“Across the street, behind the hotel,” Nathan said.
When they reached the registration desk, Empty remained well behind Nathan.
“Pardner,” said Nathan, “I reckon we’ll be here as long as this storm lasts. This is my dog, and he’s never bit anybody that wasn’t needful of it. Is he allowed to go with us?”
“As long as you’re responsible for him,” the clerk replied. “Better make it pronto, if you aim to eat. The cafe sent word they’ll be closin’ early because of the storm.”
“It does appear to be gettin’ worse,” said Silver.
“We have only two kinds of winters,” the clerk replied. “Worse and worser.”
“What about summer?” Nathan asked.
“Usually the first two weeks in August,” said the clerk, with a straight face. “There’s a monthly rate, if you want to wait for warm weather.”
Nathan and Silver left the lobby, stepping into a corridor that, minus the wind, was almost as cold as outside. They ignored the stairs, for their room was on the first floor. Silver unlocked the door, and by the light of a bracket lamp in the corridor, Nathan found and lighted a lamp on the dresser. There was a whiff of wood smoke as the fierce wind whipped the smoke back down the flue, stirring to life coals within the stove that sat next to the room’s only window.
“Thank God there’s still some fire in the stove,” said Nathan, “but where’s the stove wood?”
“No stove wood,” Silver replied. “Coal is replacing wood back east, and I reckon the coming of the railroad has brought it west. I’d say that’s the purpose of those big wooden kegs in the corridor. Take that coal bucket and fetch some in.”
Nathan brought in a bucket of coal and they coaxed the fire into life.
“Now,” said Silver, “we’d better fight our way over yonder for some grub, before the cafe closes for the day. By the time we return, it should be warm in here.”
Except for the cook, the cafe proved to be deserted.
“Another hour,” the disgruntled cook said, “and I’m hangin’ it up for the night.”
“Hope you don’t have far to go,” Silver said. “Way the snow’s comin’ down, it’ll be neck deep on a tall Indian pretty soon.”
“I got a room at the hotel,” the cook said. “They own this place, an’ part of my deal includes room an’ board. It’s their way of bein’ sure folks that stay at the Plains always got a place to eat.”
“We’ll be seein’ you at breakfast, then,” said Nathan, “unless it’s so deep none of us can get here.”
“Oh, I’ll be here. Snow’s my name. Actually, it’s Snow-den, but I been here so long, all the handle I got is Snow.”
“Then maybe you can tell us somethin’ about this territory,” Silver said. “We’re on our way west, and we’re needin’ a place to earn some bacon and beans before movin’ on.”
“It’s almighty slim pickings around here, even when the weather’s decent,” said Snow. “Only two possibilities is the McCutcheon and Buckalew spreads, up yonder in the Powder River basin. I hear they’re hirin’ riders.”
“That’s hard to believe, in the dead of winter,” Nathan said. “That’s contrary to the ways of every cattleman I ever heard of.”
“I reckon,” said Snow, “and if I said anything more it’d be gossip, and I got to go on livin’ here.”
“You’re right,” Silver said. “It ain’t smart, second-guessing other folks. It’s purely none of our business why a man’s hiring, as long as he pays decent wages. When this blue norther let’s up, I reckon we’ll just ride up to the basin and see if these hombres can use a couple more riders.”
“I reckon I can tell you this,” said Snow. “Mr. McCutcheon and Mr. Buckalew ain’t at their ranches in the basin durin’ the winter months. They live at the Cattlemen’s Club on Prairie Avenue. But if anybody asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Nobody will get anything out of us,” Silver replied. “Do you know if the Cattleman’s Club is for members only, or will we be allowed to enter?”
“The Longhorn Saloon’s downstairs,” said Snow, “and you’ll be allowed in there. The drinks are a mite high, I hear.”
It was time to take their steaks off the fire, and the genial cook got busy preparing their meal. He fed Empty in the kitchen, watching with appreciation as the hound wolfed down every morsel of the food. Finished with their meal, Nathan and Silver left the cafe and slogged through knee-deep snow back to the Plains Hotel. Only when they were safely in their room did they discuss what they had learned.
