Hanging Valley

by Jack Ballas

  Unconsciously he glanced at the sky to see what time it might be. The sky had a heavy overcast. He sat there another hour or so, to make sure he waited long enough, then stood, unwrapped his blanket from about his shoulders, tied it behind the cantle, and rode down the mountain.

  He’d gotten within only a couple of hundred yards of the cabin when Kelly’s voice reached him. “Yell out if’n you’re friendly. If you ain’t, sit right there, cross your hands on your saddlehorn, an’ sit still while I decide where to put my lead.”

  Wes chuckled. “It’s me, Kelly. Don’t drop that hammer or you ain’t gonna have no future husband. Wantta come in, warm up, an’ fix myself somethin’ to eat. You go on now, climb back under them covers, an’ git warm. I’m gonna take care o’ my horse ’fore I come in.”

  By the time Wes had his horse taken care of, woodsmoke boiled from the chimney, and the scent of cooking food came to him. He shook his head. He had no idea what he’d done to deserve a woman like Kelly. Just pure dumb luck—he figured.

  While eating, he told the two girls that he figured the pass would be sealed off with deep snow come morning. “Ain’t gonna be a chance for nobody to git in here, so I figger we can relax, git some rest, an’ don’t worry ’bout gittin’ surprised. I’ll check the pass ever’ day to make sure it’s still closed off. We git a thaw an’ it’ll open for traffic agin.”

  Emily sighed. “That means Lingo’s not gonna get in to see us, doesn’t it?”

  A momentary stare from Wes said he wished he could tell her the big man would get in to see them, but he shook his head. “Em, if anybody could git in here, it’d be Lingo, but you’re right; he won’t git in here neither.”

  Kelly, who had stood to pour coffee, placed her hand on Emily’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You quit worryin’ ’bout Lingo, Em. He ain’t gonna git into nothin’ he cain’t git outta. An’ when he said he wanted to handle things alone until he knew more ’bout what’s goin’ on, he wuz tellin’ us he didn’t want to have to worry ’bout us while he tried to unravel the problem.” She squeezed Em’s shoulder again and poured the coffee.

  Emily twisted to look at Kelly. “Don’t you suppose if I were over there in Durango I might be able to help him—in some way?”

  Although she had asked the question of Kelly, Wes answered. “Gonna tell you for a fact, little lady, I’ve knowed Lingo longer than either o’ you; been in a bunch o’ scrapes with ’im, an’ been kept outta just as many as I been in.” He shrugged. “When he says he don’t need or want any help ’til he hollers fer it, he sure as hell means it. He knows how much he can handle, an’ when others are gonna mess up his fight.” He took a swallow of coffee, then gave her a no-nonsense look. “We gonna stay outta his way ’til he tells us he needs help.”

  The way Emily’s shoulders slumped would have told the world how disappointed she was. She worried about her father, worried about Lingo, worried that he was doing something for her that might get him killed, and each time the load on her shoulders and heart grew heavier. Wes misunderstood her signs, judging from his response. “Em, I know you got worries ’bout your pa, brother, an’ Lingo, but let that man handle things—he knows what he’s doin’.”

  Emily opened her mouth to tell him she wasn’t worried about her brother, Rush, but clamped her mouth shut. Rush was her father’s and her problem; and they’d worry about that problem when she knew her father was all right. But where was Rush?

  Lingo sat across from Nolan, thought about his words as to where shyster lawyers were steering the law, and shook his head. Then his thoughts went back to the Easterner who had only an hour or two ago filed on a claim above Colter’s claim. He thought on that a few moments, then thought about Gates’s and Mayben’s disappearance from Silverton. He wished he had some way of finding out if the Easterner and the two were tied in together. He’d seen them ride out of Durango together, but that didn’t mean anything. They might have met up along the trail and decided they needed company. There was no way he could get an answer to that.

  The coffeepot stood empty, and Lingo couldn’t help a feeling of satisfaction. If he had occasion to drink another cup of Nolan’s coffee between now and bedtime, it would have to be fairly fresh. He sat frowning into his empty coffee cup.

  “What you got on your mind, young’un?”

  Lingo looked up. “Thinkin’ the Easterner’s gotta be involved in this. Know I don’t have a damned bit o’ proof, but wonderin’ if I stick as close to him as a cocklebur in a horse’s tail if maybe I wouldn’t come up with somethin’.”

