“I’m hit, amigo,” Wes said. “How about you?”
“Si,” said El Lobo. “Two time, in leg.”
“This ditch leads toward the bay,” Wes said. “We’ll follow it as far as we can. There’s a chance they’ll come looking for us.”
Following orders from Otis Belton, Abel Wilks had chosen six men to man the rifles behind the wall.
“Out the doors and after them,” Wilks shouted.
“Hell,” one of the gunmen objected, “it’s pitch dark out there.”
“Tell that to Belton,” Wilks snarled. “Now get out there an earn your pay.”
As Wes and El Lobo struggled along the drainage ditch, Wes looked back. The pair of doors had swung open, and shadowy figures emerged from the pale light within.
“Hold it,” said Wes quietly. “They’re coming, and they’ll hear us.”
Lest the splashing of the water give them away, they didn’t move. Keeping their heads down, they hardly dared to breathe, as they heard footsteps and the sound of voices.
“Ain’t no way we’ll ever find ‘em in the dark,” a voice grumbled. “Unless they was hit, they’re long gone.”
“Not much chance they was hit,” said another voice. “Just as we opened fire they hit the dirt. A man bellied down in the dark ain’t no target.”
They walked along the ditch toward the bay, and not until the sound of their footsteps faded did Wes speak.
“Let’s go,” Wes said. “We must get out of this ditch and find better cover before first light. If they were suspicious enough to set up an ambush, they won’t give up easy.”
The attackers followed the ditch until it emptied into the bay. When they finally gave up and returned empty-handed, Wilks was waiting for them.
“Damn it,” said Wilks, “Belton ain’t gonna like this. They was out in the open, and with six of you shootin‘, they got off without a scratch.”
“You don’t know that,” one of the men said. “Just how good are you, shootin’ at some hombre layin’ belly-down in the dark?”
“Belton don’t like excuses, and neither do I,” Wilks replied. “Soon as it’s light enough to see, I want every one of you out there looking for sign. We didn’t hear no horses, so that means they’re afoot. Look for tracks or maybe blood. Leave your rifles behind, and don’t all of you wander around in a bunch. We don’t want to attract too much attention.”
One of the men laughed. “After all the shootin’ we done, it’s a mite late to be thinkin’ about that.”
“Pike,” said Wilks, “it don’t pay to think too long and too hard. Do what you’re told.”
That silenced them, and they settled down to wait for first light.
Empty crept along the bank as Wes and El Lobo made their way painfully through the ditch. The numbness having worn off, Wes could feel the pain in his left thigh. While his own wound was severe enough, El Lobo had been hit twice. Even if they escaped, there was little hope of either of them receiving medical attention in time to avoid infection. But they struggled on, knowing the search for them had not ended.
“Sheriff Rigger wants to talk to you,” Abel Wilks said.
“Send him in,” said Otis Belton, striving to contain his temper.
Sheriff Rigger came in. Ignoring Belton’s invitation to be seated, he remained standing. He was a tall man in his fifties, who had emigrated to California from Texas. Little about him had changed, for he still wore Texas boots, range clothes, and a Stetson hat. Tied low on his right hip was a Colt revolver. He wasted no time in getting down to the purpose of his visit.
“Mr. Belton, there have been reports of shooting early this morning. Sounded like a war in progress, I am told. I suppose you have an explanation.”
“There was an attempted robbery,” said Belton. “Is that explanation enough?”
“Not really,” Sheriff Rigger said. “Your windows are barred and your doors—the two that exist—appear sturdy enough to withstand anything less than dynamite. I question the need to have more than one man watching the place after hours.”
“We get little enough help from the law,” said Belton, “and I consider it my business as to the number of men who are on watch. Anything else on your mind?”
“Only this,” Sheriff Rigger replied. “If there are any more reports of wild shooting in the middle of the night, I’ll be back with a search warrant. Since your place is so almighty attractive to thieves, I may decide to place a sheriff’s deputy inside at night.”
He departed without waiting for a response. Angrily, Belton chewed through his cigar and spat the butt on the floor. Abel Wilks came in, closing the door behind him.
“I suppose you heard?” said Belton.
“Well ... yeah ... I was outside the door,” Wilks said with some embarrassment.