“We’ve learned three things,” said Silver. “We know the McCutcheon and Buckalew spreads are run by segundos in winter, that both these hombres have rooms upstairs at the Cattleman’s Club, and that any proof of their guilt in this land-grab is likely right here in town.”
“Then we’re going to play hell gathering any evidence at either ranch,” Nathan said, “even if they’re of a mind to hire us.”
“I doubt we’ll be riding to either ranch,” said Silver. “Even if one of them takes us on, he won’t know whether we’re there or not until spring. If we’re hired, and are asked to sign for a hundred and sixty acres of government land, that will be sufficient proof that where there’s smoke, there’s also fire.”
“But we’ll still have only our suspicions,” Nathan said. “You know damn well we’ll not be given copies of anything we’re asked to sign.”
Silver laughed. “That’s where the fun begins. We’ll have to learn where those records are kept, get our hands on them, and escape without being shot dead as last year’s Christmas goose.”
CHAPTER 10
The snow continued until almost dark of the following day. By the time Nathan and Silver had finished supper, wind had swept the clouds away and the first stars twinkled in a meadow of purple velvet.
“I reckon we might as well mosey over to the Cattleman’s Club,” Silver said.
“Empty,” said Nathan, “knowing how you feel about saloons, I’m leaving you here.”
Silver locked the door to their room, and, hunching into their heavy coats, they went out into the gathering darkness. Mercifully, the wind had died down and the snow had not begun to freeze, so they had only to take their time. When they led their saddled horses out into the cold, the animals snorted their displeasure.
“They’re smarter than we are,” said Nathan.
“If you know where Prairie Avenue is,” Silver said, “lead out.”
Nathan led the way, turning east on Prairie Avenue. The many places of business along the street were closed, and only in the two-story brick building several blocks ahead was there any sign of life. Lights glowed from second-floor windows and smoke billowed from many chimneys.
“That’s got to be the place we’re lookin’ for,” Silver said.
“It reminds me of the Cattleman’s Emporium in Austin,” said Nathan when they had reined up before the canopied entrance. To their surprise, a doorman came forth to greet them.
“There’s a livery in back,” the doorman said. “Shall I stable your horses?”
“I reckon not,” Silver replied. “We don’t aim to be that long.”
Nathan and Silver entered and found the cook at the cafe had told it straight. All the first floor was a saloon, and compared to most, it was elegant. A long mirror, in four sections, stretched the length of the bar, and the lofty beamed ceiling was a veritable sea of hanging lamps. The floor was of polished wood, and from the tops of the high oval windows, drapes brushed the floor. The tables were of heavy oak, flanked by quartets of high-backed chairs. A carpeted stairway led to the second floor. There was just one bartender on duty, for it was early. Not another soul was in the place as Nathan and Silver headed for the bar.
“A beer,” Silver said.
“Same here,” said Nathan.
The beer was brought, and the mugs were unusually large.
“One dollar,” the bartender said. “Each.”
“Let’s find us a
table,” Silver said. “We’ve paid the rent.”
They took a table near the center, their backs to the bar, where they could see the front door to their left and the stairs to their right.
“This is some high-falutin place,” said Nathan. “Now how do we get to McCutcheon or Buckalew?”
“I can’t think of a better way than approaching the bartender and lettin’ it be known we’d like to hire on,” Silver said.
“I’ll let you do the talking, then,” said Nathan. “I don’t like that stiff-necked varmint. He acts like there’s royal blood somewhere along his backtrail.”
Silver laughed. “I don’t aim to ask about McCutcheon or Buckalew at first. I’ll ask if anybody’s hirin’ riders, and see if he volunteers any information.”
“Pardner,” Silver said, as they again approached the bar, “we’re lookin’ to maybe hire on as line riders. You know of anybody in these parts that’s hiring?”
“Not much hiring done after snow flies,” said the bartender cautiously.
