Lookout Hill (9781101606735)

by Cotton, Ralph W.

  From the stall, the black mare stared defiantly at Siebert and tugged at the short length of rope that held her tied to the stall rail.

  Stuck a spell on him? This crazy son of a bitch….

  “Let’s stop palavering,” Bellibar said. He strained against the ropes holding his wrists tied behind him. “Untie me and I will kill you deader than hell.”

  Siebert took a bite of beans, seemed to consider the offer as he chewed and swallowed.

  “Sounds like a damned good deal,” he said. “But I’ll pass on it. I’ve got it in mind to set you afire, you and that damned black mare behind you—now that I got my roan back.”

  “Then stop sucking beans and get it done, you loco, witch-killing son of a bitch!” Bellibar shouted.

  “Easy, Bobby Hugh,” said Siebert. He gave a dark, evil grin. “The belief is, the more you torture a man, the stronger it makes his power when you take it from him.”

  “Oh?” said Bellibar. “Burning’s not enough?”

  Siebert considered the matter as he ate the rest of the beans and set the empty bowl down.

  “In this case, I would say no,” Siebert replied, picking up the tin of whale oil and standing, wiping a hand across his lips. “But I can see where too much power from you might cause a wild goose to fly sideways.” He walked forward and pulled the top off the whale oil tin. He started to pour the oil down around Bellibar’s feet.

  “Let me ask you this,” Bellibar said. “Why am I standing here in my undergarments?”

  Siebert stopped and stood with the tin of oil in hand. A curious look came to his face.

  “I don’t really know why,” he said. “It just seemed right for some reason.” He paused, then said, “Now let me ask you something. Why’d you bury that son of a bitch alive?”

  “You saw that?” Bellibar said. He instinctively glanced around the dark barn, making sure they weren’t being overheard.

  “It was hard to miss,” said Siebert. He chuckled. “Poor bastard grabbing for his life, you shovel-thumping him in the head. What did he do to you anyway?” He looked Bellibar up and down. “While we’re at it, how’d you make sheriff here? I figured you’d head straight to Lookout Hill after jackpotting me.”

  Bellibar noted that Hot Aces hadn’t yet gotten back to pouring the oil down around his feet. A good sign? He hoped so. He’d have to play this right to do himself any good.

  “I didn’t jackpot you, Aces,” he said calmly. “Leastwise not until I saw you were out to jackpot me.”

  “You didn’t know I was jackpotting you,” said Siebert, “not at that time. I was drinking water. You robbed me of my gun.” He patted the big Remington now standing in his holster.

  “I figured you might have had something up your sleeve,” Bellibar said quietly. “Turns out, I was right. You’d unloaded my gun.”

  Siebert gave him a strange look.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You figured I might jackpot you, so that made it okay for you to jackpot me first?” He tapped a finger on his chest.

  “Something like that,” said Bellibar, “since it turned out I was right.”

  Siebert just stared at him for a moment trying to unravel the twists of the situation.

  “I’m not saying I was all the way right,” said Bellibar. “I’m only saying I wasn’t all the way wrong either.”

  “Oh,” Siebert said with sarcasm, “now I understand.” He started to tip the oil tin and pour it. “Obliged to you for straightening it out for me.”

  “Anyway,” said Bellibar, seeing the explanation was getting him nowhere, “I killed him because he was going to be riding up to the mines every three or four days, reporting what I was up to down here. I only buried him alive because he didn’t die as quick as he should have.”

  “That’s understandable.” Siebert shrugged a shoulder. “Go on,” he said, getting interested.

  “As for me being made sheriff,” Bellibar said, “Mr. Dale Pettigo himself put me in charge—said he wanted me here identifying outlaws, making sure they didn’t start gathering up in Copper Gully to make a run at his mines.” He stopped and stared at Siebert. “I figure the sooner I buried that no-dying son of a bitch, the quicker I’d start gathering those outlaws to make a run on his mines.” He managed a tight grin. “I know it sounds too good to be true, but there it is.”

  Siebert shook his head; the oil tin slumped at his side.

  “Jesus,” he said, bewildered, “talk about leaving a wolf to guard a meat house.” He scratched his chin. “Pettigo… You have to wonder how a man can be that stupid and still manage to get himself such a big cut of the pie in this world.”

