Marty’s experienced gaze took in the crowd of miners, merchants, and a sprinkling of cowboys. “Keep it. I’m lookin’ for a fellow named Luke Graham. I hear he has eyes for a crib gal named Lupe. She work here?”
“Naw, we don’t have any whores here. Gamblin’s our thing. The gal you’re thinkin’ of most likely works for Morales, down at the Cantina Rojo. He’s got mostly Mex gals workin’ his cribs. It’s at the end of the street. Ya can’t miss it, the doors are painted red, jus’ like the name says.”
Marty put a ten-dollar gold coin on the bar. “I’m also lookin’ for a fellow who only has three fingers on his left hand. Tall, slender, with black hair, dark eyes. Rides with a Mexican sidekick and goes by the name of Alva Hulett. Ever run across him?”
The money vanished so fast, it seemed as if it had never been there. The bartender scratched his left cheek and thought for a moment. “Nope, can’t say as I ever did. He may have crossed this way, but I never noticed him if he did. You a lawman?”
Marty gave the bartender a wan look and said nothing. The bartender nodded in understanding and swiped at the bar top with a rag, moving toward a beckoning customer farther on down the bar. Marty took a final sip of the beer and put the half-empty glass back on the bar. He slowly walked out of the saloon and grabbed Pacer’s reins, before walking down the side of the only street in the town toward the red door cantina at the far end.
The stucco-walled building was three stories tall, by far the most imposing building in the town. The second and third floors had balconies running completely around the structure and the flat roof had a three-foot-high parapet around it. It looked as if it was ready to stand off an assault by marauding Indians at any moment. Marty made a mental note of the lack of a sheriff’s office or jail as he walked toward the cantina.
Tying Pacer’s reins to the end of a nearby hitching post, Marty eased his pistol out and back into its holster. Taking a deep breath, he walked past twin lanterns that highlighted the red wooden doors of the establishment and walked into the cantina, pausing inside to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the interior.
Two musicians in festive Mexican vaquero costumes were playing a spirited Latin love ballad, while numerous men drank or gambled at the faro and roulette tables along the back wall. Several tables of cardplayers filled the front portion of the building. Weary-looking, mostly Hispanic women circulated among the men, listlessly caging drinks or offering pleasures of the flesh to any who would pay their price.
Marty moved over until he was belly-up to the bar. A hard-looking Mexican bartender with a narrow-style mustache worked his way down the bar toward him, serving tequila and beer to patrons as he progressed. When he reached Marty, he paused, waiting for Marty’s order. “Qué desea usted?”
“Cervesa, por favor.”
The beer was served and the barkeeper moved on, leaving Marty to casually scan around the hazy, smoke-filled interior of the cantina. He saw no one who matched Graham’s description, either at the gaming tables or at the card tables. He motioned to the bartender, who worked his way back to Marty. “Uno más?” He motioned to the half-empty glass in front of Marty.
“No, thank you. I’m looking for a gal, name of Lupe. I heard she was very nice. She working tonight?”
“Oh, sí. She upstairs now. Wait a few moments and she weel be back down.”
“Dang, I hoped to beat ole Luke here. I guess he got in ahead of me, didn’t he, the sly dog?”
The bartender gave Marty a friendlier grin. “You friends with Luke? Sí, he beat you here by three hours. He has Lupe in her room for more than two hours now. He weel be down soon, I think. Then you can enjoy her charms. Another beer while you wait?”
Marty grinned back and nodded, happy to be as close as he was. He could wait a few more minutes, he supposed. He decided that he would try and take Graham quiet-like and then get him out of town. They could stop for the night once away from the immediate help of any friends Luke might have in the dissolute town.
Marty sipped at his beer and watched the stairway leading down from the row of rooms up above the gaming floor. Eventually one of the doors opened and a young man and woman swaggered toward the stairway, arms around each other. The man matched the description of Luke, and wore a pistol belt and holster decorated with silver Mexican conches. They laughed at a private joke and then started down the stairs. That was Marty’s cue to push away from the bar and move slowly toward the foot of the stairs, his hand hovering close to his holstered pistol.
