The Pinkerton Job

by J. R. Roberts

  “Somebody’s in there,” Clint said.

  “What the hell,” Siringo said, and knocked.

  He had to knock a second time before the girl answered. She opened the door about six inches and said, “I am busy.”

  “Remember me, Juanita?”

  She looked at him, then at Siringo, who said something to her in Spanish. She answered him.

  “We can talk right here,” Siringo said to Clint. “We don’t have to go in.”

  “Okay,” Clint said.

  Siringo and the girl began to talk rapidly. Clint wasn’t catching much of it beyond hombre and mujer, “man” and “woman.” For a moment he saw movement inside, a man’s bare leg, but that was it. The girl hadn’t wasted any time going back to work.

  Suddenly, Clint heard the girl say the word “Socorro.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “Apparently,” Siringo said, “the man and woman she was with didn’t think she could speak much English, or understand. And, in fact, she can’t. But she did hear one of them say ‘Socorro.’” She said something to Siringo. “The woman. Then the man snapped at her.”

  “Probably told her to shut up.”

  “Socorro,” Clint said. “That’s what we figured.”

  “Let’s let the girl go back to work,” Siringo suggested.

  “Sure.”

  Siringo said something to her, then she said, “Gracias,” and closed the door.

  They went back out to the alley, where Horn was waiting.

  “No horses,” he said. “They were on foot, probably went that way.” He pointed. “They’re probably goin’ to pick up their horses.”

  “We could check livery stables all over Juarez and see where they were,” Siringo said.

  “Or,” Clint said, “we could mount up in the morning and head for Socorro.”

  “Socorro came up?” Horn asked.

  “The whore heard the woman say it,” Siringo said.

  “Well then, that’s my vote,” Horn said. “To hell with Juarez—which, by the way, stinks to high heaven—and El Paso.”

  “Okay, then,” Siringo said, “we might as well head back over the bridge and get some sleep. In the morning we’ll make for Socorro.”

  They were all agreed.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The next morning Sandusky, Anderson, and Delilah rode into Socorro.

  “Boss,” Anderson said, “shouldn’t we keep goin’? Further into Mexico? The men aren’t gonna get here with the cattle.”

  “We’ll keep goin’,” Sandusky said, “but not further into Mexico. We’re gonna double back into the States.”

  “But . . . we don’t even know who’s after us,” Anderson said. “If we got the Gunsmith and Elfego Baca after us—”

  “They’ll never expect us to double back,” Sandusky said.

  “So when do we do that?”

  “After we meet the rest of the men.”

  “The rest—”

  “I sent some telegrams, Cal,” Sandusky said. “We’ve got a new crew waitin’ for us here. And if the Gunsmith and Baca or anybody else want to catch up to us here, we’ll take care of them.”

  “How many men?”

  “I’m not sure,” Sandusky said. “Let’s go and find out.”

  * * *

  Socorro was an easy ride from El Paso, but when Clint walked the horses from the livery to the hotel, he saw the problem immediately. The Monroe brothers were standing across the street.

  He went inside, found Siringo and Horn in the lobby.

  “How’d the Monroe brothers get here?” he asked.

  “Oh, that,” Horn said. “Yeah, we saw them last night.”

  “Must be a coincidence.”

  “Yeah, some coincidence,” Siringo said. “Horn told them he—we—would meet them in the street today.”

  “And me?” Clint asked.

  “They don’t know you’re here,” Horn said.

  “Well,” Clint said, “they know now.”

  “Maybe that’ll change their minds,” Siringo said hopefully. “I really don’t want to kill anybody today—not unless I have to.”

  “We backed them down once,” Horn commented. “Maybe we can do it again.”

  The three of them went outside. As they stepped into the street, so did the three Monroe brothers.

  “Looks like they’re determined,” Siringo said.

  “Horn!” Josh Monroe called. “It’s time, and even havin’ the Gunsmith with ya ain’t gonna change our minds.”

