“You hunt other whites, eh? That what law-man do?”
“There is more to wearing a badge.”
The warrior poked him in the shirt. “Badge, yes. Where metal star or metal circle? Whites who hunt other whites wear badge.”
“My badge is in my saddlebags. I can show you if you want.” Ash went to rise and received another prick.
“Not care you law-man,” the warrior said. “All whites bad. All whites only good dead.”
Ash’s hand was under his jacket. He had done it so slickly, they hadn’t suspected. “Tell me something. How many whites have you and your friend killed? Or am I your first?”
The warrior grinned. “It twelve winters I kill first white. Bluecoats attack village. I kill soldier with arrow. I kill whites everywhere. White men. White women. White small ones. Kill strange man who wear black clothes and carry big”—the warrior paused to find the right word—“carry big book.”
“You killed women and children and a man of the cloth? If anyone has it coming, you do.”
“Coming?”
“The reaper,” Ash said. Drawing the pocket pistol he shot the warrior between the eyes. The force whipped the warrior’s head back. The other one wasn’t close enough to use his knife and spun to run off. Ash put two slugs between his shoulder blades and watched the body convulse and twitch.
“It’s a good thing I started carrying Lonnie’s hideout,” Ash said to the horses. He had been lucky. Very lucky. Or as that man of the cloth might say, Providence had a hand in his deliverance.
Ash couldn’t stay there. The pair might have friends not far off, friends who heard the shots. Reluctantly he saddled both animals. He doused the fire with water from his canteen and with dirt. Since he’d ridden the roan last he climbed on the grulla. “You’ll get to rest later,” he promised.
Ash imagined a horde of redskins rushing toward him and used his spurs.
At night the hills reared like squat toads. Sounds came out of them: the snarl of a cougar, the bleat of a doe, hissing and rustlings and once the ululating scream of God knew what.
Ash wasn’t overly worried. He would be far away before the dead warriors were found, if they ever were. He took a fix by the North Star and headed to the northwest. In the excitement his fatigue had evaporated. He felt as if he could ride all night.
Ash pushed on for half an hour and changed his mind. He had a long day in the saddle tomorrow.
The next flat spot he came to he reined up.
Intermittent cries continued to pierce the night, predator and prey in their orgy of blood and flesh.
Once more Ash settled in, his saddle for a pillow, the Winchester at his side. He was amazed that in his fight with the warriors his chest hadn’t bothered him. The pain was so unpredictable. There was no rhyme or reason to when it struck.
As if to prove him correct, the pressure returned, the worst so far. Ash bore it as long as he could and then he resorted to the morphine, eagerly plunging the needle into a vein.
The wonderful morphine.
Ash sank back and bit his lower lip, waiting for it to take effect. He didn’t have to wait long. The pressure eased, or he had the illusion it did, and the pain was no worse than a dull ache.
Holding the hypodermic in his palm, Ash ran a finger over it from plunger to tip. He held up the morphine and said in earnest, “I don’t know how I’d get by without you.”
From then on, Ash vowed, he wouldn’t.
Chapter 9
It was a decrepit hovel in the literal middle of nowhere. Ash would have sworn it was abandoned if not for the horse at the hitch rail and the small corral out back with several more horses dozing in the heat. A wagon was parked nearby. The sign said TIMBERLY’S. His nose told him it was a saloon.
Ash was upset. He’d lost the trail. Rocky ground was to blame, ground so hard there were no tracks, not so much as the scuff of a hoof. He’d spent half a day roving in ever wider circles, and nothing. Now he was pushing to the northwest in the hope Sharkey had continued in that direction.
Ash climbed down and arched his back to relieve a cramp. He left the Winchester in the scabbard and went in. The smell curled his nose, the odor of whiskey and beer mixed with other, fouler reeks. The place was so dark he stopped to let his eyes adjust.
A long plank on stacked barrels ran the length of the back wall and served as the bar. Two tables and a few chairs were to one side. The man behind the bar looked as if he rolled in dirt every morning and was scratching himself. He introduced himself as Oscar, then raised the tips of his fingers to his nose and sniffed.
