by Jack Ballas
“Oh, Wes, you say the same thing ever’ time supper’s almost on the table. I ain’t never seen you when you wasn’t starvin’. Sit. We’ll eat an’ talk.”
For a few minutes, the only sound was that of flatware against bowls, then Emily finished chewing a hot buttered biscuit and looked at Wes. “That fire didn’t come across the mountain, although the smoke’s still layin’ thick here in the valley. You reckon Lingo got caught in the fire?”
Wes shook his head. “I figger he was high enough on the mountain to be above it.”
“Do you know the way he took outta here?” Then not waiting for him to answer, Emily fired off another question. “Reason I ask, suppose those outlaws decide to dynamite the pass; if they did, we’d be trapped in here.”
Wes shook his head. “Nope. First place, I know the way out. Second place, they gotta figger there must be another way outta here, an’ they cain’t count on you not gettin’ out an’ tellin the law what they done. No, I don’t think they’re dumb enough to seal off the pass.” He grinned. “ ’Sides that, I figger to spend enough time up there to stop anybody what’d try to bottle us up.”
Kelly stood, filled their coffee cups, pulled her chair out, and sat. “They could be up there right now.”
“Yeah, but I scouted the other side ’bout six miles ’fore I come down for supper. They wasn’t nobody even close to the valley. Soon’s I finish eatin’ I’m goin’ back up there an’ keep watch.”
When he finished supper, Wes brought in a couple armsful of firewood, shrugged into his sheepskin, and left to the tune of two voices telling him to be careful. Kelly watched from the doorway while he rode away.
“If I felt about a man the way you do, Kelly, I think I’d take the bull by the horns and just flat out tell ’im.”
Kelly looked from the disappearing rider to Em. “Even if I did have feelin’s for him, I’d be fearful of scarin’ ’im off. Ain’t sayin I got them kind o’ feelin’s, but if I did, don’t reckon I’d be tellin’ ’im.”
Emily put her arms around Kelly’s shoulders. “Oh, honey, every time Wes is close to you, I can see how you want to be even closer. One of these days you’ll face up to how you feel. ’Til then you’ll yearn for him, but you’ll kid yourself that you’re happy with the way things are. C’mon, let’s get the dishes washed.”
Kelly grinned. “Yeah, an’ how long’re you gonna think ’bout Lingo ’fore you get to thinkin’ ’bout him like I do Wes?”
“Oh, pshaw, I just admire him for bein’ a whole lot of man.”
Kelly’s grin widened.
Bartow rode from his cabin before daylight the next morning. He wanted to get salves and any medicines the pharmacist might have in his shop to take care of Colter. Certain the apothecary shop would not be as well-stocked as those where he came from, he decided he’d make do with what the man had.
If he could find Colter’s rich vein, he wouldn’t wait to do away with Emily Lou. He’d take over the mine, and have a friend of his forge the old man’s signature on a phony deed—then he’d wait for Colter’s daughter to show up.
He’d rig an accident to eliminate her, as well as any hint that she’d ever been in these parts. Maybe he could fix it such that the men who had rescued her would be blamed for her disappearance. The farther he rode, the more self-satisfied he became.
By the time he walked into the apothecary shop shortly before sundown, he felt that the sun had only then risen on his dream. He would be rich before long.
He bought the latest in salves for burns and cuts, and at the pharmacist’s suggestion that he must have had someone hurt badly, he told him that he only wanted to be prepared in the event one of his miners got hurt. Then when the proprietor asked where his mine was located, he gave a vague answer that it was between Silverton and Ouray.
He left the shop, went to the hotel, rented a room, then washed trail dust from his face and hands and went to find a place to eat.
In the cafe, with its tables of rough-hewn boards with benches on each side, only one seat stood empty. He sat, and found that his supper partner was a man wearing a badge. After introducing himself, he glanced at the marshal’s badge. “See you’re the law in these parts.”
“Just in this town. I’m a marshal, not a sheriff,” Nolan said. He glanced at Bartow’s clothing. “You new around here? We don’t see many city folks here abouts.”
Bartow chuckled. Then trying to sound as though he was from this part of the country, said, “Naw, I’m a miner, that is, I own a mine. I like to clean up an’ dress up when I come to town.”
