by Ralph Cotton
“We’re on it, Big Aces,” said Callahan. Stopping to step up onto his saddle, he said to Sentanza, “Nobody behind them, eh?”
Sentanza gave a shrug. “We wouldn’t be here if anybody was following them, now, would we?”
Callahan swung up in his saddle; beside him, so did Calvin Kerr. “It never hurts to check,” Callahan said with a tight mirthless grin. “No offense intended.”
Sentanza aimed his index finger at Callahan like a pistol and clicked his thumb as if dropping a hammer. “None taken,” he said, with no grin in return.
“It looks like you two have a lot of steam you need to wear off,” Shear said, looking back and forth between Sentanza and Callahan. “The two of yas ride out and meet them,” he demanded. “Longley, you and Kerr both stay put here.”
All four men looked surprised. Kerr and Longley both backed away. Sentanza and Callahan both stared at Shear in disbelief. It was no secret among the Black Valley Riders that the two men hated each other.
“You’ve got to be kidding, Big Aces,” Sentanza said down to the outlaw leader. “I just finished standing lookout.”
Shear’s gun hand slipped deftly around the butt of a large black-handled Dance Brothers pistol holstered on his thigh. His voice turned menacing. “Do I look like I’m kidding to you, Mingo?”
Sentanza met his gaze with defiance, yet he kept quiet, backed his horse a step and turned it to the trail without even watering the tired animal. Dolan Callahan only gave a touch to his hat brim as he rode past Shear and the others and rode up alongside the smoldering Sentanza.
“You just couldn’t turn it loose, could you, Mingo?” Callahan said in a taunting manner.
Sentanza forced himself to cool down. “I have turned it loose now, Dolan,” he said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, settling his white-hot temper with a thin smile. Beneath him the frothed horse traveled on in spite of its thirst and exhaustion.
The two rode in silence toward a rise of trail dust until they had crossed the valley floor far enough to clearly see Elmer Fisk and the other two outlaws riding toward them. The wind and dust had settled enough for Duckwald and Epson to lower their bandannas from their faces. Recognizing them, Sentanza and Callahan reined their horses down and met the three in the long remnants of harsh evening sunlight.
Callahan called out to Fisk, “Big Aces is waiting to see you. Where’s Bates and Riley?”
“Virgil Bates and Bertram Riley are both dead,” said Fisk. He stopped his horse and rested his wrists on his saddle horn. “So is Bobby Parsons and Earl Baggett, according to Tinnis Lucas.”
“Ah, that’s too bad,” said Callahan. “How’d that drunken gambler know so much about them?”
“He saw it all,” said Fisk, not wanting to tell too much now, knowing he’d only have to retell it once he rode to the cabin. “He was riding with us, but he left all of a sudden.” He slipped a faint, knowing grin to Epson and Duckwald.
Sentanza sat sullen, listening, getting a good idea that the gambler was dead.
“What’s wrong with you, Mingo?” Fisk asked. “Somebody piss in the frijoles again?”
Not wanting to irritate Crazy Elmer, Sentanza held his tongue and allowed himself to give a thin smile.
“Nothing is wrong,” he said. “How are you doing, Elmer Fisk?” He touched two fingertips to his battered short-brimmed sombrero and gave a nod to Epson and Duckwald.
Duckwald returned his nod and gestured toward Sentanza’s worn-out horse. “If you don’t rest that animal soon, we’ll be watching him turn over a fire.”
“He’s okay,” said Sentanza, patting the tired horse’s withers. “We don’t have far to go.”
“If Mingo here thinks he’s riding double with me, he’s got some bad news coming,” Callahan said tauntingly, looking the tired horse up and down.
Your time is coming, you son of a whore pig . . . , Sentanza told himself. Yet he gave only a withering smile and remained silent.
“Speaking of beans and horse meat,” said Fisk, “I’m starving here. Let’s get on to the cabin.”
“You three ride on in. We’re headed out to watch the high trail,” said Callahan. “I can’t wait to build a fire and eat something myself.”
Before turning his horse to leave, Fisk gave him a look. “How would Big Aces known if it wasn’t us?”
“He’d’ve heard the shooting by now,” Callahan said, tipping his hat brim as he and Sentanza reined their horses back to the trail.