  Nolan frowned and leaned across his desk. “What’s got you so all fired stuck on tryin’ to find somethin’ to tie the Easterner to Gates an’ Mayben?”

  “Well, there’s the shoeprint I saw outside of Colter’s mine, along with Gates’s an’ Mayben’s; too, most of the time he seems to always be close by wherever they are. An’ thinkin’ back on it, I don’t remember seein’ ’im around after they got gone for a while.” He grimaced. “Hell, Nolan, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just grabbin’ at straws, but I’m gonna shadow that slick sonofagun ’til I’m convinced I’m either right or wrong, one way or the other.” He stood. “I’ll keep you aware of what I’m doin’, an’ what I find out.” He put his hat back on and stepped toward the door. “Gonna eat supper, then go to The Golden Eagle and have a couple o’ drinks. You feel like it, come have a couple with me.”

  Nolan grinned, making him look a lot younger than his early forty years. “Jest might do that, young’un. Jest gittin’ to look at Miss Faye will sure make it worth it without havin’ to look at you all the time.”

  “Nolan, she isn’t much younger than you, an’ she’s a mighty handsome woman. You oughtta spark her.”

  “Aw pshaw, young’un, you’re jest joshin’ an old man, now ain’t ya?”

  Lingo, knowing how solemn his expression could be, pinned the “old” lawman with a look that said it all. “Nolan, if I didn’t suspect I’d found my woman, I sure as hell wouldn’t overlook Faye Barret. She’s quite a woman.”

  When he pushed out the door, Nolan sat there, his expression saying he took Lingo’s words at face value. The marshal sat there for quite a spell, first thinking about Faye, then his thoughts switched back to Barnes thinking the Easterner might have something to do with Gates’s and Mayben’s lawlessness.

  He pondered all that Lingo had told him about Colter’s daughter’s abduction. Having studied every aspect of the case, he had to admit to himself that he’d set out to solve many a crime with less to go on. He stood, put on his hat, and went out the door to make another round of the saloons and bordellos. He wished Barnes would break the lock on Colter’s mine, and not tell him about it. If he knew, he’d be honorbound to tell the sheriff. He wasn’t ready to bring him into the puzzle.

  The cafe stood only a couple of doors from Nolan’s office. Lingo had already ordered and sat drinking a cup of coffee when the marshal went out to start his rounds. Barnes, sitting at a table by the window, watched him walk past and smiled.

  He’d put the idea in the marshal’s head, now he’d see if he had a different attitude when around Faye. It was obvious the man was lonely, and he was a good man, a man The Golden Eagle owner could trust as being a one-woman man.

  When he finished supper, Lingo walked down the street, slanted across, and went in the Eagle. Faye washed a glass, dried it, and without asking, poured Barnes a drink of her “good” whisky. She smiled at him and put it on the bar in the space next to the man standing there.

  Lingo picked up his drink, then glanced at the man next to him—the Easterner. He nodded a greeting, picked up his drink, and knocked it back. Faye tilted the bottle to pour him another, and spilled a small amount on the Easterner’s sleeve. Her lips pursed into an “O,” she shook her head. “I’m so sorry, that was terribly clumsy of me.” She quickly pulled a towel from under the bar and brushed at the man’s arm.

  The Easterner jerked his arm from under her hand, moved down
the bar a few feet, and nodded. “Yes, you’re damned right it was clumsy.” He brushed at his coat sleeve, reached for his drink, knocked it back, and held his glass for another. “See if you can hit the glass when you pour mine.”

  Lingo twisted to face the man. “Mister, the lady apologized. A gentleman would accept her apology and disregard something as small as a wet sleeve.”

  The Easterner swept Lingo’s tall frame with a look that said he didn’t discuss gentlemanly qualities with a cowboy. “Sir, I seriously doubt you would know how a gentleman would react under any circumstance.” He pinned Faye with a contemptuous look, his upper lip curled to the side, his eyes closed to slits. “And as for a lady apologizing? I didn’t know ladies ran saloons.”

  Hot blood rushed to Lingo’s head, his throat closed down to almost choke him, and he stepped closer to the Easterner, his fist clenched. Before he could swing, Faye’s hand shot out to rest on his arm. “Don’t, Lingo. Please don’t. He’s not worth it.”

