Slim squatted beneath the hole in the roof, leaned his Winchester against the far wall, and set about arranging bits of wood to start his own fire.
“Sit down, Billy,” Russ said. “And keep talkin’.”
Billy eased down, back to the wall, the cashbox on his lap. He still had his knife, and he still had his gun. All it would take was for Russ or Slim to get careless, and he could shuck his own persuader. He felt a little better.
Slim had his matches out, getting the fire going. “What did them so-called fast guns say?”
Billy shook his head. “They talked with Taft behind closed doors. I didn’t hear ’em, but Taft came out white as a sheet.”
“Then what?” Russ finally holstered his six-gun. He leaned against the wall by the open door, a perfect silhouette.
“Then the fast guns took Geneve upstairs, and Taft met with these two Mexicans.”
“What Mexicans?”
“A pair of beaners from San Antonio. One of ’em claimed he overheard Strong and his pardners in a saloon over there—boastin’ about robbin’ Taft.”
Slim looked up from the fire. “Lyin’ Mexicans.” His shadow bounced about on the far walls as the fire danced.
“Wonder what they’ve got against Strong,” Russ said. “Probably gunnin’ for him over some past arrest.”
Billy nodded. “The Mexicans I’m not worried about. It’s them gunslicks.”
“What about ’em?”
“Looked deadly. Real businesslike.”
“For true?”
“Yep. I’m beginnin’ to get a bad feelin’ about this whole Emmett Strong mess—like we may have gotten ourselves in the middle of somethin’ a whole lot bigger than we ever bargained for.”
“Just you stay calm, Billy,” Slim said, rising.
“Easy for you to say. You didn’t go get yourself hired to take Mackey’s place as Taft’s lookout.”
Russ’s head jerked. “And you did?”
“I did. Not that I want it now. Look, we’re just three cowhands, us three. Men like us are always movin’ around. Nobody would bat an eye if we were to take this money, split it, and light a shuck outta town. Leave Taft to worry about his own witnesses.”
In one smooth move, Slim picked up his Winchester and stepped forward. “No,” he said.
Billy swallowed. So much for getting the jump on these two. “This whole Emmett Strong thing just might blow up in our faces. Why don’t we cut and run?”
“Because there’s three Texas Rangers that’re all over this thing,” Russ said. “Nobody else saw the robbery. None of ’em were in town when the holdup happened. It’s their word against ours. We cut and run now, they’ll know we made the whole thing up. They’ll come after us for sure. So we stay the course.”
“And you’re the inside man, now, Billy. You gotta make this thing stick,” Slim said. He was cradling the Winchester in his arms.
Russ took out his cigarette makings and started to build a smoke. “Make sure them Mexicans don’t find cause to change their story. Keep ’em happy.”
Billy looked down at the strongbox. “So what do we do with the money till then? Put it back in the cactus patch?” He wondered whether he’d ever see the box again.
Slim and Russ looked at one another.
“I’ll put it back,” Slim said. He strode up to Billy and extended his hand.
Russ deposited his tobacco pouch in his vest pocket and lowered his trigger hand to a point near his holster.
Billy held the box up for Slim. “Make sure it stays safe till we make the split.” He met his compadre’s gaze with a cool glower.
“You make sure Taft keeps thinking it’s Strong that did this to him.”
The Mexicans and their accusation came to Billy’s mind. Could he rely on them keeping their story straight, liars that they were? No matter. He’d have to make sure the charges against Strong stuck.
“Until the trial,” Russ said, “Any hint that anybody’s beginnin’ to think maybe Strong didn’t rob Taft…well, just don’t you let that happen.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
It wouldn’t be long before Emmett and Li would have to begin making their way over to the Cantina Las Flores. But Emmett didn’t want to simply wander the streets where they might be spotted by any of Taft’s amigos or by whomever it was that was suddenly trying to bait him into going down to the saloon. He hurried Li along until they were a few blocks away from the marshal’s office and even farther from the Wild Hog.
