Hanging Valley

by Jack Ballas

  Lingo’s face heated until he thought it would catch fire. He gave Wes a hard look, then looked at Emily. “Ma’am, you gotta understand that Higgins, with that kind of talk, has kept me in hot water most of the time I been tryin’ to raise ’im to be a man.” He shrugged. “Most o’ the time I think I made a miserable failure of that job.”

  Two days later, Lingo had briefed each of them on what they were to do if any of the gang got by him and made it to the valley. He toed the stirrup, swung into the saddle, and again looked at Wes. “Don’t forget, young’un, stay up there at that cutout place in the cliff. The women’ll bring you your meals. And, be sure and take several sticks of that dynamite up there with you. I’ll see y’all soon’s I can find out anything.” He swung his horse as though to leave when Emily caught his bridle.

  “Lingo Barnes, you won’t let me go with you ’cause there’re those in town who would recognize me, but I’m tellin’ you right now, you be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt on my account.” And then so soft Lingo barely heard her, she said, “Don’t want you gettin’ hurt on any account. Don’t think I could stand it.”

  When he rode off, he puzzled over her words. If she’d said what he thought, he couldn’t understand why she’d care so much—but the thought made him feel all warm inside.

  3

  LINGO RODE INTO the muddy main street of Durango. It had rained on him all but about a mile of his ride to town. He swept the row of saloons and false-fronted stores with a searching glance. The town had grown. The last time he came to town most of those who owned businesses in Animas City were in a frenzy to find spots in the new railroad town of Durango, only a couple of miles down the trail. Now, it looked as though most had found what they were after and were putting up buildings that had an air of permanence to them. He nodded in approval. This was where he’d be doing much of his business.

  He wondered what to do first: try to find Miles Colter, get a room, or have a drink. He shivered. The drink won that argument hands-down.

  He reined in at the nearest saloon, The Golden Eagle. He’d drank there before. It was owned by Faye Barret Hardester, although she never used the name Hardester since leaving her husband, and she stood by the reputation of running a place with straight games, and women who served nothing but drinks and a few dances to her customers. They didn’t go upstairs with anyone.

  Faye apparently saw him come through the batwings. She walked to the end of the bar to serve him. “Hello, Lingo, what brings you to town?”

  Barnes grinned. “Figure a man deserves to wet his whistle at least once a month. It’s been almost two since I was here last.”

  “Two months? You missed all the fun. Quinton Cantrell braced the remains of the Hardester brothers. Pretty good gunfight.” She smiled. “I even took a bullet in the fight, but I’m almost over it.”

  Barnes grinned. “I don’t mind missin’ that kind o’ fun, but I sure do miss that good whisky o’ yours.” He nodded. “Pour me a glassful.”

  Faye had already reached under the countertop and poured him a drink of what Lingo knew to be her best whisky. He took a swallow into his mouth and swished it around a couple of times. The flavor flowed over his taste buds. “Ummm, Faye, you’ll spoil me for any other kind of whisky.” He stood there sipping his drink.

  Faye went to wait on other thirsty men. He wondered if he should ask her if she knew Miles Colter, and decided to wait awhile, check other sources, maybe the new newspaper, The Durango Herald. The sign over the door told him it had been established in 1881. This was 1881. He knocked back the rest of his drink, stood, and told Faye he’d be back in a few minutes, that he’d pay her then.

  He went to the newspaper office, bought a paper, and went back to the Golden Eagle where he had another couple of drinks, and then went to the hotel for a bath, dry clothes, and to read the Herald.

  After his bath, he read every word in the paper and found nothing that would give him a clue about Miles Colter and his finding a rich vein, but there was almost a page given over to somebody named Randall Bartow who’d made a good strike. The more he read the tighter he drew his neck muscles. He had a bad feeling about Emily’s father, a feeling that something may have happened to him. True, he had nothing that would warrant his concern, but he’d learned long ago not to ignore such feelings.

  He’d been lying on his bed reading, but now he swung his legs over the side and decided to get something to eat, the smells of food cooking in the cafe down the street wafted all the way to his front second-floor room and made him hungry.

  After eating, he figured to check the saloons where the rough crowd hung out. He might spot Bull or Shorty. They wouldn’t know he was the man who’d taken Emily from them, and he wanted to get a feeling for what he faced.

