The Copper City

by Chris Scott Wilson

  “Webster and Jeffers were your partners too.”

  Upton shrugged. “No denying that. Figured you and me needed some help to shift that silver. Wouldn’t have gone far split four ways. The plan all along was that it was just for you and me. ’Sides, you earned your share, staying back there to face up to Quantro. I know it must have been tough, him being a killer and all, but you’re here so you must have made out all right, just like I knew you would. Now we’ve got him off our trail we’ve got a clear run.” He paused, but got no reaction.

  He wished to God Dobey was in front, then he could figure out some sort of action. If he could keep him talking long enough, maybe he could work him into a better position. “Just think on all them saloons and poker games waiting on us along the trail. Them fancy cathouses too. How long is it since you had a woman? Not just any woman, but a real woman? You never had no money, did you, boy? Well, I’m telling you that there’s pleasure palaces like you never dreamed of. Crystal chandeliers and carpets on the floors as deep as prairie grass that suck at your ankles. And the women…” He shook his head in wonder that there could be such females. “Oh, the women. Some of ’em come from as far away as France. That’s in Europe. Real Par-is-ee-enne, they call ’em. Smell like flowers in full bloom from the mountains. And they know what a man likes. They know so well that when you come out of there your knees are so weak you can hardly stand up straight. They make you think that you never knew what women were like before. And believe me, you didn’t.”

  There was silence. Goddammit, Upton thought, what’s he up to now? Where is he? Has he moved? Slowly, he let his right arm relax and begin falling, inching down the long reach to his gun.

  “Keep still! Keep those hands high!”

  Dobey stood up, his Colt leveled on Upton’s back. Cautiously, he walked down from the rim of the dry wash where he had been sitting while Upton loaded the horses. Let the bastard do all the work, he had thought, fingering his gun restlessly. He had earned it.

  Now the waiting was over.

  He closed in behind Upton’s back. Silently, he came to stand next to the horse’s rump, then reached up to pluck the six-gun from Upton’s holster.

  Now the gunman was unarmed, Dobey could afford to have some fun with him. “I didn’t kill Quantro.”

  Upton’s face twisted into an ugly grimace as he turned in the saddle and glared down at the man below him. “He’s not dead?”

  Dobey smiled at Upton’s anger.

  “But you winged him? Winged him good?”

  “No. I figured you out before he got to me.”

  Upton’s eyes swiveled to scan the horizon. “You damn fool. Then he’s still out there, coming after the both of us.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Then get your horse and let’s ride. We’ve got to put as many miles between him and us as we can. Come on boy. And give me my gun. If he’s here now…”

  “Still scheming?” Dobey wore a half smile.

  Upton’s eyes narrowed, his face relaxed, surrender and amiability grafted skillfully into his dusty skin. “You got all the cards, boy. It’s your play.”

  The Colt moved a fraction. “You ain’t wrong. But, then, you’re not going any place. If I’m going to sample all these fancy whorehouses you take such pleasure jawing about, it’ll be on my own…”

  Upton’s foot slipped from the stirrup while Dobey was talking. In a burst of desperation he lashed out. His boot heel caught Dobey’s gun hand. The Colt flew from his fingers, Dobey’s body twisting behind his wrenched arm. Upton’s leg came to the end of its swing, then whiplashed back. As Dobey fell forward off balance, Upton’s Spanish roweled spur raked across his neck. Dobey screamed, staggering backward.

  Upton did not wait around. His heels were into the horse’s ribs. His hands scrabbled for the reins and the lead rope, tied to the saddle horn, snapped tight over his thigh. As the horse began to canter, he reached back and pulled his Winchester free from the scabbard. The rifle across his body, he worked its action then twisted to look back.

  Dobey had flung himself clear of the churning hooves of the packhorses. Now he was visible over the bouncing saddlebags. One hand was to his bloody neck, the other reaching for the pistol he had taken from Upton and pushed into his belt.

