He dragged a dollar bill from his pocket and slapped it on the bar.
The bartender eyed the bill before he poured a large whiskey from a full bottle and pushed both across the bar to Dewey.
Two yards to Dewey’s side, Cassidy raised his glass to his lips. Then he lowered it and snorted a laugh.
With one bleary eye open and the other eye closed, Dewey paced round on the spot to face Cassidy.
‘What are you finding funny?’ he said, wafting a great breeze of stale whiskey-breath into Cassidy’s face.
‘I’m just enjoying seeing a man with money,’ Cassidy said, blinking to clear his watering eyes. ‘You win it in a poker game?’
‘What’s it to you where I got me money?’
‘I like a game of poker myself and if there’s one going, I’d like to know where to go.’
‘No poker.’ Dewey pushed himself from the bar and waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘And you ask too many questions for my liking.’
Cassidy watched Dewey shuffle across the room, lurch into his table, right it, and then finally fall into his chair. Cassidy turned and downed his drink and then patted Hearst’s chest with the back of his hand. With his back straight and keeping his gaze from Dewey, he headed outside.
Cassidy headed towards the store, not waiting for Hearst to join him, and then turned and leaned on the rail.
At a steady pace, Hearst joined him and matched his posture.
‘What do we do now?’ he asked.
‘We wait for Dewey to drink the last of his money away. Then we start our investigation.’
Chapter Seven
The sun had set when Dewey left the saloon and stumbled off the boardwalk to land in a sprawled heap. He levered himself to his feet, pointed down the main drag and set off on a snaking route.
Outside the store, Cassidy and Hearst straightened. With a last glance around to confirm nobody was looking at them, they followed Dewey, keeping on the boardwalk.
Dewey was whistling tunelessly and raising his hat to every passing person. None of these people returned as much as a glance, but that didn’t dampen Dewey’s good spirits as he hailed everyone, whistled, sang, and enjoyed his good fortune.
At the edge of town, he reached his horse, a mangy bay and, on the fifth attempt, rolled into the saddle. He slumped forward and was on the brink of tumbling to the ground, but the horse, with practiced skill, set off out of town, rocking Dewey back in his saddle.
Cassidy watched Dewey until he was sure of his direction and then headed back to his horse. At a walking pace, he and Hearst headed out of town, following Dewey, but keeping as far back as they could while still keeping him in sight.
Four miles out of town, Dewey’s horse stopped outside the wrecked remnants of a house that consisted of three walls, all crumbling, and canvas dragged over the burnt roof timbers.
For a minute, Dewey sat in the saddle but then the horse nudged forward, awakening him from his drink-fuelled slumbers.
Dewey started and half-rolled, half-fell from the saddle. Then he wandered into the shell of the house. As he disappeared from Cassidy’s view, Hearst shook his head.
‘I still don’t see how that wretch can lead us to Fernandez or Nathaniel, unless you plan to ask his horse. It knows the way around better than Dewey does.’
Cassidy laughed. ‘Dewey will lead us to them because he is a wretch, but one with money. From his determined effort to drink himself senseless in the saloon, he doesn’t have money that often and he got it recently, and I ask myself how.’
‘Well, he didn’t win it in no poker game.’ Hearst rubbed his chin. ‘So, from the look of him, I reckon he stole it.’
‘Perhaps, but Dewey doesn’t strike me as resourceful enough to steal, and I have a hunch.’ Cassidy tugged on the reins and pulled his horse from the trail. ‘I’ll back my hunch that he got that money from a source that’ll lead us to Nathaniel.’
Hearst shook his head, but then followed Cassidy.
‘Either way, Cassidy, your hunches just get stranger.’
Cassidy paced his horse to the house and dismounted. With Hearst two paces behind him, and still shaking his head, he raised the canvas wall and peered into the shell of the house.
In the corner of the building, Dewey was sprawled on his back beneath a threadbare blanket and rasping out snores.
Cassidy gestured for Hearst to guard Dewey’s escape route, and then paced into the house. He stood over Dewey and tapped his foot against his ribs with an insistent rhythm.
