CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Papa Mace rolled off Ella Rathmore, sated. Free of the pressure of his great bulk, the girl managed to breathe again, taking in great gulps of air that Mace mistook for passion.
He smiled. “Don’t worry, my dear. Soon you’ll have me all to yourself.”
“I . . . so . . . look . . . forward . . . to . . . that.” Fighting for each breath, she spoke with little conviction.
But Papa Mace didn’t notice, wrapped up as he was in his future plans. “I think my speech tonight was received very well.”
“Yes . . . everyone believed that you’ve had another great vision about the promised land,” Ella said, breathing easier. A swig from Mace’s whiskey bottle helped.
“Did Malachi?”
“Yes. My husband most of all. He even believed the part about you breeding with a younger woman to produce another leader when you retire.” She smiled. “He’s very excited about it, and that’s why I’m here.”
Papa Mace grinned. “And the bit about us riding into the wasteland to have the second part of the vision, the location of a new gold mine?”
“Hook, line, and sinker,” Ella said, her face hard-planed in the firelight. “Malachi don’t know his butt from a watering hole.”
“He’s a whore’s spawn. What do you expect?”
“How did you get in tow with all them whores, Papa?” Ella said.
“It took a few years,” Mace said. “I’ve always been partial to whores. Then I decided to keep the sons and get rid of the rest. I had a vision of my future. Instead of a small-time conman, I saw myself as the leader of a clan, my own blood, with me as master.”
“But, Papa, you got that right here,” Ella said.
“No, I don’t,” Mace said. “At first I had enough gold from the mine to pay for the hired hands who did the digging, but Ben Kane hung some of them and the rest were ready to quit.”
“Malachi told me the miners were hung for rustling,” Ella said.
“Yeah, it was my intention to take Kane’s cattle and then his ranch, but he was too tough for me,” Mace said. “I skun a couple of his cowboys, figuring to scare him off, but all I did was start a feud. I lost all my remaining hands and then there was a standoff. Kane wasn’t strong enough to attack me, and I wasn’t strong enough to attack his ranch, so we’ve been sniping at each other ever since.” Mace grimaced. “And now the gold seam has run dry and so have all my hopes for this place.”
Ella snuggled against Mace’s naked, sweating body. “Well, now you got me, Papa. Tell how it’s gonna be, Papa.”
“I already told you all about it.”
“Tell me again.”
“Well, I’ve hoarded enough gold to last me and you quite a few years,” Mace said. “So we’ll head for Fort Smith and stay in the best hotels, eat in the best restaurants, and live pretty damned high. You’ll have new clothes—”
“And a pink parasol.”
“And a pink parasol, and we’ll never walk anywhere. We’ll ride in a carriage that will take us wherever we want to go. For a while at least, we’ll be gentry, you and me.”
“And what happens when the money runs out?” Ella said, frowning.
“It won’t run out, Ella. You can do some whoring on the side, and I’ll be working a con or two. Before I ended up here, I was one of the best bunco artists around.”
Ella smiled and snuggled closer. “Papa, I’ll be so glad to get away from this dump.”
“Yeah, it’s a dump, all right.” Mace sat up, lit a cigar with a brand from the fire, and then lay on his back again, exhaling blue smoke. “Like I said, things didn’t work out the way I planned. The mine playing out and the trouble we’ve had with Ben Kane and his ruffians spoiled everything. The best of my sons are dead, and them that are left don’t amount to much, so I won’t regret running out on them.”
“And their ugly women and kids.”
“Yeah, them too,” Mace said.
Ella’s frown deepened. “Papa, I don’t want to be a two-dollar whore again. I’ve had enough of that. It’s no kind of life for me.”
Mace shook his head. “You won’t be. Ella. You’ve got class. Your clientele will be fine gentlemen with deep pockets and dutiful little wives waiting for them at home. I mean, clean gentlemen, nothing but the best. I’ll see to that.”
