by Paul Lederer
Sullenly Dockery nodded to his partner and the two exited, closing the heavy door behind them just a little too hard. Bell continued to glare at Cameron with impatient expectation.
‘Funny to run into you again,’ Cameron Black said. Bell did not answer. ‘I never expected to see you again after Cougar Creek.’ Still Bell made no reply. There was no need to. The past was long back down the trail.
Bell acted as if he had forgotten; he hadn’t. Cameron certainly hadn’t. Cougar Creek was where he had gotten started on the outlaw trail.
He and a half-breed named Slow Jack had been wandering, looking for work here and there on the scattered ranches, having little luck. One evening, by chance they had come upon a camp where some men were holding fifty horses. Slow Jack and Cameron counted heads and decided that the drovers – whoever they were – were working with a short crew, and decided to ask for work. The man running the show, they were told, was Frank Bell and they rode up to the chuck wagon to meet him.
Bell had looked them over and agreed to hire them. The horses, he told them, had been purchased for a ranch up in northern Arizona, and he could pay them a dollar a day if they agreed to ride that far. Slow Jack and Cameron, down to their last nickel, their sack of necessaries empty, had agreed quickly.
On rising in the morning the two newcomers had a chance to study the herd. Good-looking stock, it was, but Slow Jack became uneasy. ‘Look, Cam,’ the half-breed said, pointing, and Cameron, on closer inspection, saw that the horses one and all were wearing the US brand – meaning they were army horses.
Bell had seen them studying the brand and rode up swiftly. He had an explanation. The horses had been army mounts, but they were culls. The summer had been too dry for decent graze and Fort Wingate was too far off the supply routes to count on hay being freighted in. Therefore the Arizona rancher had been offered a bargain price if he could immediately round them up and drive them north.
‘We didn’t have time to slap a trail brand on them before we left,’ Bell told them with a smile.
‘Do you believe him?’ Slow Jack asked, after Bell had ridden off.
‘Not much,’ Cameron had answered, ‘but we have to have work, my friend.’
On the third night they had camped along the Upper Verde River and were ready to roll in for the night when a handful of men rode up to their camp-fire. Even in the near-darkness Cameron could see the silver stars on their shirts. He nudged Slow Jack and told him to slip off and saddle their ponies.
The leader of the posse was a man named Holt. Bell spoke to him briefly and then asked Sheriff Holt to step down and join them for some coffee. The sheriff replied that he would rather remain mounted if Bell didn’t mind. Then he asked about the horses.
Bell repeated the tale he had given to Cameron and Slow Jack. The sheriff listened carefully and then said, ‘I was in the cavalry for fourteen years, mister, and I can tell you that the army don’t do business that way. I give you the benefit of the doubt, though – just show me some papers for those animals.’
Bell reached toward his pocket but his hand came up with his pistol. Suddenly all of Bell’s crew who had crowded close enough around to hear what was happening, opened up with their own weapons.
The posse men fired back, filling the sundown land with smoke and clamor. Cameron made a break for it. Finding Slow Jack, he hit his pony’s back at a run and the two were off as the gun battle behind them exploded into a small-size war. Cameron had not taken part in the theft of the horses, nor had he fired a gun during the ensuing battle, but by chance he had recognized one of the posse riders, a man named Geoff Clark, and Clark had recognized him. Since then Cameron had occasionally seen a wanted poster with his name on it, accusing him of theft of government property and murder. He hadn’t been able to ride out from under the shadow of those charges.
‘I don’t much care about the old days,’ Frank Bell was saying, as they faced each other in the comanchero’s office. ‘What I want to know now is what you did with that gold.’
‘What gold?’ Cameron asked dimly.
‘Don’t play games with me, Black!’ Frank Bell shouted. He got swiftly to his feet, shoving back from the desk and, as quickly, palmed his Colt revolver, cocking it. ‘The army payroll. It’s not on the stagecoach. We practically tore it apart, searching. You were the driver, what did you do with it?’
Cameron kept his face expressionless. ‘You’re telling me there was a gold shipment on that coach? I wish I’d known that.’ He whistled soundlessly, shaking his head. Bell began trembling with barely suppressed anger.
‘You will tell me,’ he vowed, his grip tightening on the pistol’s handle.
