“Well, that’s enough fun for one night, boys. We have a lot of work to do in the morning,” Stanton ordered. The bargirl on his lap giggled. He playfully pulled the top of her cotton dress down and peered at her well-shaped bosom. He dropped a ten dollar gold piece into the bodice; it bounced off of her breast and fell into the blouse.
“Thank you, George.” She pinched his cheek and giggled as she jumped off of his lap. George smacked her round fanny as she wiggled away.
“Naughty boy!” she squealed, digging in her blouse for the gold piece.
“It too early, señor. The girls don’t want us to go,” Pedro hollered, bearing a grin on his rouge-covered face.
“I know, Pedro, but we must go see how your guests are doing. It’s the polite thing to do.”
Pedro frowned. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. Sulking, the whore planted another big kiss on his forehead and jumped off of his lap.
“See you next time, Pedro.” She batted her eyes flirtatiously at the frustrated vaquero. “You’re the best.”
Pedro beamed at the shapely, dark-haired lady.
The other men grumbled at the shortened evening. George tossed several bills on the table as they stood to leave. The music blared; their spurs jingled as George and his rough men pushed their way through the crowd to the front door.
“Stoudenmire should be dead by now,” George whispered to Pedro as he bumped through the batwing door.
“I think so,” the drunken Pedro replied. “Mi amigo Paco play rough when he want to.”
George mounted up quickly and rode toward the edge of town. Pedro and the boys were close behind.
“Look, George,” Pedro shouted over the galloping hooves. “That’s Jon’s horse in front of Doc’s place. Maybe he’s still alive!”
Stanton roared in delight. “Don’t worry, my friend—the doc’s the coroner also.”
“Oh good! He’s the coroner also,” Pedro howled.
The riders charged into the dark moonless night. The dimly lit street turned black as they reached the edge of town. An excellent horseman, Stanton rode confidently along the dark pathway; soon the lanterns that adorned either side of the big iron gate in front of his compound were in view.
As the men approached, the gate began to open. The always dependable Estela leaned back and pulled hard on the heavy gate as the men rushed in. As usual, she had waited patiently by the entrance for the men to return, opening it at just the right moment.
“Thank you, Estela,” Stanton shouted as his quarter horse pranced nervously in the courtyard. “Any news?”
“I heard lots of gunshots earlier, señor. That’s all.”
“That’s enough!” Stanton smiled.
All of a sudden Pedro raised his hand. “Quiet, everyone. I hear a rider.”
Stanton calmed his steed as the hoof beats of a single rider came closer.
Pedro drew his gun and leaned toward the open gate. “Who goes there?” he shouted.
“It’s Buck,” came the reply. Pedro slid his six gun back in its holster at the sound of the familiar voice. Lantern light reflected off of the face of a bedraggled Buck as he rode through the gate.
Surprised to see Johnson alone at this time of night, Stanton started asking questions. “What are you doing here? What the hell happened out there today? Where’s Paco and his gang?”
Out of breath from the hard ride, Buck tried to speak. “Well…when we…”
An impatient Stanton interrupted. “Speak up, man. I can’t hear you!”
Buck shot a hard stare at George, grimaced and spoke. “We hid in the trees like we planned today. A short time later Jon came gallopin’ over the rise just like we thought he would. We got him in our sights and started blastin’ away. He dropped down hard behind some rocks, and a few seconds later he dropped out to the trail. He looked plenty dead to me, but Paco wanted to be sure, so he took aim and blasted him again. Paco still wasn’t happy, so we jumped cover and ran down to plug him a couple more times when the riders appeared on the ridge.”
“Riders! What the hell are you talking about?” George screamed.
“Some of the boys followed Jon. They must have smelled a rat or something.” Sickened by the day’s events, Buck glared at the pompous Stanton.
“How many were there?” Stanton demanded.
“Three. I recognized Cliff Stone and Ned Sloan—not sure about the third one.”
“What happened?”
“They opened fire on us. We were sittin’ ducks out on that trail, so we hightailed it for cover.”
“They were firing from horseback, for God’s sake, and you headed back for cover?” George bawled.
Buck’s eyes narrowed. “I saw Cliff Stone and Ned Sloan, two of the best shots in the county comin’ at us with rifles drawn. You bet we headed for cover—those two could shoot a walnut off a goat’s ass from a hundred yards,” a fuming Buck retorted. The other men nodded in agreement.
