“Becker, he’s got the Chinese in the hills digging for him,” Shawn said. He played his trump card. “If you don’t stand up to him and stake your claim on the gold, you’ll lose everything, including your life.”
Greed is a powerful incentive. Becker’s eyebrows lowered as he thought things through. After a few moments he waved Shawn away from him and lay on his back in the cot, staring at the ceiling.
“Leave him now, O’Brien,” Sunny said. “You’ve tired him out.” She saw the irritation on Shawn’s face and added, “He’s thinking about what you said. When he’s made up his mind, I’ll come for you.”
“Don’t take too long, Burt,” Shawn said. “Time is running out for all of us.”
“You still got big rats in there, Sunny,” Hamp Sedley said. “They could eat ol’ Burt alive.”
Alarm flashed in the woman’s face. “I’ll take care of it,” she said.
“You’d better make it fast,” Sedley said. “Judging by the racket they’re making.”
“Hamp, right now we’ve got more to worry about than rats,” Shawn said.
“I hate rats,” Sedley said. “They give me the damned shivers.”
There was no sign of Pete Caradas or his girl when Shawn and Sedley left the saloon. Outside, rain fell from a low, leaden sky and the street and boardwalks were empty of wagons and people, as though the town had lost its will to exist and had come to a standstill.
The two men were about to cross the street to the hotel when they were hailed by Utah Beadles, who’d just stepped out of one of the few stores still open. He carried a pink-and-white-striped paper sack in his hand.
“Howdy, boys,” the deputy said. “Got me some mint humbugs. You want to make a trial of them?”
Shawn refused, but Sedley eagerly shoved his hand in the bag. “I love humbugs,” he said, sticking the candy in his mouth.
“How is the sheriff ?” Shawn said.
“Right poorly, I’d say,” Beadles said. His white eye looked like a piece of porcelain. “Fact is he fired me.”
“How come?” Sedley said, talking around the huge candy in his mouth.
Shawn was easily irritated that morning, and Hamp and his humbug ruffled his tail feathers. “Stick that in your cheek or spit it out,” he said.
“No. I’m enjoying it,” Sedley said.
“Sheriff Purdy says there will be no one left in town to pay my wages,” Beadles said, saving Sedley from harm. “So he said he was letting me go.”
“Stay in town, Utah,” Shawn said. “We’ll need your gun.”
The old man shook his head. “Hell, no. I’m too young to die. I plan to skedaddle like the rest o’ them. I can tell you something though.”
“What’s that?” Shawn said.
“I know where Tom Clouston’s camp is. The place where he keeps them damned drums.”
“Why didn’t you tell the sheriff ?” Shawn said.
“I did. But he said to keep it to myself.”
“You could have led Oskar Janacek’s posse right to the camp,” Shawn said.
“And they would have died just the same, me among them,” Beadles said. “Besides, them boys wasn’t inclined to listen to me, an old coot with one eye and a drinkin’ man’s reputation.”
Sedley was noisily crunching now, and beside him Shawn gritted his teeth. “Where is the camp, Utah?” Hamp said.
“Due west of the Rattlesnakes, boy, about a mile,” Beadles said. “It’s hidden behind a rise, so even a long-sighted man can’t see it from the hills.”
“How do you know this, Utah?” Shawn said.
“Saw it on my way here, didn’t I?” the old man said. “I steered well clear and that’s why I’m standing here talking instead of being as dead as a doorknob.”
Beadles extended his candy poke toward Sedley. “Have another,” he said.
“No!” Shawn said, slapping Sedley’s hand away. “Suck on another humbug, Hamp, and I swear, I’ll rip it out of your mouth.”
“Kinda touchy, son, ain’t you?” Beadles asked.
“This morning? Yes I am,” Shawn said.
“Every morning, seems like,” Sedley said, miffed.
But the morning was about to get a lot worse for both Shawn and Sedley.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Just before noon Duncan Campbell led six tired, dispirited riders into Broken Bridle, their horses plodding through fetlock-high mud churned up by the ceaseless rain.