“What’ll it be, Mister?”
“Whiskey.” Ash had not had a drink since that sip in the livery and he dearly yearned for more. The man set a glass in front of him and reached under the plank and produced a bottle. “Give me that.” Ash took it and opened it himself. He swallowed, smacked his lips and said, “I’ll keep this.”
Oscar chuckled. “Whole weeks can go by and I don’t see a soul, but now in the past few days I’ve had you and the others before you.”
Ash tried to sound calm when he was vibrating with excitement. “Others, did you say?”
“A wild and wooly bunch. Rode in here and got all liquored up and played cards and whored for three days. They had come a long way and needed the rest, Ben told me.”
“Ben?”
“Oh. Sorry. The boss, I guess you’d call him.” Oscar leaned on his elbows and lowered his voice. “They claimed to be a cow outfit. But between you and me, if they were punchers I’m the Duke of London. More likely they rode the high lines, if you know what I mean.”
“They’ve moved on, have they?” Ash hid his disappointment.
“Just this morning.” Oscar slapped at a fly on the plank and missed. “All save for one.”
Ash almost choked on the whiskey he was swallowing. Coughing to clear his throat, he said, “There is one still here?”
“They took turns poking Big Ears Alice. One had her three times or more and then wanted another dip. Their boss said he could catch up and him and the rest left.” Oscar jerked a thumb at a doorway to the back. “The one who didn’t is back there now, the randy goat. Between you and me, he’s got peculiar taste in women. She’s as ugly as a stump and just lies there when you poke her.”
Ash was hardly listening. Setting down the glass, he drew his Remington and cocked it.
“Hold on. What do you need that for?”
Ash pointed it at him. “Stay right where you are and keep your mouth shut. I have business with that gent in the back.”
“I don’t want no killing.”
“What I do depends on him.”
“I hate cleaning up blood. It gets all over everything and half the time the stain won’t come out.”
Ash wagged the Remington. “Stay still and keep quiet. Don’t buck me or you’ll regret it.”
“I don’t much like being threatened.”
Staying to one side of the doorway so he wasn’t silhouetted against the dim light, Ash peered down a short hall. The door at the end was shut. From beyond it came a rhythmic creaking.
“Who the hell are you, anyway? What is this about?”
“I said to hush.” Ash crept toward the door. A voice reached him, a woman’s. He couldn’t quite make out what she was saying.
The creaking grew louder. Bed springs, unless Ash missed his guess. He placed an ear to the door.
“That’s it, baby. Nice and easy. We want you to last this time. There’s never any need to rush with sweet Alice.”
Ash gripped the latch. He eased it until it clicked, then slowly pushed.
The room had a bed and a small table with a lamp and a chair. It reeked worse than the saloon. On the bed were the man and Big Ears Alice. The man had his back to the door. Both were buck naked. The woman’s dress and corset were in a pile. The man’s clothes had been flung every which way. The bed creaked to the grind of the man’s hips. Ash could see Alice’s face over the man’s shoulder a
nd she appeared downright bored. She caught sight of him at the same instant and her eyes widened. She had the good sense not to cry out.
“Maybe you better hurry, sweetie.”
Her customer grunted.
Ash sidled around. The man looked to be about forty, with bushy brown hair and a mustache but no beard. He was well muscled except at the gut where he had a pot. His eyes were closed and he was lost in the moment. Ash let him keep at it.
Alice stared at Ash. “That’s it, Cleve. Make your sweet Alice happy. You’re so big and strong. I swear, I never met a man like you in all my born days.”
She stifled a yawn.
Ash sat in the chair and trained the Remington on Cleve.
“That’s it, honey. Yes. Yes. Like that. I’m almost there. Just a little bit more.”
Cleve became a steam-engine piston.
Ash fought down a laugh. He winked at Alice and she grinned. Her teeth weren’t half bad.
“Yes. Yes. Oh yes. Oh, Cleve. Can you feel it? Can you? Now honey. Oh, now.”