  “That’s too bad,” Horn called back, “but come ahead. Let’s get this over with. We have to ride out.”

  “This is for our brother,” John said.

  The three of them went for their guns. Clint, Siringo, and Horn drew calmly and they each shot a Monroe Brother dead.

  As they reloaded and holstered their weapons, Clint said, “I’d still like to know how they got here.”

  “Let’s get out of here before the sheriff tries to keep us from leavin’,” Siringo said. “We need to get to Socorro.”

  They mounted up and rode out, leaving the three dead men in the street.

  * * *

  Sandusky led Anderson and Delilah to a small cantina and dismounted.

  “They should be inside,” Sandusky said, “if they’re not off someplace with a whore or two.”

  “Do I know these fellas?” Anderson asked.

  “You’ll know some of them,” Sandusky said. “I know most of them. Others I hired because of their reps.”

  They tied off their horses and went inside. Several men looked up from their table.

  “Hey, Harlan,” one of them yelled.

  “Hey, Kane.”

  The two men shook hands, and Kane waved an arm.

  “Meet your new gang.”

  “You know Cal Anderson, right?” Sandusky asked.

  “Sure,” Kane said. He gave a nod to Cal, who returned it.

  “And who’s this?” Kane asked. He was a big, bald man with long arms that were corded with muscle.

  “That’s Delilah,” Sandusky said. “She’s mine.”

  Kane put his hands up and said, “Okay.”

  Sandusky looked around. There were six men in the place. He had been hoping for a dozen.

  “Where are the Monroe brothers?” he asked.

  “In El Paso,” one of the other men said. His name was Hill. “Said they had some business with Tom Horn.”

  “Horn is in El Paso?” Sandusky asked.

  “According to the Monroe brothers,” Hill said.

  Sandusky frowned. Horn was supposed to be dead. So was Siringo. But if they were alive, they—and the Gunsmith and Elfego Baca—could be a problem.

  “Anybody know anythin’ about Elfego Baca?” he asked.

  A Mexican named Francisco said, “He’s wearing a marshal’s badge, lookin’ for a man named Steagall.”

  “I know Steagall,” Sandusky said. “If Baca’s trackin’ him, then he ain’t after us.”

  “That leaves Horn,” Anderson said, “and the Gunsmith, and maybe Siringo.”

  “Yeah,” Sandusky said. He looked around again. “Anybody missin’ besides the Monroes?”

  “Mackie and Lewis are in the back with a whore,” Kane said. “They only got one, so we gotta share her.”

  So that made eight men—nine with Kane. The Monroes had probably gone and gotten themselves killed. Add himself, Anderson, and Delilah, that made twelve. Against two, maybe three.

  “Okay,” Sandusky said, “from this point on, everybody stays sober. We’re probably gonna have to use our guns today.”

  “On who?” Kane asked.

  “Let’s get a beer and I’ll tell you.”

  “I thought you said we had to stay sober.�
�

  “Yeah, sober,” Sandusky said. “I didn’t say we had to stay dry.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Eventually, all the men were in the cantina. Some of them were eyeing Delilah, obviously preferring her to the local whore. She stayed right next to Sandusky.

  Sandusky reinforced his decision about drinking.

  “The first man I see drunk gets fired,” he said. “If you can’t handle your liquor, then don’t drink.”

  “When are these men supposed to be comin’ here?” Kane asked.

  “They should be here today,” Sandusky said. “I’ll want you men placed strategically around the town.”

  “How many are we sure of?”

  “Seems like Horn and Clint Adams are for sure,” Sandusky said. “Charlie Siringo might be with them, if he’s not dead.”

  “We got a big advantage, “Kane said.

  “What about the Gunsmith?” Hill asked. “Even with the amount of men we have, I ain’t lookin’ to go up against him.”

  “We ain’t gonna go up against him,” Sandusky said. “We’re gomna ambush him. Now listen up, and I’ll tell you all where you’re gonna be.”