  Bellibar took an easier breath, noting the oil tin was no longer in play.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes I think maybe…” He stopped and let his words fall away.

  “Maybe what?” said Siebert.

  “Nothing,” said Bellibar. “You don’t want to hear it.”

  “Yes, I do,” said Siebert. “Now spit it out, else I’ll dose you down and we’ll get right on with it.”

  “Maybe they can be so stupid and still acquire so much because they always stick together somehow,” he said.

  “And ol’ boys like us…?” said Siebert, knowing there was more coming on the matter.

  “Maybe ol’ boys like us are too busy always trying to kill each other,” Bellibar said. “Maybe if we all—”

  “You stole my gun and shot me, Bobby Hugh,” said Siebert, seeing where Bellibar was headed.

  “Only because you unloaded my gun and was going to shoot me, Aces,” Bellibar returned.

  “Damn it,” said Siebert, “I don’t see how you—”

  “Let’s don’t go through all that again, Aces,” said Bellibar, cutting him off. “Yes, I shot you, but I didn’t kill you.”

  “No,” said Siebert, “that’s because this big cross of mine saved my life.” He whipped the crucifix out from behind his shirt and showed him the bullet-scarred bottom edge. “Deflected the bullet,” he said, lifting his eyes to the barn rafters and the endless sky beyond.

  Staring at him, Bellibar said, “Something like that has to give a man pause. Peculiar, wouldn’t you say? All we went through, now here we are again, neither of us worse for wear. And now I’m dealt the kind of hand we both would give our eyeteeth for.”

  “I got to admit you’ve landed on a sure thing, Bobby Hugh,” said Siebert.

  “I know,” said Bellibar. “Think about it. Instead of us going to Lookout Hill, hats in hand begging for work, we ride right up to them and say, ‘How would you fellows feel about robbing Pettigo-American Mining with us?’”

  “It is one fine position to be in. I’ll give you that, Bobby Hugh,” Siebert admitted, taking a step back, considering everything Bellibar had said.

  “What time’s it getting to be?” Bellibar asked, letting his head hang down for a moment.

  Siebert looked all around and said, “I don’t know…I make it to be two, maybe three in the morning,” he said.

  “Damn,” said Bellibar in disbelief. He noted the darkness beyond the circle of lantern light. “How long was I knocked out?”

  “A long while,” Hot Aces Siebert said with a dark chuckle. “I hit you hard enough to kill any normal man. They say it’s hard to kill an idiot.”

  Bellibar let the remark slip past him. He raised his face.

  “It’s not too early to get some breakfast,” he said. “How long since you’ve seen a couple of Mexican eggs stare up at you from beside a roasted capon?”

  “Breakfast, huh?” said Siebert, thinking about it.

  “Yeah, why not?” said Bellibar. “I’d like to hear all about that bruja and her mare putting a hex on you.”

  “It’s a hell of a story,” said Siebert.

  “Then what are we waiting for?” said Bellibar. “I’m already tasting capon and eggs—some pepper gravy hot enough to lift an anvil…?”

  Bellibar noticed Siebert waver. He waited, te
nsed, until Siebert reached over and stuck the cap back on the oil tin.

  “I could eat something, that’s a fact,” Siebert said.

  Chapter 14

  Inside the ragged tent cantina, at a table near the rear canvas wall, Bobby Hugh Bellibar and Hot Aces Siebert sat drinking steaming hot chicory from earthen mugs. As suggested beforehand, they’d ordered huevos y gallo asado—eggs and roasted rooster—from a young prostitute wearing the same soiled white peasant gown she’d worked in the night before. As she’d turned to leave, Siebert grabbed her wrist.

  “That capon better be fresh,” he warned, giving her a sharp, deadly stare. “You would not want me sinking my teeth into a sour rooster.”

  “Sí, rooster más fresco,” the girl said, looking frightened, eager to get away.

  “Bueno,” said Siebert, turning her wrist loose, “and get some clean clothes on. We’re eating here.”

  “Sí, I will,” she said, grateful that his rough hand unwrapped from around her wrist.

