Deadly Trail

by William W. Johnstone

  John Long Routt

  Governor

  “Will twenty-dollar bills be all right?” the disbursement officer asked.

  “Twenty-dollar bills will be fine,” Highgate answered.

  Highgate was amazed at how easy this had been. The document was paid without question, and he had not been recognized. As he left the disbursing office, he was struck with the irony of it all. Had he figured out how to do this in the first place, he would not have needed to put himself in danger by entering into an alliance with No Nose Nelson and the men who had taken Layne McKenzie.

  When Highgate returned to the Bucket of Blood that night, he had his hand down in his jacket pocket, wrapped securely around the envelope containing the money.

  “Did you get the money?” No Nose asked.

  “Is that the way you greet someone?”

  “Did you get the money?” No Nose repeated.

  “Yes, I got the money.”

  “Give it to me.”

  “Before I give you this money, I need some guarantees from you,” Highgate said.

  Highgate heard a clicking sound from under the table. He wasn’t sure what the sound was, but it was frightening.

  “Here is your guarantee,” No Nose said. “I’ve got a gun under this table, and it is pointing right at your gut. If you don’t give me that money right now, I guarantee that I will shoot you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare shoot me in a public place like this,” Highgate said.

  No Nose laughed. “Look around, Highgate,” he said. “Why, there isn’t a person in here that I couldn’t get to slit your throat for five dollars. Do you think anyone would blink twice if I shot you? That’s why I chose this place.”

  Highgate looked around at the saloon patrons. Never in his life had he seen such a repulsive-looking group of men and women. Gulping, he put his finger to his collar and pulled it away

  “All right, alright, here’s the money,” Highgate said, removing the envelope from his pocket and passing it over to No Nose.

  No Nose put his pistol away, then took the money out of the envelope and began to count it.

  “It’s all there,” Highgate said. “Five hundred dollars.”

  No Nose nodded, smiled, then put the money into his own pocket.

  “There now, do you see what you can do when you put your mind to it? You didn’t think you would be able to come up with the money.”

  “This was easy compared to asking the governor for twenty thousand dollars. I’m telling you, he isn’t going to go through with that.”

  “He’ll go through with it.” No Nose finished his drink, then stood. “I’ll see you around,” he said.

  Highgate stayed behind for a few minutes after No Nose left.

  “Honey, you want to go upstairs?”

  Looking toward the sound of the voice, Highgate saw an overweight and underdressed woman.

  “I beg your pardon?” Highgate replied.

  “I asked if you wanted to go upstairs with me.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Oh, honey, don’t you want some of this?” the woman asked, putting her hands on her crotch and thrusting it forward.

  “No!” Highgate said, standing up so quickly that he knocked over the chair in which he had been sitting.

  Several others, seeing what was going on, laughed out loud.

  Highgate suddenly realized that he was alone in the saloon and while he did not enjoy the company of No Nose, strangely enough, he felt safer in here with No Nose than without him. Now he was frightened.

  “I—uh—must go,” Highgate said, starting quickly toward the door.

  “I’d run too, if I were you, mister,” one of the customers shouted to him. “That there thing of Lucy’s is like a snappin’ turtle. Why, if you was to get yourself caught in that—it wouldn’t let go of you till it thunders.”

  The shouted mockery elicited laughs from everyone in the saloon, including Lucy’s high-pitched chortle, and Highgate could still hear them laughing as he hurried away, summoning the first hack he saw.

  “Where to, mister?” the driver said.

  As the governor’s private secretary, Highgate had a room in the Governor’s Mansion, and he started to give that address, then thought better of it.

  “To the Denver and Rio Grande depot,” he said.

  The driver snapped the reins against the back of his team and the cab moved quickly through the streets of Denver. Not until they were several blocks away did Highgate breathe easily.

  Then, getting out at the depot, he waited for a few minutes before summoning another cab to take him back home.

  As he rode in this cab, he began thinking about the governor’s niece, and he hoped that she was all right. He had a terribly guilty conscience about what he had done, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The fat was in the fire.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Because his birth had been the result of his mother having been raped, he was not given a name at birth. He was referred to only as “Boy,” or “White Eyes,” until he was old enough to be enrolled in the Indian school. There, one of the teachers who had a passion for Shakespeare gave him the name Goneril after a character in King Lear.

  Goneril grew up half-white and half-Indian, not living in both worlds, but trapped between the two worlds. When his mother died, he lost all connection with his Indian heritage, and the fact that he was a half-breed kept him apart from white society.

  The abnormal environment in which Goneril grew to adulthood created a being who, for all intent and purposes, was totally dysfunctional. But, in a perverse way, it provided him with a persona that was both unique and deadly. Goneril had learned that such a character trait, while off-putting to normal society, could be a valuable asset to those who wanted his services. He became a killer for hire.

  Goneril was a man who could kill without compunction. The life of a human being was as unimportant to him as was the life of a cockroach. It made no difference to him who his target was, or why they were being killed. The only thing that mattered to him was the money he was paid for the job. He was totally dispassionate about those he killed, except for one.

