by Phil Dunlap
“What’s goin’ through your mind, Tom?” asked Stretch, the tall, skinny brother whose nickname was an obvious reference to his appearance. All three Texas outlaws did their best to blend in and not bring undue attention to themselves, mostly spending the days lounging on a bench in front of the hotel pretending to read a newspaper or whittle a stick.
“That bank seems pretty busy. Another couple days and it’ll be ready for the Callahan Brothers to stage a withdrawal. A big fat one. Any objections?”
“None from me,” Stretch said.
“I’m not near as sure as you two are,” Dal said. He sat forward and unfolded a well-read newspaper he’d picked out of the trash, shielding his comments with the paper held in front of his face. “I recognize that sheriff. Saw him in action a few years back in Texas. Not a man to mess with.”
“There’re three of us, Dal, and only one of him. What’s the problem?” Stretch said.
“He’s got a deputy. Memphis Jack Stump. I’ve heard of him, too.”
“So what?”
“Makes it two of ’em we could have to face. And we don’t know if there might be more with itchy trigger fingers,” Black Tom said. “And, I mighta made a mistake, but I could swear I caught a glimpse of a man that looked a lot like that son of a bitch Carp Varner walking out of the sheriff’s office yesterday. Couldn’t swear to it, though.”
“Varner? What the hell would he be doin’ here?” Stretch asked.
“Who knows? I can’t imagine he’d throw in with the law, more’n likely just the opposite. But if there was money to be made, who knows? With Varner, there’s just no sense to be made of him or his ways,” Dal added.
“I can’t figure out why the man’s still alive. Shoulda been gunned down a long time ago, far as I’m concerned,” Stretch said.
“I’m thinkin’ the same. But folks do seem to put up with a lot of hell-raisin’ before they get down to doin’ somethin’ about it,” Dal said. “I give you Dirty Dave Rudabaugh as an example of what I’m sayin’. Now, can either of you tell me why that filthy pig is still runnin’ around free as a bird?”
“The man’s got nine lives, like a cat’s supposed to have. Although, I never really believed that,” Stretch said.
Black Tom rolled his eyes.
Dal just shook his head.
“How about if I go into the bank, maybe ask about how safe the place is? I could act like I’m thinkin’ of movin’ a large sum of money to a bank that’d be safer than that tin box they got in Socorro,” Stretch said.
Still shaking his head, Dal said, “Now, pray tell what banker is goin’ to believe you got two cents to rub together, let alone a ‘large sum’?”
“If I snuck into one of them stores at night and stole myself some nice duds, I’ll bet they’d believe me,” Stretch said.
“All right, enough! Bickerin’ ain’t goin’ to get us anywhere. I say we continue to lay low for a few more days, at least until we can size up who all we might be up against. Can’t be in a hurry when there’s big money at stake,” Black Tom said, biting his lip and looking off into the distance.
* * *
Carp Varner was keeping a keen, but clandestine, watch out for the Callahan Brothers, where they went and where they were at all times. He was spooked by what their presence might mean to his own plans for Apache Springs. They were the only ones who knew him and his reputation from back in Texas. He made sure he left his shop only after dark, and then he went out the back way, staying close to the buildings and remaining in the shadows. Fortunately, during the day he could spot them as they rode into town and took their places on the hotel porch.
As he was ramming a rod with a cloth down the barrel of a Sharps rifle that had come in the day before, he got an idea. He’d noticed the Callahans rode in early and left town late in the day. It was almost as if they were coming and going on a schedule. But why? The only reason he could think of was to make sure no one followed them to learn where they were holed up. But who would care? Maybe someone in town had recognized them and knew them for what they were: outlaws. As far as Carp knew, however, they weren’t wanted in New Mexico for anything. At least not yet. He had noticed they stayed away from the saloon and seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time lounging around on the porch of the hotel or on the public bench outside the mercantile.
Maybe they don’t want to draw attention to themselves for some particular reason. That’s it! They’re plannin’ on robbin’ the bank, and, if so, that could interfere with whatever plans I may come up with for this town.
He pondered that idea for a while, not certain if sharing such information with the sheriff would be beneficial to him or not. If he voiced his suspicions, the sheriff would probably only keep an eye on the Callahans, since he couldn’t arrest them based on hearsay of a citizen, and a recent one at that. Sheriff Burke would ask him why he had misgivings about the men, who, to that point at least, had caused no trouble, even if they were wanted in Texas. Then there’d be more questions about how he knew them and then the inevitable digging into his own past. He didn’t need any of that. While he’d been very careful not to leave any trail that could be followed by anyone except an Indian, he could never be too careful about what information he shared with anyone.
He set about changing some of the furniture around in the shop and cleaning the dirt off the front window. He scooted the display case around so instead of a customer walking up to it as soon as he came in, he’d have to turn to the left. He then put the workbench at a ninety-degree angle to the counter. That way he had a better view outside at all times. He also kept two loaded revolvers in the desk drawer and the ten-gauge shotgun under the counter. He never went anywhere without his own sidearm, either. His Smith & Wesson Schofield had served him well for a long time. Besides, he felt naked without it strapped on and ready.