The seven men, their wet slickers shedding water, looped their horses to the Streetcar hitching rail and stepped inside, their spurs ringing.
Campbell ordered his men to the bar, then looked around him. Long used to the ways of the West he tagged the tall, handsome man who’d just had his lunch served at a table as a fast gun, probably out of Texas.
There were a few other patrons in the saloon, but the mood was subdued and men sat with solemn faces as though all the cares of the world were on their shoulders. Even the bartender, a magnificent creature with pomaded hair parted in the middle, a brocade vest, and a diamond stickpin, had lost some of his grandeur, like the gilt off the gingerbread.
Campbell told his men to drink up, that they deserved it, then drained his own glass and laid it on the bar for another.
“I’m looking for a man,” he said to the bartender. “He goes by the name of Dr. Thomas Clouston. That’s what he calls himself.”
Campbell was struck by the look of terror that fleeted across the man’s face. Finally he said, “You’re Mr. Campbell, right? You own a ranch west of here.”
“Yes, the Four Ace.”
The bartender nodded. “Seen you in town a time or two.” He leaned closer to the rancher. “Steer clear of that man, Mr. Campbell, he’s poison.” Then, “Did you hear what happened in town last night?”
Campbell shook his head and the bartender told him.
When the man’s story finished, Campbell looked like he’d aged twenty years in the space of a couple of minutes. His riders were grim-faced, drinking, but saying nothing.
“Oh my God,” Duncan Campbell said. “He has my daughter.”
“Miss Judy? She was friends with Jane Collins, the young lass that disappeared?”
Campbell nodded. “Jane Collins was my daughter’s best friend. Clouston kidnapped Judy from my house in the early hours of this morning. We searched the Rattlesnake Hills where Clouston is supposed to hang out, but found nothing.”
The bartender seemed distressed. He served whiskey to the punchers, then returned to Campbell. “You came here looking for help to find your daughter.”
Campbell nodded. He looked drawn and used up, a man at the end of his rope.
“Now you know there isn’t any,” the bartender said. “Them as would have helped are all dead.”
“Then I’ll go it alone,” Campbell said. “Boys, get ready to ride.”
“That’s not a real good idea, Mr. Campbell.”
The rancher turned to the voice. Pete Caradas had laid down his knife and fork and was looking right at Campbell with curiously dead eyes.
“You have my handle. And you are?” the rancher said.
“Name’s Pete Caradas.” He stood but did not offer his hand. He’d seen too many men who’d shook on it with their gun hand and died as a result. “Trust me on this, stay here in town and Thomas Clouston will come to you.”
“How do you know this?” Campbell said.
“He’s made his intentions clear,” Caradas said.
“I must find my daughter,” Campbell said.
“Your daughter is dead. Get your revenge on Clouston and mourn her later.”
“Mister, that’s mighty hard talk,” Big Boy Harrison said, elbowing off the bar, a mean glint in his eyes.
“This town needs to hear hard talk,” Caradas said. “Campbell, ride out to the hills again and I guarantee you’ll be dead before nightfall.”
“Maybe you and Clouston are in cahoots,” Harrison said.
“There’s no maybes about you be
ing an idiot,” Caradas said.
Harrison absorbed the insult like a punch to the guts and pushed his slicker back from his gun.
“Big Boy, leave it be!” Campbell yelled. “There’s no call for gunplay here.”
He’d summed up Caradas standing relaxed and confident and knew how it must end if his ramrod went for the iron. Thunder rolled across the sky like a boulder along a marble corridor, and the other saloon patrons sat stiff, eyes empty, waiting. The men of Broken Bridle were numb, beyond shock, content to sit silently as observers.
“Now I’ll accept the gentleman’s apology,” Caradas said.
“Step around it, Caradas,” Campbell said.
“The gentleman impugned my honor and it cannot stand,” Caradas said.
This was Texas war talk. Duncan Campbell had heard its like before, and he cast around in his mind to end it without a killing. Finally, his options exhausted, he said, “Big Boy, apologize to the gentleman.”
But Harrison had sand and there was no backup in him. He spat and said, “Caradas, I won’t apologize to the likes of you so be damned to ye.”
