Savage Country

by William W. Johnstone

  “So he’s to be my guide?” Frank said.

  Mano Rojo nodded. “That is right.”

  “He looks more like he’d rather skin me alive or stake me out on an anthill.”

  Maldito muttered something in the Apache tongue. Mano Rojo spoke sharply to him.

  “He understands enough of your tongue to know what you said,” the chief told Frank. “He says that he will not dishonor his mouth by using white man’s words, but he agrees with you. He would like to kill you. But he will not. Maldito has ridden with me for more than twenty summers. He will do as I have told him.”

  Frank hoped Mano Rojo was right about that. He wasn’t afraid of Maldito, but he would hate to have to kill the ugly little man.

  Scheer spoke up, asking, “Do you still want to keep me here?”

  Mano Rojo nodded. “You will stay with us. You will not be mistreated. You have my word on that.”

  Scheer was smart enough not to voice any doubts he might have felt on that score. He just nodded and said, “Thank you, Mano Rojo.”

  “Do not thank me,” the Apache snapped. “Your life is truly in the hands of Frank Morgan. If he does not find the men responsible for the attack on our people and see to it that they are punished properly, your life will be forfeited.”

  Scheer looked at Frank. “Don’t let me down, Morgan,” he said.

  “I won’t,” Frank promised. More than Scheer’s life was riding on this vow. If there was going to be peace in this region, he had to satisfy the Apaches. Otherwise, they would continue to attack white men wherever they found them. Eventually, they would all be hunted down and killed, but there would be plenty of other deaths too before that happened.

  Frank could prevent any more needless killing by finding whoever was responsible for the massacre. He wouldn’t rest until he had done so.

  He got Stormy ready to ride while Maldito threw a blanket on the back of one of the scrubby ponies the Apaches rode. When they were both mounted, Maldito pointed to the west. This was going to be a mighty quiet trip, since the Apache wouldn’t speak English and Frank knew only a few words of Maldito’s language. Maybe it wouldn’t take too long to get where they were going. Frank hoped that proved to be the case.

  He gave Scheer a friendly wave and said encouragingly, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back to get you as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll be here,” Scheer replied with a dispirited sigh.

  Frank and Maldito rode out, heading west. Even though it was daylight now and he could see where they were going, Frank was still lost in a matter of minutes because the trail twisted and turned so much as it wound its way through the rugged mountains. Most of the time, even with the sun overhead, he wasn’t completely sure which direction they were going. Finding his way back to the Apache camp would have been impossible. Which was exactly what the Indians had intended by hiding out in such a remote location, of course. Frank had no doubt that Maldito could get back there without any trouble.

  After a while, they came to a fast-moving but shallow stream and forded it where the bottom was firm with gravel. Frank wondered if this was the same river that cut the gorge through the mountains so that it intersected the railroad. He thought about asking Maldito, but decided it probably wouldn’t do any good.

  They descended into a winding gully and stayed in it for a long time as it snaked across the landscape. When they finally came out, they rode up a hill, and Maldito reined in as they reached the top. He lifted an arm and pointed.

  Frank brought Stormy to a stop and looked down the slope on the far side of the hill. At the bottom of it he saw the roadbed that had been graded for the spur line. With it and the sun to orient himself, he suddenly knew where he was again, and that was a good feeling.

  He looked over at Maldito and said slowly, “I know you understand most of what I’m saying. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  Maldito surprised Frank by speaking in English. He pointed to the spot where they had stopped the horses and grunted, “Here. One week.”

  “You want to meet back here in one week?” Frank asked. He had to make sure he understood correctly. Scheer’s life might depend on it.

  “Here. One week,” Maldito said again. “Bad men punished, or white man die.”

  “You’re saying that I have one week to find out who attacked your people, or my friend will be killed?”

  Maldito smiled, but it didn’t make him any less ugly. Frank took the expression as a sign of agreement.

