should find out.”

  Doyle stopped and crossed his arms. “What if it’s just some local matter? You want to waste time with that?” Before Gus could answer, Doyle added, “And what if it is them kidnappers? You want to just stroll on up to them, ask for work and pray they don’t know who we are? In case you got your head rattled one too many times, they might just be hiring men to kill whoever threw their operation off track. That’d be us.”

  “I know. I also know a real quick way to find that out for sure.”

  The longer Gus kept his eyes on him, the sooner Doyle realized what was on his mind. Finally, Doyle let out a sound that made it seem as if he’d just gotten a nose full of pepper.

  “Don’t even say it,” Doyle snorted. “You want me to go in there and see about taking one of them jobs? That’s what you want me to do?”

  Slowly, Gus nodded. “Going up to one of the men who’ve been hiring gun hands would cut right down to the heart of the matter pretty quick. If it’s just some local matter, don’t accept the job. If it’s something to do with why we’re here, it might give you a chance to find out how many men they already got working for them. That’s something we’ll need to know.”

  “I got a look at the place,” Doyle said. “Even in the dead of night, there’s armed men near that supply company. There may even be a good number of men inside. If there’s any place in this camp where someone could hold a hostage, keep her secret and keep her guarded, that’s the place.”

  “How many men are there?”

  Doyle shrugged. “I don’t know for certain. I just scouted out what I could without bein’ seen. I suppose I could try to get a closer look from the inside, but why’s it got to be me that does such a foolish thing?”

  “You’re better at being foolish than I am,” Gus pointed out.

  Doyle tried to stay angry, but couldn’t hold out for more than a few seconds. Clenching his jaw, Doyle shook his head and muttered, “I shoulda pulled my trigger when I got the drop on you a few minutes ago. I really should have.”

  “Honestly, Doyle, which one of us do you think will get recognized first? Which one of us always gets picked out first? Which one of us always winds up with a picture on them wanted notices, while the other just gets a name?”

  “Folks remember the ugly ones better than the pretty ones, I suppose.” After letting out a heavy sigh, Doyle said, “Fine. I suppose I can ask about it at the next game. What’s that leave you with?”

  “I’ll get a closer look at that company, maybe even get inside the place. What I’d really like is to make certain that lady is here at all. If word got back about what happened in Benson—”

  “It didn’t.”

  “Pardon me?” Gus asked.

  “Take a look for
yourself,” Doyle replied matter-of-factly. “Do you see any telegraph wires? Do you see any train tracks? There ain’t no way for anyone to have gotten here faster than I did.”

  “And what if they got here while you were playing cards?”

  Doyle shrugged and finally admitted, “I suppose that’s a possibility.”

  “Which is why I ought to go into that building and have a look for myself. If word got back, they might have just moved her to somewhere else. Whoever was left behind will know where they went, but it won’t be long before the rest of them head out as well.”

  “And why wouldn’t they all leave at once?” Doyle asked.

  “Because they wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to kill anyone who came looking for them.”

  Smirking, Doyle said, “You always was the smart one. I got a feeling this could be the biggest job we’ve had in years.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You gotta be right about these kidnappers. There’ll be a real nice price on their heads. Bringing this lady home might even earn us some favors from that family and that could come in real handy if they know a judge or a politician or such.”

  “I guess it could,” Gus replied.

  Doyle swatted Gus on the shoulder while wearing a wide grin. “Shooting up that train was a hell of a move, my friend. Damn near got us killed and it still might get us killed, but it was a good move. If we work fast enough, we should be able to make the most of it.”

  “So you’ll try to get in with those men looking to hire on gun hands?” Gus asked.

  Doyle shrugged as if he was deciding whether he should have cake or pie for dessert. “Sure, why not? I can handle myself well enough to figure out what I need to know. If it leads to Bateman Supply, I’ll expect you’ll be there to back me up. If not, I can see what I can make of it.”