Lost in sleep, Dewey muttered and batted forlornly at Cassidy’s foot as if it were an irritating bug, but with each blow, Cassidy swung his foot further back until Dewey shrugged away.
‘What do you want?’ he whined, his voice slurred. He peered up at Cassidy with his eyes narrowed.
Cassidy paced round so that the dying remnants of light on the western horizon lit his face.
‘To talk to you.’
‘I remember you.’ Dewey clapped his mouth open and closed, and then settled down. ‘Don’t care where. Go away.’
‘We met in the saloon.’
‘I can’t buy you no more drinks.’ Dewey’s voice faded as his eyes closed. He shuffled on to his side. ‘I drank all the money away.’
‘Where did you get that money?’
Cassidy glared at Dewey, but snores were already rasping from his throat. Cassidy kicked Dewey’s leg.
Dewey gurgled a last snore. He opened an eye and considered Cassidy’s foot until he stopped kicking him.
Dewey ran fingers through his bedraggled hair and then shook a fist at Cassidy.
‘Go away. You’ve got nothing on nothing I’ve done.’
Dewey rolled over on to his other side, turning his back on Cassidy. He grabbed his blanket and pulled it up to his chin.
Cassidy gestured to Hearst, who paced to Dewey’s other side and swept Dewey’s blanket away from him.
‘Answer the question,’ he said.
Dewey reached behind his back for the blanket with his eyes clamped tight, but when his questing hand couldn’t find it, he crawled to the wall and rolled over. He propped himself against the wall and held out his tattered jacket.
‘I’ve got no money. I own nothing but these clothes and me horse, and you won’t get much of anything for either.’ Dewey glanced at Cassidy and Hearst in turn, receiving only steely glares. ‘Ah, come on, people. I wouldn’t be living here if I had anything to steal.’
‘We don’t want to steal anything ,’ Hearst said, leaning down to place his face a foot from Dewey’s. ‘We just want to know where you got that money.’
Dewey narrowed his eyes. ‘What have people said?’
Hearst stood tall, while Cassidy shrugged.
‘Nothing, but that leaves me to surmise,’ Cassidy said. ‘I’ve got a theory that you sold information, and in return, you got some drinking money.’
Dewey gulped and rubbed a shaking hand over his mouth.
‘Don’t know nothing about that.’
Cassidy nodded and half-turned from Dewey.
‘Then I’m sorry. I must have got it wrong. I’ll head back to the saloon and tell everyone my theory that Sheriff Ballard came into some mighty interesting information today about Rodrigo Fernandez.’ Cassidy winked at Hearst, who returned a nod. ‘I’ll wonder aloud whether you sold him that information.’
Dewey slammed his eyes shut so tightly that his face almost caved in.
‘Talk like that isn’t fair on no one.’
‘You’re right. I reckon Fernandez won’t ask too many questions before deciding it’s true.’ Cassidy nodded to Hearst. ‘Come on. We’ve got a saloon to visit.’
Dewey rolled to his feet and stumbled to Cassidy’s side. He laid a shaking hand on Cassidy’s arm, his eyes watering and beseeching.
‘If I tell you the truth, what will you do?’
Cassidy favored Dewey with his friendliest smile.
‘I’ll leave you alone.’
‘In t
hat case I did sell Sheriff Ballard some information.’ Dewey lowered his head, muttering under his breath, and then turned his watery gaze back on Cassidy. ‘But know this, no matter what you threaten me with, I’m not saying nothing that could make Fernandez think I sold information about him.’
‘I’m not looking for Fernandez. I’m looking for Nathaniel McBain. Apparently, he’s just joined Fernandez.’
Dewey nodded. ‘I told Ballard everything I know about him, and that isn’t nothing more than the news that McBain and another man joined Fernandez last week.’
Cassidy advanced on Dewey, who backed away until he stumbled into the wall. Cassidy loomed over Dewey and darted his hand to his jacket pocket, Dewey flinching, but it was only to extract a dollar bill, which he tucked into Dewey’s top pocket.
Dewey patted his pocket. ‘Obliged for the money, but I’d be more obliged if you didn’t tell anyone about this.’
‘I won’t, but you’ve told me nothing new. The money is for what you’re about to do.’ Cassidy grinned. ‘You’re taking a message to Nathaniel.’