“Stores are gonna be closing soon,” he said, “and I’m unheeled. Don’t know whether I’ll eventually get my gun back from Taft’s place or not. Better try to find myself a new one before everybody closes up for the night.”
“Do you know a place?” Li asked.
“Yep. Not far from here.” He glanced at her, pleased to see that she was really beginning to play her alter ego role convincingly. She walked like a doe when dressed as herself, but when wearing her duster as she was now, she was learning to credibly imitate a man’s stance and walk.
They reached the gun shop within five minutes. The proprietor, a thick fellow wearing a canvas apron, was just flipping the sign in the front window from open to closed.
Emmett tried the door handle anyway.
“We’re closed,” the shopkeeper said through the window glass, pointing at his sign.
Emmett held his hands apart. “Please. It’s important.”
The storekeeper turned his back to the glass and began to walk into the recesses of his shop.
“Your badge,” Li said.
“Good thinking.” Emmett quickly unpinned his Texas Ranger star, held it up, and tapped sharply on the windowpane.
The shopkeeper waved an arm. For a moment it looked as though he’d disappear into the back room without so much as a glance over his shoulder. But at the last second, he looked back. When Emmett held his badge close to the glass, the fellow stopped in his tracks, then turned and put a little giddy-up in his step to return to the front door. There were several metallic clacks, and then the door swung open.
“Why didn’t you show me that in the first place?” the shopkeeper said, scratching the silver-white hair that ringed his head. “Come on in.”
“Much obliged,” Emmett said. “I realize it’s late—the missus is probably waiting supper on you—but I’ve found myself unexpectedly unarmed. Name’s Emmett Strong.” He extended his hand.
“Lorne Adams.” The shopkeeper shook with Emmett. “Bad fix for a lawman to find himself in—unarmed.” Turning to Li, he stopped short, a slight frown on his face. “And who do we have here?”
It occurred to Emmett that the fellow might be one of those with something against Chinese folk. It didn’t matter. He was the one carrying the badge. “I don’t mean you any disrespect, sir, especially in light of your kindness to help me after hours, but who she is, is a matter I’d rather not go into.”
He could feel Li looking at him, but he kept his gaze locked on Mr. Adams.
“Fair enough,” Adams said, shrugging. “So where’d you lose your shootin’ iron, if I may be so nosy as to ask?”
Emmett grinned sheepishly. “A gesture of peaceful intent backfired on me.”
“Glad to see that backfire didn’t get you hurt. Looking for anything special in the way of a replacement?”
“The best 1873 Colt you’ve got,” Emmett said. “I’d prefer .45-caliber, seven-and-a-half-inch barrel.”
Adams shook his head. “I’ve got the long barrel, but I’m afraid I’ve only got it in .44-.40. Most folks want to be able to use the same cartridges for their handgun and their long iron.” The shop owner unlocked a cabinet and brought out a brand new Frontier Six-Shooter. “Why don’t you see how this one feels in your hand?”
Emmett accepted the pistolo and put it through close inspection—hammer, trigge
r, barrel, cylinder, ejection rod. He worked the mechanism. It felt smooth and tight. No time or place to try it out with live rounds—not ideal when this lead pusher might end up being the difference between life and death, not only for himself but also for Li. Nothing to be done about that now, though.
He set the gun on the counter and fished for the paper money in his vest pocket. “This’ll suit me just fine. And I’ll be needing two boxes of cartridges.”
“I see your pardner’s got a double-action,” Adams said. “Don’t see too many of them, but the ones I do see most often come in busted.”
“This one works just fine,” Li said.
“She’s pretty handy with it, too.” Emmett laid cash on the counter.
Li blushed.
“You sure you don’t want to trade it in for something a little more reliable?” Adams picked up the paper money. “I’d hate to know you ended up in trouble, all because of a broken gun.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Emmett said as Adams thumbed through the cash. “We’ve put both the gun and the shooter through the paces. Both of ’em performed perfectly.”