  When the girl had left through the rear tent fly, Bellibar started to speak, but Siebert held up a hand, postponing him. The two sat in silence for a moment until out back, the majestic crow of a rooster transformed into a cry of pain.

  “Fresh enough for you?” Bellibar asked.

  Siebert gave a slim smile.

  “Yep. Now go ahead,” he said.

  “All right,” said Bellibar, taking up where he’d left off, “I figure Pettigo took me for a hard case as soon he laid eyes on me. I’d lit out the back of this tent in a hurry. The livery boy warned me Pettigo and his men were here, and he knew that two Lookout Hill boys had killed one of his men—turned out the man was his accountant, who liked walking the dark side, so to speak.”

  “And…?” said Siebert.

  “And out back of the tent I ran into two of Pettigo’s men. To get off a tight spot, I killed the two Lookout Hill boys. Pettigo hired me, put me in charge here—leastwise that’s what he wanted me to think.” He grinned. “I think I scared him. He saw in my eyes I might just kill him for the hell of it, and he figured it better to hire me, get me on his side.”

  “Fear is a wonderful thing,” Siebert said.

  “Well said,” Bellibar replied. He grinned. “So my job is to keep an eye on Copper Gully. I see anybody who might be Lookout Hill boys, Bang! I kill them flatout. Keep them from gathering up in strength. Not a bad job, as jobs go,” he added.

  Siebert sipped his chicory.

  “So, if you and I was to repartner up, we get with the Cady brothers, set up a raid on Pettigo-American and ride away with our saddlebags full.”

  “Every miner working there gets their pay in gold coin,” Bellibar said. “Instead of us taking a small cut riding for the Lookout Hill boys, we’ll take a bold share for setting it up and getting them up from Copper Gully without me warning the Pettigos.”

  Siebert’s expression turned sour.

  “I see some things that could go wrong for us,” he said. “How do we know the Cady brothers will take us in?”

  Bellibar stared at him.

  “Aside from me leading them through the front door,” he said. “I know they’re four men short. I’ve been killing them rabbits for a stew.” He held up four fingers and lowered one each time he said a name.

  “Harvey Moran…Bad Sharlo Bering, right here in this tent cantina,” he said. “On the way up the trail after you and I had our falling-out, I killed Saginaw Sparks and a Mex he called Paco something or other.” He waved the name away.

  Siebert sipped his chicory and gave him a grim look.

  “I’ve got to think about it,” he said after a moment of somber reflection.

  “Think about it?” said Bellibar. “What got into you all of a sudden? You were on this as soon as I spelled it out to you. Now you got to think about it?”

  “Don’t be crowding me,” Siebert warned, raising a hand in caution.

  “I’m not crowding you,” Bellibar said. He sat staring at him curiously. Finally he said, “This is all about the hex you think the bruja put on you, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t think it. I know it,” said Siebert. “But no, it’s not that.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Bellibar, disgusted. “You superstitious, witch-killing son of a—” He stopped short. “I hand you the best deal you’ve had since Texas didn’t hang you…you’re afraid some dead bruja has hexed you?”

  “That’s it. Make mockery of things you don’t understand,” said Siebert. “You wasn’t talking this way to me when I was ready to fire you up from the ankles.” He clenched his jaw and snarled, “You’re making me regret that I didn’t kill you.” His hand went under the table.

  “The way you’re acting, you’re making me regret it too,” said Bellibar. He let his hand drop under the table, his Colt now back in his holster, though Siebert had taken his big Remington back from him.

  “So it looks like we’re right back where we started,” Siebert said tightly.

  “Not because I want us to be,” said Bellibar. “I’ve got us a deal better than any I’ve seen. All I want to do is go do it. I don’t give a damn about witches, or black mares are any of that malarkey.”

  “It’s not malarkey,” said Siebert, his hand still under the tabletop, “and I won’t have you making it worse by poking fun at it.”

  “Do not let me hear you cock that gun, else I will cut you in half at the waist,” said Bellibar. “We can repartner up or shoot each other to pieces. Right about now I don’t give a damn.” He stared coldly at Siebert, but Siebert’s eyes streaked past him, to the stable boy who ran into the tent, out of breath, looking scared.