Nolan glanced at Bartow’s hands. Not a callous. The marshal knew a phony when he saw one, and this man was phony as a three-dollar bill. He wondered why the man lied about what he was.
Nolan dawdled over the rest of his supper. He wanted to watch the man walk from the cafe. Finally, after more coffee than he wanted, the marshal studied Bartow when he stood and walked away. The man wore run-over-at-the-heels, low-quarter shoes, a suit with an Eastern cut that had seen better days, and no hat—rather odd for a Rocky Mountain miner. He’d have to think about what he’d seen for a while. He’d been a lawman too long to dismiss small things like he’d just observed. Too, he thought he’d met or seen the man before. He thought about that a few moments, then shrugged mentally. He’d think of where he’d come across the man.
His thoughts shifted to the tall rancher. Why? Was there some tie-in with the rancher and the miner? Nolan shook his head. The rancher was a straight-forward, honest-as-a man-would-want-to-meet sort of man. The miner would bear watching. Nolan chuckled. He’d been a lawman so long it had gotten to the point where he found shadows and suspicions everywhere he looked. He groaned, pushed back from the table, and set out to make the earliest of his nightly rounds—saloons and brothels.
Lingo cocked his head. Someone was trudging up the path to the cabin. Sounded like a big man carrying a load. He grinned, and wondered if Slagle had found out anything. He went to the door, and then rushed out to help the brawny miner with his load. “Damn, man, looks like you bought out the stores.”
Slagle grinned. “Bought a bunch o’ stuff I shoulda bought a long time ago.” His grin widened. “Hell, I even ordered myself a new pair o’ boots.” He looked down at his feet. “Not that I needed ’em. Could a worn these ’til they sifted snow onto my toes.” He went through the doorway and swung the gunnysacks to the tabletop. “Brung us a couple o’ jugs o’ good whisky, too.”
Lingo crinkled his brow. “Reckon you can figure those jugs o’ whisky are on my part o’ this bill. Never figured on gettin’ another partner in this problem I got.”
“You got ’nother partner?”
Lingo studied the big man. He actually looked disappointed to find that Barnes had another partner. Lingo nodded. “I was talkin’ ’bout this problem I got with those two varmints who took Em offa that stage, but yeah, I got another partner, in this problem, as well as in my ranch.
“He don’t know it. Figure to let ’im know that half the ranch is his when he grows up.”
Slagle eyed him with the most solemn look Lingo had seen in a long time. “Figgered on you bein’ my partner, after we got through catchin’ them varmints what’s givin’ you a bad time. Figgered we might do some prospectin’ together.”
Lingo studied the big man a few moments. “Tell you what, big’un, let’s wait ’til you meet Wesley Higgins, then if it’s all right with the both of you, we’ll partner up the three of us.” He grinned. “An’ to my way o’ thinkin’, it’s gonna be all right.”
Like a slow rising sun, a smile started at the corners of Slagle’s lips and spread until it covered his face. “Well I’ll be damned. I got myself a partner.” He cocked his head and squinted at Lingo. “Tell you right sudden though, I ain’t no cowboy, fact is, I don’t know nothin’ ’bout cows, but I got a right good payin’ mine here. We could lump ’em together an’ maybe have a business that would keep us outta the poor house in bad years. Know sometimes t
hem gold-bearin’ rocks get skimpy, an’ I figger the cow business has slim times, too.”
While he talked, Lingo worried the cork from one of the bottles the big miner had brought home, then he tilted it over a couple of glasses. “Big’un, we won’t worry ’bout paperwork right yet. Don’t want people here ’bouts knowin’ we know each other, but soon’s we find Emily Lou’s pa, an’ those men who took ’er off the stage, we’ll get papers drawn up to make us real partners. Too, it’ll give us both time to think ’bout it, an’ if we decide partnerin’ up won’t work, then we can simply say so an’ nothin’ll be hurt.”
Sam shook his head. “Don’t need no paperwork. We drink that whisky you done poured in that glass to seal the deal, then far’s I’m concerned we’re partners.”
Lingo nodded, held up his glass, touched the glass Slagle held, and knocked his drink back. “Wait’ll I tell Wes.”