Dewey’s mouth fell open. Then he closed it with a shaking hand and rubbed his bristled cheeks.
‘I can’t do that,’ Dewey babbled. ‘Nobody knows I sell information to Ballard. Fernandez tolerates me being around – I guess he reckons I’m just a whiskey bum stinking up the bar, but if I pass on a message to someone near to him, he’ll figure out what I’ve been doing. I’ll be dead by sundown.’
‘Quit worrying, Dewey. This message won’t get you killed.’ Cassidy smiled and laid a friendly hand on Dewey’s shoulder. ‘Nathaniel won’t tell Fernandez about it, and the message is short. In fact, it’s just one word.’
Chapter Eight
‘How much longer will he be?’ Spenser asked.
Nat leaned back on his crate and glanced around the trading post. For two hours, they had waited.
Several of Fernandez’s men had already entered, acknowledged them, but not drawn them into their discussions.
‘Fernandez’s coming,’ Nat said. ‘Just be patient.’
Spenser tapped his fingers on the top of the barrel before him with an insistent rhythm.
‘I am patient. I just don’t like waiting.’
Around the trading post, men shuffled as the door opened, but then returned to their drinks, ignoring the portly and downtrodden man who slouched to the counter.
Spenser glanced at Nat and raised his eyebrows.
‘Dewey Wade, I think,’ Nat whispered.
Nat hunched over his drink, but from the corner of his eye, he saw Dewey look at him before ordering a whiskey. Nat ran his glass through his fingers, waiting, and, sure enough, Dewey shuffled across the room and slumped down on a crate beside him.
With his shoulders hunched, Dewey glanced around the trading post, but nobody was looking at him, so he pulled the crate closer to Nat and cleared his throat.
‘I’ve got a message for a Nathaniel McBain,’ he said.
‘I answer to Nat McBain.’
‘Message is the same no matter what you answer to.’ Dewey gulped back his whiskey and wiped his quivering mouth with the back of his shaking hand, stilling it. Then he leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘The message is a name – Cassidy.’
Nat’s guts grumbled, but he bit back his shock and shot out a hand to grab Dewey’s collar.
‘Who gave you the message?’ Nat pulled Dewey’s collar tight, but Dewey firmed his jaw and clamped his mouth tight. ‘Was it Cassidy Yates?’
Dewey’s eyes rocked from side to side. Then he shrugged.
‘I don’t ask names when they’re not—’ Dewey gulped as Nat flared his eyes and pulled him forward, the action drawing the interest of several men by the door. He sighed and lowered his voice to a resigned whisper. ‘It was him.’
Nat released Dewey’s collar and threw him back on his crate.
‘You don’t sit with us!’ he snapped, raising his voice and throwing back his hand, as if to slap Dewey’s face. ‘We’re mighty particular about the company we keep.’
Dewey furrowed his brow, but then his eyes glazed as he realized that Nat was giving him an excuse for their confrontation and jumped to his feet.
‘I’m particular about who I sit with, too. I wouldn’t—’ Dewey threw his arms before his face as Nat raised a fist and then pointed to the counter. ‘I’ll stand over there.’
Dewey scurried to the counter, his plight raising a chuckle from several men around the post.
Nat dismissed Dewey from his mind and contemplated his glass. Spenser was looking at him, waiting for an explanation, but five minutes passed before Nat had ordered his thoughts sufficiently to turn to him.
‘Sorry, Spenser, but we have to abandon our plans,’ he said. ‘Cassidy Yates is close.’
‘Cassidy was your former boss?’ Spenser leaned closer to Nat and considered him until he nodded. ‘Then I’m not surprised that he’s come for you, but that’s no reason to be nervous. Once we’re in Fernandez’s gang, we’ll be safe. Besides, the raid is in two days, and if Cassidy is closing on you, he hasn’t got the time to track you down.’
‘I know how Cassidy works, and he isn’t just close.’ Nat glanced at the door. ‘He’ll walk in here within the hour, perhaps within the next minute.’
Spenser looked over his shoulder at Fernandez’s men who were sitting around the post.
