by Lee Pierce
Charley Pratt shuffled into the shack and started a pot of coffee, just like he was told to do.
Chapter 11
Jim groaned as he struggled back from the shadowy emptiness. He jerked his eyes open and, just as quick, closed them again. Light pierced his corneas like white-hot needles. For an instant, Jim thought he was blind. He raised his eyelids, slower this time. The brightness hurt, but his vision was creeping back. First he saw shadows, and then everything began to take shape. Maria was sitting beside him with a glass in her hand.
“Welcome back, señor. I have some water here. You must drink. Just a little bit, por favor.”
She held the glass up to Jim’s lips and he swallowed some of the water. “There, that is enough for now. I will give you more in a moment.”
Maria sat the water down and adjusted a damp cloth on Jim’s forehead. Her eyes transfixed upon Jim’s head in an unworldly gaze, and her knobby hands moved over his aching skull, working to ease his pain.
Jim shut his eyes and kept them closed until a familiar voice caused him to rouse.
“For a little while, Badger, we thought the old rascal had punched your ticket.” Shank leaned over and touched Jim’s shoulder. “Whatever you said to him sure turned his mean light on. If me and the boys hadn’t come in here quick when he hollered for us, he might have finished what he started. What got him goin’, Badger?”
Jim’s mouth was still full of cotton. He drank another sip of water and coughed. Even swallowing hurt. His head weighed two hundred pounds, but he managed to turn it far enough to see Shank, Rusty and Hack standing beside him.
“I told him who I was.” The words came out soft and sounded strange to Jim, like he was talking using someone else’s voice. “He told me to get out, and he started to fall. I reached out to help him and the rest is just a blur. Did he hit me?”
Shank told him what had taken place in as few words as possible. Jim was still a little groggy, but he understood what had happened. He stared up at Maria after Shank finished. He wanted to thank her for her kindness, but his voice was gone.
“You will be well soon, señor. Mr. Armstrong is angry and confused. He thinks his mind is playing tricks on him. He will accept you, but it will take time. He carries much fear and bitterness in his heart.” Maria reached down and caressed Jim’s cheek. “Do you not feel much better than you did moments ago, señor?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. What did you do that took away the pain, Maria?”
“I did little, señor. Perhaps your injuries were not as serious as first thought. I do not know. I am only an aged housekeeper, nothing more.”
With Shank’s help, Jim rolled over and sat up on the edge of the sofa. He stood up and found his legs shaky, but serviceable.
“Thanks for your help, Maria. I reckon I’d better be goin’ before my father finds out I’m awake. I don’t need another conk on the noggin today.”
Maria nodded, and Jim and the other men walked through the hallway and out of the house. They were barely outside when a rider came in from the east. Jim mounted his horse as the rider pulled to a halt next to him.
“Hey, what’s goin’ on here?” said Valentine Rose. “That new waddy was supposed to relieve me up in the breaks an hour ago. I ain’t had my breakfast, yet.”
He glared over at Hack Bonner. Hack threw a look at Val Rose that could have withered a prickly pear. The puncher’s eyes went to the ground like a whipped pup, and the corners of Hack Bonner’s mouth crinkled up in a grin. He looked over at Shank.
“Go on out there, Hack,” said Shank. “We wouldn’t want Valentine to starve.”
“Valentine,” said Hack Bonner, looking perplexed, “ain’t that a girl’s name?” He stared back up at the new rider, an odd look on his face.
Val Rose snorted and dug heels in his horse’s flanks. It just so happened, his mount had a sore rib from getting kicked inside the corral the night before. Val hit the horse right on top of that bruised rib and that hay burner broke loose bucking like his tail was on fire, jumping and hopping all over the place. Val was a fair to middlin’ rider, but he wasn’t any kind of bronc peeler. He made the first two jumps, but on the third one he blew both stirrups, and on the fourth, when the horse came down, Val stayed up in the air. When he hit the ground, he bounced and smacked down on his face. He didn’t move.
Hack trotted over to check on him. He reported back that Valentine didn’t look too good but he was still pumpin’ air. Shank shook his head and sighed.