  “Señor! There you are,” the boy cried out to Siebert. “You must come quick. Your mare has disappeared!”

  “Somebody stole her?” Siebert asked.

  “No—I mean, yes! I mean, I don’t know, señor!” the boy shouted. “She is gone—ido! She has vanished—desaparecido!”

  “See?” said Siebert, rising quickly. “There’s nothing natural about this, not by a long shot.” He hurried to the front of the tent, the stable boy leading him. “This is what happens when you make a mockery,” he said to Bellibar over his shoulder. Bellibar stood up and hurried along behind them to the barn, where he stood watching as the stable boy showed Siebert a donkey standing in the stall where the mare had been, the short length of rope around its bony neck. At the sight of the donkey, Siebert jumped back from the stall as if he’d seen a ghost.

  “Oh my God!” he said in a low, trembling voice. “This is the hex working. The dead bruja turned the black mare into a donkey.”

  Listening, the frightened stable boy made the sign of the cross on his thin chest and stepped away from the stall.

  “Jesus, listen to yourself, Aces,” said Bellibar. “Dead witches don’t change nothing to nothing…if they ever could in the first place.”

  “Don’t make light of me, I swear to God, Bobby Hugh!” Siebert shouted, his hand clasping around the butt of his Remington.

  “I’m not making light of you, Aces,” Bellibar said with a note of disgust in his tone. He walked to the stall and lifted the latch.

  “Don’t go in there, Bobby Hugh,” Siebert warned, his voice still carrying a tremor.

  Bellibar stared at him as he walked inside, stepped over to the donkey and ran a hand along its bristly withers. He held his wet hand up for Siebert to see.

  “It’s lathered with sweat, Aces,” he said. “This mallet head was rode here hard. Somebody swapped it for the black mare. From what I saw of the mare, I can’t blame them.”

  “Yeah…?” Siebert stepped forward warily; so did the stable boy. “If that’s the case,” he continued, “I’m saying it was the bruja who did it.”

  “Make up your mind, Aces,” said Bellibar. “Either you killed her or you didn’t. I can’t take much more of—”

  “All right, I killed her—she’s dead!” said Siebert. “Dead and gone.” He turned and stared at the stable boy. “This was all your
fault, you little son of a bitch,” he growled. He kicked his boot at the boy and drew his Remington, but the boy raced away as fast as a rabbit before Siebert could cock and fire.

  Siebert stood looming in the grainy light of the lantern, his chest heaving for breath. His Remington slumped down at his side. After a long, silent moment he turned and faced Bellibar.

  “Are you done with it?” Bellibar asked in a solemn tone of voice.

  “I’m done with it,” Siebert replied. “I don’t know what got into me and I won’t be taunted about it,” he said in a warning tone. “But it’s over. Tell me how you want to play things. I’m right beside you.”

  “First, we go back and eat the breakfast we ordered,” said Bellibar, glad to see Hot Aces had come to his senses. “Then I want you to meet the Russian. He works for Pettigo, but he likes this Mexican dope. Cross his palm with enough gold coin to keep him doping and he’s on our side all the way.”

  “What about my mare?” Siebert asked.

  “What about her?” Bellibar asked.

  “I can’t let her get stolen and rode off that way,” said Siebert.

  “You stole her, Aces,” said Bellibar.

  “Still…,” said Siebert.

  “You were all set to burn her alive,” Bellibar said. “You’ve got your roan back. If anybody needs a mount here, it’s me. Besides, if whoever took her is any thief at all, they are long gone by now. The time you spend tracking them down, we could be getting ourselves ready to be rich men.”

  “All right, I’ll let it go,” said Siebert, settling it in his mind.

  “Good,” said Bellibar, getting tired of Siebert’s craziness, wondering if he should go on and kill him when this was over. “Let’s go eat, and then I’ll take you to meet the Russian.”

  Inside the adobe building set up to be the office for the sheriff, Cherzi the Russian sat behind a battered oak desk he dragged all the way from the mercantile up the street. A large Colt lay broken apart atop the desk, placed on an oil-stained cleaning rag. Cherzi looked up from cleaning the gun barrel as Siebert and Bellibar walked through the door.