“We know that,” Silver persisted, “and that’s why we’re askin’ you. We’ve heard there are some big ranches north of here, and this bein’ the Cattleman’s Club, we was hopin’ you might know if we got a chance.”
“The McCutcheon and Buckalew spreads sometimes hire extra riders,” said the bartender. “I’ll be seeing both these gentlemen sometime in the morning, and I can tell them you are looking for work. See me at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon, and maybe I can tell you yes or no.”
“We’re obliged,” Nathan said.
Nathan and Silver were silent until they reached their horses, and it was Nathan who spoke.
“Suppose the answer is no?”
“Then we’ll have to try something else,” said Silver, “but I believe we’ll be told what we need to hear.”
“There’s one possibility we haven’t considered,” Nathan said. “The very fact that we’re trying to hire on in the dead of winter is enough to make these hombres suspicious. They could play along with us and then have us shot in the back at the first opportunity.”
“All the more reason you should relish these outings with me,” Silver said cheerfully. “There’s never a dull moment. But you could be right. That’s why, as Shakespeare put it, if ’tis to be done, it must be done quickly. We must gather our evidence and get the hell out of here.”
The next afternoon, a few minutes before two o’clock, Nathan and Silver returned to the Cattleman’s Club.
“I’m not promising you anything,” said the bartender. “Mr. McCutcheon will see you. He’s in suite five, on the second floor.”
Silver knocked on the door, and a voice bade them enter. They stepped into the room and Nathan closed the door behind them. McCutcheon looked more like a banker or lawyer than a rancher. He wore slippers and a navy blue robe over pale blue pajamas, and he sat in an overstuffed chair before a crackling fire. There was a matching leather sofa to his left, and he nodded toward it. Nathan and Silver sat down. Without a word, McCutcheon got up and stood facing them. He was a big man, probably in his fifties, with thinning hair. He spoke.
“You have the advantage, knowing my name. I don’t know yours.”
“I’m Nathan Stone,” said Nathan.
“I’m Byron Silver,” Silver said.
“Unusual,” said McCutcheon. “Not many riders looking for work when the snow’s already knee deep and the temperature near zero.”
“Our reasons for being here at this particular time should be of no concern to you,” Silver replied. “Wherever he is, a man has to eat. We’re asking for work, not charity.”
McCutcheon laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Spoken like a Texan, born and bred. Forever neck deep in pride, even when he’s running from the law.”
“We’re not running from the law,” said Silver. “Would it matter to you if we were?”
“No,” McCutcheon replied. “It might work in your favor. A man on the bad side of the law ain’t likely to cross me, although a few have.”
“And what became of them?” Nathan asked.
Again McCutcheon laughed, and it was uglier than before. “They’re all dead, and they all died hard. Do you still want to work for me?”
“On one condition,” said Silver. “Stay off our backtrail. Anybody comes lookin’ for us with the smell of law about him, then we’ll come lookin’ for you. And it won’t be to renew old friendships.”
“I’ll respect your privacy,” McCutcheon said, “if you’ll respect mine. I am a power in the Powder River basin, and as such, I have powerful enemies. Before going to work for me, you will sign a nondisclosure agreement, wherein you swear not to talk to anybody about me or my affairs. Violate that agreement, and you will be terminated immediately.”
Silver laughed. “I thought you were going to say eliminated.”
“There is more than one kind of termination,” said McCutcheon. “You may draw your own conclusions.”
“We’ll sign your agreement,” Silver said, “after you’ve told us where we’ll be going, what we’ll be doing, and how much we’re to be paid.”
“That’s not unreasonable,” said McCutcheon. “You’ll be going to one of my line camps along the Powder River. You’ll keep snow cleared from the hay sheds and, when necessary, break the ice in the shallows along the river. Pay is forty and found. If you prove satisfactory, after three months you’ll receive a fifty-dollar bonus.”
“Then let’s get on with it,” Silver said. “Bring on the nondisclosure forms.”
“Very well,” said McCutcheon. “Have a seat at the desk by the window.”