“I don’t like that man,” Shank said. “There’s somethin’ about the chowder head that don’t smell right, and I ain’t talkin’ about his bathin’ habits, neither.”
“Shank,” said Jim, “I think that man works for Mort Quarry.” He told Shank and the others what he had seen take place at the message tree.
“I’ll be dipped,” said Shank. “I know just which pecan tree you’re talkin’ about, too. We been gettin’ good papershells off that tree for twenty years. It’s down in a little sink hole with half a dozen other old pecan trees.”
“Let’s go tear down his meat house,” said Rusty. “I get first turn.”
“Wait a minute, boys. Let’s think about this situation,” said Jim. “We know who he is workin’ for, but we don’t know his real purpose here. Rusty, I think you need to keep an eye on our friend Valentine and see what he is up to.”
“I’ll start right now.” Rusty Puckett wallowed his hat down over his ears like he was getting ready to bust a bad bronco, and stomped off toward the cook shack.
Watching him go, Shank said, “Who’s gonna watch that wall-eyed cuss?”
Jim, still astride his mount, nodded goodbye and rode off toward Two Bucks City. He was more confused about what to do now than he was before his abortive meeting with his father. Jim hadn’t expected to be embraced with open arms, but he sure hadn’t planned for the caning he had received at his dad’s hands. He was hurting, inside and out. As he rode up into the trees, he wondered where they had stashed his brother. He hoped Cormac had been able to join the gang. Maybe he would have some answers.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Quarry. That Armstrong boy fell for the whole thing. He thinks I came into town to get the final orders from you.”
“Outstanding, Dude, this calls for a drink.”
Mort Quarry reached into a burled oak liquor cabinet and drew out a bottle of ancient Scotch whiskey. He put two short glasses on the table; half-filling one glass, he handed it to his segundo. Leaving the other glass empty, he raised it in the air.
“To our complete control of Deaf Smith County,” he said.
“But, boss. Your glass ain’t got nothin’ in it.”
“I am well aware of that fact, Dude. But unfortunately, I promised Melinda I would stop drinking. If she caught me, she would raise Old Ned.”
Dude smiled and turned up his glass, sucking down the expensive double malt beverage. He was about to ask for another when Melinda sashayed into the office.
She went straight to her father’s side. “Father, do I smell alcohol?” Her tone bordered on indignant. “Are you breaking your promise to me?”
“No, my nosey daughter, I am not. I gave Dude a drink in celebration of a business deal, and now he is leaving.” Dude took the hint and backed out of the office, closing the door behind him.
“A business deal, Daddy? Is it a good one?”
“Melinda, by this time next week we will be the sole owners of the Double-A-Slash ranch.”
“Oh, Daddy! That is the best news, and without a fight. I am so pleased, and, of course, relieved. How did you get that stubborn Mr. Bale Armstrong to agree to sell without a struggle? No fighting, right, Father?”
“Why, Melinda, you hurt me to the quick. I would never do a thing to force Mr. Armstrong off of his land. You listen to too much gossip. Now go home early today and get all dressed up. We will go to the hotel din
ing room and celebrate with a fancy dinner.”
“Wonderful, Father. I will finish up and go right away.” Melinda Quarry flew from the office.
Mort Quarry looked at his empty glass and sighed. He put it and the bottle of Scotch back into the cabinet and locked the small door. “No warm Scotch today, perhaps,” he said, rubbing his lips, “but we will have chilled champagne tonight.”
Chapter 12
As Jim rode into Two Bucks City for the night, he tried to think about what he would do tomorrow, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate. The bonk on the skull had caused his head to hurt all day, tiring him out quicker than usual. He decided to grab a quick bite at the hotel restaurant and then go to bed.
Jim trotted his mare into town and set her up at the livery. He walked to the hotel, going to his room just long enough to wash up and put on a clean shirt for supper. Most of the time it made little difference to Jim how he looked when it came time to eat. Tonight for some reason he felt like he ought to look a little bit more presentable than normal. He pulled on a sky-blue shirt with black buttons in a horseshoe shape on the front. He extra-washed his face and ears and slicked down his long black hair with his fingers. Ready, he stepped out into the hallway and headed for the stairs.