‘Then he’s an idiot.’ With an outstretched finger, Spenser tipped back his hat and sat back on his crate. ‘But if you’re that worried, we can leave. We don’t need to be here when Fernandez arrives. We have information he needs, and he can find us.’
‘You don’t understand. Cassidy wants me to run. He’s watching the post, waiting for me to leave.’
‘You can’t know that. It took us months to infiltrate Fernandez’s gang. Cassidy can’t know you’re here that quickly.’
‘He can. He found Dewey, just about the only person who could give me a message.’
Spenser shook his head. ‘The message was only his name. You’re reading too much into it.’
‘I’m not. The message wasn’t important. Cassidy just wanted to find me. So, he followed Dewey until Dewey led him to us. That means he’s outside, right now.’
Spenser patted Nat’s shoulder. ‘Quit worrying. We’ve been through plenty together. We’ll see off another lawman.’
‘We won’t. Cassidy isn’t just another lawman. Cassidy is . . . was my friend. When he deputized me, I promised to always help him. So, I won’t take him on. You know me, Spenser – I never go back on my word.’
Spenser shrugged. ‘You did that when you stopped being a lawman and joined me.’
‘I rejected the lawman life. I didn’t reject Cassidy.’
Spenser rolled forward on his crate to rest his hands on his knees. He considered Nat, shaking his head, but then the door creaked open and he pulled Nat back to lean against the pile of bags behind them.
‘Company,’ he said and looked over Nat’s shoulder, watching, from the steady footfalls, two men pace across the post. ‘They’ve got the look of lawmen. The older man is—’
‘I don’t need a description,’ Nat said, looking to the ceiling, his guts clenching from thinking about a confrontation that he hoped he’d never have to face. ‘It’s Cassidy.’
‘What do you want?’ the post owner asked.
‘Provisions.’
The authoritative voice wasn’t Cassidy’s. With hope fluttering in his chest, Nat edged forward to see the counter.
Nat winced. The man who’d spoken was facing him and wasn’t Cassidy, but the man with his back to him was.
With a glance at Nat, Dewey pushed himself from the counter and headed outside, his gaze averted from Cassidy.
Cassidy watched Dewey leave and then turned to the post owner. A moment later Luther rolled to his feet and paced across the post to stand beside him.
‘You want an awful lot of provisions,’ he said.
‘Got an
awful long journey ahead of us,’ Cassidy said and smiled. ‘Sooner we get them, the sooner we’ll be on our way.’
Luther considered Cassidy and nodded. He turned but, as he left the counter, he glanced at Nat and Spenser, who were both sitting as far back into the mess of bags as they could.
A sly smile spread as he appraised their attempts to hide from the newcomers. Then Luther swung back to face Cassidy.
‘And you don’t want anything else?’
Cassidy glanced at the list in the post owner’s hand.
‘Nope. I reckon Hearst’s ordered everything we need.’
‘Except I reckon you’re looking for someone,’ Luther grunted and squared off to Cassidy.
With Luther raising his voice, four men pushed themselves from the wall and paced across the room to surround Cassidy and Hearst.
The man who stood nearest to Hearst strode forward a pace, slammed his hands on his hips, and leaned forward to glare into Hearst’s eyes.
Hearst glanced at Cassidy, who shook his head, and Hearst backed away a pace. Then Luther edged his hand towards his holster, forcing Cassidy to swing round and knock his hand away.
Within seconds, all five men had leapt on Cassidy and Hearst, pushing them back against the counter.
Four more men peeled from their crates and spread out to stand on the edge of the fight, searching for an opening, but so many men surrounded Cassidy and Hearst that they couldn’t deliver a single blow.
Nat jumped to his feet and took a pace towards the fight, but Spenser grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
‘This is where we leave,’ he said.
‘I’ve got to stop this,’ Nat said.
Spenser slammed a firmer hand on Nat’s shoulder, while by the counter, the tangle of fighting men parted as Cassidy fought his way out.
Nat and Cassidy’s gazes locked. Then Luther shoved Cassidy to the floor and two more men dived on his back, knocking him flat.
With his guts rumbling at his actions, Nat lowered his head and let Spenser lead him to the back exit.
Wanted McBain Page 3