“You have a wonderful ranch here,” Lamas said, following the man, who stunk like a bear of sweat and fecal odors.
“Yeah, it makes a good place to change brands. They ask too many questions up there in Arizona. I come down here into Mexico and can do what the hell I like.”
“And you can still sell beef to the Indian agency and the army?”
“Yeah. Horses and mules too.” Clanton offered him a seat on the bench at the great dining table. He poured them both some whiskey in cups and Lamas thanked him. The old man took his place in the captain’s chair at the head.
“Well, you can count the cattle and pay me tomorrow.”
“Fine. What’s your tally?”
“Fifteen hundred.”
“Good.” The old man wiped his mouth and beard with his palm. “You going back to your place?”
“When I get paid.”
“I’ll pay you.”
“I never doubted that or I’d never went after those cattle.”
“What in hell’s name do you do with all your money?” Clanton leaned back, folded his hands over the wrinkled shirt and cocked one eye at him.
“I have a hacienda. Los Palmos. Like you say, it is expensive to have help and to fix up a run-down place.”
“Amazing. It seems like only yesterday you were a cocky, sawed-off pistolero running around here. Today you have a hacienda and dress like some rich feller.” Clanton shook his head in disbelief.
“Chupo, they called me back then.”
“Yeah, I recall you from back then. You have good men working for you. All business, but you ain’t no fool, Lamas. Thing worries me is every day they keep getting more laws and more badges on both sides of the border. Makes for more pockets to fill to do business, less profits. What are we going to do when we can’t buy them off?”
“By then, I hope to live on my hacienda and forget this business.”
Clanton shook his head and scratched his thin white hair on top. “No, you’ll never have enough money to live like that. It’s in your blood. No way you could raise enough cattle or make enough money to do that alone and live the good life.” He drank half his cup of whiskey and then belched.
“Maybe you are right.” No need to tell the man that the cattle money was only a small portion of his fortune. He could live like a king on the proceeds of these last robberies alone.
Clanton nodded. “I know I’m right about that. Here, drink up. It’s time for another snort.” He reached over, ready to refill Lamas’s cup.
Lamas waved off his offer of more. He didn’t like the sharp whiskey that well, and besides, he didn’t fully trust Clanton. The old man might get him drunk and try to swindle him out of his fifteen thousand dollars.
Bored with Clanton’s conversation, with no excuse to leave, he whiled away the afternoon listening to the old man brag about his ventures, how he had bribed the agents and always got extra money for the beef he delivered. When the old man called to her, a buxom Mexican woman came in the room with mere whiskey.
“This here is Felicia,” the old man said and pulled her by the waist to him. “Good-looking, ain’t she?”
Lamas agreed.
“She’s that damn good in bed too.” The old man laughed aloud and she slapped at him and made a face. He finally managed to stop laughing and fighting with her long enough to say, “Well, it’s the gawdamn truth.”
Lamas excused himself and went to take a bath. The ranch bathhouse was a small building with two tubs that a Mexican tended, heating the water for the users. After Lamas dried himself on the cheap towels, he began to dress into his clean change of clothing. Pulling on his pants, he wondered if the old man ever used this place. Bad as he smelled, he doubted the worker had to haul much water for his boss’s usage.
The triangle’s ringing called the crew to supper. On his way to the house, Lamas found Black lingering behind and waiting for him.
“Feel better?” Black asked, looking fresh in his clean change.
“It helped. The old man is going to count them tomorrow and then pay me tomorrow night. Perhaps you should go along and keep him honest.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
“I know you don’t like him, but think about the money and he’s bueno enough.”
Black chuckled. “A man could put up with fresh shit clear to his chin if the price was right and he knew it wouldn’t be like that every day.”
“Right.” Then they grew silent and merged in with the rest of the hands to enter the house. The long table flanked with benches quickly filled with cowboys. Old Man Clanton sat at the head and ate his buttermilk and cornbread. Platters of beef, steaming bowls of rice and beans, along with piles of tortillas and light bread were up and down the length of it.
The men, for the most part, were silent and passed the bowls and platters around. The woman Felicia and two teenage girls went around the room and filled their coffee cups. At Felicia’s directions they replaced the empty bowls with new ones heaping with more food.
“By gawd, we eat good, don’t we?” Clanton shouted at Lamas.
“Sí, you always eat good, Clanton.”
A bunch of the cowboys grinned and agreed.
Later, under the starlight, Lamas rode to Juanita’s house. Tired, he still looked forward to a night with her subtle body in his arms. The luxury of her great featherbed, much like the one in his own bedroom at Los Palmos, intrigued him.
At the gate, the strip of velvet hung down as an invitation for him. He opened it and saw her standing in a lacy gown with the light of the room outlining her shapely figure. Her body looked yellowish red under the gauzy white material.
“Lamas, I didn’t expect you back so soon,” she said and ran to him.
“Why?” he asked, looking down into her lovely face. Was she to meet another lover this night?
“Oh, no. I mean I am so glad to see you are here.” She stood on her toes and pursed her lips for him.
