Lookout Hill (9781101606735)

by Cotton, Ralph W.

  “Cherzi, this is a pal of mine, Hodding Siebert,” Bellibar said to the stoic Russian. To Siebert he said, “Hot Aces, this is Cherzi something or other. I won’t try to say his last name, nor should you.”

  “Is Cherzi Persocovich,” the Russian said in stiff English. “Is not something or other.”

  “Yeah, right,” Bellibar replied with a chuckle, “anywho, Hodding here will be working with us.”

  “Oh…?” the Russian said to Bellibar, eyeing Hodding Siebert up and down. “Why you call him Hot Aces?”

  Bellibar considered it with a bemused look on his face.

  “Yeah, come to think of it,” he said to Siebert, “why does everybody call you Hot Aces?”

  “For the same reason everybody calls you Bobby Hugh,” Siebert replied in a sharp tone.

  “Because Bobby Hugh is my name,” said Bellibar. He gave a slight shrug.

  “Let’s let it go, Bobby Hugh,” said Siebert. “My pa was a gambling man, all right?”

  “Fine by me,” said Bellibar.

  The Russian appeared to hurry up cleaning the big Colt and reassemble it.

  “I have not seen Leonard Tiggs since yesterday afternoon when he went to bury the dead gunmen,” he said.

  “Neither have I,” said Bellibar. “Maybe he couldn’t wait any longer to run up to Pettigo, spill his guts about how we’re doing things here.”

  Cherzi looked back and forth between the two of them as he loaded his clean Colt and spun the cylinder.

  “His horse is in the corral behind the livery barn,” said the Russian matter-of-factly. “I saw it this morning at daybreak when I walked past.” He stared blankly at Bellibar.

  “You don’t say,” said Bellibar. “Do you suppose something bad has happened to him?”

  “Yes, I think something very bad has happened to him,” said the Russian. He looked coolly back and forth between them, seeing Siebert’s hand gripping the butt of the holstered Remington, Bellibar’s hand on his Colt. He gave a short, flat smile and slipped his Colt down loosely into his belly holster. “But I don’t give a damn-it-to-hell,” he said. “If Tiggs is gone, maybe we can start making some the money you tell me about, eh?”

  “You bet your life we can, Cherzi,” said Bellibar. He grinned at Siebert and said, “I told you you’re going to like this fellow, Aces.”

  Siebert started to say something in reply when the front door swung open and one of the morning bartenders from the tent cantina hurried in, wide-eyed and out of breath. All three gunmen swung toward him, their guns out of their holsters, cocked and poised.

  “You ever rush up on me or my men again, Burns,” Bellibar warned in harsh tone, “I’m going to go on and kill you…We’ll call it suicide.”

  “Sheriff, I’m damned sorry,” said Cletis Burns, his hands chest high. “You said let you know if any gunmen ride in who might be Lookout Hill boys?”

  “That’s right,” said Bellibar. “What have you got?”

  “Billy Boyle is at the cantina. He’s one of the Cady brothers’ meanest gunmen. I know because Dale Pettigo’s mercenaries shooed him out of here about this same time last year.”

  The Russian and the two gunmen looked at each other.

  “Obliged, Burns,” Bellibar said to the bartender. “Now go back there and act like nothing’s going on. We’ll take care of it.”

  “This is how they do it, Sheriff,” Burns said. “They ease in here one, two, three at a time until they’ve got enough to ride straight up the gully to the mines—”

  “I said obliged. We’ve got it, Burns,” Bellibar said in a stronger tone. “Now get going before I pistol-whip the living hell out of you.”

  The bartender gave him a puzzled look, but he didn’t test his luck. He turned and left almost at a run. When he was gone, Bellibar gestured to Siebert and the Russian.

  “Was I too harsh?” he asked.

  “Not too harsh,” said the Russian.

  “Not at all,” said Siebert. “I always said a sheriff needs to take a strong hand for the law.”

  “All right, then, pards,” said Bellibar, “I expect it’s time we start turning all this talk into action.”