Looking over the new layout, he smiled to himself, satisfied he’d done all he could to thwart any danger the Callahans might conjure up on his behalf, if on the off chance they spotted him. He wasn’t about to leave himself vulnerable to whatever mischief those notorious gunslingers might be considering. Another thought then popped into his mind.
What if he was to jump in and help take down the Callahans when, or if, they did attempt something as audacious as robbing the bank? Of course, he’d have to be sure none of them lived to say anything about him. Would that make him a hero in the eyes of the community? Could becoming an instant hero erase the doubt that he’d clearly seen in the sheriff’s eyes? He pulled the ten-gauge from beneath the counter and leaned it against the workbench.
If those three boys are fixin’ to do what I think they are, this old ten-gauge scattergun will come in handy. Why, I might even be asked to consider becoming a deputy. Now, wouldn’t that just speed my future in the community right along?
Chapter 32
Johnny and Rachael arrived in Socorro late in the day. They were dirty, tired, and hungry. As Johnny helped Rachael off the horse, she groaned and stretched. They were both exhausted from being in the saddle for such a long time. She looked around for a place to get some food while he tried to locate the livery. They hadn’t eaten much more than a rabbit he’d shot and some biscuits they’d wrapped in a checkered napkin back in Las Cruces. Knowing they were broke, the sheriff in Las Cruces had slipped Johnny a couple dollars for helping keep the jail swept and the trash taken to the dump. Johnny slipped the bills into his pocket and promptly forgot about having any money. He was so used to being completely broke, having even a few dollars seemed foreign.
“There,” Rachael said, pointing down the street to a small adobe building. “That looks like it might be a restaurant. Maybe there’s somebody still there. I’ll go have a look while you get the horse some grain and put her up for the night.”
Johnny was too tired to say anything. It was all he could do to keep from collapsing in the street, curling up, and going to sleep right
there. He just nodded and started leading the mare down the street in search of a corral.
When Rachael got to the little restaurant, which turned out to be not much more than a hole-in-the wall, she peeked in the open door. There were no customers. The only person she saw was a short, rotund Mexican lady clearing the four small tables in readiness for the next meal. She figured that would be breakfast. The lady broke into a cheery smile when she saw the young girl and motioned her inside.
“Good evening, señorita. Would you like some tortillas and beans? Plenty left. Come, you will enjoy,” the lady said.
Rachael looked around to find Johnny, but he was nowhere to be seen. She took one step inside. She was hesitant since she had no more than fifteen cents left. She figured that wouldn’t go far, certainly not far enough for two. If Johnny couldn’t eat, she wouldn’t either. The smells coming from inside instantly reminded her of how little she’d had to eat in the last few days, and the journey had been difficult at times. She sighed and started to leave, giving the lady a weak smile.
“No, do not leave, señorita. I can see you are hungry. There is more than I have sold today and I don’t want to throw it out. You probably have no money, but that is bien. Por favor, come and sit with me. I don’t often get another mujer to talk to.”
“I, uh, I have a friend. We are traveling together. He went to find a corral. We are riding together on one horse and have come a very long way. But I couldn’t eat without him sharing. Thank you anyway, ma’am. You are very kind.”
“Feed one, feed two, what difference is one more mouth? Bring him and I’ll feed you both. Prisa, I prepare some habas for you.”
Rachael’s eyes lit up at the woman’s words. To find food and be able to share with Johnny was a thrilling stroke of luck, especially in a place where she knew no one. She stepped outside, glancing around. She’d about given up when she spied him coming from between two dark buildings. She called out to him.
“Johnny, hurry. There is food here.”
Just the word “food” quickened his steps. When he got to the little restaurant, he whispered, “Rachael, you know we don’t have any money.” He’d completely forgotten what was in his pocket.
“Don’t worry. I do have fifteen cents, but a very kind lady has offered to feed us for free. Come inside, quickly.”
He put his arm around her waist and they walked in together. When the restaurant owner saw him, she gave him the same warm smile she’d given Rachael. They went over to a table that had not yet been cleaned, so as not to disturb the lady’s hard work at setting up for the morning meal.
“No, no, sit here, mis amigos. I have set out nice silverware and plates just for you, my huespedes especiales.” The lady waved them to a different table, nearer the kitchen. The two of them looked at each other as if they’d never experienced such kindness before and no one had ever considered them special. If they’d thought about it, they’d have realized that wasn’t really the case, for in every instance where they’d found themselves in need, someone had stepped up to lend a hand, asking nothing in return. When the lady placed a bowl of beans and a plate of steaming tortillas in front of them, it was all Johnny could do to keep from grabbing a handful of the refried beans and stuffing it in his mouth, foregoing the use of any utensils. He didn’t, however, but instead, gathering all the control he could muster, he sat with hands folded in his lap like an obedient son awaiting a mother’s signal that it was okay to dig in. Rachael found his tentativeness amusing and covered her mouth to keep from giggling.
