Death of a Bad Man

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Death of a Bad Man Page 25

by Ralph Compton


  When Sol tried to laugh that off, he only saw Nester’s scowl become darker.

  ‘‘I know you stashed them other saddlebags in that mine near my place in Leadville. Didn’t I tell you I could watch anyone making their way up that mountain from up there?’’

  ‘‘Yes. You did.’’

  ‘‘And I know I told you I’ve killed partners for holding out on me.’’

  Sol’s fingers trembled as if to remind him that he was still an inch or so away from his gun. Noticing that Nester was in a similar spot, Sol asked, ‘‘Is that where things lie now?’’

  ‘‘Only if you push me, boy.’’

  The next few moments passed in utter silence. During those moments, Sol couldn’t help but feel that noose tightening around his neck one more time.

  ‘‘Don’t make another mistake, Solomon. We had a good run. You got some stories of yer own to tell. Don’t dig in any deeper than that.’’

  ‘‘It’s too late to turn back . . . isn’t it?’’ Sol asked.

  ‘‘You can head north. If you go through Leadville, you can pick up that money you stashed away. Keep headin’ north from there and put that money to use. Maybe open up an assayer’s office. Ain’t that the men who pay for gold?’’

  Sol nodded. ‘‘Among other things.’’

  ‘‘An honest man could stand to make a good livin’ in that line o’ work. Once word spreads, you’ll have miners seekin’ you out to do business with ya.’’

  ‘‘Won’t the law be coming after me for what I’ve done?’’ Sol asked. ‘‘Won’t men still be coming for that reward money?’’

  ‘‘That’s why you keep heading north until ye’re so far away that nobody ain’t never heard’a you or them men you killed. Believe me, it’s possible to run far enough to pull that off. As for the men you killed . . . that’s on yer shoulders. Just be glad you stopped before you piled any more on there. That’s the best advice I got, but I don’t know how much it’s worth.’’

  Sol’s arms dropped until they hung limply from his shoulders. Although he was still within easy reach of his gun, he clearly wasn’t going to draw. ‘‘I could’ve done without the noose around my neck,’’ he said, ‘‘but I see your point.’’

  ‘‘Good.’’

  Without another word, Nester turned and walked back to where his horse was waiting. He climbed into the saddle and said, ‘‘You can get to Leadville on yer own.’’

  Eyeing the set of saddlebags that hung across the back of Nester’s horse, Sol asked, ‘‘So you’re robbing me, after all?’’

  ‘‘You can keep them fancy clothes you haul around in that carpetbag, but this money’s comin’ with me. Since I’d still be in my cozy little house on my own stretch of mountain if not for you, I figure I’m owed enough to get me goin’ again.’’

  Sol took another look at the set of saddlebags containing a healthy portion of Charlie’s money. ‘‘You’ve earned it,’’ he said with a nod. ‘‘Put it to good use.’’

  ‘‘I will. In fact, I may give it some company. I reckon them wagons can’t be too far ahead. After all the hell we put ’em through, them dandies are ripe for the pickin’.’’

  ‘‘You’re loco, old man.’’

  Nester smirked and tipped his hat. ‘‘Gracias, amigo. When you get settled, do me a favor, would ya?’’

  ‘‘That depends on the favor.’’

  ‘‘I got a story I’d like you to pass along. It’d sure help make things easier for me since I’m on the move again and all.’’

  Nester told his story, shook Sol’s hand and steered toward the trail that Oberlee’s wagons had been using.

  Sol watched him go, rubbed the raw skin around his neck and wondered how the hell he could make it back to Leadville in one piece.

  Chapter 27

  Beckett, Oregon, one year later

  Abner Brakefield had never been to southern Oregon and he’d certainly never heard of a town called Beckett. The fact that he was in Beckett at the moment had only come about through a complete convolution of circumstance. When he’d stepped into Sloane’s Trading Post, however, he’d had a single purpose in mind. Abner walked to the counter next to the front door, knocked on the wooden surface and waited for the man behind that counter to acknowledge his presence.

  ‘‘Help you, sir?’’ the man asked.

  Abner stared at the man’s face and smiled. ‘‘You sure can. I’m looking for a runt kid named Solomon Brakefield.’’

  The man behind the counter scowled a bit and started to reach for the gun that was kept in a rig beneath the apron tied around his waist. Once he got a better look at the fellow who’d spoken, Sol made it look as if he was merely drying off his hands. ‘‘Is that you, Abner?’’

  ‘‘It sure is!’’ Abner declared as he reached out to shake Sol’s hand. ‘‘How in the world are you and what in the world are you doing in some trading post in the middle of the woods?’’

  ‘‘I own the place.’’

  ‘‘That a fact? Great news! Looks like you’re prospering. ’’

  Sol nodded. ‘‘For now. There’s just enough miners about to keep me afloat. What are you doing?’

  ‘‘Eh, just on my way to California. I’m sure you hear that a lot around here.’’

  ‘‘I sure do.’’

  ‘‘We need to have some dinner,’’ Abner said. ‘‘Catch up on old times.’’

  Slipping into an eager smile and casual tone made Sol feel like he was pulling on an old shirt that had been forgotten at the bottom of a trunk. It may have been a bit frayed and a little thin, but it was sure comfortable. ‘‘There’s a place across the street that makes some fine pork chops.’’

  ‘‘Sounds great! By the way,’’ Abner added as he leaned forward and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, ‘‘I heard tell that ol’ Nester Quarles is out and about. Seems the old dog is up to his tricks and causing quite a stir around Texas and New Mexico. Have you heard about that mining company he was supposed to have robbed single-handedly?’’

  Reluctantly, Sol shook his head. ‘‘I doubt that’s true.’’

  ‘‘How can you be so certain? You heard anything different?’’

  ‘‘Nester Quarles is dead,’’ Sol said as he recited a bit of the story Nester had asked him to spread a year ago. ‘‘He was buried in Colorado some time ago. There’s records to prove it.’’

  ‘‘Really?’’ Abner said with a bit of surprise wrapped around an even bigger portion of disappointment. ‘‘Then who’s the old devil ripping through the southern part of our great country?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know, but it’s not Quarles.’’

  After considering that for a few seconds, Abner shrugged and said, ‘‘I suppose I’ll pass that along.’’

  ‘‘Be sure and do that. Oh, and do me a favor,’’ Sol added. ‘‘Folks around here know me as Ed Sloane. It’s a long story, but don’t toss about that other name. It’ll just confuse my customers.’’

  ‘‘A long story, huh? So long as you tell it to me over a plate of them pork chops, I’ll play along.’’

  Sol walked around the counter and started getting the place ready to be locked up. ‘‘That’s a deal. Don’t expect too much, though. It was just easier to take that name than change the sign at the top of this old store.’’

  ‘‘Didn’t I hear something about you being chased out of some silver mining town a while ago?’’ Abner asked. ‘‘With wild times like that, you must have some good stories to tell.’’

  ‘‘Not really,’’ Sol said with a contented smile. ‘‘Not anymore.’’

 

 

 
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