“Indeed I do,” Dav agreed.
John Henry left the sheriff’s office and walked toward the cross street where the Collinses’ boardinghouse was located. A few people were on the boardwalks again, and he took note of the sullen, furtive looks they gave him as he passed.
He figured that had something to do with the blacksmith and his son being arrested. Enough people had seen the Farnhams being arrested that the news would have gotten around town by now. The citizens would regard the situation as just another example of the brutal, tyrannical rule by Dav and his deputies, John Henry mused.
He checked his watch as he came into the boardinghouse. The time was a few minutes shy of six o’clock. He went into the dining room and found that several people were already sitting at the long table with its white linen cloth. A platter with fried chicken on it, along with another full of biscuits, rested in the center of the table.
Kate Collins came through a door on the other side of the room that led to the kitchen, John Henry recalled. She carried a bowl of mashed potatoes in one hand and a gravy boat in the other. When she caught sight of John Henry she paused for a split second, then her face began to turn pink as she set the potatoes and gravy on the table.
He wondered if she was remembering the kiss from that afternoon.
“Deputy Cobb,” she greeted him curtly.
“Miss Collins,” John Henry replied with a smile. “Six o’clock, just like you said.”
“If you’ll be so kind as to remove your hat.”
“Oh.” John Henry reached up and took off his hat. He looked around for a place to hang it, and not seeing one, he settled for bending over and placing it on the floor beside one of the empty chairs. Might as well sit there, he thought.
“And if you wanted to remove your gun,” Kate went on, “that gesture would be appreciated as well.”
John Henry had already noted that two of the men at the table were packing iron. He had them pegged as two of the other deputies who lived here.
“Sorry, Miss Collins, but I feel downright undressed without my gun, and that wouldn’t be proper at all.”
She gave a soft little snort and turned to go back out to the kitchen.
One of the other armed men stood up, grinned, and extended his hand to John Henry.
“Don’t let Kate put a burr under your saddle, amigo,” he said. “She can be a mite prickly, but once you’re tasted her cookin’, you’ll agree she’s worth puttin’ up with it. She’s pretty easy on the eyes, too.”
“She is, at that,” John Henry agreed as he gripped the man’s hand. “Name’s John Cobb.”
“I’m Steve Buckner.” He inclined his head toward the other armed man. “That sour-faced cuss is Aaron Kemp. We work for Sam Dav, same as you.”
“I figured as much.” John Henry shook hands with the stocky, dour Kemp, who had graying dark hair and a thick mustache. Buckner was younger, not yet thirty, with a lean body and a shock of sandy hair.
The two other people at the table, a man and a woman, weren’t joining in the conversation. In fact, they kept their eyes downcast as they sat together, as if they didn’t want to attract the attention of the three lawmen.
Buckner didn’t let that go past. He waved a hand toward the couple and said, “Over yonder on the other side of the table is Mr. and Mrs. Peterson. They’ve got a store that sells clothes for gentlemen and ladies. Which same is sometimes in short supply in Chico, but we’re tryin’ to civilize the place as best we can, ain’t we, Aaron?”
Kemp just grunted and didn’t say anything.
John Henry nodded politely to the Petersons and said, “Howdy, folks.”
Mrs. Peterson didn’t look up or acknowledge the greeting, but Mr. Peterson replied in a high-pitched, tentative voice, “Deputy.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” John Henry went on. “If I need any duds while I’m here, I’ll know right where to go.”
Buckner chuckled and said, “You’ll get a good price at their store, that’s for sure. Of course, we get a good price just about everywhere in Chico, don’t we, Aaron?”
“Huh,” Kemp said.
Kate came back into the dining room, bringing a bowl of greens with her. Her grandfather walked in behind her, carrying a pie. Buckner started licking his lips at that.
“Kate’s apple pie is just about the closest thing you’ll find to heaven on this earth,” he told John Henry. “That’s one reason I think she’s really an angel.”