Cleve turned red in the face and thrust madly. He gasped a final “Uhhh!” and collapsed on top of her, sucking air like a bellows. “Alice, you are the best,” he said sleepily.
“Thank you, sugar. But I wouldn’t doze off right now if I were you.”
“Why not?”
“We have company.”
Cleve’s eyes snapped open. They were brown and beady and narrowed in anger when he saw Ash. Slowly sitting up, Cleve declared, “Mister, you better have a damn good reason for coming in here.”
“I do,” Ash assured him.
“You couldn’t wait your turn?”
“It’s not the lady I’m interested in. It’s you.” Ash cocked the Remington. “You ride with Ben Sharkey. I’m trying to find him. Tell me where he is and I’ll leave you to your pleasure.”
Cleve showed no fear. “Are you the law?”
“I was once,” Ash admitted. “Not anymore.”
“Why are you after Ben, then?”
“He shot me. I aim to return the favor.” Ash aimed at the man’s foot. “You have until I count to five.”
“Go to hell. Ben Sharkey is my pard.”
“One.”
“Ben and me have ridden to hell and back again. I’d walk through burning brambles for him.”
“Two.”
Alice tried to slide out from under Cleve but he wasn’t budging. “Damn it. I don’t want to be shot too.”
“He’s bluffing,” Cleve told her. “No lawdog, ex or otherwise, shoots unarmed people.”
“Three.”
Cleve shook a fist. “It won’t work. Save it for them as is green behind the ears. I’m going to get up and pull my britches on.” He placed his right foot on the floor.
“Four.”
Cleve put his other foot down, his arms out from his sides. “See? I am behaving. Now you can holster your six-shooter and we’ll talk about this civilized-like.”
“You should borrow Alice’s ears. They work better than yours,” Ash responded. “Five,” he said, and fired.
The slug caught Cleve in the ankle and went all the way through. Bone, blood and skin spattered the floor and the underside of the bed. Cleve screeched, fell onto his side and clutched his leg. Swearing and snarling, he rolled wildly about, spittle dribbling from his mouth.
Alice shrank against the wall and pulled the blanket to her chin. “Darn it, Mister. Oscar will make me clean that up.”
Ash cocked the Remington again. He didn’t think Cleve would hear it over the cussing but Cleve stopped thrashing and gave him a venomous look.
“I will see you dead for that if it’s the last thing I ever do. So help me God, I will.”
Ash aimed at the other foot. “It’s not smart to threaten someone who is holding a pistol on you when you’re unarmed and bare-assed and bleeding like a stuck pig.” He stood. “To be fair I will ask you one more time. Where is Sharkey bound?”
Cleve spat at him.
“I have sometimes wondered,” Ash said patiently, “if outlaws don’t leave their brains in their diapers. This time I’ll only count to three. Unless you’re partial to crutches, you should start wagging your tongue.”
“Mister, I’d rather die than help you.”
“One.”
Big Ears Alice extended an arm toward Cleve. “Tell him, for God’s sake. I don’t want you shot again.”
Cleve gave her a kindly look. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Concern, hell. It’ll just make a bigger mess and be more work for me. Don’t be a jackass. Do as the man wants.”
“Two,” Ash said.
Cleve squared his shoulders and sneered. “I’m no weak sister. I’ve been kicked by a stallion and had my leg broke. I’ve been bit by a dog down to my wrist bone. I’ve been stabbed by a redskin and lived to blow out his wick. I’ve been shot once before too. Do your worst.”
“It’s your foot,” Ash said, and shot it.
At the blast Cleve did more flopping and swearing and bleeding. When he exhausted himself, he lay quaking in agony and hissing through his teeth. He stopped hissing to say, “Kill you, kill you, kill you.”
Ash cocked the Remington.
“Now you just hold it right there!” Cleve shouted, holding out a scarlet-smeared hand. “You have shot me enough for one day.”
“Ben Sharkey.”