‘Maybe I will,’ Cameron said in a more agreeable tone. ‘Look, Frank, you don’t need that gun. I can’t do anything to you, and you know it. I just don’t like the idea of it going off by accident. Let’s talk this over like reasonable men,’ he added, easing toward the scarred desk to perch on a corner of it.
The fury in Bell’s eyes seemed to wane. A different, more cunning expression crept into them. He backed away from Cameron, but holstered his pistol. He attempted a friendly smile; it was a poor attempt.
‘Sure,’ Bell agreed. ‘We can discuss this reasonably.’ He took a thin cigar from his shirt pocket, struck a match on the adobe wall and lit it. ‘Where’d you stash it?’
Cameron pretended not to hear the question. ‘It seemed like an easy score for me, Frank. The driver and shotgun rider both down. I had the stage. Anywhere along the road I could cut free and head for Mexico with the gold. I didn’t know how much there was, but it would be plenty enough for me.’
‘There was twelve thousand in the strongbox,’ Bell said. ‘I made sure beforehand.’
‘Twelve thousand!’ Cameron said in mock amazement. ‘Yes, that would beat working for a dollar a day, wouldn’t it? A man could live for a long time off that.’ As if it had suddenly occurred to him, he asked the comanchero, ‘What’s twelve thousand divided by thirty, Frank?’
Bell’s eyes narrowed. ‘I dunno. Something like four hundred, isn’t it? Why?’
‘Because,’ Cameron said, eyeing the bandit chief carefully, ‘I figure that’s about how many men you’ve got riding with you.’
Bell frowned deeply and considered. He was beginning to understand Cameron Black’s drift. ‘You’re saying that twelve thousand divided by two is six thousand apiece.’
‘That’s what I’m saying,’ Cameron agreed with a nod.
The evil black cigar in Frank Bell’s mouth had gone cold, but he continued to draw on it thoughtfully. He watched Cameron with appraising eyes, considering every aspect of his offer.
‘No. The boys would murder me.’
‘How’re they going to know?’ Cameron persisted.
‘What would I tell them?’ Bell asked, still meditative, but obviously considering Cameron’s proposition.
‘Tell them you were wrong,’ Cameron said with an indifferent shrug. ‘They searched the stage, didn’t they? Found nothing. Well? Tell them that you must’ve gotten bad information. This wasn’t the coach carrying the army payroll.’
‘Double-cross my men for your sake!’
‘For six thousand dollars,’ Cameron said softly, glancing toward the door behind him. He knew full well that Frank was already considering how he might come out of this with the entire $12,000. Simple. All that would require was eliminating one man: Cameron Black – instead of trying to run from a gang of thirty blood-thirsty comancheros.
‘They wouldn’t believe me,’ Bell said.
‘Why wouldn’t they? They know the gold isn’t on the stagecoach. And, if I had the gold, wouldn’t I have already made a run for the border? What would I be doing here, talking to you?’
‘That’s the question, isn’t it, Black. What are you doing here?’
‘I promised a man that I’d take the stage through to Fort Wingate for him,’ Cameron said blandly.
Bell laughed, ‘And volunteer to get yourself hanged? Don
’t make me laugh. I …’ He paused, and then a slow smile crept over his handsome, savage face.
‘The girl! Of course.’
‘Of course – the girl. I want her, Frank. That’s a part of our deal.’
‘We haven’t made a deal,’ Frank Bell reminded him coldly.
‘Not yet, no. But we will after you think it over,’ Cameron said confidently. ‘I want the girl as part of our bargain. Is she all right?’ he asked, trying to sound casual.
‘What? Oh, sure,’ Frank Bell said waving a hand as if that were a triviality. ‘The girl and that fat little drummer.’
‘I want to see her.’
‘I don’t think I want to do that, Black.’
‘Show her to me. Then I’ll know where I stand. By morning you should have been able to make up your mind. Then we’ll both know what cards we’re playing.’
‘There’s no need for you to go all the way to Fort Wingate to find trouble, Black. You have your neck in the noose right here,’ Frank Bell said. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Frank, I do,’ Cameron said seriously.
‘If you try a single move – I’ll cut you down.’
‘I’d expect nothing else,’ Cameron answered. ‘That’s why I intend to live up to my side of any bargain we make.’