Luke Graham paused as his wild side suddenly rang a warning. He quickly scanned the room below. His neck hairs were as stiff as a cat’s whiskers. Someone or something posed a threat to him down there. What was it?
Marty pushed past a laughing pair of drunken men and looked up. His gaze caught Luke’s. Marty ducked his head down, wondering if his intent stare had alarmed Luke.
Had it ever! Luke recognized the deputy he had seen in Reno, the one who was also a bounty hunter. He wildly looked around. Should he draw and shoot, run back up the stairs, or try and brazen his way past the deputy? Marty kept moving toward the stairs, forcing Luke’s hand. Grabbing Lupe by her long black mane, he drew and triggered a quick shot at the tall lawman moving his way.
Lupe screamed in pain as Luke jerked her head back, her weight falling against Luke’s side, spoiling his shot, which hit the floor at Marty’s feet. Marty shoved a drinker aside and turned over a card table, drawing his pistol and pointing it at the two people slowly making their way back up the stairs, Luke hiding behind the struggling Lupe.
“Give it up, Graham. You’re not gonna get away, even using the gal as a shield. Throw away your gun and come on down here with your hands up.”
Luke fired again, his bullet slamming into the tabletop. Marty poked his pistol around the side and sought an opportunity to nick Luke without hurting the girl. Luke pulled her to the top of the stairs and into the room they had just vacated. He slung Lupe onto her bed and quickly crawled out the window onto the balcony. Dropping to the packed dirt of the side alley, he grabbed the first horse he saw and thundered into the darkness, headed for the railroad stop at Elko, sixty miles to the southeast.
Marty was up the stairs as soon as the door closed and burst into the room just as Luke’s horse galloped away. He climbed through the same window and ran around to the front of the cantina, where he dropped to the street and jumped on Pacer’s sturdy back. He was galloping after the fleeing outlaw before the dust from Luke’s flight had drifted back to the packed dirt of the street.
A three-quarter moon poked its silver rim over the eastern horizon as Marty settled into his saddle. He was confident that Pacer had enough in him to catch up with any horse taken by the escaping outlaw. He looked down. The silvery dust was broken up by the black hoofprints of the horse ahead. He could have followed Luke’s trail if he had been a blind man.
Chapter 7
Another Outlaw Bites the Dust
Luke spurred his tiring horse again. The animal was obviously old and of poor quality. Luke knew the laboring animal would not last much longer at the speed he was pushing him. Cursing his bad luck, he looked for an opportunity to stop and ambush the law dog on his trail. By the silvery moonlight, he had seen the solitary rider closing the gap on him at the top of the last hill. The lawman was certainly mounted on a better horse than the one Luke had stolen.
Off to the west, perhaps a quarter mile from the dusty road, was an outcropping of large boulders that had over the millenniums fallen from a sheer sandstone cliff. Jerking his reins, Luke turned his horse toward the shelter of the rocks. He could hide among them and pick off the lawman when he rode up. At the least, he could rest his horse and light out again once the moon set, hopefully before dawn cast enough light for his pursuer to follow his tracks.
Marty spotted where Luke turned off the road. He pulled Pacer to a quick halt and surveyed the rocks in the distance. He caught a quick glimpse of Luke as the fleeing outlaw rode into the maz
e of sandstone. Marty was not crazy enough to ride into an obvious ambush. He climbed off Pacer’s back and loosened the cinch of his saddle. He reached into his saddlebags and pulled out a sack of oats. Once he fed Pacer, he poured some water into his hat and let the horse have a short drink.
With the moon shining so brightly on the silvery sand of the high Nevada desert, there was no way Luke could get out of the trap he had put himself into without Marty seeing him. Marty took a sip of water for himself and walked off the road until he came to a small mesquite plant growing through the parched earth. He tied Pacer’s reins to it and made himself comfortable against a small boulder, which made a tolerable backrest. He was patient and willing to wait for Luke to come out of the rock pile. The desperate fugitive was not going anywhere as long as the moon cast its silver glow over the desert.
