Shaking his head, Gus sincerely hoped the trail did lead to the kidnappers. If it didn’t, Doyle would probably keep playing long enough to bilk whoever was hiring gunfighters out of several months’ worth of pay. “How quickly do you think you can get a game going?”
“It don’t take much to strike up a card game in a saloon,” Doyle replied. “The trick will be making sure the right people get there. After that, it’s a matter of how soon I can get close to the men we’re after.”
“Can it be done tonight?”
Without hesitation, Doyle nodded. “I’ll get somewhere tonight—that’s for certain.”
“Well don’t get in too deep because I won’t be there to back your play.”
Doyle scowled and glanced nervously at the darkened building in the more congested section of camp. “If you’re gonna creep around that supply company, you might be the one that needs some backing. Why don’t we stick together? You can kick your feet up at the Broken Spur while I play. They also serve food there, you know. When that’s done, we can both pay that place a visit.”
Shaking his head before Doyle had even finished, Gus said, “It’ll be easier for me to go on my own.”
This time, Doyle was the one to draw in a troubled breath and let it out. His mouth twitched, but he knew how useless it would be to try and talk Gus out of something when his mind was so set on it. Showing those reservations in his eyes, Doyle said, “If that’s what you want to do, then go right on ahead. Just remember that getting yerself killed won’t put any money in our pockets.”
Gus patted Doyle on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’d find some way to turn it to your advantage.”
“That’s a hell of a thing to say.”
“Is it wrong?”
After a second, Doyle muttered, “Probably not.”
“Where’s this Broken Spur you were talking about?”
“Just take a left at that tent selling the pickaxes. Walk a ways from there and you won’t miss it.”
Taking in the layout of the camp was like trying to find a pattern in a pile of scattered leaves. There was no rhyme or reason where Last Chance was concerned, which left Gus with no other choice than to try to commit the whole blasted place to memory. Fortunately, he had a knack for such things and soaked in the camp as though he was preparing for any other quick escape. Some landmarks were singled out and the rest were allowed to blend in with the background like different-colored splotches on a painting.
“Give me a few hours,” Doyle said. “You think anyone has been watching you since you got here?”
“I doubt it. Still, let’s try not to be seen together until we’ve got something to report. I’ll wait for it to get a bit darker and then I’ll take a gander at Bateman Supply. Just stay at the Broken Spur until I come for you.”
“If I gotta leave, I’ll make sure the barkeep knows where I went.”
“All right, then. Good luck.”
Doyle shook the hand Gus offered and said, “It’s poker. I don’t need any luck.”
When Doyle turned away from him, he left Gus behind as though he’d never met him before. In a matter of seconds, Doyle managed to disappear among the folks who crowded the camp’s sorry excuse for a street. Gus did the same by pulling his hat down and matching the pace of everyone around him until the locals enveloped him like water pooling around a rock.
Chapter 11
As night fell upon Last Chance, shadows crept along the crooked paths and slid over the uneven surfaces of all the wood-framed tents. The darkness was especially thick around the section of camp that was more built up than the rest. With the hills adding their shade to the mix, those taller structures quickly took the appearance of something that watched over the camp like a single ominous predator.
Gus had found one shadow for himself and settled into it to wait for his chance to move. His spot was in a nook between two tents that bustled with voices, movement and general commotion. It didn’t take long for him to figure out one of those tents was a cathouse. The grunts and laughter from there were unmistakable. The other tent reeked of smoke, some of which had the bitter hint of opium mixed in. Although the smoke didn’t do Gus’s nose any favors, he stayed put until the last trace of the sun was gone from the sky. Needless to say, the folks in the tents on either side of him were too busy to come out and find him huddled with his back against a pair of wooden support posts.
The Bateman Supply Company was marked by a sign that hung at an odd angle on the front of the building. By the looks of it, the sign had been used more as a target for stray gunfire than for advertising. Most of the lettering was legible, while the rest had been worn away by the elements or simple disrepair. The windows in the place seemed to have suffered the same neglect, except for a few on the upper front corner on the left side.
Those windows caught Gus’s eye, mostly because they seemed to have been recently replaced. Someone was maintaining that portion of the building for some reason. Odds were good they were the same folks who were moving inside the building. Gus didn’t catch more than a shadow or two moving across the new windows, but someone was definitely inside and looking out at the street.
It was a windy night, which caused the canvas walls of the tents around Gus to swell out and flap against the wooden frames holding them in place. Sometimes, Gus was almost completely wrapped up in the billowing fabric. Even when there was enough dust swirling about to fill his eyes with grit, Gus remained still. Once the shadows moved away from those windows, he got up and spit out the dirt that had found its way into his mouth.
Gus didn’t look up at the Bateman Supply building. He didn’t even glance in its direction. Instead, he turned to walk past the old place with a stagger in his step so anyone watching him would assume he was just another drunk trying to find his way home.