Good. He kissed her and swept her up in his arms. Her hands squeezed his face and her mouth became a hot volcano on his own. He put her gently on the bed and then laid down in the fluff of the mattress beside her. Their eyes locked on each other.
“Oh, Lamas,” she moaned and hugged him tight.
Later, he sat in a chair and stared into the starlight reflected from the tile in the patio. Juanita slept, exhausted from their fling. He could hear her soft breathing above the crickets chirping.
A wife must be his next goal. One of nobility and high standing, who could read to him. Years ago, a puta taught him how to count money. She showed him how to write his name and how to read, but it was far from a finished education. Some daughter from a fine family could be his teacher and have his sons. He would be respected then. Don Lamas of Los Palmos Hacienda. He liked the sound of the title.
“You can’t sleep?” Juanita asked, rising sleepily and rubbing his shoulders. “I am sorry. What can I do for you, my lover?”
“Nothing, I cannot sleep is all. Not your fault.” He reached back and felt her warm flesh and patted it.
“The Lucky Shot Mine is sending their payroll by stagecoach this week.” Standing behind him, she pushed her firm breasts to the back of his head and ran her palms over the sides of his face.
“From Benson?”
“No, from Nogales.”
“When will they send it?” He raised an eyebrow at anyone sending a payroll in such an out-of-the-way route.
“Friday.”
“Why from Nogales?” He frowned at such an impossible thing.
“No one would suspect it.”
“You are certain?” He twisted around and moved her naked form onto his lap. She acted grateful for his attention and kissed his forehead.
“Yes.” She used her fingers to comb though his hair. Their mouths met and they spoke no more.
CHAPTER 5
ALONE, Sam T. waited on the platform of the station. His steamer trunk was loaded on the handcart and ready to go in the baggage car. Thi
s was it. Himself and all of his worldly possessions were ready to embark on a new adventure. He cast a glance towards the snowcapped front range of the Rockies. Shirley McKenzie had even declined his offer for her to see him off. Her absence left him upset and he tried to reason out why she refused even that request. While there would be other women in his life, somehow he had thought Shirley McKenzie was the right one. However, she had no interest whatsoever in Arizona Territory or taking up a new life there with him. She even had the gall to accuse him of being a sugarfoot for taking the job. He chuckled to himself at the notion of her outrage.
No, he was better off without her, in that case. This job Major Bowen offered him couldn’t be any more boring than doing detective work for the Great Western Agency in Colorado. He’d had his fill of it. The locomotive’s steel wheels screeched to a halt beside him and great clouds of steam engulfed him for a minute, then swept away.
The conductor placed a stool for the passengers to use. Sam T. stood back and waited for the others to climb on. A couple at the end of the line moved up the stairs, then he went on board the train. The car looked sparsely filled. He chose a seat on the right so he could look at the mountains going south to Raton, where he would transfer to the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad for Ash Fork, Arizona. Then his itinerary called for him to take a stage to the fledgling capital of Prescott. Resigned to making the trip by himself, he looked forward to seeing Major Bowen again. New job, new land and somewhere down there perhaps even a new woman. He drew a sharp inhale of the piercing smell of coal smoke from the locomotive’s stacks.
From the corner of his eye through the smudged pane, he observed a familiar figure hurrying down the platform. It was Shirley. For a long moment, he considered rushing to the end of the car. Then the conductor’s “All aboard” sounded.
He fought with the window, clasping the squeeze levers. At last the stiff lower section slid.
“Shirley,” he shouted. She stood flush-faced, out of breath. The train had began to chug. The force of the start about jerked him down.
“Write me,” he said, feeling helpless.
“I will, Sam. I’m sorry. I’ll miss you—” The sadness and sincere look on her face hurt him. Why hadn’t she said something sooner?
He slumped down in the seat. The bitter-tasting smoke from the stack blew in the open window. Nothing mattered as he sat in a daze. Their relationship had all been over; now it was back. At the last minute, she must have regretted her indifference and come to the station. Stubborn woman, she could have been sitting with him, beside him. They could have been going there together.
What made her change her mind?
“Excuse my bold curiosity. Was that your wife?” a young woman asked from across the aisle.
“No, just a good friend,” he said, barely aware of her. She looked to be in her early twenties, with brown ringlets of curls framing a pert face.
“I thought for a moment you were considering disembarking,” she said.
“No,” he said softly. “Maybe I should have, but we said our good-byes earlier.”
“Sounds very final.”
“It is. I mean it was. Excuse me, ma’am, my name’s Sam T. Mayes.” He removed his hat for her.
“Mrs. Julia Riley.”
“I take it your husband is not here.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Mayes. He’s a lieutenant in the army, stationed in Arizona.”
“Isn’t that interesting. I’m going to Arizona.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Mayes?”
“Sam T. is better.”
“You may call me Julia.” Her warm smile would have melted icebergs in the Arctic.
“Your husband—he’s stationed there?”
“Yes, but I am going to the capital, Prescott. He’s at an army outpost right now.”
“May I?” He rose and stepped across the aisle when she nodded. Talking with beautiful women came before gazing at mountains. He swung the seat back so he could sit and face her.