Marty lay quietly as the hours passed and Luke Graham stayed secreted behind his fortress. The moon progressed across the southern sky. As it dipped beneath the western mountains, Marty leaped to his feet and quietly rode away from the rock pile, anxious to beat Graham away from the area and to get ahead of the fleeing outlaw. Marty galloped across the desert to the top of a low rise a mile to the south of the cliff and pulled up. He had not crossed the road, so he was certain Luke did not know he was now ahead in the chase.
Luke suffered in vain waiting for Marty to come closer to his ambush, but the wily bounty hunter seemed satisfied to sit by the road, perhaps hoping Luke would make some sort of move against him.
That was not in Luke’s plans. He settled himself against a large boulder where he had a view toward the road, determined to outlast the persistent law dog who was pursuing him. Startled, he roused himself from an unintentional light doze. The moon was down and the sun was still below the eastern horizon. He saddled his nag and slipped out the far side of the boulders. Walking his horse slowly, he made his way to the road and then turned south toward Elko.
Marty tied Pacer off the roadway a hundred feet. In the darkness, Graham would not see the animal as he rode up. Pacer was too well trained to make noise, so Marty settled behind a large cactus bush to await his prey. He hoped that Graham would not deviate from his previous direction of flight in the early morning darkness.
His patience was rewarded when he heard the soft footsteps of a horse working its way up the slope toward him. Luke was riding slowly, directly toward him. Marty pulled his pistol and crouched by the side of the road, keeping his breath slow and even as he awaited the coming confrontation.
The sky lightened a shade against the dark earth. From his perspective, Marty was able to see Graham’s silhouette long before there was any chance of Luke spotting him. If anything, he blended into the cactus. When Luke was within a few feet, Marty abruptly stood up, his six-gun pointed at the dark mass of rider and horse.
“That’s far enough, Graham. Get your hands up right now.”
The sudden movement and sound startled the horse. It reared straight up like a horse half its age.
Luke was pitched off the back end of the terrified animal and hit the ground like a sack of flour. Even so, he somehow struggled to his knees and managed to grab his pistol and fire a shot at Marty. His luck was bad and the bullet sped aimlessly into the darkness. Marty’s shot was an instant later and his aim was true. He hit the unfortunate Luke high in the right shoulder, spinning him to the ground.
Luke’s fight was over. He lay in a heap, moaning in pain. Marty hurried up to the downed outlaw to check him for hideouts and then pulled off Luke’s belt and holster. He tossed them next to the pistol lying in the middle of the road, faintly visible under the rapidly lightening sky.
“Oh, oh, my arm. You broke my arm.”
“Shut up, boy. You had your chance. I told you to back off, but you had to try and buck long odds. Hold still now, so I can see just how bad you’re hit.” Marty flared a sulfur match and checked the damage. “You’re lucky, Luke. It looks like the bullet passed clear through without hitting bone. Let me get the wound plugged and you’ll live to stand trial for your crimes.”
Luke squinted up at Marty through pain-filled eyes. “You’re Keller, ain’t ya? Damn my luck. If it weren’t bad, I wouldn’t have none.”
“Tell that to the man you killed. You’re lucky to be alive, fella. I was aiming for your center, not your wing. Now be quiet and let me work.”
By the time Marty finished, it was light enough to see clearly. Marty gathered Luke’s weapon and horse and then made a campfire from dried mesquite branches, scattered in abundance on the parched soil. He brewed up a pot of coffee and helped the wounded Luke to sip some from his tin cup. Then he had a full measure before hoisting his whining prisoner back on the stolen horse and embarking on down the trail to Elko.
“Ain’t ya gonna take me to Tuscarora? It’s only twenty miles back thattaway. It’s near forty to Elko. I need tendin’ by a sawbones.”
“Sorry, bub. You’ll have to make do. I reckon you’ve got too many friends in Tuscarora. We’ll see what’s available in Elko. If not there, you’ll make it to Reno on the train, I betcha.”
“But it hurts.” Luke moaned piteously. “I’m hurtin’ real bad.”
“I suspect that guard you killed during the stage holdup would trade places with you, whaddya think?”
With him bitterly complaining with every mile, Marty escorted Luke into Elko the next afternoon, just before the westbound train was scheduled to leave. He stopped at a sign proclaiming a doctor was available for business and watched as the old sawbones swabbed out the wound and cauterized it with a hot iron. Luke fainted, even though he had taken a healthy swallow of laudanum.