Adams raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.”
A minute later, Emmett and Li were back out on the street. Twilight was taking a hold on El Paso. The breeze was picking up, offering a welcome respite from the heat of the day.
“Did you mean it, Emmett?” Li asked.
“Mean what?”
“What you said in there about me being handy with my gun. You said I performed perfect.”
Emmett met Li’s gaze, though her Stetson and the growing darkness made it difficult for him to see her eyes well. “If the time ever comes when you have to use that Lightning, I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”
“But you didn’t want me to have to use it this afternoon, back behind Taft’s place.”
“I don’t want you to ever have to use it. I don’t want to use mine either.”
She paused for a moment. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She was unsettled, and he didn’t like it. Truth be told, he was unsettled, too. Looking up and down the street, he could see that most shops were closed. “Hungry?” he asked.
“I am,” she said, “but don’t you think it’s time for us to go back to the cantina?”
He gave a nod. “I suppose so.”
As they crossed the street, Emmett decided he couldn’t leave things as they were between him and Li. So when they reached the boardwalk across from Lorne Adams’s gun shop, he took her gently by the arm and pulled her into the shadows. He pushed her hat back until it dropped and hung by the stampede string. He wanted to see her eyes—those glimmering, captivating eyes.
“Not an ideal honeymoon,” he said softly. “I apologize.”
She peered back at him. “I’m glad to have you out of jail. Let’s see if we can’t keep you out of there.”
He gave a slight grin. “You sure you don’t want to just run off to Mexico together? It’s right across the river.”
Her brief smile was warm, but before she could answer, footfalls sounded on the boardwalk behind them. They turned. Two scrappy-looking gents were headed their way. Even in the dim light, Emmett could see that both were heeled.
“We’d best be going,” he murmured to Li.
As the couple continued up the duckboard walkway, she asked quietly. “Those two men—do you recognize them?”
He shook his head. “No, but after that peculiar visit from Taft, offering to drop the charges and inviting us to his place for a drink, I’ve got the feeling somebody else is out here looking for us.”
They walked at a good pace to the next corner. After making a turn that would take them back toward the Cantina Las Flores, Li asked, “Emmett, who do you believe shot Sikes?”
They covered a good twenty yards without him answering.
“Emmett?” she asked again.
Snatching a glance over his shoulder, he saw that the two armed men had also turned and were still behind them. Would they be so careless about it if they were really tailing him and Li?
Up ahead, the street was better illuminated. Lighting from restaurants and saloons open for business fell in elongated rectangles across the walkways.
“Don’t be obvious,” he said, “but we’re gonna pick up the pace a little.”
Rather than glancing back, she took a glimpse at Emmett for her cue. “Are they following us?”
“Can’t be sure just yet. Probably not.” He hoped. “Just walk a little faster with me.”
When they reached a well-lit restaurant, he said, “Let’s pause here.” He turned toward Li as though they were pondering going in.
“They’re walking fast now,” she said. “Still coming right toward us.”
Rubbing his chin, he said, “If I draw my Colt, don’t hesitate to draw that Lightning, OK?”
“OK.” Her voice was suddenly breathy.
Emmett shifted his stance and put his hands on his hips as if he couldn’t make up his mind about which restaurant to choose.
Perhaps ten yards away and closing, the two men were unmistakably fixated on him and Li.
Steady, Emmett told himself. Could just be curious. He studied their hands, as well as their eyes. Since they were staring so openly, he no longer bothered to hide his own watchful gaze.
“What the hell you lookin’ at?” the nearer of the two—a shabby fellow with a hole in the front of his misshapen hat—said.
The fellow’s pace didn’t slow, so Emmett decided not to say anything. If the two just kept on walking, that’d be all right.
But then the hayseed stopped. And so did his amigo.