  He hadn’t known that Mano Rojo was giving him a time limit, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He nodded and said, “One week. Bring my friend with you. I will meet you and tell you the truth.”

  Maldito took out his knife, ran his thumb along the keen edge, and smiled again. Frank thought he was looking forward to that meeting in a week’s time. But was he hoping that Frank would be successful—or that he would have two more white men to kill?

  Without saying anything else, Maldito slid his knife back into its sheath, turned his pony, and rode away. He went back into the gully and disappeared in a matter of moments. Frank waited until the Apache was gone and then rode down the hill toward the graded trail. Dog trotted along beside him.

  When they reached the roadbed, Frank reined in again and looked both ways along the route. If he turned south it would take him back to the construction camp. The workers would still be rebuilding the destroyed trestle; that chore would take them quite a while. If he headed north instead, Frank told himself, he would wind up in Ophir, where Conrad and Rebel had gone.

  It would be nice to see his son again and be sure that Conrad had made it safely to the boomtown, but there was another reason for riding on to Ophir. If he went back to the construction camp, he might be able to forestall any more incidents of sabotage, but that was just fighting a holding action. It wouldn’t put him any closer to the brains behind the effort to ruin Conrad’s plans. With the deadline that Mano Rojo had given him, he didn’t have time to waste. He had to uncover the mastermind as quickly as possible.

  There was no guarantee that mastermind was in Ophir, but it was certainly possible. A man who would hire a gang of killers to blow up trestles and murder railroad workers might want to be somewhere close at hand, so that he could move quickly should the opportunity arise to seize control of the spur line. Also, if Frank went to Ophir, he might be able to get on the trail of whoever owned the Southwestern and Pacific Railroad. Unless and until he found out something to convince him otherwise, he regarded the boss of the SW and P as the man with the most to gain if Conrad failed.

  Frank didn’t spend a lot of time mulling it over. He made his decision and turned Stormy north toward Ophir.

  The ride took most of the day, but the sun was still above the mountains when he rode into the settlement. It was a bustling place. Ophir wasn’t the first boomtown Frank had visited, so he wasn’t surprised by the number of horses and wagons on the street or the people hurrying along the boardwalks, going about their business. He wasn’t sure where he would find Conrad, but he knew his son well enough to figure that he would be staying at the best hotel in town. Veering Stormy toward the side of the main street, Frank hailed one of the townsmen passing by on the boardwalk.

  “Say, friend, what’s the best place to stay around here?” Frank asked.

  The man pointed up the street. “The Holloway House is the fanciest hotel in town,” he said. “It ain’t cheap, though.”

  Frank knew what the man was implying. His clothes were covered with trail dust and several days’ worth of beard stubble darkened his face. He looked like a saddle tramp, not the sort of gent who would stay in a place like the Holloway House.

  He wasn’t going to take the time to explain that that wasn’t really the case. Instead, he just nodded, said, “Much obliged,” and heeled Stormy into a walk again. They headed up the street toward the hotel.

  When he saw the Holloway House with its whitewashed walls and its big front window and its real second story i
nstead of open air behind a false front, he knew this was where Conrad would stay. It was one of the most impressive structures in Ophir. He brought Stormy to a halt, swung down from the saddle, and looped the Appaloosa’s reins over the hitch rack in front of the hotel. “Stay here,” he told Dog as he stepped up onto the boardwalk.

  Before he could reach the double doors at the hotel entrance, one of them opened, and sure enough, Conrad Browning himself stepped out onto the walk. Conrad stopped short at the sight of the lean, muscular figure striding toward him. A grin creased Frank’s face as he raised a hand in greeting to his son.

  Then he saw Conrad glance over his shoulder, looking past Frank at something—or somebody—coming up behind him. Conrad’s eyes widened with alarm, and Frank wasn’t a bit surprised when he heard the harsh voice call out, “Morgan! It’s time!”