After going a little ways past the building, Gus circled back around and studied the road behind him. Nobody was following him, so he approached the building from the side with the most broken windows. Even before he got up close enough to touch the building, Gus could hear movement from inside. Boots scraped against dirty floorboards sharply enough to make themselves known above the constant rush of the wind. Removing his hat, Gus pressed against the side of the building and slowly raised his head to get a look through one of the windows. At first, he couldn’t see anything. Just as he thought he’d chosen a window that was covered or boarded up, the thing blocking the window shifted and turned around.
Gus dropped straight down and pressed himself against the wall. The man who’d been standing on the other side of the window placed his hands against the sill and leaned forward to look outside.
Clenching his teeth, Gus looked up to see the other man’s fingertips less than a foot away from his face. Slowly, the tip of a nose as well as a chin emerged from the window as the man leaned a bit farther out. Gus fought the urge to move, even as his muscles ached from being forced to hold such an awkward position. His lungs burned since he’d cut himself short before allowing himself to draw his next breath. Gus shifted his weight, kept his head down and stayed quiet while staving off the instinct to pull in a breath.
As the man inside the building leaned out, Gus allowed his hand to creep toward the gun at his side. His fingers found the Colt’s grip, but he didn’t draw the weapon. Every muscle in that arm was coiled like a spring, and if the man at the window so much as thought about looking down, Gus would have to do something about it.
Finally, a loud rush of air rolled out of the other man’s mouth. He cleared his throat and spat a juicy wad out the window before leaning back in again.
Even after that, Gus refused to move.
Silence fell upon the whole building. After a few more seconds had passed, Gus heard steps shuffling inside before they eventually stomped away from the window. Gus took the breath he’d been putting off for so long and shifted his feet to face the wall. He straightened his legs just enough to peek over the windowsill, which allowed him to see a pair of figures ins
ide.
“See anything?” one of the figures asked.
The man who’d been at the window shook his head and grunted, “Probably just a cat.”
“You too jumpy to stay here while I go have a word with Bennett?”
“What’s he want?”
“Eh, there’s supposed to be some men that might be worth hiring on,” the first man said. “I’ll go size ’em up and come back to spell you.”
Gus grinned when he heard that. Although he couldn’t be completely sure the men were referring to Doyle or the other card players, it seemed his partner had caught the right folks’ attention in the short time since their plan had been formed.
“Bring me back something to drink,” the man from the window said.
“You got it.” With that, the first figure turned and stomped toward the back of the building. His boots made enough noise upon the old floorboards for Gus to hoist himself up and over the windowsill without being heard.
The moment he was inside the building, Gus bent his knees and hunkered in the shadows for a few seconds. He was ready to pounce if someone came at him and ready to draw his pistol if someone appeared in one of the other rooms. Before long, Gus straightened up and fought the urge to grunt from the ache in his knees. He walked carefully through the small room, placing any weight slowly upon the floor to test each board for squeaks.
The room he’d entered was empty. The hallway beyond that was empty as well. The back door slammed shut as the first man stepped outside, which meant the other fellow was still somewhere nearby. Unfortunately, Gus wasn’t sure where the man had gone. Standing in the darkness, Gus closed his eyes so his other senses could stretch out a bit. It didn’t take long before his ears picked up on the very thing he’d been after: footsteps rustling toward the front of the building.
Gus opened his eyes and let them get accustomed to the thick, dusty shadows filling the run-down space. The first floor was a series of small dirty rooms connected by a hallway. He made his way to the front of the building, which had the look of a lobby or someplace where displays might have been set up. Gus recognized the front window after having watched it from across the road. A tall figure stood a few paces back from the smudged glass, just outside the dim glow of a streetlamp.
As Gus crept toward the front room, he moved his eyes back and forth in search of any hint of movement. So far, it seemed the man at the front window was the only one he needed to worry about. The closer Gus got to that man, the more his fingers flexed and his arms tensed. With his bent back, creeping steps and narrowed eyes, Gus looked more like a ghoul than a man as he crept toward the front window.
When he set his sights upon the other man’s back, Gus thought of a dozen ways to put him down.
Unaware of the company he kept, the man scratched his backside and cleared his throat so he could spit on the floor. From there, he turned toward the front door and walked away without casting so much as a glance in Gus’s direction.
Gus stalked a few paces behind the man like a cat. At times, he wondered if he was hoping more for the man to walk away or for an excuse to pounce with claws bared. As it turned out, the man walked around the bottom floor of that building in a path that had obviously become ingrained in him after many nights of practice. While tagging along behind the man, Gus spotted a set of stairs leading to the second floor. He stopped and hunkered down to wait for the man to move along.
Oddly enough, it was the absence of Gus’s movement that made the other man stop. He cocked his head and looked from side to side.
Standing up straight, Gus pressed his back against the wall a few paces away from a narrow opening that led into a closet. There was no door in the frame, which left a large black space in the wall. The other man was already turning around to look directly at him, which meant Gus wouldn’t be able to slip inside without being seen.
Gus’s fingers curled around the grip of his Colt.
The man in front of him turned and gazed into the front room, allowing Gus to move his hand along the floor until he found a rusty nail. Before Gus could make another move, the other man looked straight at him.
Gus froze.
