by Jake Logan
Alvin walked away from the table.
Hiram stared at the man he knew as Sinclair and his eyes narrowed to slits. Smoke from the barrel of Sinclair’s pistol spewed out in a slow serpentine plume that seemed to crawl toward the ceiling.
The saloon darkened for Bledsoe. It became a gigantic cave, swarming with fantastic creatures. He gulped in air, but the saloon had been transformed in his mind.
The Chinese men seemed to turn into dwarves and demons. The girls were changed into gossamer-winged fairies. Men at the bar were bat-like with fanged wings and unholy visages.
In the midst of all of it stood that man, taller than Alvin, taller than any man or demon in the room, and his face shone gold in the lamplight as if he wore an ancient mask.
Bledsoe sat there, transfixed by the images his mind had conjured up. To his eyes, the glasses and tankards were daggers and pistols in the hands of the Chinamen.
Hiram got up from his chair and hugged the wall, which had become the rock of a cave, and crept along its length. Nobody noticed him as he reached the hallway leading to the storeroom and the back door. He shivered in fear as he opened the door and emerged on the loading platform. He descended the steps and ran down the alley to the back door of his hotel. He entered the dark hallways and stole into the lobby. He climbed the stairs to his room on the top floor. His mind was filled with terrifying images and he did not light a lamp. He sat in the darkness for a long time, unable to separate illusion from reality.
There came a loud knock on his door.
The sound startled him and he turned to look at the foyer with its shifting shadows and impenetrable mysteries.
“Who is it?” he called, his throat filled with phlegm.
“Boss, it’s me, Tom Brody. Got to see you.”
“Yeah, Tom. A minute.”
Hiram walked to the door, listened for a moment, then opened it. A man stood just outside, tall, broad-shouldered, commanding. He wore a shiny badge on his vest that proclaimed him Town Marshal.
“Come on in, Tom,” Hiram gruffed.
Tom was forty years old, with sagging skin on his lean chiseled face. He bore a mustache that dripped past his chin on both sides. His gun belt glistened with cartridges and the butt of his Walker .44 jutted from its holster. He followed Hiram to a table and took off his Stetson as Hiram sat down and waved him to a chair.
“It’s mighty dark in here,” Tom said.
“The light hurts my eyes. What’s up, Tom?”
Hiram composed himself and sat back against his chair.
“I just come from a secret meeting with our boy up in that renegade camp,” Tom said.
“You saw Fossey?”
“I seen him at our meetin’ place. He took care of that bastard, Jessie Nolan.”
“Good. But those miners now have rifles.”
“Funny thing. Ralph said there was a new man in camp. Sounded like the man who kilt Cass Hobart. Rode in on a black horse. Dressed all in black. He didn’t catch his name. He said that Rod kept him all to hisself mostly. And then, this mornin’ the man was gone. But he left his black horse.”
“What do you make of it, Tom?” Hiram asked, his voice a husky whisper in the shadowy room.
“I dunno. Makes me wonder, though. Then, I saw two of my men lugging out the bodies of them two Mexes.”
“Did you go into the saloon?”
“I went in for a quick look. Saw blood on the floor. Drag marks. Thought you’d be there, but Alvin said you wasn’t there. So I come up here.”
“Did you see the man who shot Carlos and Fidel?”
“There was a tall dude up at the bar. He was talkin’ to Ronnie. I give him a good look and then ducked out.”
“And?”
“He didn’t look like much to me. Another damned gold digger.”
“I wonder why Ronnie was talking to him,” Hiram said.
“Hell if I know. But he wasn’t wearin’ black clothes, so I didn’t give him much of a thought.”
“Alvin say anything about the man?”
“Nope. Just said he was quick on the draw. “
“Go get us a bottle and a couple of glasses off the bar, Tom,” Hiram said. “I got to give this some thought.”
“Hell, I can’t see shit in here, boss.”
“Light a lamp.”