  Chapter 30

  Although he was upset over everything that had happened that morning, first with Pamela and then her father and finally Rebel, Conrad knew he couldn’t sit around moping all day. There was still work to do, so he resumed his efforts of the day before, trying to get all the details of the depot’s construction smoothed out so that the building would be ready when the railroad arrived.

  He didn’t see Pamela or Tarleton as the day went by, but once he spotted Rebel on the boardwalk on the opposite side of the street. She was talking to two men. Conrad recognized them as her brothers Tom and Bob. He had known from his conversation a few nights earlier with Jonas Wade that the Callahan boys were in town, but he hadn’t run into them so far. Obviously, Rebel had, and he hoped she was trying to talk some sense into them. Continuing with their quest to kill Frank would bring them nothing but trouble.

  It occurred to Conrad to wonder if the Callahans wanted him dead too. They had certainly been willing to kill him when he was traveling with Frank, but would they come after him simply because he was acquainted with the object of their thirst for revenge? They didn’t know he was Frank Morgan’s son. They had no real reason to want him dead.

  And if Tom and Bob Callahan were over there talking to Rebel, where was their cousin Ed? He was the driving force behind the vendetta. Conrad looked around nervously, half afraid that Ed Callahan might be somewhere nearby, drawing a bead on him.

  He didn’t see Ed anywhere. Across the street, Rebel was still talking to her brothers. Without drawing attention to himself, Conrad walked down the block and turned in at the Big Nugget, pushing through the batwings and walking into the saloon.

  Repairs were already under way as men worked to put right the damage that had been done during the brawl the previous night. The chairs and tables that had been broken beyond fixing had been hauled out and replaced. A makeshift workshop had been set up in one corner of the big room where carpenters fastened new legs to some of the tables. A couple of women knelt on the floor with brushes and buckets of soapy water, trying to scrub up as many of the bloodstains as they could. Not all of the dark stains would come up, though. They would be visible permanently on the floorboards.

  Even with the work going on, the Big Nugget was open for business. Conrad saw Jonas Wade behind the bar and went over to say hello to the gambler.

  When they had exchanged greetings, Conrad said, “Whatever the total of the damages turns out to be, let me know the difference between that and the amount you collected from Tarleton’s men, and I’ll see to it that you’re paid.”

  Wade nodded. “I still say that’s mighty generous of you.”

  “Think nothing of it. It’s only fair. Besides, I intend to be doing business for a long time in Ophir, and I want to get off on the right foot.”

  Wade leaned an elbow on the bar. “Listen, I heard that you’re not planning to marry the Tarleton girl anymore.”

  “Word’s gotten around that quickly, has it?”

  “Well, you weren’t exactly discreet about breaking off the engagement with her in the middle of the Holloway House dining room.”

  Conrad winced and said, “Yes, that’s certainly true. I might do things differently if I had the chance to try again.”

  “You’re not saying you’d still want to marry her?”

  “Not at all.”

  “That might just be a good thing,” Wade said slowly.

  It surprised Conrad somewhat that the saloon owner would offer a comment on his personal life like that. With a frown, he asked, “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, it’s none of my business. . . .” Wade hesitated, looking like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to continue this conversation or not. Then he shrugged and said, “I’m not sure you can trust her father.”

  “Clark Tarleton? He’s a very respected businessman.” And a man Conrad had considered a friend until today.

  “Maybe so, but when you’re around a saloon all the time, you hear things. Hardcases drift in and out, and in the past few days I’ve overheard some of them mention Tarleton.”

  “They weren’t planning to rob him or anything like that, were they?” Conrad asked, a little alarmed. Despite everything that had happened between him and Pamela, he didn’t want to see anything bad happen to her or her father.

  Wade grunted. “Not hardly. From what I heard, it sounded more like those hombres were working for Tarleton.”

  “At his mine, you mean?”

  Wade shook his head. “These weren’t miners. Hired guns were more like it. I never saw them before, but I know the type. I don’t know how long they’ve been here in Ophir either, since I haven’t been around that long myself.”