  A deep breath to soothe his anger didn’t work. His breath came in short gulps. “Mister, get the hell outta this saloon. You gonna drink, find some hog trough, but you aren’t gonna ever be served another drink in here.”

  Bartow stepped away from the bar, facing Lingo square on. “You sound like you think you can put me out of here.”

  From the corner of his eye, Lingo saw Faye give her huge bouncer a signal. He waited. Gunplay in here might get Faye a chunk of lead, and she’d already experienced getting shot when Quint Cantrell had his legendary gunfight in here. He didn’t see a gun on the Easterner, but he might be wearing a shoulder holster under his coat. The bouncer stepped between them.

  “Either o’ you slap leather, I’ll break your arm.” He looked at Faye. “You want me to throw ’em both out, or can one o’ ’em stay?”

  “Mr. Barnes can stay. He was only taking up for me. I want that man outta here.” She pointed to Bartow. “And I never want him to come in here again.”

  The bouncer looked at the Easterner. “You heard the lady, an’ don’t you never butt your way through them swingin’ batwings agin.”

  Bartow, his right arm hanging stiff at his side, moved from the bar. The bouncer followed him to the door, then turned back. “Ma’am, why didn’t you let Mr. Barnes take care o’ him? Fast as he is that trash woulda been long gone into Hades by now.”

  Faye pulled in a deep breath, obviously to calm her nerves. “Because Mr. Barnes would have had at least two slugs in him by now. That man was wearing a sleeve gun. I felt it when I tried to wipe his sleeve dry.”

  Lingo, still trying to swallow his anger, calmed when he heard her words. “Faye, reckon I owe you my life. I was lookin’ for a draw from under his coat. I’d never have beat a sleeve gun as close as we were standin’.” His smile was tight. “But I’m gonna tell you somethin’. If we meet again, an’ I figure we will, I won’t let him get close enough to hit me with one o’ those little pepperboxes.”

  Faye nodded. “A pepperbox will still throw a .44 slug pretty accurate up to ten feet.” She smiled, a rather sad smile to Lingo’s thinking, and said, “Thanks for defending me as a lady, Lingo. I try to earn those words every day of my life.”

  He shrugged. “Ma’am, those who know you already know you’ve earned them.” He grinned. “Then there’s those who don’t know you, an’ I figure they don’t count for much anyway.” His grin widened. “Who the hell cares what they think?”

  Faye smiled, then laughed deep in her chest. “Reckon you’re right, cowboy. As long as my friends know me for what I am, then nothing else matters.” She reached for the bottle under the bar and poured him another drink. “On the house—all three of them.”

  Lingo slowly shook his head. “Not in a million years, pretty lady.” He picked up his drink, and this time only sipped it.

  He considered going to a table and relaxing, then changed his mind. Nolan should be here soon and he wanted to give the marshal a chance to talk with Faye.

  When Nolan came in, he looked around and walked to Barnes’s side. Before either of them said anything, a miner by his dress said, “You shoulda been here a few minutes ago, Marshal. You almost had a shootin’ to take a look at.”

  Lingo nodded. “Reckon I come right close to killin’—or gettin’ killed. That Easterner had some mighty bad things to say to Miss Faye.”

  Nolan looked at Faye. She shrugged, then told him what happened. While she talked, Lingo studied the marshal for his reaction. He’d never seen Nolan let his personal feelings show; this time was different. At first his face reddened and his eyes shut down to slits, then he swallowed twice. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow. He swung his look to Barnes. “Why didn’t you kill ’im?”

  Lingo grimaced. “Reckon Miss Faye saw it differently.” He grinned. “She sicked her bouncer on us.” He gave a jerky nod. “Glad she did, too. When she wiped his sleeve, she felt a sleeve gun; I was standing too close to beat ’im.” He shrugged. “I mighta got lead in ’im, but he’d sure as hell put a couple o’ .44 slugs in me.”

  The reddened face slowly subsided and Nolan knocked back the drink Faye had poured him. “Ma’am, you let me know next time anythin’ like this happens. In my reckonin’ I got you figgered for one o’ the finest ladies I ever come acrost.”