  Upton steadied his aim as best he could with the galloping horse beneath him. He had to shoot fast, he was coming to a rise. He squeezed the trigger.

  The rifle barked and Dobey went down.

  The horse side-stepped, and with one foot still out of the stirrup, Upton almost fell. He grabbed for the saddle horn, his boot groping for a hold. He found it, but when he turned again, Dobey was lost to sight behind the billowing dust kicked up by the horses.

  Upton was free again.

  ***

  Quantro found the dry wash without any difficulty. He had followed Dobey’s straight line, noting wryly that the gunman was riding flat out. Any man riding like that wasn’t exactly bothering to cover his trail, his mind all too obviously concerned with something up ahead.

  But what?

  The thought crossed Quantro’s mind that it would be a trick. Upton had already played foxy more than once since Santa Cruz. There was more than an even chance he would again.

  When he and Pete came upon the dry wash, Quantro was even more suspicious. Were Dobey’s obvious tracks just to lure them into an ambush set in the bottoms?

  He left the buckskin with reins trailing and approached the wash on foot. All was quiet.

  The place was empty.

  Without waiting for Pete, he went over the rim, moccasins skidding even though they sank ankle deep in the loose shale. At the bottom he read the sign. When he had uncovered its story, he called for Pete.

  The older man crested the rim and slid his horse down the slope Quantro had used. “You got it all figured out?”

  “Some,” Quantro conceded, going on to explain how Dobey had sat on the rim for a while before he’d come down, then how the two men had talked before Upton pulled out, leaving Dobey behind.

  “They fell out?”

  “Seems like it.”

  Pete sniffed and pushed his hat to the back of his head. “Men always get greedy. See a little silver, they want more.” He put a hand to his chin, rubbing thoughtfully at the two-day growth of graying whiskers. “So now Dobey’s after him too.”

  Quantro nodded.

  Pete pursed his lips. “That could save us a sight of trouble.”

  Quantro glanced at where Dobey’s trail led out of the wash. “Know what you mean. If both of them were riding with the silver, one could take time out to mess up the trail. This way, Upton might cover his tracks but Dobey’s going to be so all fired angry he ain’t gonna bother to cover his. He should give us a straight line to Upton.” He turned to read the older man’s face.

  Pete was already walking back to his pony.

  ***

  Pete leaned out over the boardwalk railings and spat into the dust of the street. He grimaced and looked over to the sign that read: Charleston Telegraph Office, Cochise County, Arizona Territory. He studied it a moment, then spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Well, are you going to send it or not?”

  Quantro followed Pete’s sightline. The ferocity of his gaze gave voice to his wish that the office would disappear. It didn’t. Instead, the curl of smoke from the cigarette in his mouth drifted across his eyes. He rubbed at his face, then inhaled a last lungful before he plucked the stub from his lips and tossed it out into the street.

  “Well?” Pete persisted.

  Quantro’s facial muscles pulled his face in different directions. His shoulders hunched as if he was about to shrug but he was only hooking his thumbs in his gunbelt.

  “If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were kinda reluctant,” Pete said dryly.

  Quantro’s head dipped and he finally executed the shrug his shoulders had threatened before. When his voice came, it came like a twister out of the dry prairie, full of venom and cut
ting down everything that stood in its path.

  “And tell them what, for God’s sake? Tell Harley we lost ’em? He’s going to love that to death, ain’t he? Lost them.” He spat it out. His knuckles were white as his hand snaked out to grab the railing. “Son of a bitch. What can I tell him? That we trailed them right across the Huachuca Mountains, over into Arizona, up the San Pedro River for twenty miles only to lose them after they hit the main trail?” His eyes raked the street, flickering over the townsfolk going about their business. “They’re here. I’m sure of it.” He shook his head angrily. “If I can’t tell Harley we’ve caught them, I won’t tell him anything.”

  “You’re the boss,” Pete said in a voice that stated he didn’t agree.

  “The hell with it,” Quantro muttered, suddenly striding into the street.