Hiram pulled a cigar from his pocket and bit off the end. He lit it while Tom went to the bar and lit a lamp with a taper. The light streamed a stiletto of illumination across the tabletop. There was a clinking of glasses and the thunk of a bottle as Tom wrested one from behind the bar. He walked to the table carrying the glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Tom sat down and poured liquor into the glasses as Hiram lit his cigar and filled the shaft of light with a smoky haze.
Tom drank from his glass. He saw Hiram’s face then, a ghostly visage that he could scarcely recognize.
“You feelin’ okay, boss?” Tom said.
“I’m okay,” Hiram said. “What do you make of the stranger, Tom? I offered him a job.”
“Just another digger, far as I’m concerned. He didn’t look like no gunfighter to me.”
“You’re dead right, Tom. That feller Sinclair don’t look like no gunfighter. And he probably isn’t. But he outdrew them two Mexes. Like lightning he was and they never cleared leather. It was Carlos and Fidel what jumped that jasper and he just laid them out, one shot apiece, like they was tin cans on a log.”
“Is that why you offered him a job, boss?”
“Nope. Had nothing to do with it. Maybe I took measure of the man he really was when I met him. But his gunplay convinced me I’d made the right decision.”
“You’re a puzzlin’ man. He might be one of them what’s hidin’ out. Sent down here to spy on us.”
“I thought of that,” Hiram said. “For a minute. And I come up with a lesson my old pap taught me a long time ago.”
“What’s that?” Tom asked.
“You can make an enemy and watch your back for the rest of your life, my pap told me. Or you can hire him and make him into a friend.”
“That don’t make much sense to me.” Tom took a swallow from his glass and licked his lips. He picked up a stray mustache hair with his tongue and had to fork it out of his mouth with two grimy fingers.
“The man’s down and out. He come here with no grubstake. Thinks he can scratch gold out of sandstone or dip it out of the creek with a pan full of water. I pay him hard cash and he’s mine, like you, Tom, or the rest of my men. You were just drifters, goin’ from town to town, lookin’ for the easy money. Remember?”
“I remember. I was about at the end of my rope when you met up with me. All I had was a bunch of measly greenbacks and a smokin’ gun.”
“This feller is cut from the same bolt of cloth,” Hiram said. “In a way, that is. I figger he’s played out in every minin’ camp from Coloraddy to the Canada border and this was his last chance.”
“What about you, boss? Is this town your last chance?” Tom knew he shouldn’t have asked that question, but Hiram had brought it up.
“Maybe. There’s gold here. Proved and weighed. I don’t need a stake, I just need to grub all of it out that I can and head west, buy me a small ranch, and watch my money graze on high grass.”
“That was what I wanted once,” Tom said, feeling the melancholy of a broken dream.
“We pull this off, you’ll have money. You can hang up your pistol on a peg and settle down with a pretty wife.”
“Ha. I can just see me a-sittin’ in a rockin’ chair on the front porch.”
“Maybe that’s the wild in you, Tom. I had it once myself. Then I got smart. Let other folks break their backs to earn grub money. Not for me, I said, and I set out to make my fortune off the labors of others.”
“I can savvy that,” Tom said. “Yes, sir, you got th
e right idea, boss.”
“That feller, Sinclair. He told me he wouldn’t jump at the pay I held out.”
“No? Maybe he is one of them what’s up in the timber, then.”
“No, I think he’s just a careful man. He said he’d give me an answer in two days. I took to that. Though I ain’t used to bein’ refused when I make an offer.”
“So you’ll know in two days, then.”
“I want you to shadow Sinclair. Befriend him, if that’s what it takes. Buy him a drink or two, make out like you’re just lonesome for company. See what you think after you get to know him better.”
“I don’t take much to strangers, much less greenhorns like him.”
“I need to know what makes the man tick, Tom. If he hires out to me, I’ll have him on my side. If not, well, he can sure as hell walk the plank.”