The man in front of him squinted and leaned forward. Either he was trying to figure out what the shape in the shadows was or he was trying to decide what to do about it.
The knot in Gus’s stomach cinched in a bit tighter. His breath snagged deep in his throat.
Something hissed in the front room, and when the man turned back around to look, Gus tossed the nail in his hand toward the stairway.
The man spun on his heels and took a few steps toward the rattling nail, giving Gus just enough time to duck into the closet and the thick web of shadows inside.
“Damn cats,” the man grumbled as he made another lap around the front room. A few seconds later, he stomped past the closet on his way to the back room and the office where Gus had first entered the building.
Gus wasn’t the sort who put a lot of faith in luck. When he did get a bit tossed his way, however, he wasn’t the sort to pass it by. He hurried into the hall and made his way to the staircase. Although he knew the other man could circle around at any time, he didn’t bother looking back. He only had one and a half good eyes, so he kept them facing front, where they could do him the most good.
Gus kept his feet on the edges of the stairs as he worked his way up them. When he got to the second floor, he put his back to a wall and looked around to find a narrow hall branching to the left and right. After he took a moment to get his bearings, Gus realized the newer windows he’d spotted were to his right, so that was the way he decided to go.
Lanterns were fixed to the wall about five paces from the staircase in either direction, but only two were lit. As soon as he stepped within the radius of the closest lantern, the door directly next to Gus swung open. That was the bad thing about luck. When it ran out, it hit a man real hard.
Gus made sure he hit the man who walked through that doorway even harder.
Gus’s fist slammed into the man’s face dead-on. The impact was so solid that it made a single muffled thump before the man could even yelp in pain. He staggered back a step, pulled in a breath and was silenced before he could let it out. Gus slapped one hand over the man’s mouth and placed the other on the back of his head while dragging him into the room. He wrenched the guy’s head to one side, stopping just short of breaking anything.
“Do what I say or I snap your neck,” Gus hissed. “Hear me?”
The man tried to nod, but couldn’t do much considering his predicament.
“How many more of you are up here?”
Once Gus parted his fingers enough for the other man to be heard the guy mumbled, “Two.”
“Where?”
“Next room.”
“And the lady?”
The guy’s eyes widened even more as he strained to get a look at Gus’s face. Before he could see much of anything, his head was turned a little more in the wrong direction.
“Just answer me,” Gus hissed. “Is she still alive?”
“Yes.”
Gus’s hand moved away from the back of the other man’s head to snatch the pistol from the man’s holster and jam its barrel into the man’s back. “You’re gonna take me to her,” Gus ordered. “Anything goes wrong and you’re the first to die—understand? Now where is she?”
“Next room.”
Pushing the man along using the pistol, Gus kept his hand over the guy’s mouth. Fortunately, the guy was too rattled to realize he could just twist his head away from Gus’s hand. Either that or he was smart enough to know he wouldn’t be able to make a sound before Gus pulled his trigger.
When they walked to the door marked by the second burning lantern, Gus snarled, “Open it.”
As soon as the man opened the door, he was shoved inside.
Sure enough, there were two more gunmen in there. They turned to look at who’d opened the door, but weren’t expecting a fight. Gus took full advantage of the m
oment by pushing his hostage into the room ahead of him.
The first gunman in the room reached for the pistol at his hip, but Gus stopped him with a single shot from his Colt. Gus knew there was no turning back now, so he fired a shot at the second gunman. That bullet punched through the wall because the second gunman had lunged for a shotgun propped beside the chair he’d been sitting in.
Gus’s hostage turned around to try to reclaim his gun, but didn’t make it far before Gus’s boot slammed into his knee. As soon as that fellow dropped, Gus had a clear shot at the one with the shotgun. He fired twice in quick succession to knock the shotgunner off his feet and drop him in the corner.
The sound of boots stomping up the stairs echoed down the hall. Gus kicked his former hostage away from the shotgun, which had been dropped, and hauled him up to his feet. Just as the man from downstairs got to the door, Gus’s hostage was pushed from the room to meet him in a tangle of arms and legs. All of this confusion bought Gus enough time to put his back to the closest wall.
One quick glance at his surroundings was enough for Gus to realize there was no woman in that room. Apart from a few chairs and some chests set up against another wall, it was just him and the dead gunmen. To make matters worse, it wouldn’t be long before the two in the hall got themselves untangled so they could charge at him again. Before that could happen, Gus lowered his shoulder and charged them.
He hit the man from downstairs in the chest, knocking him and the hostage into a wall. The man from downstairs started to bring his gun around, but Gus was able to knock the back of his head against the wall with enough force to drop him to the floor. That only left the hostage to scamper toward the stairs on all fours. The hostage reached the top of the stairs in such a rush that he slipped down the top two steps.
Gus walked toward the man, who now wobbled precariously at the top of the stairs. One strong nudge was all it took to knock the man over. The hostage rolled down a few steps, became wedged with his leg wrapped around a post and started moaning in pain. Since it was obvious that man wasn’t going anywhere, Gus left him where he’d landed so he could search the remaining rooms.
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