  * * *

  By late afternoon they were on the outskirts of Socorro.

  “Now what?” Clint asked. “We can’t just ride in there.”

  “No,” Siringo said.

  “Why not?” Horn asked. “If Sandusky is there, with his segundo and his woman, that’s just what we gotta do.”

  “If they ran out of Juarez last night because of the shooting,” Clint said, “then they know it was me.”

  “But do they know you were there lookin’ for them?” Horn asked. “Do they even know there’s a connection between us and you?”

  “Maybe not,” Clint said. “Maybe they’re expecting me and Elfego Baca. Either way, they’ll be ready.”

  “Or,” Siringo said, “they ain’t even here.”

  “What do you propose?” Clint asked him.

  “I propose that I ride down there and see what’s goin’ on,” Siringo said, “and you two stay here.”

  “Naw, I vote no on that one,” Horn said.

  “So do I,” Clint agreed.

  “What then?”

  Clint stared at the town.

  “Let’s do it,” he said.

  “Do what?” Siringo asked.

  “He means let’s ride right in together,” Horn said.

  “What if it’s an ambush?”

  “You know what men like this are like,” Clint said. “They’ll get antsy and fire too soon. They’ll be the ones who warn us.”

  “Besides,” Horn said, “maybe it’ll rattle ’em. Us ridin’ in bold like that.”

  Siringo studied them both.

  “Well, okay,” he said, “if that’s what you fellas wanna do.”

  “That’s what we want to do,” Clint said.

  “Let’s get it over with,” Horn said.

  Siringo shook his head and said, “I’d say you were crazy, except . . .”

  “Except what?” Clint asked.

  “Except I’m usually the one everybody thinks is crazy.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Anderson walked into the cantina. Sandusky was sitting at a table with a beer. Sitting across from him Delilah was nursing a beer of her own.

  “The men are all in place, Harlan,” Anderson said.

  “Out of sight?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Bring the horses around to the back,” Sandusky said. “If this goes wrong, we’ll have to hit the trail again.”

  “Why don’t we go out and fight?” Delilah asked. “I ain’t afraid of the Gunsmith.”

  Sandusky stood up, took a step, and backhanded her across the face, knocking her to the floor.

  “You sayin’ I’m afraid of the Gunsmith?”

  “N-No, Harlan.”

  “Then shut up,” he said. “Don’t open your mouth again unless I wanna put my cock in it.”

  “Yeah, sure, Harlan.”

  “Get up!”

  She got to her feet and sat back down. Her big breasts moved easily inside her shirt, which she had to readjust as she sat. Anderson watched.

  “Cal!”

  “Yeah?” Anderson said, still staring.

  “Move those horses around the back.”

  “Yeah, sure, boss,” Anderson said.

  Anderson went out. Soon after they could hear the horses being moved.

  “Delilah, you wanna go out there and shoot it out with the Gunsmith?” Sandusky asked. “Be my guest, honey.” He sat down, wrapped his hand around his beer.

  “No, Harlan,” she said, “I’ll stay in here with you.”

  Sandusky looked over at the Mexican barkeep, who stood quietly behind the bar.

  “You got any whiskey?” he asked.

  “Sí, señor.”

  “Bring me a bottle and a glass.”

  “Sí, señor.”

  But the man hesitated just a little too long.

  “Wait a minute,” Sandusky said. “Stand right there.”

  The man froze.

  “Delilah, go see if there’s a shotgun behind that bar.”

  “Sure, Harlan.”

  She got up and walked to the bar, a livid bruise showing on her cheek. Reaching over the bar, she came out with a twin-barrel Greener shotgun. She carried it to Sandusky and handed it to him.

  “Twelve gauge,” he said. “Nice gun.” He looked at Delilah. “Siddown.”

  She sat.

  “See these barrels? They ain’t parallel. They fire so that the shot comes out and then intersects at a certain point, tears a man apart at a certain range. Further away the shot starts to spread, makes a whole different kinda mess.”