“You mean, put him in the ground.”
“Yes, that’s what I mean. He don’t have eyes in the back of his head. If he don’t pan out like I want, you just put a hole in his back and we won’t worry about him no more.”
“I can do that,” Tom said. He finished off his drink.
“Where’s this Sinclair stayin’?”
“In the hotel. First room on the ground floor. Next to your office.”
“That’s handy, I reckon. You’d be doin’ me a big favor. Just let me know what you think of the man. Before the two days is up.”
Tom rose from his chair and put his hat back on.
“It ain’t such a tall order, boss. I’ll give him a good lookin’ over.”
“Good night, Tom. Close the door real quiet when you leave. I’m goin’ to bed pretty quick.”
“Good night, boss. Sleep tight.”
Bledsoe chuckled as Tom walked across the room and out the door.
He thought of Sinclair. He might be a spy, but there was no proof yet. Tom would find out soon enough. A spy had to have meetings, and if Sinclair strayed from his diggings or acted suspicious, Tom would sniff him out.
His hunch about Sinclair was that he was just another down-and-out prospector who smelled gold dust and that was why he’d drifted into Sawtooth.
But then, there was that report from Jerry Bassett about the man who had killed Cass Hobart and from Ralph Fossey, the spy who was with the runaway prospectors. A man in black who had been with Jessie Nolan when he wagoned in the rifles. That man had no name, and had disappeared. Was there a connection there?
Pretty bold, if so, Bledsoe thought.
Well, Tom would find out, and then Bledsoe would show him who was bold.
He closed his eyes and drank the rest of the whiskey in his glass.
There were few men he trusted. Tom was one of them. He might never trust Sinclair if he did come to work for him, but at least he would be where he could watch him. For now, Sinclair was just under penniless and a sandwasher down on his luck. But a fast draw and a damned good shot.
That was the kind of man he wanted in his stable.
If Sinclair was who he said he was.
Hiram walked to the bar and lifted the glass chimney on the lamp. He turned down the wick until the flame sputtered out.
Then he walked to his bed, and undressed in the dark.
And before he climbed into bed, he began to have doubts. Was there anyone he could really trust? He went to bed with doubts about all of the men who worked for him.
Including Tom Brody.
Maybe all of them were waiting to turn on him.
So from now on, he vowed, he would trust no one.
But then, he never had, had he?
18
Slocum saw the tall man enter the saloon while he talked to Ronnie. He saw the badge on his leather vest. To his surprise, the man looked at him for a long moment, then at the back table where Bledsoe had been sitting. The table was empty.
The man turned around and went out through the batwings without a word. Ronnie glanced at the man, then turned her attention back to Slocum.
“Who was that?” Slocum asked.
“Oh, the man who just came in and then left?”
“Yes. He wore a badge.”
Ronnie laughed.
“That’s Tom Brody. Hiram hired him on as town marshal. A big joke if you ask me.”
“What’s the joke?” Slocum asked.
“The joke is that Tom is the straw boss of Hiram’s gang of cutthroats. You’re new here, Dave, so you don’t know much about Sawtooth. Tom’s not wearing that badge to keep the peace. He is just another hired killer.”
“You work for Bledsoe yourself, don’t you?”
She smiled, and her smile, Slocum thought, was very alluring.
“I have an arrangement with Hiram. He doesn’t own me, like he does Tom and the other gunfighters who work for him. I hire the girls who work for me and I get a cut of the saloon profits. I can pick up and leave anytime I want.”
“But you don’t want,” Slocum said.
Again that alluring smile.
“I’m thinking about it. The town’s played out, Dave. The miners and prospectors were all driven out and business has slacked off. I can’t see any future in a town ruled by one ruthless man.”
“Those are pretty harsh words. You may not work for Bledsoe, but you’re dependent on him.”
The smile vanished from Ronnie’s face. She leaned close to him and spoke in a whisper.