  While eating, Marshal Nolan came in, pulled back the chair across from Lingo, and sat. “Want company, Barnes?”

  Lingo let a slight smile crinkle the corners of his lips and eyes. “Looks like I got it whether I want it or not.” He reached across the table to shake hands. “Howdy, old timer, good to see you.”

  “You, too, Lingo. How’re things goin’ up yonder in your valley?”

  Barnes thought to tell Nolan about the trouble he’d had, then decided to let it go for the time being. “Goin’ good, Marshal. Cows dropped a good number o’ calves. Grass is good, so is the water. Can’t complain.”

  “How’s that young hellion you mother like a baby chick?”

  “Wes? Aw hell, he’s doin’ good. Long’s I keep ’im outta town he can’t get in too much trouble.”

  Nolan’s face softened. “You think an awful lot o’ that kid, don’t you?”

  Barnes nodded, flinched, and bent into his side a little.

  Abruptly, Nolan’s face hardened. He closed his eyes to squint at Lingo. “You hurt, boy? What’s the matter?”

  “Horse threw me a couple days ago. Still sore, probably cracked a rib.”

  “Seen a doctor?”

  Barnes shook his head. “Nope.” He almost said Emily took care of it, but changed it to Kelly. No one knew about Emily Colter yet, and he didn’t want anyone to until he was ready for a good fight. He needed a lot more information; at that time he’d count on the marshal as an ally.

  Their meals came and they ate in silence as hungry men will do everywhere. Finally, when he’d finished eating, Barnes stood. “Got a couple people I want to see ’fore I settle in for a couple good drinks. I’ll give a yell, an’ buy you a drink; maybe by the time you finish your last round of the night.”

  “Look forward to it, son. See you then.”

  When Lingo walked from the cafe, he felt Nolan’s eyes studying him. He’d not fooled the old lawman one whit. Nolan always separated the chaff from the wheat, and got to the bare bones of trouble quicker than any lawman he’d ever known, and he’d known some mighty good ones in the Rangers down Texas way.

  Barnes went directly to the Magic Shovel, looked the patrons over, didn’t see either Bull or Shorty, then went to the saloon only fifty feet or so down the street. There, the first man he looked at glanced his way when he swung the batwings open, then turned his eyes back to the cards he held in his hand. Shorty. Pale, probably from loss of blood out there at the pass, but getting around enough to play poker. His eyes hadn’t shown recognition when they looked at Barnes. If Shorty was here, Lingo figured Bull would also be in the room.

  Barnes walked to the end of the bar, ordered a drink of “good” whisky, and studied the people in the room. His first sweep of the room didn’t reveal Bull. He swung his glance around the room again, then looked at a massive man coming from one of the tables at the back of the room; a tired-looking girl with brown hair trailed him. She looked as though she’d left her bloom of young womanhood long ago in the trail towns to the east. The big man was the one he’d heard called Bull.

  As soon as the two reached the dance floor, Bull left her standing alone. She had apparently thought he would dance with her. She stood there. He walked to
the table at which Shorty sat, pulled out a chair, then glanced around the room. His eyes passed Lingo, hesitated then came back to him.

  Barnes went quiet inside, his back muscles tightened. There was no way the big brute of a man could recognize him, but he flipped the thong off the hammer of his Colt without thinking.

  Bull came to stand a few feet in front of him. “You ain’t no miner. What you doin’ in here? This here’s miner territory.”

  Lingo placed his drink softly on the bar. It was pretty good whisky and he didn’t want to spill any of it. He stared into the mean, reddish eyes of the man. “Didn’t figure I had to ask anybody’s permission to drink here, or anywhere else. I told my mama I was a big boy when I left home.”

  “You ain’t a big ’nuff boy to whip me.”

  Lingo nodded. “Yeah, I’m big enough to whip you, but I don’t feel like havin’ to do it tonight.” One blow of Bull’s big fists to his ribs would put him out of action, maybe kill him if the sharp end of his broken rib punctured a lung. His .44 slipped into his hand. He’d not tried to make a fast draw, but for him a fast draw came naturally. “You’ll notice, big man, I got a Colt .44 pointed at your gut. You make one swing at me an’ you gonna die right sudden. I ain’t in no mood to fight.”