The car was loosely populated with plenty of empty spaces and the morning sun streaming in on them. He removed his Stetson and sat down. He found a striking resemblance in this lovely woman to another in his past. The memory of her ate at him like burning gunpowder.
“Oh, be comfortable and wear it,” she said to dismiss his chivalry. “You look rather striking under that wide-brim hat.”
“Thank you.” He gazed out across the yellow grass plains that stretched forever to the east, so that it did not look overly apparent he was struck with her good looks. Mrs. Riley’s beauty was gut-wrenching and Sam T. considered it a crime she was without an escort on such an adventure.
“May I ask your business?”
“Law enforcement. I am going to take a job in Arizona.”
“Like a U.S. marshal?”
“Sort of like that.”
“I’m sorry I am so nosy.” As if taken back by her own boldness, she ran her full lower lip across her even teeth.
“Julia, you can ask me anything your heart desires.” He shook his head to dismiss her concern.
“I really am quite concerned about my husband, Aaron. He’s in the field all the time with, well, buffalo soldiers. You know, Negroes, and I am not certain how trustworthy they are.”
“Rest easy, little lady,” he said with a grin. “He’s better off with them than white ones. All the army can attract these days on their low pay are criminals looking to escape jail time and foreigners who don’t speak or understand English.”
“Oh, I never knew that.”
Sam T. leaned back in the seat. He’d take buffalo soldiers anytime to foreigners who didn’t know a word of English. Whew, the state of the U.S. military was a mess and no one worried about it. The North would never have won the war under the current conditions. He felt more at ease with her by the minute and savored his good fortune. The clickety-clack of the car’s wheels on the expansion gaps sang a song, “Going to Arizona, going to Arizona.”
The train made frequent stops before it reached Colorado Springs. At one point four men that Sam T. considered hardcases came on board. They wore a certain lean, harsh look. For him, these men in cowboy garb fit the role of trouble. A whiff of whiskey perfumed their passage, as shouldering saddles and war bags, they moved purposefully down the aisle. When the conductor reached Sam T. and the lady, he took a strong look down the car in the direction of their loud voices.
“Sir.” He bent over as if checking Sam T.’s ticket. “Should those Rebs decide to restart the war, please inform me.”
“There won’t be any informing necessary,” Sam T. said.
“Very well.” The train man straightened, checked his gold watch. “We should be in the Springs on time today.” He snapped the timepiece shut and moved down the aisle to punch the other tickets.
“Do you have family?” she asked, bringing Sam T. back from his thoughts.
“No, ma’am. I never stayed in one place that long.”
“Oh.”
“Law enforcement is not the kind of job where you go to work and then come home at night”
“I see—”
“Several years ago, a very lovely woman came into my life. She was murdered. You remind me very much of her.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t—”
“You didn’t, Julia. I was only explaining. I guess after that I have been afraid to, well, seriously involve myself with another woman.” Except perhaps Shirley, who failed him when the chips were down. Out the window, he studied a sod shack and the clothes on the line waving in the strong wind. Would his life be different if Sharon had lived? Would he have been a dirt farmer with a big family of kids? In fifteen years, they could have had a passel. Fate instead dealt him another hand.
He could hear the raucous talk of the cowboys up the aisle. With his back to them, he could not see what they were up to. Obviously, they were passing the bottle around.
“Are they having a high old time?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, looking about ready
to snicker.
Sam T. twisted around and saw the wave of the jug, then the car door opened and the whiskey was quickly secreted again. The conductor strode through the aisle and their voices became subdued. If there had been no woman on board, their actions would not be so bad, but besides Julia, by Sam T.’s appraisal, there were a half dozen respectable ladies in the car.
The conductor passed on to the next coach and the party began again. It was when “sons of bitches” and other words grew louder, that Sam T. rose to his full six feet. He gave Julia a reassuring nod and strode down the car, using the various seat rails for balance against the rock of the train. The cowboys grew louder and he considered their talk fit only for barnyard consumption.
He stood over them before they looked up and noticed him.
“Want a snort, dude?” the red-faced one asked. Sam.T. judged them to be in their early twenties. They were drunk enough to have a cocky edge to their ways.
“Gents, the fun’s over. There are ladies aboard this coach.”
“Where?” the short one asked and used his hand as a visor to look back the way Sam T. had come.
“So?” said the hardest-looking of the three.
“Time to button your lips, boys,” Sam T. said.
“And who’s going to make us do that?”
Sam T.’s hand produced the short-barreled sheriff’s model Colt from his shoulder holster so fast the small one gasped.
“Now on your feet,” he said, waving it toward the end of the car.
“Who the hell are you?” the tough one demanded. “I’ll kill your ass—”
Sam T.’s slash with the revolver butt caved in his highcrown hat and sent him sprawling over the other one’s lap. The whiskey bottle shattered on the floor. In an instant, he forced the muzzle in the redheaded one’s face
“Get your hand clear of that iron or die.”
A woman in the car made a stifled scream. Sam T. never looked away from them. Every nerve in his body stood on end. Three to one and any move they made could make him a dead man.
“Get up real easy. You’re getting off here.” He took a half step back to make room for them to get out.
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