  He looked at the bartender.

  “Bring me that whiskey!”

  “Sí, señor.”

  The bartender grabbed a glass and bottle, carried them to Sandusky, and set them down on the table in front of him.

  He uncorked the bottle, poured a shot, and drank it. Then he looked at Delilah.

  “Want one?” he asked her.

  “Sure, Harlan.”

  He poured another glass, shoved it across the table to her. She polished it off immediately.

  Anderson came in, this time from the back.

  “The horses are tied off behind this place, boss,” he said.

  “Good,” Sandusky said. “Now we wait.”

  “What if they don’t come?” Anderson asked.

  “Then we’ll just head back to the United States,” Sandusky said. “Go on. Get out of here.”

  “I think I’d like it better that way,” Anderson said.

  “You’re feelin’ antsy, Cal?” Sandusky said. “Why don’t you use that whore in the back?”

  “No thanks,” Anderson said. “I peeked in at her. She’s fifty if she’s a day.”

  “Well, take Delilah, then,” Sandusky said.

  “Harlan—” Delilah said.

  “Go ahead,” Sandusky said. “Take Delilah in the back, use ’er. Get some of those nerves out.”

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Sandusky said. “Go ahead. Anything happens, I’ll let you know.”

  “Harlan—” she said again.

  “Go on,” Sandusky told her. “Show Cal a good time, Delilah.”

  “Sure, Harlan,” she said. “Sure.”

  She stood up, walked to the back door, Anderson right behind her, a spring in his step.

  FORTY

  Clint, Siringo, and Horn rode into Socorro.

  “They’re here,” Clint said.

  “I can feel ’em,” Horn said.

  “You fellas are spooky,” Siringo said.

  “Yo
u spent too much time as a cowboy,” Horn said. “Your nose is full of manure.”

  “Check the rooftops,” Clint said.

  It was dead quiet.

  “Listen up real good,” Horn said. “Somebody will cock their gun.”

  Siringo looked at Horn as if he was crazy, but he kept his ears open.

  * * *

  The instructions given to Kane and the men were, “Don’t fire too soon. Don’t make any noise. And don’t anybody panic.”

  Well, that was easier said than done when dealing with someone like the Gunsmith.

  The men were scattered on rooftops, and in deserted storefronts.

  One scraped his foot on the wooden floor.

  Another cocked the hammer on his gun.

  A third coughed.

  And then somebody panicked . . .

  * * *

  Clint, Horn, and Siringo heard the sounds just before the first hurried shot was fired. A bullet struck the dirt in front of them, and then they were off their horses as the snipers began to fire . . .

  * * *

  In the cantina Sandusky heard the shots. Anderson had been in the back for a while with Delilah, whose screams had died down. But he was sure they were still so busy they didn’t hear the first shot. Maybe not even the ensuing shots. Sandusky knew from experience how much noise Delilah could make, even if she was just breathing hard in his ear. And he knew Anderson would be grunting like a pig.

  He stood up and, taking the shotgun with him, went out the back door to the horses . . .

  * * *

  Horn jarred his injured leg as he hit the ground, but he quickly made his way to cover behind a dry horse trough. Normally the water made a trough good cover, but since this one was empty, there was a chance a bullet might go right through it. Still, he didn’t have much choice . . .

  * * *

  Clint hit the ground with his gun already out. He held tight so it wouldn’t be jarred from his hand. He spotted men with rifles on the rooftops, and fired. One man yelled, and fell off the roof. The air was soon filled with the sounds of shots . . .

  * * *

  Siringo thought to grab his rifle as he leaped from his saddle. He hit the ground hard, but came up onto one knee with the rifle pressed to his shoulder. He saw one man fall from the roof, fired, and took care of another one. He knew that the ambushers were firing wildly, but that he, Clint, and Horn would be firing calmly and accurately. Even outnumbered, this gave them an advantage.