Jim followed the aroma of food into the bustling dining room. Waiters in white shirts scurried about the place. Jim chose a table that sat out of the way in a front corner. He straddled a chair, facing his back to the wall. The waiter brought a menu, but Jim didn’t look at it. He ordered beefsteak rare, beans, potatoes and coffee, the blacker the better. The waiter was right back with the coffee. Jim thanked him and sat back in his chair to sip the burning brew and watch the other diners.
The Quarry Hotel dining room had a far-reaching reputation for good food and immaculate service. People from six counties came to town just to dine at the prestigious restaurant. Jim had to admit that whatever Quarry was, he did go first class. Too bad he was a low-down thief. He sat back and as the coffee and the nice soft chair began to take effect, Jim felt the knots and kinks in his muscles begin to melt away. In spite of the bad day he had experienced, he was beginning to feel pretty good. His eyes were almost closed when he heard the voice of an angel. He jerked his eyelids open and realized the golden voice was standing beside his table and was directed toward him.
“Father,” said Melissa, “This is Jim, er, Mr. Butler, our new depositor.”
Jim jumped up from his seat like he had been hotfooted.
“Mr. Butler, this is my father, Morton Quarry.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Butler.”
Jim reached out and shook the gargantuan paw that was extended to him. His hand disappeared up to the wrist inside the large man’s hand. “Howdy,” Jim managed to squeak out.
“Mr. Butler, if you are dining alone, we would be pleased if you would join us for dinner,” said the angel. “We are celebrating an important acquisition to our family of businesses.”
Mort Quarry’s eyes betrayed his surprise at his daughter’s invitation to this stranger, but his attitude remained cordial. “Melissa, forgive me for saying this, but I believe Mr. Butler has had a long hard day and might prefer to dine alone tonight. Isn’t that so, Mr. Butler?”
Jim nodded in agreement, excusing himself from their celebration for the exact reasons Mort Quarry had stated. Melissa expressed mild disappointment, and she and her father went off to a private room in the back of the restaurant.
Jim wondered offhand how Quarry knew so much about his hard day, then it came to him. Val Rose must have already told him about the incident at the Double-A-Slash. How much did Quarry really know? He had no way of knowing Jim was Bale Armstrong, Jr. Or did he? Jim’s thoughts were interrupted by the waiter bringing his food. With no more thought of his problems, Jim attacked the steak and fixings like he had never eaten before.
He was halfway through wolfing the meal down when Mort Quarry approached his table. Dude Miller and two other men stood around the giant banker looking like they were guarding some sort of valuable treasure. As the men spread loosely away from Quarry, Jim realized that the one in the back was Cormac McCafferty, the Irish Kid. The Kid stood stone-faced and evil looking, and Jim grinned inside as he thought how two could play the game of spying.
He looked up at Mort Quarry with a puzzled look on his face. “What can I do for you, Mr. Quarry?”
Both of Jim’s hands were under the table, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Dude Miller. He fidgeted around and his fingers twitched as his boss spoke.
“Mr. Butler, I know who you are, and I know why you are here.”
Jim swallowed, involuntarily, but otherwise showed no reaction to Mort Quarry’s statement.
“I know you are supposed to be a quick man with a gun, but I also know you crawfished the other night rather than face Mr. McCafferty here. Well, Mr. Butler, the Irish Kid is in my employ now, and he will be more than willing to meet you at your convenience to determine who is the faster gun. If that is too much for you, sir, then let me suggest an alternative. You ride out of Two Bucks City first thing in the morning and don’t look back. Your job is finished with Bale Armstrong. You have failed at your task. Within the week, I will be the sole proprietor of the Double-A-Slash ranch. Bale Armstrong is a beaten man.”
Jim’s insides churned to the boiling point. He was ready to face up to who he was and to let it be known what would happen to Mr. Mort Quarry and his gunslicks if they even set foot on his father’s ranch. His hand closed on the pistol at his side. He glanced at the Irish Kid. The Kid moved into position to help his partner clean house. Jim started to speak when an intruder changed his plan.