Aware of the shooting prowess of Stone and Sloan, Stanton backed off. “Okay, go ahead.”
Buck’s angry eyes glanced toward the other men. “What ya say we go inside, George—just the two of us?”
“Oh yes, yes. No use everyone hearing all of this,” Stanton replied. “You boys go out back to the bunk-houses.”
“Okay, boss,” Pedro replied as he led the men away.
Stanton and Buck dismounted and hurried inside. Buck followed Stanton to his study and sat down in a small leather chair in front of his desk.
“Well go ahead, Buck,” George ordered as he plopped into his swivel chair.
Exhausted and angry, Buck stared at the shiny oak desk top, never making eye contact with the pompous Stanton. “Like I said, we were damned surprised when Stone and Sloan rode over that hill. We were all out in the open, and we were pretty sure they recognized us, so we headed for the stream. They hit one of Paco’s men before we got to the stream. Then Stone and the other guy backed off, Sloan gave chase for a short time and then gave up. A little while later, we ducked into the stream and headed for my place. When we got there, Paco ordered his men to bury his two dead compadres out in the woods so they wouldn’t be bothered. When they finished, Paco shoved the barrel of his Peacemaker in my neck and demanded five hundred dollars for killin’ Stoudenmire.”
“What’d you do?”
“I told him to go to hell. He crammed the barrel harder into my neck and pulled the hammer back. He meant business—he said he was gonna kill me. So I dug my money bag up out behind the cabin and gave him five hundred dollars. He said he wanted it all. He laughed a real nasty kind of laugh and snatched the bag right outta my hand and cleaned it out. It had my life savings in there, over a thousand dollars. Then he and Arturo rode off. They had their money—they were headin’ home.”
“Why that rotten—”
Buck interrupted. “Hell, George, what’d ya expect from a man like Delgado?”
George’s brow furrowed as he bent over and unlocked a desk drawer. He pulled out a metal box, popped the lid up and began rustling around inside. He pulled out a stack of cash and peeled off a thousand dollars, tossing it on the desk in front of Buck. “Here’s your money. Now head on out to your place and lay low for a few days. I’ll have Sheriff Cook clear things up.”
Buck pushed up from the chair, grabbed the cash from the desktop and headed for the door.
“Hold on a second, Buck.”
Edgy, Buck stopped by the large oak door with his back to Stanton. His hand hung over his six gun.
“I saw Stoudenmire’s horse at the doc’s tonight. Sure he’s dead?”
“Hell yes! We filled ‘im full a lead. He has to be dead!” Buck pushed through the door and hurried out.
- - - - -
“We thought something was wrong. We shoulda warned him,” Cliff lamented as he paced back and forth in Doc Harper’s waiting room.
“Quit beatin’ yourself up, Cliff. He was on that palomino before we had a chance to do anything,” Malone barked.
“Jack’s right, Cliff,” Ned said. “Jon heard a friend was in trouble and hightailed it out of there before we knew what was going on.”
“They been in there forever,” Cliff said anxiously as he plopped down in a small leather chair. He smiled and looked over at the other boys. “This is the first time I ever slept all night in a doctor’s office.”
“Same here,” a heavily-bearded Sloan replied.
Just then the door to Doc’s office creaked open. His stethoscope dangled on his chest as he stepped out to address the men. He was somber as the door clicked shut behind him; he seemed distracted.
Glad to see the doc, Cliff spoke up. “What the hell’s goin’ on, Doc? Tell us something!” he barked at the quiet man.
“Sorry, Cliff. I was deep in thought.”
Cliff squirmed in his chair.
The doc’s eyes, dark from exhaustion, looked over at the miner. “They hit him three times. One nicked his left arm, and I dug one outta his rib cage, and he took one in the back of his leg. And he’s got a gash on his head from the fall into the rocks, and—”
“Okay, okay, Doc, but is he gonna make it?” Cliff blinked nervously, waiting for Doc’s reply.
“Well, I got all the lead out of him, and none of the bullets hit any vital organs, but he’s lost a lot of blood. And then there’s that bump on his head. I’ll have to keep an eye on him for a possible concussion. There’s always the chance of infection, and—”
Suddenly, the door to Doc’s office fell open. Jon stepped out and gently closed the door behind him. “Howdy, boys. Fancy meetin’ you here.”