‘I’ll consider what you’ve said,’ Bell said, throwing his cold cigar into the corner. ‘I’ll talk to you in the morning. Is there anything else?’
‘No, you know where I stand. Oh,’ he said, ‘I have always wondered what happened to those horses up on Cougar Creek.’
Frank Bell actually laughed. ‘Scattered to hell and gone, stampeded when the fighting started. I suppose we gave some wandering Indians a welcome gift.’
‘Let me see the girl,’ Cameron said once again and Bell wagged his head heavily.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I told you that she’s a part of the deal.’
‘Yes, and I told you we haven’t any deal as of yet.’
‘And we won’t,’ Cameron said, ‘and no chance of one unless I see that she’s all right.’
Bell considered another minute, his eyes angrily shifting. Finally he said, ‘Come along then.’
Swinging open the door they walked back out into the adobe’s front room where Dockery and a man with a long, graying beard lounged on a pair of padded chairs with Indian blankets thrown over them. Dockery came to his feet, tensing. The fat long-bearded man only yawned.
‘Monty, come along with us,’ Bell said, and the bearded man rose indolently.
‘I’ll take care of him,’ Dockery said eagerly, the eyes he turned to Cameron cold and angry.
‘You just settle down,’ Bell replied, his hand resting on the grips of his Colt revolver. ‘There’s something working I can’t explain just yet. I’ll tell you later.’
‘Something—’
‘I said later!’ Frank Bell shouted, and Dockery twitched. It was clear that Frank Bell was in charge of the comancheros. It was also clear that such a command was at best a tenuous position. For now, Dockery backed down and sagged sullenly back onto his chair.
The other man, Monty, had risen to his feet with a strange catlike grace, unusual in a man of such size. ‘Where we going?’ Monty asked lazily.
‘To see the woman,’ Bell said impatiently. He took his hat from a peg near the door and the three men tramped out into the cool darkness of the star-strewn night. Crossing the muddy yard, Frank Bell led the way to a small adobe-block building. There was no light within, and Bell paused at the doorway to remove a lantern from its hook and strike a match to its wick. His face glowed fiercely in the flickering lamplight. Monty stood well back, his gun hanging loosely in his meaty hand. Frank Bell drew the latch string and the plank door opened.
The feeble glow of the lanternlight flashed against the walls of the tiny adobe, spreading smoky shadows. Eleanor sat huddled in the far corner, her shawl over her head, gripped tightly at her breast. Black eyes looked up fearfully, hopefully from the darkness. Recognizing Cameron Black by the wavering lamplight her eyes widened, flooding with questions.
Cameron tried to smile, but only managed to lift one corner of his mouth. He felt the woman’s pain, and his slow wink, meant to comfort her, had no effect.
‘Satisfied?’ Frank Bell asked, and Cameron could only nod in response. ‘Then that’s it for now.’ In a lower voice he told Cam, ‘I’ll think it over. But that’s the end of the discussion for tonight, understand?’
‘I understand,’ Cameron said. Bell still held the high cards; he was just running a bluff. ‘What about the little man?’ he asked, as he was shuttled out the door and heard it latch solidly behind him.
‘What do you care about him?’ Bell asked, blowing out the lamp. Monty, apparently bored, stood aside, watching, his eyes unreadable in the night.
‘Nothing. I just don’t want to be charged with another murder.’
‘He’s all right.’ Frank lifted his chin, indicating another small adobe hut. ‘He’s over there.’
‘It could be … we might need him,’ Cameron said cautiously, knowing that they could not let Monty or any of the other comancheros have an inkling of what they were discussing.
‘Can’t see why, but he’s not worth the killing, not worth feeding either,’ Frank Bell said without any emotion. ‘I’m going to bed now. Monty, find a place to tuck Mr Black away for the night.’
Monty nodded, but said nothing. Cameron watched Frank Bell stride away into the darkness and let Monty lead him toward a small wooden shackjust behind the main house. He offered no resistance as he was placed inside and the door closed behind him. There was no latch on the door, but Cameron entertained no thoughts of trying to escape. That would solve nothing, and anyway, he had no doubt that someone would be watching throughout the night.
