Lookout Hill (9781101606735)

by Cotton, Ralph W.

  “I wish I had some whiskey for you, Easy John,” Sam offered, drawing the thread snug, watching the deep crimson gash close beneath his hands.

  “Whiskey is for happy occasions,” John replied, watching him intently. “I would not waste it at a time like this.”

  Sam nodded absently and continued tacking the open wounds together. When he finished, he covered the barely seeping wounds with dried strips of clean cloth and wrapped longer strips around the Mexican’s abdomen to hold the bandages in place.

  “That’s as good as you’ll get from me,” he said, picking up Lupo’s poncho and placing it on the blanket beside him. “It’ll have to do until we get you somewhere and have you looked at proper.”

  “I have no time to leave Copper Gully and get looked at proper, Ranger,” Lupo said. “I rest tonight. Tomorrow we ride into the edge of the gully and watch for the Cadys. Do you see any reason why I cannot?”

  “You’ve got some deep wounds, Easy John. That’s all I’ll say on the matter,” Sam replied. “If you ride tomorrow, I ride beside you. If you need to heal a day or two, I’ll go along with that too.”

  “Oh? But what about Siebert and Bellibar, and all the people they have killed?” said Lupo. “Would you let them slip away, after hunting them all this time?”

  “I’ll get them, Lupo,” said Sam, “but if it means getting you killed…they’ll keep.”

  “I will rest tonight and ride tomorrow,” Lupo said with determination, as if closing discussion on the matter.

  “That’s what I figured,” Sam said, turning to the pot of coffee he’d set to boil on the small fire.

  He poured two cups of coffee and set Lupo’s at his side. He picked up a tin plate he’d filled with warm beans and elk jerky and placed it on Lupo’s lap.

  “Eat this,” he said, “start getting your strength back.”

  “Gracias,” said Lupo. He lifted the tin plate stiffly and ate.

  “Now that you’re cleaned up and sewn back together, what did you find out in town?” Sam asked.

  Lupo swallowed a bite of beans and elk and sipped hot coffee.

  “I must tell you about Bellibar and Siebert,” Lupo said. “They are now the new sheriff and deputy in Copper Gully.” He stared at Sam waiting for his response.

  Sam looked taken aback, but only for a moment. Finally he shook his head and let out a breath.

  “Nothing those two do should surprise me anymore,” he said, “but how did it happen?”

  Lupo chewed beans, swallowed and sipped coffee.

  “The Pettigos control everything in Copper Gully,” he said. “So it must have been by their authority.”

  “Nobody in their right mind would pin badges on those two wild-eyed squirrels,” Sam said.

  “Somebody has,” said Lupo. “If I were to guess, I would say it was Dale Pettigo who did it. But it doesn’t matter which one. Bellibar and Siebert were riding to Lookout Hill. My hunch is that they could not wait to betray the Pettigos and join the Cadys.”

  “I’d say your hunch is right,” Sam replied.

  “I have observed Pettigo-American Mining Company very closely these past weeks, Ranger,” said Lupo. “Every month when it is time for them to pay their miners, the Cadys begin sending men around looking for a weakness to exploit. With Bellibar and Siebert watching over the town and allying with the Cadys, this month will be the perfect time for them to strike.”

  Sam nodded, considering it, and sipped his coffee.

  “This is why we ride into the gully tomorrow,” he said.

  “Then finish eating, and get rested,” Sam said. “I’ll put out this fire so we won’t announce ourselves.”

  “You can put it out now,” said Lupo. “I am like a wolf. I am used to eating by the light of the moon.”

  “So am I,” Sam said. “It looks like we’ve both come to the right place.” He scraped his boot back and forth across the small campfire until it turned from a glowing light to blackness on the ground. In the darkness, Lupo finished eating in silence and lay down on his blanket for the night.

  The Ranger—with his bedroll facing out over the remaining lights of town—leaned back onto his saddle watching the distant darkness that lay along the trail leading down from Lookout Hill. When the moon moved on across the sky, he continued to watch, half dozing, until deep in the night he saw the flash of a match flare up and fall away in the darkness, leaving in its wake the glow of a burning cigar.