“Now Jon, you’re in no—”
The big gunman interrupted. “Doc, you dug a bucket full of lead outta me, and I truly appreciate it, but I haven’t got time to lay around here. Me and the boys here got us some business to take care of. I hope you don’t mind, Doc, but I helped myself to one of those shirts you said you keep in your closet for folks like me. I’m surprised you had my size.” Jon grinned at the incredulous doctor. “I left twenty dollars on the table. Hope it’s enough.”
“Why....uh, yes....uh, that should be plenty, but you just listen to me, Jon Stoudenmire! I’m not going to be responsible for—”
Jon patted the doctor on the back. “Don’t worry, Doc—I won’t hold ya liable if I die,” Jon laughed as he glanced around the room at the other men. “Let’s go, boys.”
Jon fanned his hat toward the door as the men rushed out. Trailing the others, Jon turned and grinned at the doc. “Thanks again.” He ignored Doc’s pleadings as the door clicked shut.
Spurs jingled as the boys jumped down from the boardwalk.
“You sure you’re okay?” Cliff asked.
“I’m a little weak all right, but I’ll be fine. Like I told the doc, I don’t have the luxury of laying around for a couple of days—we got us some men to kill.”
“Glad you’re up and around, partner. We all been worried about ya, especially Cliff,” Malone exclaimed.
Jon grinned at his embarrassed cousin. “Thanks,” he said quietly. His expression changed. “Any of ya have an idea on where Delgado and the boys went?”
Ned spoke up. “When they saw us come over that hill, they turned tail and ran. They were duckin’ bullets as they rode into the stream. I gave chase for a while and then gave up. I think we hit one or two of ‘em.”
“What’s out that way?”
“There’s one whale of a woods on the west side of the stream. It goes on and on,” Sloan replied. “They probably ducked in that—”
Coming out of deep thought, Cliff interrupted his friend. “Sorry, Ned, but I think I know something that would help us.”
“Is that so? Well, let’s have it,” Jon said.
“One day me and a couple of the boys decided to take a day off from mining and do a little bobcat huntin’. The cats had been killin’ chickens and other small livestock, so we decided to try and take out a couple of ’em. We stopped by the hardware, stocked up on cartridges and headed out west of town. It wasn’t long before we reached the stream near where Jon got bushwhacked. It had been a little dry, so we thought the cats might be hanging out near the water. After ridin’ the stream for a while, we hadn’t seen anything, so we decided to look for the nasty varmints deeper in the woods. We found a path out of the creek and rode further into the forest. There was evidence of prints, so we rode a while longer. After a while, a clearing appeared up ahead. When I looked down in the valley, I saw Buck Johnson choppin’ wood up next to a log cabin. I figured he must have a lady friend that lived there or somethin’—I never gave it much thought til now. I’ll bet ya that’s where they were headin’.”
“Can you find that clearing again?” Jon shot back.
“I think so. Ya just follow the stream until ya see a large oak tree hangin’ out over the water. The path through the woods is just on the other side of that ugly oak tree. Once we find that path you just follow it to the clearing.”
“Lead the way,” Jon ordered.
Cliff’s painted sorrel leapt forward to the front of the group; the others fell in behind. The men rode hard and fast to the edge of town and down the same trail they were on the day before. Water splashed as the men charged into the stream and raced through the shallow water. Still leading, Cliff suddenly pulled up.
“There it is,” he shouted.
The men looked ahead. “You’re right, partner—that’s one ugly tree,” Sloan exclaimed.
Cliff ducked under a long, gnarly limb hanging out over the water and climbed up the steep bank on the other side. He glanced down at the hoof prints as he plunged into the dark woods; the others were in close pursuit. After winding their way through the thick, dense forest for over an hour, Cliff reined up. Jon pulled up next to him.
“Might help to take a look at these tracks.” Cliff nodded toward the path.
It was a wide part of the trail and full of tracks. Jon carefully dismounted, still favoring his injured right leg. He leaned over and limped back and forth, examining the numerous hoof prints on the trail.
“There are two sets of tracks that are always together—looks like one of the men is leading a horse. You boys must have killed one of them. I think this horse is carrying a dead body.” Jon stepped across the dusty trail. “There are blood spots over here, away from the others. Looks like one of the other men could be badly hurt or dead.” He glanced up at Ned. “You boys hit a couple of ’em all right. Good work.”