As soon as Elmer Fisk and the other two riders stepped down from their saddles out in front of the cabin, Shear appeared in the yard to meet them. “Swean,” he said to the gunman standing nearest beside him, “take Elmer’s horse and tend to it. Him and I need to talk.”
Walking alongside and directing Fisk toward the cabin door, Shear said, “Where’s the others? We’re going to need all the men we can rally.”
“Hell, they’re dead, Big Aces,” said Fisk, stepping onto the porch. “I hope you’ve got something skint and gutted in here. I’m starving.” He bounded inside the cabin and looked all around.
“Whoa! What do you mean, they’re dead?” said Shear, turning Fisk by his arm.
Fisk stared down at the hand on his arm, just enough to let Shear know that putting a hand on him was a bad idea. “I mean they’re dead, Big Aces,” he said in a more somber tone. “They messed with the wrong persons.”
Shear removed his hand, but persisted. “What on earth happened? You and Baggett were supposed to meet them in Minton Hill.”
“I expect Baggett met them rightly enough . . . straight down in hell. He’s dead too!” Fisk leaned close to his face and gave him the sort of leering bug-eyed grin that had earned him his name Crazy Elmer.
“All right, Elmer,” Shear said, getting impatient with him, “tell me about it.”
“What I’m telling you is what your pal that drunken gambler Lucas told me,” Fisk said.
“Tinnis Lucas?” said Shear.
“That’s right,” said Fisk, “Lucas was there and saw it all. Two sailors and the ranger who killed Junior Lake and his gang killed all four of our boys. Shot them down in the street, like they were dogs.”
“That damned ranger,” Shear said. Then he caught himself and said, “Two sailors . . . ?” He stared at Fisk.
“Yeah, that’s what Lucas told me,” said Fisk. “The sailors who wear that new emblem on their shirts—the eagle, the globe and anchor?”
“Yeah, marines,” said Shear, getting a better grasp on the matter. “The ranger is partnered with marines? How much was Lucas drinking when he said all this?”
“About as same as usual, drunker than a skunk,” said Fisk. He gave the crazy grin. “Drunk enough that he rode his horse off a cliff on the way here . . . looked like a barn rat learning to fly.”
“Jesus . . . !” Shear tried to take in everything Fisk had told him. Drunk or sober, Tinnis Lucas had never sold him bad information. “Why was Lucas coming here? Didn’t you give him what he had coming to him?”
“Yes, in a manner of speaking,” Fisk said, still with his leering grin. “He said the marines are hunting bounty that’s been put on all of us Black Valley Riders.”
“Marines, hunting bounty?” said Shear. “I don’t get it. Shouldn’t they be off settling a war or hanging pirates or somewhere?”
Fisk gave a shrug. “I expect times are tight the world over.”
Shear gave a bemused look and shook his head in contemplation. “All right, then. We’ll have to pick up some men on our way. We’ve still got a big job waiting for us.” He looked at Fisk. “I had the men start getting ready to clear out of here when I saw Sentanza signal you were coming. You and the other two rest up. We’ll pull out first thing come morning.”
“You’ve got it, Big Aces,” said Fisk, stepping over to a pot of coffee that hung simmering over a fire in a stone hearth. On a charred mantel above the hearth sat a tin bread pan with a cloth thrown over it. “Meanwhile, I’m going to eat anyt
hing that I don’t have to chase around the room.”
As Fisk walked over, flipped back the cloth and dug up a piece of leftover flatbread, Shear asked him, “Did you see Lucas’ body after he rode off the cliff?”
“No, it was too dark,” said Fisk taking a big bite of bread as he looked around for a tin coffee cup.
“Then you don’t really know for certain he’s dead, do you?” said Shear.
“Oh, he’s dead, Big Aces,” said Fisk. “You can take my word for it—Duckwald and Epson’s too. He must’ve fell a thousand feet.” He feigned a remorseful squint. “It was awful, Lucas screaming, the poor horse neighing . . .” He shook his head as if to get rid of the grim picture. “I’m sickened just thinking of it.”
Shear just stared at him. “But you didn’t see his body,” he persisted.