Lingo stayed in Sam’s cabin, took exercises for hours each day, and finally pronounced he felt good as he ever had. His rib had healed slower than the wound that broke it, but now he thought he could fight a grizzly.
Slagle had looked at him every day, but never questioned why Barnes felt the need to stay strong. Now he frowned and looked at Lingo, who dripped sweat. “Why you always doin’ them exercises?”
Lingo let the corners of his mouth break in a smile, but knew his eyes remained cold as a glacier. “Remember I told you Mayben wanted to fight me in that Durango saloon, an’ I held ’im off at pistol point? Well, I figured he might kill me if he hit me in the side, splintered that rib, an’ drove it into my lungs.
“I no longer have that worry, an’ I promised ’im that one day we’d get it on. I figure I owe ’im a good lickin’. He don’t know I saw ’im take Em off o’ that stage. Not gonna tell ’im either, ’til I find her pa, then I’m gonna tell ’im just before I put a bullet ’tween his eyes.”
Sam stared at Lingo a moment, then blew a silent whistle through pursed lips. “Young’un, if that man could look in your eyes right now he’d pack ’is gear an’ make tracks outta here.” He threw a towel to Lingo. “Here, dry off, then tell me when an’ where you figger to tangle with ’im.”
Barnes toweled the sweat from his brow, face, and shoulders, went to the water bucket, drank a dipperful, then glanced at Slagle. “Only thing we’ve seen of either of ’em ’round here since we started lookin’ is their footprints. Since you couldn’t find ’em here, I figure they must be in Durango.” He drank another dipper of water, wiped his mouth, and nodded. “Yep, an’ if they’re not there when I get there, I’ll wait for ’em. They’ll be there sooner or later.”
“When you leavin’?”
“Come daylight I’ll be headin’ out.”
Sam grinned. “Ain’t gonna ride with you ’cause it’d let folks know we know each other, but I’m tellin’ you right now, young’un, I ain’t gonna miss watchin’ that fight. I won’t be more’n an hour behind you—an’ if you find ’em ’fore I git there, hold off ’til you see me in the saloon.”
Lingo shook his head, and his face solemn, said, “Damn, Sam, you’re a blood-thirsty old devil, aren’t you?”
Slagle’s grin broadened. “Lingo, I done watched you all this time. You ain’t jest got muscles; you got muscles on top o’ them what most men’s got. If I hadn’t seen you with your shirt off, I’da figgered you for almost slim. An’ to top that off, ever’thing you do is quick, like a cat. That there man’s gonna get mighty surprised.”
The morning after sitting at supper with Marshal Nolan, Bartow packaged the medicines he’d bought and headed back to Silverton. While riding, he mulled over what to do about Mayben and Gates. He never had a thought but that he’d get rid of them when they ceased to be useful. He wondered if that time had come. Could they still be of use to him? Too, he didn’t need Maddie Brice for anything except to cook and clean house for him. He could take care of his woman needs in town. He shrugged mentally. He’d worry about when and how to rid himself of all three after he got Colter well enough to talk.
He blamed Mayben and Gates for not doing the job right when they took Emily Lou from the stage. Thinking about it caused blood to flood his brain, bile to choke him, his fists to clench. Hereafter, if he wanted something done right, he’d do it himself; but there might still be a few things they could do for him.
Tired of seeing the two louts hanging around, and not being able to help him get the information he wanted, he decided to send them to Durango for a few days. If Emily Lou showed up there he told them to think of some way to get rid of her. At any rate, he wanted them away from his cabin for a while; he’d take over feeding and caring for Colter until he got what he wanted from him.
The next morning, long before sunup, Barnes and Slagle readied themselves for a few days in Durango. After putting all in their bedrolls they’d need away from home, Slagle busied himself with setting the table, placing stove wood handy, and putting cooking pots and pans by the stove.
Sitting at the table, watching his friend, Lingo smiled. They’d done the same thing down Texas way. If travelers passed by, they could come in, prepare a meal, clean things up, and leave them as they’d found them. He felt good to know Sam observed the same trust and courtesy that he’d known at home. When Slagle looked to be satisfied that his unknown visitors could make do, they picked up their bedrolls and went to saddle their horses.