Ned shook his head. “Two down and four to go.”
“Let’s ride,” Cliff admonished. “I think we’re getting close.”
Pushing the thick brush to the side, the men charged on. A short distance ahead they dropped down into a small ravine. They struggled up the steep bank on the other side and bolted forward. All of a sudden Cliff’s hand shot up. “Gather ‘round,” he said. The others watched as he pulled back on the leafy limbs of a black maple hanging in front of him for a better view.
The men moved up around Cliff and gawked at the scene below.
“Nice place,” Jon whispered as he motioned for the others to lean in. “Can’t see anybody around. Looks deserted down there right now. But it could be a trick—they could have hidden their horses in case somebody showed up, so we gotta be careful. It’s wide open between here and the cabin.” Jon quickly examined the periphery of the clearing. “And I can’t see another entry into this dale anywhere.” He drew his Colt. “Pull iron, men. We’re going in. Spread out behind me as soon as we hit the basin.”
Jon’s big palomino jumped down the hill and sprang into the opening. Six gun held high, Jon glanced left and right as the men spread out behind him. Mud splattered up from the grassy basin as the men raced forward. Jon and Cliff charged straight for the cabin; the others fanned out and headed for the other buildings. Jon grabbed his leg and grimaced in pain as he dismounted and hit the ground. The two men burst forward; Cliff kicked open the wooden door. Jon pushed past him and charged in, hammer cocked. He kicked a couple of chairs to the side and scanned the room. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. His leg was throbbing. He nodded at the two open doors at the other end of the room. Cliff hurried over, pistol in hand, and quickly examined the rooms.
“They’re both empty,” he shouted.
Jon walked around the kitchen area. “The cabinet doors are open, and the flour and most of the canned goods are gone. Looks like they left in a hurry. Let’s go outside.” Sloan was just approaching the cabin.
“The gate was open, and all of the horses and the buck wagon are gone from the corral. Looks like they hightailed it outta here,” Sloan said.
“They probably buried their dead somewhere around here and took off. Delgado’s well on his way to Mexico by now.” Jon shook his head. “Not sure where in the hell Johnson went.”
“Buck’s no dummy. Six horses leave a lot of tracks. He probably wanted to get as far away from here as he could,” Malone groused.
Jon frowned as he spit on the ground. “I’d love to go after those snakes. I want a piece of Delgado in the worst way, but they’ve got a day’s head start on us, and we got us a bigger fish to fry right now.”
“You’re right, Jon, but it ain’t gonna be easy,” Cliff said. “Stanton’s got an alibi. Attorney Smith came down to Doc’s this morning to check on you and told us that he heard that Stanton and his boys were down at the Dead End last night, and they never left.”
“Hmmm…that George is no dummy,” Jon replied. “Let’s go have a drink and figure out how to smoke that snake out of his hole.” Jon spun around, mounted up and raced back across the grassy vale toward El Cabrera.
- - - - -
The men garnered a few stares from curious townsfolk as they rode slowly into town. Tired and hot, they tied down and hopped up the steps in front of the Dead End. Ned pushed through the swinging doors, leading the way. It got suddenly quiet inside the bawdy saloon; the gamblers stopped and watched as the hard men strolled in. There were gasps as Jon came into view. With a tuft of black hair protruding from the bandages on his forehead, he limped slightly as he walked to his favorite corner table. Jon bumped several chairs out of the way, pushed to the back of the table and sat down. The others joined him. Jake hurried over to take their orders.
“What’s everybody starin’ at?” an uneasy Jon asked.
“Hell, the rumor is that you’re dead! Pedro was in earlier, telling everybody that you got bushwhacked by some strangers on the edge of town. No big deal, for thunder’s sake!” Jake bawled.
“Well, I’m not dead, so will you please tell everyone to quit starin’ at me?”
“I’ll try, Jon, but it’s not going to be easy. It’s like we’ve all just seen a ghost or something. By the way, I’m kinda glad Pedro was wrong!” The bartender beamed.
“Kinda?” Jon hollered; a big grin broke out on his face.
The other boys laughed heartily.