“Any chance I can get him on the westbound train, Doc?”
The rummy-eyed old physician shook his head. “Nope. You’ll have to wait until Tuesday’s train. He’s gonna have to rest up some. You can get him a bed at Stella’s place. She’ll make you up some beef broth to replace some of the blood he’s lost.”
Marty nodded glumly and waited until Luke regained consciousness. He helped Luke over to the small rooming house across the street from the doctor’s office. He obtained a room for the both of them and as soon as the middle-aged Stella had Luke carefully tucked in bed, chained Luke’s good arm to the bedstead with his wrist cuffs. Luke cussed bitterly, but shut his mouth after Marty gave him a healthy smack upside his head. “No cussin’ in front of the lady, Luke. Mind your manners, hear?”
Luke sullenly nodded his understanding, so Marty gave a quick smile to Stella. “I hope he’ll behave, Stella. If not, smack him on the noggin, or give me a call. I think I’ll wash up and grab a bite to eat. Don’t let him get a hold of any type of knife or such. He may look harmless, but he’s a killer and he wants to get away worse than anything else in this world. Don’t get careless around him, understand?”
Stella nodded and followed Marty out of the room. “Doc Winters wants me to make him some broth. I’ll wait until you come back to take it to him. You say you’ll be gone Tuesday?”
“Yes’m. I’ll be in the room with him tonight and I’ll stay close tomorrow, so you needn’t worry. As long as you stay away from him, he’ll not bother you.”
Marty took Pacer and Luke’s stolen claybank to the livery to be fed and cared for. He got a promise from the stable boy to return the claybank to Tuscarora as soon as practicable for a five-dollar gold piece. Marty then grabbed a quick meal at the local beanery and returned to the boardinghouse. He bade good-bye to a relieved Stella on Tuesday afternoon, doubling her normal rental rate, and got Pacer and Luke on the westbound to Reno.
He was in the boomtown by early the next morning. He had Luke locked up in the cell next to the fugitive McNeal, the outlaw who had brought Marty to Reno in the first place. Longabaugh was getting around without any problem and Marty treated him to a big breakfast at the Chinaman’s Café.
Jesse saluted Marty with his coffee cup. “I’m pleased you brought Graham in alive, Marty.”
“Actually, Jesse, it was more
luck on his part than skill on mine. He drew down on me and I snapped a quick shot back. If I’d have hit him where I meant to, we’d be plantin’ him on boot hill about now.”
“Well, I reckon it’s good fer yur reputation to bring one in alive now and then.”
“I’d bring ’em all in that way, if they’d let me, Jesse. I take no pleasure in killin’ ’em. There’s only two men on my death watch and you know who they are.”
“Hear anything about them up Elko way?”
“Nope, not a thing. I’ll find ’em, though, come hell or high water, I’ll find ’em someday.” Marty thoughtfully sipped. “You get off a telegram for me to the law in Carson City claiming the reward for Luke Graham?”
“Right after I finish this here nice breakfast you’ve been so generous to buy fer me.”
“In the meanwhile, I reckon I’ll lollygag around town and then get some rest. You want to go out shootin’ with me tomorrow?”
“Why not? It’s a good way to keep my hand in. Now I reckon I’d best get some work done.” Jesse grinned at Marty. “You oughta git yourself a bath, if you git my meanin’.”
“Why, thank you, pard. I was wonderin’ if I’d got enough fragrance on me to make you notice. I reckon I’ll do just that. Then I’m gonna take a long nap, safe in the knowin’ that you’re out there protecting the town and me while I relax.”
The two friends parted at the door. Marty did enjoy both a long, hot bath and a day’s sleep. He came out of the hotel just as the sun was dipping low in the west, stretched, and ambled toward the café, where he planned to attack a thick fried steak and potatoes. He waved at Jesse walking toward him across the street, a piece of paper in his hand. Marty waited until Jesse crossed over and came up to him.
“Afternoon, Jesse. I’m about to get a big steak at the café. You interested?”
“Might as well, Marty. I got a reply from the sheriff in Carson City about your reward.”
Stagecoach Graveyard Page 6