  Early in his life, Goneril learned the identity of his father and made a vow to find him and kill him for what he had done to his mother. By the time he found him, though, Clyde Payson was literally standing at death’s door, about to ascend the steps to the gallows where he was to be hanged by the neck until dead.

  Payson did not recognize Goneril, but there was no reason he should have. He had never seen Goneril, and didn’t even know he existed. Payson learned that he was a father only in the last second of his life, hearing Goneril shout the news to him, even as he was falling through the open trapdoor.

  Frustrated by events beyond his control, Goneril altered his plan. If he could not kill his father, he would kill the person who had thwarted that goal. He would kill the man who was responsible for his father’s death. And so it happened that the one thing that had been Goneril’s greatest asset, dispassion, was cast aside in this quest.

  Goneril was obsessed with the task of killing Matt Jensen. He had tried, and failed, on several previous occasions. Each time he failed, the compulsion grew, until now it totally dominated him. As a result, he now had an almost debilitating determination to kill the man he deemed responsible for his father’s death.

  He had not put aside his intention to kill Matt Jensen, but he was running out of money and was going to have to get back to business. That’s why when Pauley Moore asked him if he would meet with someone who might want to hire his services, he agreed.

  The meeting place was the saloon in Dorena. Goneril was sitting alone at a table as he waited. He was always alone, partly because he was a half-breed, but mostly because people were uncomfortable around him. And that suited him fine because, over the years, he had become very uncomfortable around others. He looked up as someone approached his table.

  “Your name Gonner?” the man as
ked.

  “Goneril.”

  “Yeah, Gonner, that’s what I said. My name’s Strayhorn. I got a job for you, if you’re interested.”

  “Sit down,” Goneril offered.

  “It pays five hundred dollars,” Strayhorn said as he sat.

  Goneril nodded. “Must be a big job,” he said.

  “It is,” Strayhorn said. “But I ain’t goin’ no higher’n five hundred, so you can take it or leave it.”

  “Who is it?”

  Strayhorn chuckled. “I like that,” he said.

  “You like what?”

  “I like that you said ‘who’ is it, rather than ‘what’ is it.”

  “You want me to kill someone, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Remember, it’s five hundred dollars,” Strayhorn repeated. “Not a penny more.”

  Goneril drummed his fingers on the table and stared at Strayhorn with such intensity that Strayhorn cleared his throat self-consciously.

  “It’s Matt Jensen,” he said.

  Goneril fought hard to resist the urge to smile. Could he actually be this lucky? Was someone actually willing to pay him to kill the very man he was determined to kill anyway?

  “You ever heard of him?” Strayhorn asked.

  “Yes, I have heard of him.”

  “He’s a hard man to kill.”

  “Yes.”

  “But,” Strayhorn said, smiling and holding up his finger, “we got somethin’ that might make it just a bit easier.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’ve got somethin’ he wants. I figure we can use it as bait to draw him out. You don’t have to go up against him or anything like that. We don’t want you to prove anything, we just want you to kill the son of a bitch.”

  “That’s what I will do,” Goneril said. He held his hand out. “As soon as you give me the money.”

  Strayhorn shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. “You’ll get the money after Jensen is dead.”

  “Then get yourself someone else.”

  “What?” Strayhorn asked, surprised by the response. “Wait a minute, are you telling me you aren’t going to take the job?”

  “I’m telling you that I will do it only if you give me the money in advance.”

  “What if we give you the money and you don’t get the job done?”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. If I tell you I’m going to kill him, then you can be sure that I will do it.”

  “How about if I give you half now, and half after you kill him?” Strayhorn suggested.

  Goneril drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, then he nodded.

  “All right, half now, half when it’s done.”

  Strayhorn gave Goneril half the money, then put the rest back in his pocket.

  “Don’t go spending my money now,” Goneril said, pointing to the pocket. “Because after this job is done, when I come for it, I don’t intend to wait. If you don’t have every penny of what you owe me, I will kill you.”

  “Don’t you be worryin’ none about that,” Strayhorn said. “It’ll be here.”

  “It better be. Now, what is this you say you have that he wants?”

  “We snatched a girl—the governor’s niece. Jensen is comin’ after her.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “We’ve got her hid away in a cabin up on Mustang Creek.”

  “This is the governor’s niece, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you take her?”

  “It ain’t really none of your business why we took her,” Strayhorn replied. “The only business you got to concern yourself with is killin’ Matt Jensen.”

  “Fair enough,” Goneril said. “Where did you snatch the girl?”

  “What do you need to know that for?”

  “You’re usin’ her as bait to draw Jensen to you, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s goin’ to know where you snatched her, so he’ll start there. All I need to do is put myself somewhere between there and the girl.”

  “Yeah,” Strayhorn said. “Yeah, I see what you mean. All right, we took her off the train when it stopped for water at Mustang Creek.”