Red-faced, Jake turned to address the crowd. “Jon’s alive as you can plainly see, so let the man drink in peace!” The surprised patrons shook their heads, muffled voices could be heard throughout the saloon. A few of the gamblers raised their beer mugs toward the popular men. The spinning sounds of the roulette wheel and shouts from the faro dealers soon filled the air.
Back at the table, Jake was taking orders. “Okay, fellas, are you having the usual?”
“Yep, but give Jon a double shot,” Cliff ordered.
“Ya took the words right out of my mouth, cus.” Jon’s brow furrowed as he made eye contact with each of the men. “I don’t know how to thank you boys for savin’ me and then waitin’ up all night and all.”
“You owe us big time,” Cliff joked, not wanting things to get too sentimental.
“That’s for sure,” Jon laughed. His expression changed as he began to talk of Stanton and the boys. “We got us a couple of big problems, fellas. Stanton’s got an alibi, and he’s got the sheriff in his back pocket.”
“Well, maybe not anymore.” Malone jumped in the conversation.
Surprised by the sudden announcement, Jon glanced left at the former lawman.
“I been meaning to tell ya, but…uh, we’ve been so busy and such. I just…”
“It’s okay, Jack. Just spit it out,” Jon growled.
“Well, one of the boys out at the mines came up to me yesterday with some interesting information. He said one of the miners saw Dave Barton shoot old Curly Harmon in the back of the head the other day. Says he’s ready to spill the beans.”
“You don’t say!”
“Yeah, and there’s one more thing. He says there was a man with Dave, and he was wearin’ a badge. Says it was Sheriff Cook.”
“Well, I’ll be, if that don’t beat all!” Jon laughed out loud.
“Yeah, and I went and talked to the miner myself. He said he was sorry he didn’t come forth sooner, but he was afraid for his family. Says his family packed up and went back to Missouri, so now he’s ready to talk. His name’s Cal Joiner.”
“Best news I heard in a while, Jack. Lunch is on me!” Jon raised his glass to the others. There were smiles all around as the men downed their shots.
- - - - -
“Who is it?” Stanton barked, annoyed at being interrupted by the loud knock on his office door.
“It’s me, Cook!”
“Door’s open. Come on in.”
The heavy oak door swung open, and Cook rushed in. “He’s alive, George, he’s alive!”
“He’s what?” George screamed, his face flushed with anger. George was beside himself; Cook was confirming his worst fears. The man he so loathed and despised was still alive.
“He just walked into the Dead End with Stone, Malone, and Sloan. I slipped out and rode down here to tell ya. He’s got a bandage on his head, but he’s alive and kickin’.”
“Damn! And I just gave Johnson a thousand dollars.” George pushed back from the desk, jumped up and began pacing. “That’s just dandy. Stoudenmire’s going to be madder than a hornet now, and he’ll be coming after me. You can bet your house on that. We have to do something.”
“Yeah, I know, but what?” Cook replied.
George frowned. “Hell, you’re the law around here, Cook. Think of something!”
“I can’t arrest a man for being shot, George!” Cook shouted.
George stormed over to the jumpy sheriff. Their faces were only inches apart. “I pay you very well, Sheriff Cook, and you’re in this mess around here up to your eyeballs. So for your own sake you better think of something, pronto!” George glared angrily.
Cook’s head dropped to the side; he stepped back. “Okay, okay, George. Just calm down a little.”
“You heard me!”
Cook walked over to the window on the east wall. He pulled back the curtain as if looking outside, while actually he was buying time. Giving himself a chance to think.
“Well?” George yelled.
Cook sighed as he turned away from the window. “Stoudenmire’s shot down two men in cold blood, and there’s been nothin’ but trouble ever since he arrived in El Cabrera. I will inform him that I consider him a menace to our fine community and that I want him out of town by sundown. If he refuses, I will arrest him for disturbing the peace and refusing the order of an officer of the court. It will never hold up in court, but he can’t make bail until the district judge arrives in two weeks. So he’ll be out of your hair.”
“Hmmm…sounds good. That way he either leaves town or we got him in jail.” George rubbed his chin. “Then I can bring in some more guns, chase off Stone and the others and we’re back in business.”
A nervous grin broke out on Cook’s face.
George dropped down in the soft leather chair. “Good plan, Sheriff, good plan. Now go find Stoudenmire and give him the news, pronto.”
Not anxious to implement his new plan, a reluctant Cook turned and hurried out.