  As the early drinkers filed into the tent cantina and lined the bar, a wiry gunman named Billy Boyle stood pouring a shot of rye. He didn’t see the Russian come in with his hat low on his forehead and take a chair at a table in the center of the dirt floor. Nor did he notice Hodding Siebert walk in through the rear door and take position at the far end of bar. Boyle was here to test the town’s defenses. He had gone unnoticed, he thought—so far, so good.

  But when he threw back his rye and set the shot glass down in front of him, as if from out of nowhere an empty feed sack came down over his head and tightened around him. He reached instinctively for his holstered Smith & Wesson, but he was too late. A hand reached out and snatched it from him as he struggled inside the feed sack.

  “Up you go, Billy Boyle. You’re under arrest,” said a voice with a dark chuckle.

  Another voice added, “Keep fighting us and I’ll crack your skull open.”

  “I have his gun,” said another in stiff English.

  Uh-oh! Boyle recognized the Russian’s voice from the year before. Pettigo’s mercenaries had sworn they would kill him if he ever returned.

  “I’m not fighting you. I swear I’m not!” he said, feeling hands lift him off his feet. “This is a mistake. I’m only passing through town. I’m not here looking for any trouble!”

  He felt himself slung over a shoulder like a bag of seed and carried away, out the tent fly and down the dirt street.

  In a moment he felt himself carried across a boardwalk, through a squeaking door and plopped down onto a wooden chair.

  Even as someone jerked the sack from over him, he spit lint and said quickly, “I swear to God I haven’t come here to…” His words trailed as he looked into the grim face of the Russian.

  “Shut your face up,” Cherzi said, holding Boyle’s gun in his big hand.

  Boyle stared at him in fear.

  “Don’t soil yourself, hombre,” said Bellibar. “We’re all out for the same thing here.”

  “Oh? What’s that?” Boyle said, looking back and forth at them.

  “Robbing the Pettigo-American Mining Company,” said Bellibar. He grinned. But the gunman looked suspicious.

  “Then why did you snatch me up like this?” he asked.

  “To keep from having to kill you,” said Bellibar. “We needed to talk to you. You wouldn’t have come peaceful-like, would you?”

  “No, probably not,” said Boyle.

  “Also we didn’t want to tip our hand to anybody here, let them see what we’re up to,” Bellibar said. “I’m the new sheriff, Bobby Hugh Bellibar. These are my deputies, Aces Siebert and Cherzi something or other. We’re the ones who’s keeping all you thieves from Lookout Hill away from here.”

  Boyle relaxed a little and said, “Damn, I’ve heard of you, Bellibar, you too, Siebert. You two would steal a hot stove with no gloves on.”

  “This I would do too,” the Russian said proudly.

  “All right, then…what can I do for you, Sheriff?” Boyle said.

  “You can ride up to Lookout Hill with me, keep me from getting shot until I can explain myself. Once I put things right with the Cadys,” said Bellibar, “we’ll all ride up this damn one-way gully and take what we want.”

  PART 3

  Chapter 15

  Juan Lupo and the Ranger sat atop a cliff overlooking a stretch of hilltops and high trails winding upward toward Lookout Hill. Both manhunters gazed down respectively, Sam through a long, battered telescope, Lupo through a shabby pair of binoculars. Watching three riders gallop up along the rocky winding trail, Sam got a good look at Hodding Siebert’s face as the outlaw looked up and all around, warily.

  “It’s Aces Siebert,” Sam said.

  “Yes, I saw him too,” Lupo said. “That is Billy Boyle leading them up.”

  “There’s litt
le doubt in my mind the rider beside him is Bobby Hugh Bellibar,” Sam added. He shook his head, lowered the field lens and rubbed his eye. “Somehow these two maniacs managed to get back together.”

  “And found someone to lead them to the Cadys,” Lupo said, lowering his binoculars.

  “How far are we from the trail they’re on?” Sam asked.

  “By the time we ride back and over to pick up their trail, they will have made it into the protection of Lookout Hill. We will never get into the Cadys’ lair on our own. The trail is too well guarded. They see everything coming up the trail for miles. There’s no other way up to them.”

  “What about by rope?” Sam said, gesturing toward a high-standing vertical wall of rock on the northern side of the steep hill.

  Lupo didn’t answer. Instead he scooted back from the edge of the cliff, stood up and dusted his trousers.