  “You took her off the train at Mustang Creek, and you are keeping her in a cabin on Mustang Creek?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s all I need to know.”

  The cabin at Mustang Creek

  “You mean he didn’t come back with you?” Teech asked when Strayhorn returned to the cabin.

  “No.”

  “That son of a bitch has just run off with our money is what he done.”

  Strayhorn shook his head. “No, I don’t think so,” he said. “I think he is going to do the job.”

  “Maybe he will and maybe he won’t. But I tell you true, I don’t intend to wait for him,” Teech said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I intend to kill the son of a bitch myself.”

  “Ha!” Decker said. “You’re wantin’ the rest of that money for yourself, ain’t you?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Teech said. “But why not? If I kill him, I have as much right to the money as Goneril.”

  “Wait a minute, is that right?” Decker asked. “If Teech and I kill Jensen, we’ll get the money?”

  “What do you mean, you and me?” Teech asked.

  “I’m comin’ with you,” Decker said. “That is, if we really will get the money. What do you say, Strayhorn?”

  “I don’t care who kills the son of a bitch, as long as someone does,” Strayhorn said.

  “What about it, Teech? Do you care if I come with you?”

  “I guess with someone like Jensen, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone along,” Teech replied. “So if you want to go with me, come along.”

  “You won’t kill him,” Layne said.

  “What do you mean we won’t kill him?”

  “Matt Jensen is more of a man than all of you put together. You can try, but you won’t kill him.”

  “We’ll just see about that, girlie,” Teech said. “We’ll just see about that.”

  A railroad water tower at Mustang Creek

  When the train stopped for water at Mustang Creek, Matt got off. He was standing alongside the track as Spirit was brought down from the stock car. The man who had been the conductor on the train the night that Layne was taken, pointed.

  “The moon was pretty bright that night,” he said. “So I watched them leave. There were five of them, and they stayed very close to the creek until I could no longer see them.”

  “Which side of the creek?”

  “They were on the right side for as long as I was able to see them.”

  “Did they have a horse for the girl?” Matt asked.

  The conductor shook his head. “No, sir, they did not. As I recall, they put her up on a horse in front of one of them.”

  “You’ve been very helpful, thanks,” Matt said.

  “I wish I could tell you more.”

  “This is a start.”

  “Here’s your horse, Mr. Jensen,” the stock handler said, leading Spirit over to him.”

  “Thanks,” Matt said, swinging into the saddle.

  “He’s a good-lookin’ horse.”

  “He’s about as good a horse as a man could ask for,” Matt said.

  The engineer gave a short toot on his whistle, and the conductor and stock handler hurried back to the train as Matt started up the right side of the creek. He picked up the kidnappers’ trail right away, identifying it by the fact that there were five sets of prints, one of which indicated that the horse was carrying double.

  After about a mile, he saw something hanging in a bush and riding up to it quickly, he leaned down to retrieve it. It was a tatting-trimmed handkerchief. Holding it to his nose, he smelled the hint of lavender that was her signature perfume. He wadded it up in his hand, then stuck it in his shirt pocket. It was obviou
s that Layne was doing all she could to help him.

  “Good girl, Layne,” Matt said quietly. “You just hang on, I’m coming for you.”

  Matt slapped his knees against Spirit’s sides and the horse responded.

  “Spirit, if they have hurt that girl in any way . . .” Matt said. He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

  “He’ll have to come this way,” Teech said. “So I figure all we have to do is find us a good place to wait. Then, when we see him, we open up on him.”

  “If he don’t see us first,” Decker replied.

  “Are you worried?”

  “I just keep thinkin’ about Hennessey and Taylor, and how they thought they was goin’ to kill him, but they didn’t.”

  “Yeah, but you heard what Pauley said. That dumb son of a bitch Hennessey called Jensen out. We ain’t goin’ to do nothin’ like that,” Teech insisted.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Decker said.

  Because they were approaching the crest of a ridge, neither Teech nor Decker had any idea that Matt was just on the other side, coming toward them. Matt couldn’t see them either, but he heard them talking. And because they were close enough that he could hear them quite clearly, it also meant they were close enough for him to confront. Matt slapped his legs against the side of his horse and crested the ridge. There, no more than twenty yards in front of him, he saw Teech and Decker.

  “Why don’t you fellas just hold it right there?” he called.

  “What the hell? Where’d you come from?” Teech hissed, startled by Matt’s sudden appearance.

  “Where I came from isn’t your problem,” Matt said. “Your problem is that I’m here. Now, drop those guns and lead me to the girl.”

  Suddenly, there was an angry buzz, then the “thocking” sound of a heavy bullet tearing into flesh. A fountain of blood squirted up from Spirit’s neck and the animal went down on its front knees, then collapsed onto its right side. It was almost a full second after the strike of the bullet before the heavy boom of a distant rifle reached Matt’s ears.

  The fall pinned Matt’s leg under his horse. He also dropped his pistol on the way down, and now it lay just out of reach of his grasping fingers.