“I’ve told you I prefer to be called Miss Collins, Deputy,” she said to him.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Collins,” Buckner said, but despite his words it was clear that he was mocking her. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“Everyone sit down and eat.”
“Not everybody’s here yet,” Buckner objected. “Where’s ol’ Turnage?”
“Mr. Turnage came in earlier and told me he didn’t feel well,” Kate said. “I gave him a bit of food and told him to go on upstairs and lie down.”
“I reckon I know how he feels. It’d make me plumb sick to work in a bank, too, handlin’ other folks’ money all day and knowin’ the whole time that I was poor as a church mouse.”
John Henry and Buckner took their seats, as did Kate and her grandfather. The deputies dug in. So did John Henry, following their lead. Under the circumstances, it wouldn’t pay to be too polite.
After a few minutes, Buckner said around a mouthful of fried chicken, “Heard about you tanglin’ with Nate Farnham, Cobb. I’m a mite surprised you’re still walkin’ around. That boy’s as big as a mountain . . . and just about as dumb as one, too.”
“I suppose I was lucky,” John Henry said.
Kate spoke up, saying, “I think it’s awful that you arrested Peabody and Nate.” She ignored a warning look from old Jimpson and went on, “Poor Nate is harmless.”
“Well, he didn’t really seem all that harmless when he was throwing me halfway across the blacksmith shop into a wall,” John Henry said. “And I suspect that Peabody Farnham with a hammer in his hand is a far cry from harmless, too.”
“What are you going to do with them?”
John Henry shrugged and said, “That’s up to the sheriff.” He knew what Dav planned to do about the Farnhams, but he didn’t think the sheriff would appreciate him spreading that knowledge around.
Mr. Peterson surprised John Henry by speaking up again.
“If there’s a fine or something they need to pay, I’m sure the townspeople could take up a collection to cover it,” Peterson suggested.
“That’s a good idea,” Buckner said. “I’ll be sure and tell the sheriff you thought of it.”
Peterson muttered something unintelligible and looked down at his plate again.
After the meal was over, Buckner asked John Henry, “Are you goin’ back out on rounds?”
“The sheriff told me I was off duty,” John Henry replied with a shake of his head.
“Well, Aaron and me are just fixin’ to go on duty, and we always start our shift by stoppin’ by the Buzzard’s Nest and havin’ a little eye-opener. Why don’t you come along with us, and we’ll introduce you around?”
John Henry considered the invitation for a second. Buckner was the friendly, garrulous sort, and once he got to talking, there was no telling what he might say, especially if he had a drink or two in him. It was unlikely that Buckner or Kemp knew anything about what Dav’s ultimate plans were, but John Henry couldn’t rule out the possibility.
“Sounds good to me,” he said. “I think I’ll join you.”
Buckner grinned and slapped him on the shoulder.
“You can tell us all about rasslin’ with that bear, by which I mean Nate Farnham. So long, Kate. I mean, Miss Collins. See you in the mornin’.”
Kate just sniffed and didn’t say anything.
The other two deputies got their hats. Kemp worked at his teeth with a toothpick as they left the house.
“See what I meant about Kate’s cookin’?”
Buckner asked John Henry.
“It was good, all right.”
“She’s gonna warm up to me one of these days,” Buckner went on. “I been workin’ on her with my charm.”
“How long have you been here in Chico, Steve?” John Henry asked.
“Couple of months. Why do you . . . Oh, I get you. You think that if charm was gonna work, it would have by now.”
“Miss Collins’s dislike for us seems to be a formidable obstacle. She’s a determined woman.”
“You could call her that.” Buckner laughed. He dug an elbow into John Henry’s ribs. “Or you can just call her the future Mrs. Buckner, know what I mean?”
John Henry stifled the irritation and thought that Kate Collins turning out to be the future Mrs. Buckner was about as likely as hell freezing over.