“I wanna know what the hell you’re lookin’ at, Mister.”
“For a minute, I thought you were someone else,” Emmett said. “Guess I was mistaken.”
The fellow stepped into the light that fell from the restaurant window. His eyes were bloodshot, and though the smell of cheap whiskey wafted about him, he stood steady as a rock. “You oughta know who the hell I am.”
Emmett could now see that the second fellow wore a feather in the side of his Stetson. With the beard and the buckskin jacket, he looked like some kind of scout. Maybe a has-been in the scouting business.
The one with the hole in the front of his hat reached for his gun belt with both hands.
Instinctively, Emmett eased his hand to a point from which he could quickly draw his own weapon.
“I’m Hawk Cunningham,” the fellow said, giving his gun belt a turn that shifted his holster toward his personals.
“Don’t believe we’ve ever met, Mr. Cunningham.” Emmett hoped Li was edging behind him. With his eyes fixed on Hawk Cunningham and his pardner, he couldn’t really tell, but it felt like she was.
“You’ve heard of me, though.”
Emmett watched both men carefully. “Can’t say I have.”
Cunningham angled his head toward his amigo, but kept his eyes locked on Emmett. “Maybe my reputation’s lost some of its shine, Harrison. Maybe it’s time to apply a little polish.”
The one with the feather in his hat said, “You ain’t lost no shine, Hawk. C’mon, let’s go.”
Hawk began to turn as though he had heeded his friend’s advice. But just as quickly, he spun again and went for his six-gun.
Emmett’s gut tightened. Harrison was going for his hardware, too.
Before either man could clear leather, Emmett’s Colt was out, leveled, and cocked. “What’s it gonna be, gents?” he asked.
Harrison started laughing.
Then Emmett realized why—not only had he gotten the drop on the two, but Li had also beaten them.
She edged forward, her Colt Lightning pointed straight at Harrison’s chest.
“You ain’t even got your hammer cock
ed.” Harrison—his hand on the butt of his revolver—laughed again.
Hawk’s face grew sober. “It’s a double-action, you dang fool. Even I can see that. Not that they’re worth a damn in a real fight.”
“You gents had better keep walking now,” Emmett said.
The rough-cuts hesitated.
“Go on,” Emmett said. “Your reputations are intact. We won’t tell a soul.”
Hawk Cunningham huffed. “Don’t need your dang pity, Mister. Pity the soul that catches me when I’m good and teetotal.” He started to move away. “Pity you if I run into you again when I ain’t so squiffy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Emmett still had his Colt pointed at the troublemakers.
As Hawk and Harrison moved away, Emmett murmured to Li, “You did good.”
“I didn’t like it,” she said, holstering her Lightning.
“You did what you had to in the moment, Li.” He worked at keeping his tone smooth and calming. “I’m glad you didn’t like it. But I’m even more glad that you had the chance to be tested, to prove to yourself that you can do this when it’s necessary.”
Hawk and Harrison were now thirty yards away and still going.
Emmett turned to Li. She was shaking. He’d anticipated as much.
After surveying the street in both directions and seeing a brief opportunity, he caught Li by the sleeve of her duster and led her quickly into the dark alley beside the restaurant. There he took her into his arms and kissed her tenderly, first on the lips, then on the cheek, the ear, and the neck. She clutched him, drew him to her mouth, and kissed him back, passionately.
After several minutes, she said, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to draw on somebody like Taft, Emmett. My heart was pounding through my chest.”
“Mine does the same every time,” he whispered. “You’ll be able to do what you have to.”
She caressed his cheek. “Are you sure?”
With a final kiss, he said, “Yes. I’m sure.”
And he prayed that he was right.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Taft stood outside the Wild Hog Saloon staring at his pocket watch. If he was to get back within the hour that gunslick Ned Cage had given him, he needed to get moving—only three minutes remained.
Strong Suspicions (Emmett Strong Westerns Book 2) Page 19