Before joining them, the lady went to the door and shut it. She threw a colorful shawl over her shoulders and then sat at the table with them. “The nights are becoming cooler. I fear a hard winter.”
“We have seen signs of that very thing all the way from Texas,” Johnny said. He had yet to touch anything on the table.
The lady leaned forward on her elbows and, with narrowed eyes, said, “Well, young man, do you eat or must I treat the pigs to a fiesta?”
“Oh, uh, yes, ma’am,” he said, and plunging his spoon into the beans, he dug in. The look on his face said just how enjoyable it was. As they both ate, the lady looked away as if she were trying to find the answer to some dark secret. Johnny was too busy shoveling food into his mouth to notice, but Rachael was alert to the lady’s drifting off.
“Ma’am, is there something wrong?”
“Oh, no, nothing niño. It will pass as all things evil do.”
“Evil? What kind of evil happened?”
“Sí, I forget you just arrive. I should not trouble you with such news. You eat and forget the ramblings of an old woman.”
That got Johnny’s attention. “Well, if it’s something we can do to help, we’d be obliged to try. You sure been kindly to us, and we’d like to return the favor.”
“You can do nothing. It is done with. Even the sheriff says so, a man who has never been disposed to trouble himself over a couple of poor Mexicanos.”
“Can you tell us about it?” Johnny asked, between bites.
“It happened to my brother, José. He was knocked down two weeks back.”
“Is he, uh, okay, though?” Rachael asked, timidly. She’d put her spoon down and was now more interested in the lady’s story than in filling her stomach.
“He fell and hit his head on the doorframe. He died from his wound, I’m afraid. We lay him to rest in the cemetery outside of town, even though they do not put our kind with the whites. But we got a plot in the back and it’s not so bad.” She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.
“Who hit him and why?” Johnny asked, now intensely interested.
“He did not get out of a man’s way when told to, and the man struck him, right in front of the restaurant. The man was very angry.”
“That’s what he got shot for? Not movin’ fast enough? What kind of an animal would do such a dastardly thing?”
“Don’t know his name. Somebody said it, but I don’t remember it. He was tall, thin. Wore a dark duster, a pair of tall boots, and a big red bandana, like cowboys wear. I swear his eyes were black as coal. There was a devil inside that man.”
Johnny’s rage, excitement, and bloodlust all converged on him at the same time. He felt full to bursting with an urge to yell, “Hurrah!” We’re finally on the right trail. His expression took on the look of a madman.
Carp Varner! I’m comin’ for you. And don’t think for a minute I won’t catch you and blow you straight to hell, myself.
“Did the sheriff arrest the man?” Rachael asked, hoping the lady wasn’t frightened by Johnny’s suddenly dark countenance.
“Oh, no. Thees killer just ride away free as a bird. Didn’t even have no posse sent after him.” The lady hung her head and sobbed.
“Anyone see which direction he went?” Johnny asked.
“Took the west road is all I know.” The lady continued dabbing at her tears.
Rachael put her hand on the lady’s arm.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am. But I figure he’ll get his comeuppance before long.”
“You can just about bet on it, “Johnny said through gritted teeth.
After they thanked her for her kindness, the lady tearfully watched after them as they left to find a place to bed down for the night. They headed for the livery stable where Johnny had boarded the horse. Straw would make for a pretty decent bed for the two of them, as well.
Chapter 33
Cotton muttered to himself as he stopped leafing through some new wanted dodgers. He didn’t like what he saw. Three brothers wanted for a bank robbery three months ago in Texas. It hadn’t happened in New Mexico Territory, but they had shot a teller, and that might just make it his business, especially if the three men sitting on the bench in front of the hotel were those very same wanted men. No picture accompanied the description, but it fit them pretty well. It said they were the Callahan Bro
thers, from Amarillo. What were they doing here? Planning to rob another bank, maybe? He needed to make sure they were who he figured them to be without making a fuss that could end in someone getting shot. As soon as Jack got back from checking to make sure doors had been locked along the two streets comprising the town, Cotton figured to lay out a plan to get one of them to give up a name.
Jack came through the door looking beat and plopped into the chair across the sheriff’s desk. He stared at two piles of wanted papers, one wadded into little balls and the other piled neatly.
“What you got there? Why the wadded up dodgers?”
“They’re either in prison or dead.”
“We kill any of ’em?”
“A couple. Sure takes a while to get the posters out to all the sheriffs and marshals. It would help if they got here before we were forced to gun ’em down.”
“Who’s that one in your hand for? Anyone we know?” Jack got up and took a cup from atop a file cabinet. He poured a cup of coffee, then returned to his chair.
“Maybe. Here, take a look. You recognize these three?”
“Callahan Brothers, hmm, don’t sound familiar but . . . wait! There’re three hombres sittin’ in front of the mercantile right now. Kinda fit the description. Been here a day or so. You think that’s them on the poster?”
“Don’t know. Need to find out. I saw them when they rode in, but they seem to be stayin’ to themselves. Before we march over there and arrest some innocent cowboys on a pretty thin description, we’d better make sure.”