“Then you know we can’t afford another standoff like last night,” said Belton. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“Maybe,” Wilks said. “You raisin’ hell with the boys over their failure last night don’t change the fact that it was dark, and the same thing could happen all over again. That is, unless we try somethin’ else.”
“Such as what?” said Belton.
“First,” Wilks replied, “we got to count on them hombres bein’ alive, and second, we got to expect ‘em to visit us again.”
“I could have figured that out by myself,” said Belton. “Where do we go from there?”
“They’re wantin’ in,” Wilks said, “so we’ll let ‘em in.”
“What?”
“Let ‘em in and gun ’em down,” said Wilks. “Does it matter if they come in, as long as they leave here feet first?”
“Maybe that’s the answer,” Belton replied with some satisfaction. “It would eliminate a need for massive gunfire as they approach, and once inside they’ll be trapped.”
“That’s the idea,” said Wilks. “These walls is thick enough that nobody’s likely to hear a few shots.”
“Wilks,” Belton said, “that’s sound thinking. I won’t forget.”
The first rosy fingers of dawn were touching the eastern sky as Wes and El Lobo approached the bay. They paused, for there was some activity on a nearby pier as one of the ships at anchor was being unloaded.
“We can’t climb out of this ditch without being seen,” Wes whispered. “We’ll have to slip into the water of the bay. Maybe we can take cover under that pier until that ship’s cargo has been unloaded.”
Unseen, they managed to reach the water of the bay, and keeping near the shore under cover of reeds and undergrowth, took cover beneath the pier. Empty crept as near to the water as he could, seeking to remain out of sight. He growled deep in his throat, for some of Belton’s men were walking along the drainage ditch. They paused for a moment, watching the dockworkers unload the ship. Finally they turned back the way they had come. The water beneath the pier was neck-deep, requiring Wes and El Lobo to cling to one of the pilings. Finally the activity above them ceased, as the last of the freight was brought from the ship to the dock.
“Them go,” said El Lobo.
“But we still have a problem,” Wes said. “We must haul ourselves out of here, bloody, muddy, and sopping wet, without attracting unwanted attention.”
Then they heard the clop-clop-clop of horses’ hooves and the rattle of a wagon.
“Tarnation,” said Wes, “somebody’s comin’ for the freight.”
“Per‘ap we get help,” El Lobo said.
Wes said nothing, for the teams had been reined up and there was the sound of footsteps above. Suddenly there was a low, welcoming growl from Empty.
“Empty,” said a friendly voice, “what are you doing here?”
“Jim,” Wes said, unbelieving. “Jim McCall!”
McCall bellied down on the pier, looking over the edge.
“Jim,” said Wes desperately, “can you help us out of here? We’ve been wounded.”
“Let me get a rope,” McCall said.
Quickly he tied one end
of a rope to the upper end of a piling. In the other end he tied a loop, which he dropped to Wes. Gratefully, Wes lay on the dock while McCall went to the rescue of El Lobo. Blood still oozed from the thigh and the calf of El Lobo’s right leg. For the first time, Wes was able to examine his own wound, and it had continued to bleed.
“My God,” said McCall, “Both of you need a doctor.”
“I reckon we do,” Wes said, “but we’re caught up in something that could get you killed. Vamoose.”
“You’re outside the law, then.”
“No,” said Wes, “we’re not outside the law, but that’s all I can tell you.”
“Then I’m going to do what I can for you,” McCall said. “Here, let me help you into the wagon.”
The wagon proved to be a boxlike affair, with an enclosed back. Script lettering on its wooden side said BAY AREA RECEIVING AND STORAGE. Opening the back doors and letting the tailgate down, McCall helped Wes and El Lobo into the enclosed vehicle. He then raised the tailgate and closed the doors. Mounting the wagon box, he turned the team and clattered away.
“Where are you taking us?” Wes asked.
“Home,” said McCall. “Amanda can see to your wounds while I find a doc.”
“We’re obliged,” Wes said, “but it could cost both of you your lives.”
“Maybe,” said McCall, “but I look out for my friends, and damn the consequences. Besides, Amanda would never forgive me if I failed you.”
“Where are you living?” Wes asked.