Nathan and Silver moved to the desk, but stood behind their chairs, watching Haynes McCutcheon. He eyed them for a moment and then knelt before a safe. Only when he had closed the safe and approached the desk did Nathan and Silver take their seats before the desk.
“These are in triplicate,” said McCutcheon, “and you must sign all three copies at the bottom. All are the same. Read the first copy, and you will see that it’s nothing more than your pledge of silence, insofar as I am concerned. There’s a pen and an inkwell in the desk drawer.” He put the forms before them.
Nathan placed the pen on the desk. Removing the lid from the inkwell, he clumsily dropped it, spilling the ink.
“Never mind,” said McCutcheon, striving to contain his exasperation, “I’m sure I have another.”
He went to a cabinet in the corner, opened the door, and eventually came out with a second inkwell. This he opened and placed on the desk. Without hesitation, Silver took the pen and dipped it into the inkwell. He signed the first page in the designated place at the bottom, lifted it just enough to sign the second page, and then lifted the second page to sign the third. He kept the pages separated just enough for the ink to dry, passing the pen to Nathan, who quickly followed Silver’s example. McCutcheon then took the signed forms and turned toward the safe. Kneeling before it, he placed the signed papers inside, closed the door of the safe, and turned the dial. When he again faced Nathan and Silver, he spoke.
“You’ll find the home ranch at the south fork of the Powder, about two hundred miles north of here. Snide Cordier is segundo. He’ll assign you to a line cabin and see that you have a pack horse with sufficient grub. You’d best allow the sun a couple of days to melt some snow. The drifts will be deep.”
It was all the dismissal Nathan and Silver needed. They left, closing the door behind them. Mounting their horses, they rode back toward the Plains Hotel.
Silver laughed. “That was slick, dropping the inkwell.”
“I bought you all the time I could,” said Nathan. “What did we sign?”
“The first two pages were harmless,” Silver said. “They were what he said they were. The third page began exactly like the first two, but only for a paragraph. Clip away that paragraph, and the rest of the page becomes a request to the federal government for one quarter section of land, at twenty-five cents an acre. After three years and payment o
f an additional dollar an acre, Mr. McCutcheon has himself another quarter section.”
“How the hell can he do that? We’d have to sign a quit-claim deed, giving possession of it to him. I learned that much law while I was at Huntsville.”
“A slick lawyer can copy the original signature well enough to get it through court,” said Silver. “He can legalize those papers if he never lays eyes on us again.”
“Not if we take them off his hands,” Nathan said. “All we have to do is figure out how to break into that safe. Thoughtful of him, suggesting we stay in town a couple more days, until the snow begins to melt. That allows us some time to get to that safe.”
“That couple of days in town can work in McCutcheon’s favor,” said Silver. “If he’s the least bit suspicious, there’ll be time to have us gunned down.”
After Nathan and Silver had departed, McCutcheon again read the recent letter he had received from Washington. The envelope bore the address of a prominent senator to whom he had contributed thousands of dollars. The letter had served its purpose. He threw it into the fire and watched the flames consume it. Less than an hour later, there was a knock at the door. After a pause, the knock was repeated, and McCutcheon opened the door just enough to permit entry. The visitor wore range clothes, including a heavy coat, and a revolver was thonged down on his right hip. Having said nothing by way of greeting, he stood with his back to the fire, warming his hands. McCutcheon spoke.
“Grimes, have you gathered the men?”
“Yeah,” said Grimes, “but why four of us? I think me and Elkie—”
“Damn it,” McCutcheon exploded, “I’m not paying you to think. I’m paying four of you to do a job that must not be bungled. This is no pair of shorthorns. One of them is a federal man, and the other is a gunman of some reputation. I want them eliminated and I don’t want it done on my range. They’re staying at the Plains Hotel, and one of them has a dog. Five hundred for each of you when the job’s done to my satisfaction.”
“Half now, and the rest when the job’s done,” Grimes countered. “That’s so you don’t get picky over details.”
Autumn of the Gun Page 15