  Despite having run a saloon for a number of years, and having seen it all, Faye’s face turned a delightful pink. She placed her hand on Nolan’s forearm. “Why thank you, Marshal; true or not, I treasure your opinion.”

  Lingo thought this would be a good time to hunt for another watering hole; leave Nolan and Faye a chance to discover what they’d missed during the few years they’d known each other. But he couldn’t just walk out—it might be too obvious. He stayed long enough to buy the marshal a couple of drinks, then told them he thought to go to the hotel and get a good night’s sleep.

  About the time Lingo finished his daily bath and crawled under the covers, Bartow, in the Sundowner Saloon, poured himself another drink from the bottle he’d bought as soon as he entered after the confrontation with Barnes. The bottle was more than half empty.

  He stared into the full water glass of whisky. He’d been told that the cowboy who’d braced him about his judgment of the saloon keeper was the one who had beat the hell out of that dumb gunny he’d hired to take Emily Lou off the stage and get rid of her.

  That dumb hick cowboy had gotten in his way, although probably not knowing it. He didn’t give a damn if the cowboy had beat Bull Mayben to death—but he did give a damn about the yokel making him seem like something less than a gentleman in front of the customers of The Golden Eagle.

  Being seen as a gentleman in this area was part of his plan and he didn’t want it disrupted. When D’Amato got here he’d have him take care of the cowboy.

  Satisfied he’d be able to take care of that problem, his thoughts went to Colter. The old bastard had shown far more guts than he’d anticipated. The old man had withstood everything he could throw at him short of dying. And then there was Emily Lou. Where the hell was she? Who had taken her away from the bunch he’d sent with Gates? Why had they saved her from his men? And how did they know she was on that stage? And, if she showed up in the wrong place, at the wrong time, she would mess up his plan to become a rich man, a respected man, a man who would lead this new Western town the way he wanted it to go—his way. And when he’d milked it dry, he’d go back East and live the life he thought he deserved.

  He mentally shrugged off the thought of Gates. He’d have D’Amato and whoever he brought with him get rid of the stupid Westerner. To his thinking, there wasn’t one Westerner who had enough sense to challenge a man from the East. He poured himself another drink.

  Then, he centered on The Golden Eagle: He’d put it out of business. The marshal didn’t know him, had no reason to know he had a bone to pick with its owner, and would probably side with law and order. He nodded, although it was a sloppy, drunken, sidewise nod, yep, that’s what he’d do—he’d own The Go
lden Eagle before he got through, and Miss Faye Barret Hardester—the lady—would be out of business. He emptied the bottle into his glass, slammed the bottle to the table, knocked his drink back, and at a very unsteady pace headed for his hotel room.

  Lingo shadowed Bartow for two weeks. In that time he’d made two trips back to Silverton. There, at night, when he watched him go into his cabin he ended his vigil and went back to Sam’s cabin. He stared at Slagle across the supper table. “Sam, I know that slime is involved in Colter’s disappearance in some way, an’ I figure he’s responsible for Emily’s being taken off that stage; but I’ve not seen one thing to substantiate my suspicions. I’ve watched ’im from the time he’s left his cabin in the mornin’ ’til he gets back at night. He’s not met with Gates, which I was hopin’ for so I could tie ’im to Emily’s abduction.” He shook his head. “That’s not happened.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what the hell to do next.”

  Slagle stared into his empty coffee cup, then raised his eyes to look at Barnes. “Maybe you ain’t watchin’ ’im close enough. Maybe you ain’t watchin’ ’im long enough. Maybe what he’s doin’ is after you turn ’im loose at night.”

  Lingo shook his head. “Sam, I can’t watch ’im twenty-four hours a day, and I can’t believe he does his plottin’, plannin’, an’ carryin’ out those plans all day an’ all night.” He held out his hands, palms up. “What the hell else can I do?”

  Sam stared at the table a moment, then looked at Lingo. “Tell you one thing you can do—let me watch Bartow from night ’til mornin’. I figger ’tween us we’ll find more than you been able to do alone.”

  Lingo stared into his empty cup a long moment, then nodded. “All right. When I’m not able to watch, you do it. An’ if he leaves town, I’ll follow him—you watch Colter’s mine. Remember, he’s got a woman who’ll do as he says—an’ then, there’s Gates.”