Peering around in the dim light cast by the stars through chinks in the boards he found that he was in a storeroom of sorts. A dozen plank shelves, most half-filled with tinned goods, were nailed to one wall. A few bridles hung from nails on another. In the corner was a stack of used burlap bags, and Cameron rearranged them well enough to make a bed and a rough pillow of them. Then, stretching out on the cold floor he forced himself to attempt sleep. Tomorrow would require all the resources he could muster.
And so he managed a fitful rest and eventually fell to a tangled sleep, troubled only intermittently by the occasional wild burst of noise from the comanchero huts and a remembrance of the fearful trusting eyes of a woman locked alone in a small, cold prison.
SEVEN
The door to the hut was flung open to the dawn light. Cameron sat up rubbing his face, his aching body stiff from the night. Frank Bell stood framed in the doorway before a rose- and purple-hued sky. Cameron smiled inwardly. He was not really surprised to find the outlaw leader there. Nor did he doubt that his plan, however flimsy, now stood a chance of success. Frank Bell’s greed far outstripped any sense of loyalty he felt toward his gang of renegades. Cameron stared up at the comanchero, rubbing at his crimped neck.
‘Get up,’ Frank Bell ordered. ‘We have to talk.’
They walked alone out into a cottonwood grove where the morning birds were singing. Doves winged low against the pale morning sky, cutting sharp silhouettes. Leaves rustled underfoot. Frank never came near enough for Cameron to make an attempt at his guns and both men knew that such a move would be futile and likely fatal. Still, caution was inbred in a man like the comanchero, and he took no chances.
‘Tell me then,’ Bell said, halting in the middle of the grove where moisture from the previous day’s rain still dripped from the leaves of the trees, gleaming silver in the new sunlight.
‘It’s simple,’ Cameron answered easily, folding his arms as he leaned against the trunk of a large cottonwood. ‘I get the girl and my life. You get six thousand dollars that you don’t have to share with your men.’
‘And you get six thousand,’ Frank Bell said bitterly.
‘That�
�s right. Six thousand and the girl.’
‘Doesn’t seem fair,’ Frank protested. Cameron grinned coldly.
‘Except that I’m the only one who knows where the gold is.’
‘I don’t like this,’ Bell said.
‘I don’t expect you to like it. I expect you to see the sense in it.’
The pause before Frank Bell answered was long. Cameron had time to study the silver glint of sheeted water in the shallow depressions across the long barren land, the flocking of the doves, the quick shadows of running desert quail in the underbrush surrounding the glade, the ragged ridges of the far mountains. Finally Bell made his decision.
‘How do you intend to accomplish this, Black?’
‘Simply. We keep it as simple as possible, Frank.’
‘Go ahead,’ Bell said, his eyes narrowing.
‘OK,’ Cameron told him, trying to keep his voice confident. ‘It’s like this – we refit the stage and the four of us travel on just as if nothing has ever happened.’
‘How do you figure?’
‘The girl, you tell your men, is mine. She and I had been planning on swiping that payroll all along. Then you decided to hit the very same stagecoach. I knew who you were, of course, from times past. What happened was that I figured out what you were up to, and we had bad blood going back all the way to Cougar Springs, so I knocked you out. It wasn’t until later that we both discovered that the gold shipment hadn’t been on that stage. We had both gotten the wrong information from – was it some army dispatch man you bribed?’ – Bell nodded slightly – ‘the dispatch officer who lied to both of us, willing to accept our bribes, but not wanting to get cashiered over it if the payroll was lost.’
‘This is starting to sound kind of thin to me, Black,’ Frank Bell said warily.
‘Is it? Why? At least half of it is the truth. You can spin it any way you want to your men. You know them better than I do – what they’ll swallow.’
‘All right,’ Bell said uneasily. ‘What then? What do I tell them we’re up to now?’
‘Simple. We know the army is likely to have been alarmed because the coach never reached Fort Wingate. There’s no way a band of your men can dare to ride out and meet up with them. But you and I brazen it out. We continue on as if there never had been a raid. We tell any patrol we might chance to meet that we got stuck in the mud after the thunderstorm and got bogged down good and proper. See what I mean? If an army patrol stops us, that’s the story we give them. My woman will back us up. Who wouldn’t believe her with those innocent eyes?’