“I told you, Big Aces,” said Fisk, getting a bit annoyed, “Tinnis Lucas is stone dead. That’s all there is to it.”
“I’ve known that drunken rebel for a long time,” Shear said, as if drawing from a deep well of knowledge on the subject of the gambler. “He’s awfully hard to kill. . . .”
At dark, Sentanza sat searching upward along the high trail, a canteen of water lying on the ground by his side. Behind him, Dolan Callahan poured himself a cup of hot coffee from a pot sitting over a low flame. With his cup in hand he sat back and picked up a warm, opened can of air-tights he’d set near the fire. “Ah,” he said, sniffing the can of warm pork-seasoned beans before plunging a spoon into it. “There’s nothing beats pork and beans for my money,” he said, taunting Sentanza as he had been throughout the evening.
Sentanza didn’t reply. He spat to the side and resumed watching the high trail while Callahan ate.
“Too bad you had to turn around and come back out here, without so much as grabbing yourself some overnight supplies,” said Callahan. He smiled to himself. “I feel awful not offering you some of this. But a wise man is always mindful of keeping his strength up, out here in the wilds like this.”
By the saints, I will kill him. . . . Sentanza smoldered, but said nothing. He studied the high trail, especially a spot where moments before dark he thought he’d caught a glimpse of a man start to step from behind a rock, but then fall back out of sight. He had made no mention of it, not wanting to give Callahan more fuel for taunting him.
“It is dark. Put out the fire, Dolan,” Sentanza said over his shoulder. “It can be seen a mile away.”
“Not until I’m finished with this delicious can of warm beans, Mingo,” Callahan said mockingly, knowing how badly he was chafing Sentanza.
“You are through cooking. Put out the fire,” Sentanza insisted. “You know this is how we always do things on lookout.”
“But I find it soooo settling,” said Callahan, “gazing into the flames over a cup of hot coffee.” He spooned up another mouthful of beans and chuckled to himself before taking a bite. “You wouldn’t be so tensed up yourself, going around with a mad-on all the time, if you learned to relax a little.”
“I’m going to relieve myself,” Sentanza said flatly.
“You go right ahead, Mingo,” Callahan said. “I’ll keep an eye on the high trail.” He shrugged. “Not that I think anybody would be foolish enough to try to get in here on us.”
But instead of turning and even glancing up along the high trail, Callahan sat eating the beans until he finally licked his metal spoon, stuck it into the empty can and set the can down on the wide stone shelf beside him. Moments later when he heard a boot scrape the stone behind him, he said, “I hope you shook it good. You’ve been gone long enough.”
He chuckled and looked down at his shirt pocket as he fished inside it for his bag of fixings. As he did so his breath gasped sharply in his chest. He felt a gloved hand wrap across his forehead. He saw six inches of a blood-smeared steel blade slice through the front of his shirt and stick out from the center of his sternum. The blade sliced back and forth once, expertly, severing his heart.
His eyes stayed fixed downward, but glazed over as the gloved hand guided him forward and sidelong to the ground. The sleek blade disappeared back into his chest and out of his back, beside the sole of Sandoval’s black knee-high boot.
Chapter 10
From two different hiding places, Thorn and the gambler slipped over the edge of the smooth rock surface and ran forward in a crouch, meeting where Sandoval stood in the glow of the firelight, bloody ax blade in hand.
“Kill the fire,” Thorn said to Lucas.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Lucas replied almost jokingly, but he did as he was told, quickly, as the ranger walked into sight leading Sentanza’s tired horse by its reins.
Noting the question in Thorn’s eyes, Sam said, “He was gone when I got there.”
“To warn the others,” Thorn said.
“I don’t think so,” Sam said. “He could have done that by firing shots in the air. I think he decided it was time to get out of here and save his own skin.” He looked at Lucas, who had begun rummaging through the dead man’s saddlebags on the ground by the fire. “What are you looking for, gambler?”
“Whiskey,” said Lucas. “I’m a drunkard, Ranger,” he added. “What else would I be looking for?”
“Take your hands out of those saddlebags,” Sam said. “They better be empty,” he warned. “Anyway, you’ve got enough whiskey.”