  Pete stepped out after him. “You going to send it?”

  “Hell, no, I’m going to wash the dust out of my throat.”

  It was early for the saloon to be crowded. As they pushed in through the batwing doors a lone gambler looked up from his hand of patience, but when they ignored him he went back to his cards. At the sound of Pete’s boots rattling on the planking a girl in a red satin dress stopped tinkling on the piano and turned to eye him.

  “Two beers,” Quantro instructed the bartender. The girl appeared at his elbow. She squeezed his biceps playfully then leaned forward to display the goods on offer inside her low-necked dress.

  “You look strong,” she cooed seductively. “You come looking for a pretty girl to spend money on?”

  Quantro said nothing just stared at her. Chestnut hair. For an instant he recalled the saloon girl he had done business with after he had blown Purdy Dale, the man with the scar, to bits with a scattergun in Pueblo on the Arkansas River nearly two years before.

  Something ugly must have passed over his face, for the girl’s confidence drained away and she backed off from his chilling eyes.

  Pete frowned as he watched her retreat. Quantro, however, acted as though nothing had happened. He reached for his beer and sank a long draught. There was less than a mouthful left in the glass when he stood it back on the bar.

  “We’ve got to give it some thought.”

  “What?” Quantro asked.

  “The wire.”

  “What for? I told you I’m not sending it.”

  “Maybe Harley thinks the wire we sent from Santa Cruz was just to make it look as though we weren’t in on the job. Maybe he’s got the Pinkertons trailing us already.”

  “Never thought of that,” Quantro admitted. He inspected the bottom of his glass and signaled for a refill. “Still, I don’t like telling him we’ve lost them.”

  “We don’t have to.”

  “Uh?”

  Pete had a sly grin hiding among his whiskers. “We could say we’ve found them but they’ve cached the silver and we’re waiting them out.”

  “That’d be straight lying.”

  “No-o,” Pete drawled, “more sort of optimistic.”

  “That’s not how I’m feeling right now.”

  Pete shrugged. “Me neither. Okay, so if we don’t find the stone they’re hiding under, later on we say they foxed us again. If we do turn them up, then we weren’t lying at all.”

  Quantro considered the old man’s innocent face before he allowed himself a smile. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

  “What we got to lose?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Okay, what the hell, something’ll turn up.”

  “I hope so,” Quantro said, hoping just that.

  CHAPTER 10

  The only rooms in town were at the saloon where they had quenched their thirst. And even then they had to share. While Pete took up their gear Quantro sent the wire, then took the horses to the livery for bedding down.

  “This the only livery in town?” he asked the stable hand as he walked along the stalls, checking on a vague hope that Upton’s or Dobey’s horse would be there.

  They weren’t.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay. How much?”

  “Four bits a horse.”

  “You got it.” He handed over the coins, then hit the street again. No other liveries in town. If they were here, their horses must be stashed some place they didn’t think they would be found. But where? The buckskin was in no shape now, but in the morning after a grain feed it would be fine. He would take a look then.

  Back in the saloon, Pete was eating at a corner table.

  Quantro glanced apprehensively at the plate. “What is it?”

  “Beef stew.”

  “Good, I could even eat a beeve still on the hoof.”

  Pete made a face. “You’ve come to the right place. This bastard’s still running.” He contemplated the mess. “And it looks like a good chance I will be too come morning.”

  “No steaks?”

  “No. Stew. Take it or leave it.”

  Quantro sat down and waved to the barkeep for a plate. The same saloon girl who’d tried to pick him up earlier brought the food. When she saw who’d ordered it, she didn’t wait around. Quantro called her back. “There a doctor in town?”

  She regarded him warily. “Sure.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “End of the street. White place.” She paused a moment, then when his attention switched to his food she turned away.

  “Hey.” There was an ominous tone to his voice.

  She froze and turned to face him slowly.

  “We’ll be needing coffee here,” he smiled.