“Amanda wanted a house, so we rented one,” said McCall, “and since I was kind of at loose ends, I took this freight-hauling job until I could do better. We’re saving our stake for something, and we’re not quite sure what.”
McCall drove in behind a small house, where he reined up. Amanda was on the porch, a worried look on her face.
“Jim, is something wrong?”
“Yes,” said McCall, opening the wagon’s rear doors and lowering the tailgate. “Wes and El Lobo have been shot. Help me get them into the house.”
Empty had followed the wagon, growling anxiously, but he became silent when he saw Amanda. They were in the presence of friends.
San Francisco, California. February 10, 1885.
When the door to Sheriff Tom Rigger’s office opened and Bryan Silver stepped inside, Rigger got hastily to his feet.
“Silver, you old cattle rustler,” Rigger said. “I see them northern winters finally got to you and you’ve come in search of a warmer climate.”
“Not exactly,” Silver said, “although it was snowing when I left.”
The two shook hands and Silver took a chair facing Rigger’s desk.
“I haven’t seen you since I left the Texas Rangers, near ten years ago,” said Rigger.
“I know,” Silver said. “Bodie West said you were somewhere in California, but I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“After my wife died, I just got fiddle-footed,” said Rigger. “Got so my old bones took poorly to them blue northers that blowed in from the mountains, and I decided to find me a warmer place. But I still miss old Texas.”
“So do I,” Silver replied. “There’s times when I feel like resigning my post, going back to Texas, and joining the Rangers. But I don’t. There are always problems.”
“I reckon that gets us back to your reason for bein’ here,” said Rigger. “What can I do for you?”
“I don’t know that you can do anything, Tom,” Silver said, “but I have a bear by the tail. I can’t turn it loose, and the longer I hang on, the worse the situation becomes.”
“Give it a try, then,” said Rigger, “and I’ll help you if I can.”
“I can’t tell you much,” Silver said, “because of the nature of the case. I can only say that we’re trying to crack a conspiracy that is harmful to the nation. I have two men on the case, and I have reason to believe they’re here in San Francisco. I know for a fact they are in extreme danger, and I’m here to lend what assistance I can.”
“You have no means of finding them, then,” said Rigger.
“No,” Silver said. “For obvious reasons, I couldn’t stay in contact with them. I know this is a long shot, but have you had anything out or the ordinary happen within the last few days? Any killings?”
“No killings that I know of,” said Rigger, “but two nights ago there was a hell of a lot of gunfire near the bay. Almighty suspicious circumstances too.”
“Tell me about it,” Silver said, leaning forward in his chair. “It might be the very lead I’m looking for.”
“There’s a big, flat-roofed warehouse that sets back from the water a ways, with no markings of any kind,” said Rigger. “A gent by the name of Otis Belton is head of it, and he’s damned careful not to say anything he don’t have to. All I know is that they claim to be in the import and export business.”
“That could involve just about anything,” Silver said.
“It could,” said Rigger. “Anyhow, night before last, near three o‘clock in the morning, there was shooting that sounded like a war goin’ on. All the windows to this place have bars, and there’s only two entrances, both behind the building. After complaints about the shooting, I rode down there and talked to Belton. He claimed his men drove away a couple of thieves, and wouldn’t say nothin’ else. From reports I’ve had, there must have been four or five men in there with rifles. There’s portholes, head-high, along the backside of the place, each sufficient for a peephole and the muzzle of a Winchester.”
“Unusual for a business to station that many armed men inside,” Silver said, “unless their business is high risk and questionable.”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Rigger, “and I told Belton if there was another incident, with more shooting, I’d be there with a search warrant.”
“Good idea, if you could do it,” Silver said, “but there’s no law against a man defending his place of business against robbers.”
“I know that,” said Rigger, “and Belton knows it, but I just wonder what’s so almighty valuable that requires more than one man on watch?”
“Maybe it’s in the best interests of the United States government that I find out,” Silver said. “I have a livery horse. Will you guide me?”
“Yes,” said Rigger, “but we won’t go unnoticed.”
“No help for that,” Silver replied. “We’ll ride past there and return another way. Once I know where it is, I won’t involve you further.”
“I’d help you more, if I could,” said Rigger, “but you’ll need a U.S. marshal.”