  “We must wait until these men ride back down to Copper Gully,” he said, nodding southwardly. “The trail they ride comes from there.”

  “Then we ride over to their trail and wait right there,” Sam said. “Let’s hope the Cadys want nothing to do with these two.”

  The Ranger still suspected that Lupo wasn’t being entirely truthful about what he was up to out here. It was time to squeeze a little more information out of him.

  “Sí, we could wait right there,” Lupo said. He looked restlessly back in the direction of Copper Gully. “But if we go to Barranca del Cobre, they are sure to come there when they ride down from Lookout Hill.”

  Sure to come there?

  Sam stared at him and said, “How do we know they’ll even come down at all? These two could lie under the Cadys’ protection for weeks.”

  “This is true,” said Lupo, “but I think—”

  “Get it out, Easy John,” Sam said, cutting him off.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Lupo said innocently.

  “Tell me what it is that’s got you wanting to give up chasing these two riders to Copper Gully. For a bounty hunter, you’re sure letting your prey slip out of your reach.”

  “No, you are wrong, Ranger,” Lupo insisted. “You misread my intentions.”

  “If I’m misreading your intentions, I can misread them sitting right here. I don’t have to ride to Copper Gully to do it.” He paused, then said, “You’re after something bigger than the reward on these two murdering saddle tramps. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve seen the clock start ticking ever since we rode up this high trail.” He gave a short, wry smile. “I’m curious to hear what it is.” He remained seated on the rocky ground as he collapsed the telescope and appeared to make himself comfortable for the long stay.

  Lupo looked back in the direction of Copper Gully for a moment, then looked back at the Ranger.

  “All right, Ranger,” said Lupo, “you are right. The clock is ticking…and there is more at stake than the reward on these two murdering vagabundos. But I cannot tell you everything. The people I work for would never forgive me.”

  “I’m sure they would, Easy John,” Sam said. He picked up his rifle from against a rock and held it pointed loosely at the government agent. “Tell them I held a gun on you.”

  “Put your rifle away,” said Lupo. “They would not accept that as a reason for me to reveal my mission.”

  “Your mission…,” Sam said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He let his rifle slump onto his lap.

  Lupo took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

  “I will tell you a story, Ranger Burrack,” he said, “and you must believe it or disbelieve it, as you choose.”

  “Fair enough.” Sam nodded and listened intently.

  “Over a year ago, I tracked a wagonload of stolen gold to Fire River Valley and recovered it for my government. Instead of taking it directly back to Mexico City, I buried it in the desert to keep it from being stolen again. But when my government recovered it from the desert, the man they sent to lead the mission was not loyal to my emperor or to Generalissimo Manuel Ortega, whom I serve. His loyalties lie with corrupt Anglo commerce interests who extort my people and bleed my country’s resources.”

  Politics. Be careful, Sam warned himself.

  He sat watching, listening, knowing the truth was now coming out. But how much? He’d have to decide that for himself.

  “Instead of taking all of the gold back to Mexico City, he diverted much of it to his Americano associates. The gold is in the custody of the Pettigo-American Mining Company. It sits in a wagon, under guard, in a building that no worker is allowed to enter.”

  “How reliable is your information?” Sam asked.

  “I found this out from peasant mine workers who did not realize how valuable their information was to me. So the gold has not yet been moved to a new location. How reliable is it?” He gave a short shrug. “It explains why the Cadys are always dead set on robbing a payroll which is modest at best, from a mine whose defenses are next to impenetrable.”

  Sam considered it.

  “If all you’re telling me is true,” he offered, “why not send a troop of federales up to Pettigo-American, retrieve the gold and be done with it?”

  “If only it were that easy, Ranger,” Lupo said. “It is a fragile relationship my government has with yours. My poor country needs the help of honest American commerce and business. But along with the honest Anglo businessmen comes a bad element. And I’m afraid the Pettigos are the very worst of that bad element. Yet, if a force of federales enter an American mining enterprise, it would have dire and far-reaching consequences. Other American business would give pause to coming here.”

  Sam gave him a curious gaze.

  “So you weren’t interested in tracking down Siebert and Bellibar, or even in getting up to Lookout Hill. Your only interest is Pettigo-American Mining.”