  There it is, someone on the far trail….

  He homed in on the faint light of the cigar like a nighthawk, seeing it move steadily and silently along the trail as if floating freely in the black night air. When he’d convinced himself that nothing would disappear if he turned his eyes away from the light for a second, he stood up and stepped close enough to bat the side of his boot lightly against Lupo’s leg.

  “Easy John, wake up,” he whispered, even though the distance between them and the burning cigar was great.

  To his surprise, Lupo was not asleep.

  “I see it,” he said in the same lowered tone. He reached a hand up to the Ranger. Sam took it and helped him rise stiffly to his feet.

  When Lupo leaned to pick up his saddle, Sam stooped down and picked it up for him.

  “I am able to carry my end of things, Ranger,” Lupo said.

  “I know you are,” Sam said, “but it’s quicker for me to do it right now.” He took up both of their saddles and carried them to the horses. “You wait here and keep an eye on our smoker,” he added over his shoulder. “I’ll get the horses ready.”

  Lupo nodded to himself, seeing the Ranger’s reasoning. He picked up his rifle in the darkness and stood watching the burning red glow move along the far trail. When the Ranger returned a few minutes later, leading their horses behind him, he also looked over at the burning cigar.

  “You know these high trails, Easy John,” he said. “Get us up in front of them.”

  “We are headed there now, Ranger,” he said, shoving his rifle down into its boot. “The longer this hombre smokes his cigar, the better for us,” he added. “But it does not matter. We know they are there. We will find them along these hill trails, eh?”

  Grabbing his saddle horn, Lupo swung himself up stiffly onto his horse. Once Sam saw Lupo was successfully atop his ride, Sam swung up into his own saddle and turned the big stallion to the trail. Lupo turned his horse and rode beside him.

  At the head of a group of riders, Bert Cady turned in his saddle and looked back along the men moving forward quietly, single file on the narrow trail. Beside Bert, his brother, Fletcher, heard him growl and curse under his breath.

  “This son of a bitch!” Bert hissed.

  Fletcher turned quickly in his saddle and batted his eyes as if trying to believe them. As the long line of riders rounded a turn in the trail, Fletcher and Bert both saw the red glow of a cigar moving along behind the last men.

  “I’m going to kill this idiot!” Bert growled, yanking his Colt from his holster.

  Fletcher caught his brother’s horse by its bridle and stopped him from storming toward the guilty man.

  “Damn it, Bertrim, hold on,” said Fletcher, keeping a firm grip as Bert Cady yanked on the reins. The horse neighed in protest. “Those two are our ticket up through Copper Gully.”

  “Not that cigar-smoking bastard,” said Bert. He started to yank harder on his horse’s reins, but he stopped as Fletcher sidled his horse over against his.

  “Listen to me, Bertrim,” Fletcher said in a firm, lowered tone, seeing that the men behind them were beginning to bunch up. “Kill them both if you want to. I’ll even help you—”

  “I don’t need no help,” Bert growled.

  “I’m just saying,” said Fletcher, “kill them both, only not now. Wait until we’re divvying up Mexican gold ingots. Do you hear what I’m saying? First the gold, then the idiot. Don’t let nothing keep us from getting that gold, not when we’re this close.” He paused, watched his brother settle down a litt
le.

  “Damn it, I know you’re right,” said Bert, cooling off. He looked Fletcher up and down in the moonlight and took a deep breath. “Let go of my cayuse, Fletch. I won’t kill him.”

  “Are you sure, Bert?” Fletched asked.

  “I’ve got it under control,” Bert assured him. “Ride back with me if you’ll feel better.”

  Fletcher raised a hand to the men nearest behind them.

  “Everybody hold up right here,” he said, turning behind his brother and riding back past the single line of men.

  Seeing the Cady brothers riding quickly back toward him, Bobby Hugh Bellibar instinctively dropped a hand onto the butt of his holstered Colt. When they moved past him, he let out a breath of relief. But his relief ended when he saw Bert Cady snatch the cigar stub from Siebert’s mouth, grind it to dry rubble between his gloved hands and let it fall to the ground.