Chapter Eighteen
The Buzzard’s Nest, despite its inelegant name, was a pretty nice place, John Henry thought as he and Buckner and Kemp pushed through the batwings and made their way to the bar. That gleaming hardwood fixture extended down the length of the room’s left side for a good forty feet, and two aproned bartenders were working behind it, keeping up with the orders of more than a dozen men who stood there drinking.
Tables extended across the room, filling the floor. Men sat at most of the tables, and a couple of girls in low-cut dresses brought them their drinks. There were booths with bench seats along the right-hand wall. A player piano stood in the front corner, silent now. Toward the back of the room were a couple of poker tables and a faro layout. Oil lamps in wagon wheel fixtures hung from the ceiling and cast their yellow light through air that was thick with smoke from numerous quirlies, cigars, and pipes.
Despite the crowd, the atmosphere in the Buzzard’s Nest was rather subdued, almost hushed. It had gotten that way as soon as the three deputies stepped inside, John Henry realized. Somehow everybody in the place knew they were there, even the men who had their backs turned.
Most of the men at the bar wore range clothes. John Henry figured they were cowhands from the ranches scattered along the lower slopes of the San Juan Mountains. The men at the tables were a mixture of miners and townies.
John Henry had known a lot of cowboys and mining men in his life. Without exception, they were all tough hombres who didn’t like to back down from trouble, ever. The fact that Sheriff Dav and his deputies had this area so thoroughly buffaloed was evidence of just how deadly they really were.
In fact, as John Henry and his companions approached the bar, the men standing there began to drift down toward the other end, leaving a large spot bare. Buckner took notice of that and grinned.
“Hope you ain’t thin-skinned, Cobb,” he said. “If you are, you’re liable to get your feelin’s hurt around here.”
“Not me,” John Henry said. “My hide’s nice and thick, like a buffalo’s.”
“Not thick enough to stop a bullet, I expect. Which means you’d be smart to keep your eyes open all the time.”
“You don’t think any of these people would try to bushwhack us, do you?” John Henry asked.
“They ain’t showed that much fight so far . . . but you never know.”
Buckner was right about that, John Henry thought. Push anybody, no matter how peaceful, far enough, and sooner or later they would strike back.
“Three whiskies, Jack,” Buckner told the bartender who came along the bar to take their order.
“Sure thing, Deputy,” the man replied with a friendly nod that John Henry sensed wasn’t completely sincere. He took three glasses from a shelf on the wall behind him, set them on the bar, and then reached for a bottle on the same shelf.
“Not that stuff,” Buckner said. “The bottle I want is under the bar, Jack.”
The bartender hesitated.
“That’s Mr. Rembard’s private stock,” he said.
Buckner’s eyes narrowed as he looked across the bar.
“Are you sayin’ we ain’t good enough for private stock?” he asked.
The bartender didn’t hesitate this time. He shook his head immediately and said, “No, sir, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’d be mighty glad to pour some for you and your friends, Deputy Buckner.”
“That’s more like it,” Buckner said with a satisfied nod.
The bartender took a bottle from underneath the bar, uncorked it, and poured three fingers of amber liquid into each glass.
Buckner looked critically at the drinks and said, “Top those off just a leeeetle more.”
The bartender didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look happy as he splashed more whiskey into each glass.
“That’s better,” Buckner said. He picked up his drink and motioned for John Henry and Kemp to do likewise. As he raised the glass, he went on, “To the future, gents. To the day we’ll all be rich men.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Kemp said, which was the most words John Henry had heard come out of the man’s mouth so far.
All three of them tossed the drinks back. The liquor was smooth going down and immediately lit a fire in John Henry’s belly. He could see why the owner of the Buzzard’s Nest kept it as his private stock.
Since he was half-Cherokee—which nobody in Chico knew about, of course—people sometimes assumed that John Henry couldn’t handle his liquor. But he was half-white, too, and when anyone questioned his consumption of alcohol, he always replied that it was his white half doing the drinking. Although he didn’t really have a taste for the stuff and he disliked what he had seen it do not only to some of his people but to many others as well, he didn’t actually have a problem handling it when he needed to drink to blend in.