“All right. All right.” Cleve sagged and bowed his head. “I know when I’m licked.” The next instant he hurtled across the floor at his pants. He flung them aside, exposing a gun belt and a holster with an ivory-handled Colt. Like lightning he snatched the Colt out and up and swung around.
Ash shot him in the head. He was so mad at being thwarted that he went over and shot him twice more between the eyes. Then he kicked the body, not once but several times.
“He can’t say you didn’t warn him,” Big Ears Alice said.
Ash made for the door.
“What’s your hurry, big man?”
“I’m not in the mood.” Ash hadn’t been since he was shot. He didn’t rightly know why.
“I was wondering how much the information you want is worth to you,” Alice said. “Fifty dollars, maybe?”
Ash still had the money he had taken from Lonnie. He had been debating with himself over whether he should spend it or return it. “Are you saying you know where I can find Ben Sharkey?”
“I heard them talk. I know where they’re headed.” Alice held out her palm. “But it’s not free.”
“I can’t afford fifty,” Ash lied.
“How much can you afford?”
“Ten.”
Alice snorted. “Hell, that’s hardly worth the bother you’ve put me to. You killed stupid there. You made a mess of my room. The least you could do is make it worth my while.”
“Twenty is as high as I can go and at that I’ll be broke.” Ash realized he was making a habit of stretching the truth lately, something he never did when he wore a badge.
“I suppose that will have to do.” Alice let the blanket sag, inadvertently showing most of her bosom. “Everyone is always telling me I’m too kindhearted for my own good.”
“This better be the truth.”
“As God is my witness,” Alice vowed. “I heard Ben Sharkey say that Texas had become too hot for him. He robbed a bank and he shot a lawman dead and . . .” She stopped. “Say, was that you? You don’t look dead to me.”
“Get to the damn point.”
“You don’t have to be a grump about it. I said I’d tell you and I will. Sharkey and his men are interested in having a grand time. They’re heading for a place where the whores wear finery and the whiskey is imported and they can live high on the hog for as long as their ill-gotten gains last. I do mean high. A mile up, to be exact.”
Ash knew of only one city that fit. “Denver.”
“Denver,” Big Ears Alice confirmed. She showed more of her bosom. “Now that you know, can I interest you in a poke?”
> Chapter 10
The gateway to the Rocky Mountains, fittingly enough, was at an elevation of 5,280 feet. The Mile-High City, everyone called it.
A stepping-off point for gold and silver seekers, it was famed for its crisp mountain air and clear mountain water.
Denver was famous for other aspects too. Its lawless element, for one thing.
While cow towns like Dodge and Abilene were written about more often in the newspapers, Denver’s lovers of illicit pastimes thrived in their own special part of the city.
It was known as the Street of a Thousand Sinners, in reality a lust-and-crime-plagued district of four square blocks. Bawdy houses and gambling dens abounded. No one had taken a census but it was estimated that more than a thousand fallen doves plied their sensual wares in those four blocks. Add in the gamblers, footpads, confidence swindlers, toughs and badmen, and it was no wonder it was said that if someone wanted a foretaste of hell, all they had to do was visit the Street of a Thousand Sinners.
Denver had its law-abiding element, too. The fact was, the law-abiding outnumbered the lawless by a substantial margin. The rest of the city had little crime and was safe to visit any hour of the day or night.
Denver had done as many cities and towns did: they denied their dark underbelly by confining it to a small area, effectively hiding their vices from those who preferred to pretend vice didn’t exist. Politicians could crow they had made the streets safe. Churchgoers could go to and from their houses of worship secure in the knowledge that the taint of sin wasn’t in plain sight. As the saying went, out of sight, out of mind.
All of this went through Asher Thrall’s head as he rode down Holladay Street. Holladay was the hub of the vice district. He had heard about it but never visited it before, and he had to admit, it was a wonderment to behold.
A bubbling stream of humanity plied the streets and boardwalks. Many were women in bright dresses and bonnets who were taking time off from their pastimes of parting randy men from their money and doing what most women everywhere most liked to do: shop. The men were a mix of townsmen and dandies, miners and cowhands and others.
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