Slagle pulled the cinch tight, then looked across his saddle at Lingo. “You go on ahead. I’ll sit here, smoke my pipe, then follow you in ’bout an hour. Now you remember; Don’t you tangle with that there Bull Mayben ’til you see me.”
Barnes nodded. “Been thinkin’ ’bout that. I’ll make sure you’re there ’cause I want you to cover my back. That worm of a Shorty Gates is the kind who’d shoot me in the back, especially if I’m gettin’ the best of his partner.” He held up his hand in a casual wave. “See ya in Durango.”
6
ANXIOUS TO GET to the saloons and brothels of Durango, Gates and Mayben rode at a fast pace, and if either of them had looked behind during the straight stretches in the trail they might have caught a glimpse of Lingo Barnes only a few minutes behind. Bull glanced across his shoulder at Shorty. “Wonder why the boss give us a few days off. Reckon he really thinks that there girl’s gonna show up in Durango or Animas City?”
Shorty squinted, and looked down the trail between his horse’s ears. He nodded. “Yeah, he might think such, but I been givin’ it some thought. I figger he wants us outta the way while he works on that Colter feller. Figger if Colter tells ’im anything, Bartow don’t want neither o’ us to hear what he says.”
Bull shook his head. “Why you think he don’t want us to hear? Hell, we’re his partners. He done said we gonna split the takin’s from that vein—a half to us, an’ a half to him. You an’ me, we figgered that wuz fair since he thought up the deal.”
Shorty rolled a cigarette before he answered. He took a long drag, let the smoke curl out of his mouth, and inhaled it up his nose. “Bull, if they wuz a whole pile o’ gold a’layin’ on the table an’ you could have it all by gittin’ rid o’ your partners, what would you do? Or, if like in this case you found out where it was an’ the other two didn’t know what you’d found out, would you tell ’em?” He shook his head. “Nope, don’t figger we ever gonna git none o’ that gold if he finds where the old man struck the vein.”
“What we gonna do then?”
Shorty took a last drag off his cigarette, pinched the fire out between his thumb and forefinger, then grinned. “Tell you what I figger we gonna do. If we find the girl, we gonna git rid o’ her, then watch that slick willy we done tied up with ’til we know what he knows, then we kill ’im, an’ if Colter’s still alive we get rid o’ him, too, an’ keep it all.”
Bull bit off a huge chew of tobacco, settled it in his jaw, and frowned. “I ain’t gonna take a chance o’ drawin’ against that sleeve gun Bartow’s so smooth with.”
“Don’t neither o’ us have t
o buck that kind o’ odds. We’ll nail ’im from the trees, or brush, or along the trail somewhere when he don’t know we’re around.”
“Think it’ll work, Shorty? You notice he don’t ever let neither o’ us git behind ’im.”
Gates nodded. “It’ll work. Now let’s git on down to town, have a few drinks, see if that girl’s done showed up, an’ if that gutless bastard who wouldn’t fight you last time we wuz here is in town you can whip his butt.” He grinned. “Then we gonna git rompin’, stompin’ drunk.”
“Whoooee, you make it sound mighty good.” They urged their horses to a faster gait.
Lingo kept his horse to little more than a walk. He’d seen the two horsemen ahead of him, didn’t recognize them, but didn’t want company, so he rode slowly. He thought about the upcoming fight, if Mayben was in Durango.
He didn’t want to fight Bull, but figured he’d rather do that than have to shoot him. He’d rather see him and his partner hang for what they did to Emily Lou. The more he thought about seeing the slip of a girl pulled off the stage and flung onto a horse, the more his mind settled on giving Bull a good whipping. Then if he and his partner, Shorty Gates, wanted to make it a gunfight fine, but he wanted to know who they worked for before he allowed guns to be the solution.
Thinking back on his confrontation with Mayben, he couldn’t remember what started it, except that Bull wanted to fight simply because he didn’t dress like a miner. He shrugged mentally. To hell with them both—fists, guns, or knives—but now that his rib had healed he wanted to settle with Bull with his fists first, then he wanted to find out who this guy Randall Bartow was, and why he’d been snooping around Colter’s mine.
Sam had told him about Bartow ordering the low-quarter shoes, and they’d agreed it was probably his footprints they found outside the mine. The only problem they had with the knowledge was: Who was he and what did he have to do with Em’s father?