  “Hey, hombre, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” said Siebert. “That was my only cigar!” He started to nudge his horse forward, but beside Bert Cady, Fletcher’s Colt came up quick, cocked and pointed from less than four feet away.

  “One more step, Siebert, and I’ll burn you and your horse down right here and now,” said Fletcher Cady, aiming down the length of his gun barrel.

  Siebert stopped, but he didn’t look concerned. A strange grin came to his face.

  “Would you really, now?” he said.

  “Bet on it,” Fletcher said in a sharp tone. His finger was wrapped around the trigger; his thumb held the cocked hammer.

  One quick raise of his thumb would do it. Yet Siebert seemed as if he couldn’t care less.

  “I’m not betting on it,” he said. “In fact, if I were to bet, I’d say you’re not about to let fly.” He gave a dark chuckle. “If you get that upset about one damned cigar, imagine what a gunshot would do this close to Copper Gully. Hell, you’d start up a whole string of gunshots running straight up the Pettigos’ front door.”

  Bert Cady couldn’t stand it any longer. He jerked his own gun from his holster.

  “I’m killing him—that’s all there is to it!” he said.

  “Don’t do it, Bertrim. Damn it, we went through all this!” said Fletcher.

  “The gold?” said Bert. “To hell with the gold! I’ll take my chances on nobody hearing it. Plus, it’s worth giving up the gold to get to kill this son of a bitch.”

  “Gold?” said Bellibar, staring at Fletcher and Bert in the moonlight.

  Fletcher realized his brother’s slip up and tried to fix it.

  “Yeah, the payroll gold,” he said. Reaching his free hand over and shoving Bert’s gun barrel down. “Pettigo-American always pays its help in gold. Everybody knows that. Right, Bertrim?”

  Some of the men had drifted back to watch; they looked at one another.

  Bert caught himself and once again calmed down. He looked back and forth as he slid his Colt back into his holster.

  “That’s right. They pay in gold coin. I’m talking about the payroll gold,” he said. “What the hell other gold would I be talking about?”

  “None,” Fletcher offered. “That’s all the gold we’re talking about.”

  But it was too late to straighten out what he’d said. The more they tried to cover it, the worse it was going to sound. Bellibar listened and watched, as did Siebert and the rest of the men.

  Bert turned his horse toward Bellibar, who sat staring at him.

  “Keep this monkey under control,” he said, gesturing toward Siebert. Turning to Siebert, he said, “One more shine out of you, I won’t even use a gun. I’ll cut your damned heart out and feed it to you.”

  Siebert sat slouched in his saddle, his wrists crossed on his saddle horn. He waited until the Cadys rode away and the rest of the men fell back into line.

  “Ouch…,” he said quietly to Bellibar. “Maybe you best give me my gun back now, Bobby Hugh. The crowd’s starting to get a little cross and edgy with me.”

  Jesus…. Bellibar shook his head in disgust, starting to wish he’d made sure Aces Siebert was dead the day he’d left him floating downstream.

  “I told you, Copper Gully,” Bellibar replied. “You’ll get it then, and not a minute before.”

  They rode on in silence for the next hour and a half until the line of riders stepped their horses onto Copper Gully’s main street. Bellibar rode up ahead of the men and the Cady brothers and met the Russian as he stepped out of the adobe building, stuffing his shirttail into his trousers. His gun belt hung over his shoulder. Behind him, a plump, naked young woman ran out onto the boardwalk. She slowed long enough to wiggle into her thin gingham dress and raced away in the dark toward the tent cantina.

  “Who you are, and why do you come here?” Cherzi called out before recognizing Bellibar in the grainy darkness.

  “It’s me, the sheriff,” Belliber replied, riding in closer, seeing the shotgun waving back and forth in the Russian’s hands. “Don’t shoot,” Bellibar added, raising his hands chest high. “These men are all with me…with us, that is.”

  “Oh,” said Cherzi, looking back and forth among the faces of the Cadys and their men.

  Bellibar stepped down from his saddle, walked up to the Russian and reached out for the shotgun.

  “I’ll take that, for safekeeping,” he said.

  Cherzi handed it over.

  Seeing Bellibar had the shotgun and had things under control, Fletcher Cady stepped his horse forward and looked down at him.