  ***

  The white paint was peeled by the sun but the house was still whiter than the other clapboard houses. A heavy woman opened the door, an apron girding her thick waist. A strand of dark hair had escaped her bun to hang limply on her coarse cheek.

  “The doctor at home?”

  “No. What do you want?” she asked suspiciously, her eyes raking Quantro from head to foot.

  “When will he be back? We’ve got a sick friend.”

  “Oh,” she mouthed. “Well, he had to go out to the Benson place. Mrs. Benson’s expecting her third.”

  “When did he leave?”

  “Early this morning. One of the hands came for him.” Her expression seemed to say that men don’t understand these things. “He could be away till the morning.”

  Quantro nodded and turned away.

  “What did you say your name was?” she called after them as they went out on to the street. Quantro turned to close the gate.

  “I didn’t,” he smiled.

  ***

  “I’d lay money you checked all the horses in the livery, too,” Pete said.

  “No luck. Thought the doctor might know something. Maybe one of them got hit when they were shooting at us in the canyon, or when they were fighting each other in the dry wash. Upton’d rather use a gun than words.”

  “Maybe that’s because he don’t know any words.”

  “Only the lawman left,” Quantro said, cutting over to where a shingle bore the legend Sheriff’s Office. The door was open.

  A gangling youth was sitting with his boots on the desk. They had seen better days, as had his patched pants and battered felt hat. A deputy’s badge looked as though it was the only thing holding his threadbare shirt together. The youth took one look at the two trail-stained men, picked up the six-gun that had been lying on the desktop and swung his feet to the floor.

  “Better leave it alone or you might hurt yourself,” Pete offered from the doorway.

  “I’m the law here, mister.”

  “Looking for the sheriff,” Quantro said flatly.

  “He’s out.”

  “I can see that.”

  “On business.”

  Pete sighed loudly. “My friend here has a short temper, and we’re running out of time. What sort of business and how long has he been gone?”

  The boy’s eyes flickered to Quantro’s well-used gun butt, then at the ice-blue eyes. “Truth is, he’s gon
e out to the creek. Runs west from here to the foothills of the Dragoon Mountains.”

  “A fair piece?”

  The boy nodded. “But I wouldn’t cause no trouble here. He’ll be back real soon.”

  “Gone all day?”

  “Fish bite better at noontime.” He realized what he’d said and that it was now too late to keep up the pretense. “He says fishin’ gives him thinking space.” He eyed the gun he’d put back on the desk.

  “We just wanted a word, nothing more. If he hasn’t been here all day he can’t help us. We’re looking for two men. You seen any strangers? Would’ve come into town about noon.”

  The boy shook his head, no. “You’re the only two strangers I’ve seen today. You bounty hunters?”

  “No.” They turned to go. “By the way,” Pete added. “Better put some bullets in that gun next time. You’re lucky we weren’t real bad hombres.”

  The boy stared at the closing door, then at the gun. The stranger was right. It was empty. How had he known?

  “Seems like we ain’t getting lucky,” Pete commented as they headed back toward the saloon. Quantro didn’t answer. Pete glanced at him. “You sure are quiet.”

  “A man don’t learn anything by talking all the time. Sometimes he has to shut his mouth and listen.”

  “You telling me I’m talking too much?”

  “Can’t tell whether you’re trying to say something or just giving your tongue some air.”

  The saloon had filled during their absence. Quantro elbowed his way to the bar and shouted for two beers, then turned so that his elbows rested on the polished oak, eyes roving the room. No sign of either of them.

  “Well?”

  Quantro turned back and raised his moccasined foot on to the brass foot rail, eyes moving to the mirror hanging on the back wall behind the whiskey bottles, checking and rechecking. “Looks like Dobey picked up on where Upton cut away from the main trail, or he would be here in town.”

  “Maybe he caught him up.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Come sun-up we’ll have to make a scout and hope to God we can sniff the pair of them out.”

  Pete looked over at the two poker games in progress and the number of men waiting for chairs.