“I know who and where he is, when I need him,” Silver said. “If this is leadin’ up to what I expect, you’ve been more help than you’ll ever know.”
They rode south, along the bay, and their presence was soon noted by Pike, who was watching from one of the many saloons. But Pike didn’t follow, for he had recognized one of the riders as Sheriff Rigger. Belton had ordered that under no circumstances was the lawman to be followed, lest his suspicions be further aroused. Pike settled down to wait, but the sheriff and his companion didn’t return.
“There is something suspicious about this place,” Silver observed as he and Rigger rode past the building. “I see nothing to inspire thieves, unless they know or suspect what is goin’ on inside.”
“When the time comes you can talk about it, I’d like to know what you discover,” said Rigger.
“I’ll call on you again before I leave San Francisco,” Silver said. “It’s not often a man gets the chance to talk to an old Texas pard so far from home.”
Rigger led Silver back a different way. Reaching his office, Rigger dismounted. Again he extended his hand, and Silver took it.
“Good luck, my friend,” said Rigger. “Vaya con Dios.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Silver said.
In less than an hour, Jim McCall returned with a doctor. Having cleaned their wounds as best she could, Amanda had managed to get Wes and El Lobo into bed. Theirs was the back room at the
end of the hall. Empty sat near the foot of the bed, eyeing the doctor with suspicion. The young doctor went about his business in a professional manner, without speaking a word. Only when he had finished dressing the wounds did he speak.
“I should have another look at them tomorrow. Here’s a bottle of laudanum for pain. It should help them sleep through the worst of it.”
Jim McCall gave the doctor a double eagle, waiting until he had left the room. He then spoke to Amanda.
“After I’ve taken the doc back to his office, I’ll have to get back to work. Don’t allow anybody in.”
“I suppose you have no idea what this is all about,” Amanda said.
“No,” said McCall. “Wes told me only that they’re not outside the law, and I believed him. The Winchester behind the front door is fully loaded. Don’t be afraid to use it.”
With that, McCall was gone, leaving Amanda in the room with the two wounded men. In the silence there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, and a thump on the wooden floor, as Empty wagged his tail. Something in the hound’s eyes touched Amanda, and she knelt, ruffling Empty’s ears.
Chapter 14
Leaving Sheriff Rigger, Bryan Silver stabled his livery horse and took a room in a small hotel not far from the bay. Shucking his hat, gunbelt, and boots, he stretched out on the bed, contemplating what he had learned. While it might avail him nothing, the more he considered it, the more likely it seemed that some clue had led Wes and El Lobo to the mysterious warehouse. Their contact with U.S. mints in New Orleans and Carson City had proven disastrous, and Silver considered it highly unlikely they would make a similar move in San Francisco. He waited until near dusk before making his move. He saddled his horse and rode toward the bay, turning south along the broad avenue. He reined up before one of the cafés, where he had supper. Leaving there, he kept as far to the side of the avenue as he could, for there was light streaming from the saloons. But Pike was watching, and the starlight was sufficient for him to spot the single rider. He left the saloon, mounted his horse, and followed. Silver reined up for just a moment, listening. He was still some distance from the warehouse, and he began looking for a side street where he might leave the avenue. He soon found one to his liking, for it was lined with giant oaks, leaving the street in deep shadow. Seizing an overhanging limb, Silver pulled himself up, allowing his horse to wander on without him. When the trailing rider was directly beneath him, Silver dropped, dragging the man from the saddle. They fought, only the sodden sound of their blows breaking the silence. Breaking loose, Silver’s adversary drew his Colt, only to have Silver’s fist connect solidly with his chin. He went down and lay still. Quickly, Silver went through his pockets. Drawing forth a handful of coins, he lighted a match. There among the eagles and double eagles was a coin bearing the sinister likeness of a dragon. With the lariat from the unconscious man’s horse, Silver bound him hand and foot, gagging him with his own neckerchief. He then flung his captive belly-down over his saddle. Leading the horse, he went looking for his own mount. He found the animal cropping grass. When he had mounted, he rode back toward town, avoiding the well-lighted avenue along the bay. Sheriff Rigger was about to leave for the day when Silver reined up. Dismounting, he loosed the bonds on the legs of his now-conscious captive, forcing him to enter Rigger’s office.
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