  “And recovering my country’s gold without turning it into conflict between our governments,” Lupo added.

  “You were pulling me into this knowing that my being here can have nothing to do with political matters,” Sam said.

  “I am still trying to pull you into this, Ranger,” said Lupo. “I have no choice.”

  “Your government sent you alone, to get in and out the best way you can?” Sam shook his head. “That sounds real shaky, Easy John.”

  “I had three valuable contacts established,” said Lupo. “One was Wilton Marrs, a leader among the Cadys’ Lookout Hill boys. But as we know, outlaws have a habit of killing each other for little or no reason. In Marrs’ case, the Cadys saw that he was gaining too much respect among their men.”

  “You said three contacts,” Sam said.

  “The other two, Paco Reyes and Saginaw Sparks, were killed right after telling me the Cadys were getting ready to launch a large attack on the Pettigos,” said Lupo. “But after our meeting, I heard shots on the trail ahead of me and found their bodies there.”

  “One of our boys?” Sam asked.

  “Yes, Bellibar,” said Lupo. “I saw him later, riding on the trail below me.”

  “Then you spotted me,” said Sam. “You saw that I was on his trail. You started following me.”

  “It is true, Ranger,” said Lupo. “I followed you until my horse came upon a bull rattler, spooked and fell over a cliff.” He gave a slight smile. “Knowing you had a spare horse, I had to come announce myself.”

  “That’s your whole story?” Sam asked.

  “Yes, it is,” said Lupo. “I hope you believe it’s the truth, because I need your help—my country needs your help.” He paused, then asked, “Do you believe it is the truth?”

  Sam gave a slight shrug. It was as much truth as he’d ever get out of a spy like him, he decided.

  “Will you help me, Ranger?” Lupo asked in a somber tone. “It will put me in your debt. Anything I can assist you with to make your job less difficult, you will have only to ask—”

  Sam raised a hand, cutting him short, still considering the political complexion of this.

  “I’m only after
Bellibar and Siebert. Nothing has changed,” he said. “But if my interest and yours work out to be the same, so much for coincidence.” As he spoke, he stood up from the ground and dusted his trousers. “We’ll leave these two running free for now, if that helps you make your plans. But get your plans laid fast. The next time I see these men is the last time I ever want to see them.”

  The Russian, Cherzi Persocovich, didn’t see his two fellow mercenaries ride into town. The half-breed, Clayton “Cold Foot” Cain, and the former assassin, Newton Ridge, deliberately circled around behind the town and rode in from the same direction any gunman on the prowl would use if that person was riding down from Lookout Hill. When neither the Russian nor Leonard Tiggs, or the new man, Bob Hughes, confronted them, Ridge turned in his saddle to the half-breed as they walked their horses toward the tent cantina.

  “If this was a test to see who’s on their toes here, Tiggs and Cherzi failed by a long shot,” he said.

  “What about the new sheriff?” Cold Foot asked, staring straight ahead.

  “The new sheriff…yeah, right,” Ridge said cynically. He spit and ran a gloved hand across his lips. “Far as I’m concerned, this Bob Hughes is a broken wheel getting ready to slip its hub.”

  Cold Foot shook his head, still staring ahead along the dirt street.

  “I don’t know what that means,” he said.

  “It means, my half-redskin amigo, that he is not going to last very long.” He gave a knowing smile. “This would be a good time for you to borrow some money from him.”

  “I don’t need to borrow any money from him,” Cold Foot said flatly. “I have my own money.”

  The former assassin for hire stared at the stoic half-breed.

  “Damn, Cold Foot, do I have to spell it out for you?” he said as if in disbelief.

  Cold Foot stared straight ahead in silence.

  “I’m saying if you were to borrow some money from Hughes, you wouldn’t have to worry about ever paying it back. Denver Jennings said old man Pettigo hit the ceiling when he heard his son hired this lunatic to watch for Cady gunmen. The old man and Jennings sent us down here behind Dale Pettigo’s back to check on things. Jennings gave me the go-ahead, said nobody would miss this Hughes if a couple of bullets ran through his ears. Said were it to happen, it might even get a mercenary like me a hundred-dollar pay bonus.”