The unlikely intervention of Hamp Sedley saved Harrison’s life.
He barged into the saloon holding Bobby Miller by the scruff of the neck, then shoved the boy into the middle of the floor.
“Caught the little runt trying to loot the general store,” he said to the bartender. “He says he’s hungry so feed him. You don’t need to kick his ass. I’ve already done that.”
“That boy is a nuisance,” a man said. “He should be hung.”
“Mister, hasn’t there been enough killing for your liking?” Sedley said. “He got his ass kicked and that’s all he needs.”
“And grub,” the bartender said. He had two half-grown boys of his own.
For Pete Caradas and Big Boy Harrison, the moment had passed and each in his own way was relieved. Harrison knew he couldn’t match Caradas’s draw and had hoped to outlast him. Caradas saw no profit in killing a bumbling cowboy, even if he was a ramrod, and his reputation might have suffered. He set his pride aside and sat at his table.
“Boy, get over here,” Caradas said. When Bobby fearfully approached the table, he said, “Sit.” Then glaring at Sedley. “If you can.”
The boy sat and Caradas pushed his plate in front of him. “I’ve lost my appetite for lunch, eat this, and the bread rolls.”
Bobby’s eyes bugged. “Steak and eggs,” he said.
Caradas nodded. “The steak is overcooked and the eggs aren’t over easy the way I wanted them. But make a trial of them anyway.”
Bobby Miller needed no further invitation and dug in as though he was missing his last six meals, which he was.
Sedley, with his gambler’s instinct for atmosphere, looked from the bartender to the grim-faced Duncan Campbell and back again. “All right, tell me what I missed,” he said.
Campbell spoke up. “My daughter was kidnapped by Thomas Clouston. I came here looking for help.”
“And found the cupboard bare,” Sedley said.
“That would seem to be the case,” Campbell said. “How is Shawn O’Brien?”
“He’s doing fine,” Sedley said. “He owes Miss Judy and you.”
“We did our Christian duty,” Campbell said. Then to his riders, “Finish up, boys,” he said. “We’ll take up the search again.”
“Talk to Shawn first,” Sedley said. “He always comes up with a plan.”
“I’m all out of those,” Campbell said. “I’ll listen, but only for a few minutes.”
“Then come over to the hotel,” Sedley said. “Can you trust your boys to stay sober?”
“They know what’s at stake,” Campbell said.
“Miss Judy’s life,” Big Boy said.
“You can’t attack Clouston’s camp with six men,” Shawn said. “You’d be like ducks in a shooting gallery.”
“That is where my daughter is,” Duncan Campbell said. “I won’t sit idly by while she’s in the clutches of a monster.” He rose from his chair, a grim old Scotsman with a stubborn streak. “A mile due west of the Rattlesnake Hills, you say?”
“That’s what Utah Beadles told me. He said he saw the camp.”
“Then that’s where I’ll go, Shawn,” Campbell said.
“I can’t talk you out of it?” Shawn asked.
“If you were in my position, what would you do?” Campbell said.
“I’d go after my daughter,” Shawn said. “No matter the cost.”
He rose to his feet and said, “I won’t ride with you, Duncan. My place is here in Broken Bridle.”
“You’re not beholden to me or mine,” Campbell said. He extended his hand. “But you can wish me luck.”
“With all my heart,” Shawn said, taking the old man’s hand. “And I’ll say a rosary for you.”
Campbell smiled. “Ordinarily I’d have no truck with popery, but I reckon I need all the help I can get.”
“Stay in town and wait for Clouston to attack,” Sedley said. “Beads won’t turn bullets.”
“Stranger things have happened, Hamp,” Campbell said. “Now I have to be on my way.” He looked through the window that was running with rain. “I picked a nasty day for it, didn’t I?”
After Duncan Campbell left, Sedley said, “You’ll never see him or his riders again, Shawn. You know that, don’t you?”
“He knows what has to be done and he’s doing it,” Shawn said. “I won’t stand in his way.”
“He’s a dead man,” Sedley said.
“Before long, we might all be dead men,” Shawn said.