“Enough whiskey?” Lucas let out a sigh. “Ranger, a drunkard never has enough whiskey.” He ignored the ranger and continued to rummage.
“You do,” Sam said, reaching a boot over and clamping it down on the saddlebags. “Now take them out, empty, like I told you.”
“If you insist,” Lucas said. He removed his hands as the ranger raised his boot. Holding his hands chest high, he said, “All right, there is a gun in there. But obviously I had no idea when I began searching. I truly was looking for whiskey, on my word as a gentleman.”
The ranger stooped down, pulled out a small pistol and stood up shaking his head. “You’re getting on everybody’s nerves, Lucas,” he said, shoving the small pistol into his belt beside Lucas’ Colt Thunderer. “Keep it up and we’ll be right back to a charge of horse theft and a set of handcuffs.”
Lucas sat down and slumped and shook his head. “What do you really think I am, Ranger, a member of the Black Valley Riders?” He held up the lapels of his thin, ragged suit coat. “Look, I don’t even have the proper accessories. What self-respecting Black Valley member would be caught without his silver quarter-moon and star pendant?”
Sam said, “For all we know you might have had one. You could have sold it for a drink.”
“Now, that hurts, Ranger,” said Lucas. “I am a gambler, and a damn good one . . . that is, when I’m on my game.” He looked up and back and forth among the three as they stared down at him.
“That’s the trouble, gambler,” Sam said. “I haven’t yet figured out just what your game is. That’s why you’re not packing a gun and getting the chance to warn anybody we’re coming.”
“I would not do that, Ranger,” Lucas said. “For reasons you would never understand, I would not warn Shear and his men that you are coming. I do have some self-respect left. Not a lot, but some.”
He looked up at Thorn and saw the questioning look on his face. “Well, Captain, you’ve studied me awfully close since our paths crossed. What do you say my game is? Have you figured me out yet?”
“No, not completely,” Thorn said. “But I think I’ve got you pegged close enough.”
“Oh, do you, now, really?” said Lucas. “Then pray tell us, sir. We all want to know.”
Thorn appeared to be on the verge of saying something. But he stopped himself, shook his head and said instead, “You’re a contemptible drunk who doesn’t know which side to be on. You’re not a part of the Black Valley Riders, but you beg for crumbs at their table. You sell them just enough of your soul to keep yourself in cheap rye. You ally yourself with nothing or no one—”
“Because I like
it that way,” Lucas cut in sharply. “I owe alliance to nothing or nobody, sir!”
“No, you don’t,” said Thorn. Seeing the sting his words had given the gambler, he refused to let up. “That’s because you have nothing—you have nobody. You’re afraid too, gambler. That makes you a coward.”
“A coward! How dare you, sir!” said Lucas, suddenly coming to his feet, his fists clenched at his side. Sam and Sandoval looked on, witnessing a dark, serious side to Lucas that they’d not seen before. “You know nothing about me!”
“You’re wrong, gambler,” said Thorn, a look of realization having come upon his face. “I know all there is to know about you. I know everything about you. You’ve made a lifelong practice of picking the wrong side to be on.”
“I was not on the wrong side, Thorn,” said Lucas. “I was on the side that didn’t win.” He glowered. “But enough of that, sir. You have pushed me too far.”
The gambler stepped toward Cadden Thorn with fire in his bloodshot eyes, but the bounty hunter didn’t back an inch. “I hope you’re not demanding satisfaction, Tinnis Lucas, if that is your name,” Thorn said. “I refuse to waste my time on such a sorry creature as you.”
The ranger and Sandoval glanced out across the darkness, then back to the two men standing almost chest to chest in the grainy night. “Easy, men,” Sam said. “Whatever this is about, you’ll have to take it up later. We’re inside the Black Valley Riders’ lair. We need to keep moving and get this job done.” Even as Sam spoke, Sandoval stood to the side as if prepared to be Thorn’s second in a gentleman’s duel if need be.
“Right you are, Ranger,” Thorn said without taking his eyes off Lucas. “We’ll finish our little talk later, gambler . . . sober. That is, if you think your nerves can take it.”
“At your pleasure, Captain Thorn,” Lucas said with a newfound strength to his voice. “Whether I’m drunk or sober, my nerves are holding up remarkably well.”