  Bull glanced at the big revolver in Barnes’s hand. His face went from whisky-flush to bedsheet white, but he apparently wasn’t ready to let it go; he had to bluster enough to save face. “You put that gun away an’ I’ll whip your butt all over this here floor.”

  Slowlike, Barnes swung his head from side to side. “Not tonight. Next time I see you, I’ll shuck this gun if that’s the way you want it, an’ I’ll do the whippin’—but not tonight.” His voice hardened. “Now get on back to that chair you pulled out and sit the hell down.”

  Bull stared at him a long moment, shook his head, and said, “This here ain’t over yet. Don’t nobody pull a gun on Bull Mayben an’ git away with it.” He took a step toward the seat Lingo told him to take, then stopped. “I figger you for yellow right down to your toes. If you ain’t, next time I see you, come a’ swingin’.”

  Shorty stood by his chair and he was packing a handgun. He looked toward Bull, who only now reached for the back of his chair to pull it out. “Gonna see if that cowboy’s got guts enough to use that gun he pulled on you.” He stood there until Bull took his seat then walked in careful, measured steps toward the bar. He walked to within about six feet of Lingo. “You jest pulled iron on my partner. He ain’t packin’ no gun. I am. Let’s see can you use that’n you jest stuck back in your holster.”

  Lingo had found what he wanted. The two thugs hung out in this saloon. Now he wanted a chance to find who they worked for and where they put in their time. He stared at Shorty a moment. “Don’t want to have to kill you, short-stuff. Go on back to your seat and let it be.”

  Shorty dropped his hand closer to his handgun. “I heered Bull paint you as yellow. Figger he wuz right, but you ain’t gonna git outta this here fight ’cause I’m gonna force you to stand still while I blow your damned head off.”

  Lingo had seen a few small, fast men in his time, this might be one of them. His neck and back muscles tightened. He forced himself to relax. Tenseness would slow his draw, and affect his aim. “All right, little man, cut loose your wolf.”

  While he talked, Shorty’s hand swept for his side. Barnes, without thinking, drew, fired, then thumbed off a shot into the small one’s leg. Shorty’s legs went from under him. Before he could get over the shock of having taken lead, Lingo stepped two steps through the acrid smelling gunsmoke toward him and kicked his revolver from his hand. “Now, little man, you need a doctor. Maybe your partner’ll find one for you.” Then, on the off chance he could luck up on some information, he said, “Like to know who you work for so next time I can tell ’im I killed you.”

  “Ain’t none o’ your damned business who I work for. ’Sides that, I’ll be tellin’ your boss ’bout you not bein’ fast nuff to beat me.”

  Lingo smiled, forcing it from between stiff lips. “Think ’bout it, little man, or boy, you only now failed to beat me.”

  He moved to the bar, and using his left hand, picked up his drink, knocked it back, and looked at the short man lying in the sawdust on the floor gasping in pain. “Hitting you in the leg was no accident. Next time, I’ll kill you.” He holstered his Colt, looked the crowd over, and not seeing anyone who appeared to want to take the fight on their shoulders, nodded and stepped toward the door.

  Before he could get to the batwings Marshal Nolan looked over the doors, then pushed them open. While they still swung in and out, Nolan glanced at Shorty, then at the crowd. “Who done it?”

  Lingo said from the marshal’s side. “It was my doin’, Marshal. They brought it to me an’ I settled it without a killin’—this time.”

  Nolan swept the room with a hard look. “Anybody here see it happen different?”

  A burly miner stepped forward. “I seen it, an’ it happened like the stranger yonder said. Looked like he come in here for a peaceable drink, an’ Bull over yonder tried to force him into a fight. The stranger didn’t want to fight right then and sent Bull back to his seat, then Shorty tried to make it into gunplay, an’ he didn’t carry a big enough gun to get the job done.”

  Nolan nodded. “Good enough for me.” He pinned Barnes with a “don’t-argue-’bout-it” look, and said, “Come over to my office. I wantta talk.”

  A hard smile forced its way to Lingo’s lips; the old lawman would now hit him with the lie he’d told about his injured ribs. He held his glass toward the bartender. “Two. One for me an’ one for the marshal.”