Sedley shook his head. “You sure know how to cheer a man, don’t you?”
Shawn O’Brien answered a rap at his room door and found Sunny Swanson, her cape wet from rain, standing there, her face tear-stained.
“He wants to talk to you, O’Brien,” she said.
“Are you all right?” Shawn said. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
“Burt won’t leave,” the girl said. “That means he’ll stay in this cursed town and die with the rest of you.”
Shawn buttoned into his slicker. “He wants the gold in the hills, Sunny. A man will risk all he’s got, including his life, on the throw of the dice for twenty million dollars.”
“Would you?” Sunny said.
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“That’s because you’re a rich man’s son. Money doesn’t mean anything to you.”
“Maybe not. But if I was Becker and had a woman like you, I’d value her more than all the gold in the world.”
“You’re talking pretties to me, that’s all,” Sunny said.
“I mean every word, and some day if Becker has any sense, he’ll think as I do.”
“You give me hope, O’Brien.”
“Good. Because right now it’s in mighty short supply around this burg.”
Burt Becker ground out each word slowly, like a blacksmith flattening out a chunk of iron. “I’ll fight Clouston here,” he said.
“Glad to hear it, Burt,” Shawn said. “With you and Caradas we can make a fight of it.”
Becker again made the effort to talk. “Pete speaks for himself. Coop Hunter, Uriah Spade . . . same thing.”
Hamp Sedley said, “Those boys pulled out, Burt. Right after Shawn busted your jaw.”
“Wrong thing to say, Hamp,” Shawn said.
“Then it’s up to Pete,” Becker said. “Now get the hell away from me. I don’t want to talk no more.”
“Becker, where is Jane Collins?” Shawn said. “You don’t need her any longer.”
“Ace in the hole . . . still,” Becker said through jammed shut teeth. “I get the gold, Purdy gets his woman.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Petsha and Milos D’eth were not in good spirits. The tarot cards never lie, and each time Milos had laid them out the result was always the same: The Death of Twins.
Now Milos picked up the cards from the space he’d cleared on the livery floor and
shoved them into his bib overalls. With dread in his eyes, Petsha watched him closely.
“It is always the same,” Milos said. “There is no way to change fate.”
“Perhaps there are other twins,” Petsha said.
“Perhaps,” Milos said. “Thomas Clouston must still die. We took on a binding contract.”
“Can we run from the cards?” Petsha said. “Ride far?”
“Death will follow. He knows us, Petsha. We bear his mark.”
“Then we take the man Clouston with us and fulfill our contract as we have done twenty-seven times in the past. Is that not so?”
Milos nodded. “Twenty-seven contracts, thirty-eight men that we marked for death. It is a career to be proud of, Petsha.”
Petsha made no answer. He stared out the livery door into the rain. “There is the orphan boy who survived the massacre of the innocents,” he said. “I want to talk to him. Do you have a silver dollar, Milos?”
After he saw his brother nod, Petsha called out, “You, boy! Come over here.”
“Hell, no,” Bobby Miller said. “The street’s muddy.”
“I’ll give you a dollar,” Petsha said.
“You’re up to no good,” Bobby said.
“I want only to ask you a question. But if you don’t want the dollar, I’ll ask it of someone else.”
Bobby considered that, then said, “All right, I’ll be right over.”
As he high-footed it through the mud of the street, the boy nonetheless affected a swagger. Not everyone was invited to share a famous Texas draw fighter’s lunch.
Bobby stopped outside the livery, standing in a slanting rain. “What do you want, mister?” he asked.
“You’re a brave lad,” Petsha said. “You’ll go far.”
“I know it. Now what do you want?”
“Those seven men who rode into town. Who are they?” Petsha said.
“Where’s my dollar?” Bobby said.
Milos spun the coin to his brother and he in turn tossed it to the boy, who caught it expertly in mid-flight. He shoved it into the pocket of his ragged pants, then said, “It’s Duncan Campbell the rancher and his punchers. Crazy Dr. Clouston stole his daughter and he wants her back.”
Shawn O'Brien Manslaughter Page 17