“You’ll be so good to me, won’t you, Papa?”
“You’ll want for nothing. Fine clothes, jewelry, it will all be yours.” Mace said. “Pass the bottle, will ya? We’re going on a visit.”
“Visit who?” Ella said.
“Them two in the mine shaft. Time to tease them again.”
Ella smiled. “I thought they’d be dead by this time.” “Probably close, one of them at least. The shotgun guard with the red hair is on his last legs, damn him,” Mace said. “They call the other feller Muldoon. He bit my leg, the dirty rat, and he’s paying for it now.” He tied on his loincloth and donned his sandals as Ella hurried into her clothes.
“Now let’s go have some fun,” Mace said.
* * *
“Buttons, I’m thirsty,” Red Ryan said, his voice a husky whisper. “So thirsty. Where’s the water?”
“We’ll have some soon, Red,” Buttons Muldoon said. “It’s on the way. Just you rest for a while.”
Red was quiet for a few moments and then he said, “Buttons, give it to me straight.” His words were weak.
Buttons strained to hear him. “Give you what straight?”
“Am I dying? It feels like I’m dying. I’m kinda numb all over.”
“No, you’re not dying,” Buttons said. “I won’t let you die. You’re the best shotgun guard I ever had. And as for feeling numb all over, why, that’s because you’re all trussed up. By and by, once the ropes are loosened you’ll be as fine as dollar cotton.”
“They hurt me bad, didn’t they? Then Rathmores.”
“No, not too bad,” Buttons said. “You’re tough, Red, mighty tough.”
“Bad enough though, huh?” Red said.
“Yeah, maybe that,” Buttons said. “They hurt you bad enough.”
Red whispered, “God, I’m thirsty.”
“Soon,” Buttons said. “We’ll have water soon.” He saw that Red’s lips were white and cracked, his green eyes feverish. “You rest now.”
But there was to be no rest for Red Ryan that night.
Papa Mace and Ella Rathmore, half-drunk, mean, and grinning, burst into the mine shaft arm in arm, the whiskey bottle in the man’s hand. Ella carried a lantern that spread a fitful light.
“Is he still alive?” Mace said, eyeing Red.
“He’s alive, and he’ll stay alive long enough to see me kill you,” Buttons said, scowling.
“And that ain’t never gonna happen,” Mace said. “You’ve lost, driving man. You tried to take what was mine and you couldn’t do it. You lost . . . lost. Let it sink in . . . you lost.”
“Trash, I haven’t lost yet. I said I’ll kill you, and I will,” Buttons said.
“Papa, why don’t you just shoot him?” Ella said. “You shouldn’t let him talk to you like that.”
“Too quick, my dear. He’s got a lot of suffering still to do.” Mace stepped to Red, took in the cracked lips and ashen face, and grinned, “Look, Ella, the redhead needs a drink. I’ll give him one.” Mace tipped the bottle and splashed whiskey into Red’s face. He was delighted when Red desperately attempted to lick the bourbon as it trickled down his cheeks and over his mouth. “There,” Mace said, smiling like a devil. “I reckon that will make him even thirstier.”
Buttons’s killing rage exploded. He snarled like a trapped animal as he tried to get to his feet, a movement that earned him a kick from Mace that knocked him flat on his back again.
Papa Mace grinned. “You want a drink too, big man? Here, have a swig.” He threw the remaining bourbon into Buttons’s face and then tossed the empty bottle at his head. The bottle hit Buttons on the forehead and cut him above his left eye, drawing blood.
The sight of the scarlet rush of blood that ran down Buttons’s face sobered Ella and she said, “Papa, I want to leave here. These two are no fun.”
Mace nodded, “As you wish, my dear.” He picked up the lantern where Ella had left it and stepped toward the mine entrance. “You lost, both of you!” he yelled through a laugh. The tunnel of rock made his voice boom and sound hollow, like the voice of a fiend.