“Yes, Hiram set it all up. I liked his offer. So I came here. But if you ask me, the man reeks of raw greed. You can smell it on him. You can see it on his homely face. For a time, it was a boomtown here. The gold flowed, the money poured in. Then miners started to die, shot by persons or person unknown. Mines switched owners overnight. The miners lit a shuck and Hiram has men holding the whole town hostage. Just waiting for the miners to return so that Hiram’s men can shoot them down like dogs.”
“Looks like I stepped into it,” Slocum said.
Ronnie laughed and tossed her raven hair like a lioness.
“Up to your hips,” she said. “There’s no future here, Dave. If you do happen to strike it rich, Hiram’s waiting like some crazy beast to pounce on you and take it all away.”
“He offered me a job tonight,” Slocum said.
“Before you shot down two of his men?” she said.
“And after, too. That’s what Alvin told me a few minutes ago. The offer was still good, and the pay better than the first offer.”
Ronnie’s eyebrows arched as a look of surprise flooded her face.
“He must know who you really are,” she said.
“What?”
“You say you’re David Sinclair. But I know that’s not your real name. Or at least it’s not the name you went by in Kansas City.”
“I think you’re mistaken,” he said. “My name’s Dave Sinclair. And I am who I say I am.”
“You’re a damned good liar,” she said.
She sipped her tea. Slocum swallowed some of his bourbon, just enough to freshen his taste buds. And it warmed him against the chill that began to seep in through the batwings. It would be a cold night, he knew.
“Well, take it or leave it,” he said.
“I can’t remember the name they called you in Kansas City,” she said, “but it wasn’t Sinclair. And you wore different clothes. You looked even taller, and you sure as hell were just as dangerous.”
Slocum smiled. It was an indulgent smile, as if to brush off her insinuations.
“Mistaken identity,” he said. “It happens.”
“Your fast draw was the same, Dave.”
“I practiced that draw on many a lonesome night.”
“I’ll bet that wasn’t all you practiced,” she said, and there was no mistaking her meaning.
“Look, Ronnie,” he said, “this talk is getting us nowhere. I’ll finish m
y drink and grab something to eat down the street and go to bed. More hard work tomorrow.”
“You didn’t take Hiram’s offer?”
“No. I said I’d give him an answer in two days.”
“Why two days?”
“I don’t jump at every offer that comes my way.”
“No, there’s more to it than that, I suspect. You’ve got something up your sleeve, Dave, and it’s not the ace of spades.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion, of course. And you’re a mighty pretty lady.”
“Why, thank you, David. I suspect that underneath that rough beard, you’re a handsome man.”
“Flattery will get you a long ways down the trail,” he said.
Slocum downed his drink.
“Thanks, Joe,” he called to the barkeep. Then he touched a finger to the brim of his hat and slid off the stool.
“Are you leaving so soon?” Ronnie asked. She put a hand on his arm. Her touch was light and sent a tingle of electricity through his loins.
“Yes, nice talking to you,” he said.
“I’d like to see more of you, Dave.”
Slocum glanced up at the stairs leading to the closed-off balcony where he had seen some of the girls take men to their cribs.
“This is too public for me,” he said. “And I don’t fancy paying for your favors, pretty as you are.”
“You misjudge me. I don’t sleep with my patrons. And I don’t have a room up there.”
Slocum hesitated, looked down at her hand. She pulled it away and looked up at him.
“I won’t stay here late tonight,” she said. “I have a little cabin, two streets behind here. You can’t miss it. If you’d like to stop by after you’ve had your supper, I have Kentucky bourbon in my cabinet. It’s quiet there and secluded. Pine trees all around it.”
“Is that an invitation?” He looked at her hard and long.
“You’d be the first man to step across my threshold,” she said.
“Time?”
“I should be home a little after nine o’clock.”
“Maybe I’ll stop by,” he said.
“Please do, Dave. I’d like to get to know you better.”
“There’s not much to know.”