  They knocked back their drinks and left. Outside, Nolan glanced at Lingo. “You’re lucky them miners don’t like Bull Mayben an’ Shorty Gates or they’d have made dog meat outta you by now.” They took another couple of steps before the marshal said, “Now we gonna go sit down in my office, an’ you gonna tell me how you really hurt your side.”

  Lingo cast the old man a sour grin. “Knew when I told you a horse did it that you didn’t buy my story.” He shrugged. “All right, I’ll tell you what’s a fact—but you gotta promise to let me handle it until I find out what’s going on. I’ll keep you knowing what’s goin’ on; then I’ll probably yell for help.”

  In Nolan’s office, Barnes made a fresh pot of coffee, and while it boiled, he and the marshal packed and smoked their pipes. Then Lingo told Nolan the story, and about Emily Lou Colter being out at his ranch, and particularly her worry for fear something had happened to her father. “Don’t know, Nolan, but before I let on I’m in the game, I want to find out where her pa is, what he’s doin’, who works for him, where her brother went if he didn’t show up here—oh hell, I need a whole passel o’ answers before I can make a move.”

  The old man frowned, then gave a jerky nod. “Good, I’ll stay outta your way ’til you holler for help.” He took a swallow of his coffee, ran his finger down a deep scratch in his desk, and shook his head. “Makes me mindful I ain’t seen hide nor hair of Miles Colter in several months. Wonder if he’s sick, or been hurt out yonder at his mine.”

  “Why don’t you go to wherever it is an’ check on ’im?”

  “If I did that, it’d have to be purely not official. I ain’t got no authority outside of town.”

  Barnes stood, walked around the room, then asked, “Couldn’t you do the askin’ as a friend?”

  Nolan shook his head. “Me an’ Colter never was that close. I liked ’im, an’ he seemed to like me, but him bein’ out yonder at his mine, an’ me bein’ tied down here in town, we never had a chance to get to know each other well.”

  Barnes went back to his chair and sat. “Well, I reckon I better take another day or two, find what I can in that time, then get back to the valley and let ’em know what I’ve found. Then I’ll come back in town, figuring on stayin’ ’til I can bring Em in to stay.”

  “Tell me ’bout Emily Lou. She a pretty girl, smart, what?
”

  “Tell you, Marshal, I didn’t think there was a woman around any prettier than Kelly, but I gotta say that Em will stack up with any woman I ever met; both with looks and brains.” He took two powerful puffs on his pipe. “Reckon she’s a woman to ride the trail with.”

  Nolan choked back an explosive laugh, then let it out. Then, wiping tears from his eyes, he shook his head. “Boy, you better be mighty careful, that woman’s already got you to thinkin’ higher of her than I ever thought. I figgered all along they wouldn’t be nothin’ you ever thought much about more’n you do that ranch o’ yours.”

  Lingo’s face caught fire. “Naw now, Nolan, don’t you go an’ try bein’ a matchmaker, wh-why hell, I hardly know the girl.”

  Through a grin around his pipe, the marshal nodded. “All right. Now you take some time an’ get to know her.”

  They finished another cup of coffee and Lingo went to his room. He hung his gunbelt close to hand on the headboard, and lay back on the bed, his hands behind his head. Where should he start? Where was Colter’s mine located? Should he try to get out there and take a look at it and the people who worked for him, or go back to the valley?

  He thought on that for a few moments and decided to go to the mine, but try to remain unseen while studying it. If Colter had made a good strike, Lingo wanted to know why he’d not been in town to sell some of the nuggets he must have collected. Maybe he didn’t need the money right now, or maybe he couldn’t come to town. Maybe something, or someone kept him from having that freedom. Lingo swung his legs off the bed, buckled his gunbelt around him, and headed for the land office.

  In the land office, the agent placed a map on the table, traced his finger from Durango up toward Sunlight Peak, over fourteen-thousand feet, then he tapped his finger the other side of the peak, between it and Silverton. “Right here the other side of Sunlight, you’re gonna have to start lookin’ on your own.” He stuck a pin in the map where he told Lingo the Emily Lou mine was located. “Tell you right now, son, it’s a whole lot easier for me to stick this pin in a piece of paper than it’ll be for you to find that mine, but right where I stuck that pin is where it is.”