He licked his lips now as he set the empty glass on the bar in front of him.
“That’s mighty fine drinking whiskey,” he said.
Buckner grinned at him.
“You can see why Aaron and me stop here for an eye-opener every evenin’. Want another?”
John Henry shook his head.
“I’d better not,” he said. “Miss Collins probably wouldn’t like it if I came stumbling in drunk the first night I was staying at her house.”
“I understand.” Buckner’s voice took on a slight edge. “Just don’t get too many ideas in your head about her, Johnny. Like I told you, that’s my future bride you’re talkin’ about.”
“Don’t worry,” John Henry assured him. “I plan on letting you keep on trying to thaw her out.”
He didn’t say anything about the kiss he had shared with Kate that afternoon. He would have been willing to bet his hat, though, that that intimacy was more than Buckner had ever been able to achieve with her.
“I guess we’d better be gettin’ down to the office and check in with the sheriff before we start our rounds,” Buckner said after looking longingly at his empty glass for a moment. “If he ain’t there, Miller probably will be.”
“Miller is Sheriff Dav’s segundo?” John Henry asked as the three men turned away from the bar.
“Yeah, I reckon. There ain’t nothin’ official about it, you understand. All the deputies are equal. But everybody sorta knows that Miller’s more equal, if you get my drift. He’s the one who passes on Dav’s orders to the rest of us a lot of the time, and he’s got the sheriff’s ear more than anybody else, I reckon. But he’s a good hombre, so it’s all right.”
They approached the batwings while Buckner was talking, but they hadn’t gotten there yet when a man suddenly stood up from one of the tables. He moved to his left, and that put him directly in the path of the three deputies.
The man’s lace-up work boots, canvas trousers, and flannel shirt marked him as a miner. So did the thick slabs of muscle on his shoulders and arms put there by long hours of swinging a pick every day to dig out the ore. His features were as rugged as if they had been hewn from the mountain, as well.
Buckner, Kemp, and John Henry came to a stop. Buckner glared at the miner who stood in their way. The deputy demanded, “What do you want, Spivey?”
“Y
ou shouldn’t be in here,” the miner called Spivey rumbled. “By God, there ought’a be one place in this town where we’re safe from you vultures who call yourselves lawmen.”
“That’s no way to talk,” Buckner snapped. “We just had ourselves a peaceful drink, and now we’re on our way out. Move aside, and I’ll forget that you’re treadin’ on mighty shaky ground there, Spivey.”
“Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Spivey said. “I aim to teach you a lesson, you high-handed sons o’ bitches.”
Buckner tensed. John Henry was keeping a close eye on him, in case Buckner whipped out his gun with the intention of shooting the troublesome miner. If that happened, he would have to try to prevent the killing somehow without being too obvious about what he was doing, the same way he had kept Miller from gunning down Nate Farnham.
Another man dressed like a miner hurriedly got up from the table where Spivey had been sitting and came over to them. He put a hand on Spivey’s brawny arm and urged, “Come on, Lou. You don’t want to do this.”
Spivey shrugged off his friend’s grip.
“The hell I don’t!” he said. “These varmints have been asking for trouble ever since they came to Chico!”
“But they’ve got the badges . . . and the guns,” the smaller man argued. “And there are three of them.”
“You’d better listen to your friend, Spivey,” Buckner warned. “You open that piehole of yours one more time, I’m gonna arrest you for disturbin’ the peace. They won’t like it up at the Lucky Seven when you don’t show up for work. The foreman’s liable to fire you.”
“I don’t give a damn about that,” Spivey insisted. His hands clenched into knobby-knuckled fists.
John Henry’s keen hearing suddenly picked up the faint creak of a floorboard somewhere behind them. He glanced over his shoulder and saw several more burly miners creeping toward them. In that instant, he realized that Spivey and probably the second man as well were nothing more than distractions. The confrontation had given the other men time to get into position to jump them from behind.
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