  Conrad rested his hands on the bar. His frown deepened. This was certainly puzzling. “Do you know what happened to these men? Are they still around town?”

  “I haven’t seen them for a day or two,” Wade said. “Could be they drifted on.” His voice hardened. “Either that, or they’re off somewhere up to no good.”

  Conrad didn’t know what to make of it. Under the circumstances, he couldn’t very well ask Tarleton about it either. They weren’t that friendly at the moment.

  A wild thought popped into his head. He and Tarleton were business rivals. Was it possible that Tarleton had some connection with the sabotage that had plagued the construction of the spur line?

  Almost as fast as that idea occurred to Conrad, he discarded it. Tarleton might be his rival when it came to mining, but the man had no connection with railroading. The failure of the spur line would actually hurt Tarleton’s business interests, because it would be to his advantage to have rail service to Ophir.

  “I’m not sure what this is about,” he said to Wade, “but it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

  “Just thought you might want to know. But you’re right. Since you’re not engaged to Miss Tarleton anymore, I reckon it’s none of your business—or mine.”

  “I appreciate the concern regardless.” Conrad shook hands with the saloon keeper again. “Remember, let me know about the damages.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  When Conrad stepped out of the Big Nugget, he glanced across the street and saw that Rebel and her brothers weren’t standing there anymore. A check along the boardwalks on both sides of the street didn’t reveal them or their cousin. Feeling relatively safe, Conrad started back toward the Holloway House.

  Rebel was waiting for him in the lobby.

  If he’d had time, he would have backed out before she saw him. She was too alert, though, and quickly stood up from the chair where she’d been sitting. “Conrad,” she said as she came toward him.

  He wasn’t sure what she was going to say or do. With Rebel, it was always a mystery until it happened. He was ready to duck, though, in case she took a swing at him.

  “Hello, Rebel.” Perhaps he could mend some fences with her. “About this morning—”

  “Never mind that,” she cut in. “I felt a mite sorry for Pamela, believe it or not, but she really is a prissy little thing and you’ll be better off without her.”

  “Does Clark know you feel that way about his dau
ghter?”

  “Why should I care what Clark Tarleton thinks?”

  “Why, I was under the impression that you were quite taken with him.”

  “Oh, hell, I was just—never mind.”

  Conrad forced himself not to smile, but he felt his heart leap inside his chest. Rebel had been about to say that she didn’t really care about Tarleton. She had just been using him to make Conrad jealous. Conrad had told himself all along that was the case, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t fully believe it. Now he was sure, despite the fact that Rebel hadn’t come right out and said so. He put a hand on her arm and drew her off to a corner of the lobby where they would have more privacy.

  “Rebel, I really think that we should talk—” he began.

  “That’s what I’m trying to do, you jughead!” she burst out. “I’m trying to tell you that my brothers and my cousin are in town, and they’re still gunning for you.”

  Conrad nodded. “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Well, I knew they had come to Ophir,” he clarified. “I wasn’t sure whether or not they were still carrying a grudge against me.”

  “Ed damn sure is. He wants you dead almost as much as he wants to kill Frank. Tom and Bob . . . well, they’re not so sure, but they’re so used to going along with whatever Ed wants that I’m afraid they’re liable to come after you too.”

  “I’ve been keeping my eye open for them. In fact, I saw you talking to your brothers a while ago. That’s the first time I’ve seen them since we arrived in Ophir. I haven’t seen Ed at all.”

  “That’s because he’s been denned up in a whorehouse, staying drunk and working up his meanness. But Tom says he’s sober now, and he’s ready to start looking for you and Frank.”

  “There’s really no reason for them to be angry with me,” Conrad pointed out. “I had nothing to do with the deaths of your other cousins.”

  “They say you kidnapped me.”

  Conrad’s eyebrows shot up. “What? I did nothing of the sort!”

  “Well . . . actually, you kind of did. I didn’t want to go along with you and Frank at first. But that was before I got to know the two of you.”