  “We’ll water our horses and rest them for an hour,” he said. He added in a lowered voice, “Then we’re pushing straight up the gully to the far end.”

  Cherzi grinned watching the Cadys and their men turn their horses toward the livery barn.

  When they were gone, Cherzi turned quickly to Bellibar.

  “Newton Ridge and the half-red Indian fellow rode down to check on us,” he said, sounding almost worried about it.

  “Did they suspect anything?” Bellibar asked.

  “I do not know,” said Cherzi. “But I killed Ridge. Cold Foot is with us. He says he wants to ride with you, but I told him to see you about it.”

  “And where is he?” Bellibar asked, looking around the darkness.

  “I don’t know,” said the Russian. “He’s been gone since this afternoon.”

  “All right, then, forget him for now,” Bellibar said, needing answers in a hurry before the Cadys returned. “Tell me about the mining yard and the buildings—how everything looks at Pettigo-American.”

  “Is big dirty place,” Cherzi said. He shrugged. “There is livery barn, blacksmith shop, supply buildings—”

  “Hold it,” said Bellibar. “What’s in the supply buildings?”

  “Supplies,” Cherzi said flatly.

  “I mean is there anything of importance? Have you been inside them?” Bellibar asked.

  “Just tools, equipment,” said Cherzi. “I have been in all except the one by the house, the one that is guarded.”

  Guarded! All right!

  Bellibar stared at him for a moment, then said, “This guarded one you can’t go in?”

  “Nobody can except the guards and Denver Jennings,” said Cherzi.

  “So you have no idea what’s inside it?” Bellibar asked.

  “Is wagon filled with relics,” said Cherzi. “Is no secret. Old man Pettigo tells everybody that’s what’s in there.”

  “I bet he does.” Bellibar grinned, getting suspicious. He wasn’t certain what this all meant, but ever since Bert had made his slip of the tongue, everything Bellibar thought of now had a shiny yellow sparkle to it.

  “Relics,” said Cherzi. He shook his head in disgust. “Who cares about old relics? The Mexican miners don’t care. None of us mercenaries care.”

  “That’s what I say, who cares about relics?” Bellibar repeated. And yet here’s a man, Edgar Pettigo, who keeps a wagonload of them under guard, he thought to himself.

  He held the shotgun out to Cherzi.

  “Are
you sober enough to ride and handle a gun?” he asked.

  “Russian always sober enough to ride and handle gun,” Cherzi said with an uptilt of his chin.

  “Then get your horse and get ready to ride, Cherzi,” Bellibar said. “We’re hitting Pettigo-American.”

  “Ah, the big payroll!” Cherzi said, a gleam coming into his eyes.

  “Yeah, the big payroll,” said Bellibar, “maybe even bigger than we think.”

  “What?” Cherzi asked.

  “Never mind,” said Bellibar. “When we get inside there, make sure you stick close to me.” Bellibar wasn’t sure what to expect, but if it was worth Pettigo guarding, it was worth him stealing.

  “I will. You got it, boss,” said the excited Russian.

  Chapter 20

  In the grainy, moonlit darkness, the Ranger and Juan Lupo skirted the outer edge of Copper Gully and looked onto the main street from a dark alley. Having arrived shortly after the Cadys and their men, the two watched the stable boy hurry from the livery barn leading four freshly attended horses and deliver the animals back to their owners. Collecting his fee, the boy grabbed the reins to four more horses and hurried back to the barn to water and grain them.

  Meanwhile, the gunmen sat sprawled along the boardwalk out in front of the new sheriff’s office. At one end, the Cady bothers stood on the street leaning against a hitch rail. Beside them stood one of their top gunmen, a Montana outlaw named Sonny White, who, along with two other outlaws, had met them along the trail from Lookout Hill.

  When the gunmen had arrived moments earlier, a few townsfolk had poked their heads out of doorways, and lamplight had swelled behind closed windows. But upon seeing the size of the group and the demeanor of its members, the townsfolk quickly ducked back inside, and windows once again turned dark.

  “How many do you make it to be, Ranger?” Lupo asked, his voice lowered, unable to mask the pain radiating from his knife wounds.