“Daddy, the champagne is ready. The sommelier is waiting to remove the cork as we speak.” She looked down at Jim, who struggled to soften his features. He only managed a partial success. “Mr. Butler, are you sure you won’t join us? The invitation is still open.”
“I’m sorry, my dear. Mr. Butler has made other arrangements for the rest of the evening. Please allow me to pay for your meal. It is the least I can do for our newest depositor. Come, Melissa. It is time to toast our great fortune. Dude, Hank, join us. Mr. McCafferty, why don’t you accompany Mr. Butler and see that he gets his little chore taken care of.”
Quarry hooked Melissa’s arm and they strolled back to their party. Melissa tried to look back, but her father’s firm grasp prevented her from doing so. At the same time, the two bodyguards blocked her vision.
“All right, Butler. You heard the boss—let’s skedaddle on up to that room of yours and get you squared away. We wouldn’t want you to have to be gettin’ ready in the mornin’ and be dallyin’ too long for your own good.” The Irish Kid’s smile was pure malevolence. “Of course, if you want to do it the other way and face me like a man…”
The Kid said the last part way louder than he had to. People close to the two men stopped their conversations to see what might happen next. Jim scowled at the Kid, but did nothing. He rose from his seat and, with the Irish Kid dogging his every step, trudged up to his room.
Jim unlocked the door and stepped inside his room. Cormac followed him in and closed the door. Jim walked over to the bed and removed his gun belt. He motioned the grinning Kid to step over to him. The Kid obliged. Jim stuck out his right hand, and the Kid reached to shake it. Jim clamped his fingers around Cormac’s hand and with a lightning move jerked the Kid off balance. Jim’s left hand shot around and connected to the unsuspecting man’s jaw. The Irish Kid dropped like a horse apple.
Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, Cormac peered up at Jim from a bulging right eye and a bloodshot left one.
“Cormac, you ever embarrass me again around a bunch of respectable people, we will go out behind a barn, and I will show you who the best pistolero is.”
Cormac McCarty looked up at Jim with innocent green eyes. “Shucks, Jimmy,” he said, “I expect that feller would
be Wild Bill Hickok, wouldn’t it?”
Jim Butler stared down at his compadre for a moment, and then both broke into raucous laughter.
Chapter 13
The Irish Kid got up slowly from the floor. “It wasn’t a problem at all gettin’ hired on with that bunch of polecats,” he said. “I just charmed ’em with a little of the old Irish blarney, and they just naturally couldn’t stand to do without me.” He dug a finger in his teeth, moseyed over to the window, and spat out a tiny piece of beef. “Old Mr. Quarry, he lays out a doggone tasty spread of vittles for us workin’ cowhands. It’s gonna bother me a right smart to have to be shootin’ some of them boys pretty soon.” He peered at Jim out of the corner of his eye.
“If you’re through spouting off the wonderful qualities of your new boss, Cormac, maybe now we can get down to business. If you don’t show back up at the party pretty soon, Quarry might send someone up to check on you.”
The Kid nodded and grabbed the one chair in the room, spun it around backwards, and sat down straddlelegged.
“So far, Jimmy, all I know is that they’re plannin’ somethin’ real big, real soon. Bein’ new, I ain’t been privy to no inside information.”
“Did you find out where they’re keeping my brother?”
“Yep, that I did find out. They got him up at an old line shack way back in the hills, deep inside Quarry’s ranch. That’s somethin’ else I was goin’ to tell you. I got me a strong hunch that whatever it is they’re gonna do, it involves your brother.”
Jim got up, walked to the window, and stared out. The night was as black as the devil’s heart. A breeze drifted in from the north, cooling the dry air. The evening cacophony of street sounds was dying down. Two Bucks City was rolling up its sidewalks, ending another day.
Midnight had passed and the moonless night shrouded the country in cavernous shadows. Dude Miller and four other men rode up to the line shack where Chris Armstrong and Charley Pratt awaited the big orders from the boss. Dude was in charge, but all of the Quarry men had been instructed to act as if Chris were the head honcho. The five made their way to the dilapidated old cabin, dismounted, and went inside.