Five

 

Zach Medford looked at his reflection in the cracked mirror hung on the wall of the hotel room. He smoothed back his long, stringy blond hair with his hands and yawned. He hadn’t slept well the previous night. The two brawls that broke out in the street and having a saloon gal up for a couple of hours had cut deep into his slumber. It was still early morning, and he would have liked to stay in bed, but he had important business to tend to there in the town of Junto, Mexico. That was the trouble with cattle rustling. Once you got the cows, the effort at stealing them wasn’t worth shucks until they were sold off.

Zach picked up his hat and set it on his head before stepping out into the narrow, musty-smelling hall. He went past a couple of doors to another room. He made an abrupt and unannounced entrance.

“Dan!”

Dan Fenton lay sleeping on top of the covers of his bed. He wore a pair of sweat-stained, faded red long-johns. The sound of Zach’s voice resulted in nothing more than a couple of extra snorts as Fenton snored away.

Zach walked over and grabbed one side of the bed, lifting it up to send the straw mattress, dirty blankets, and the occupant rolling to the floor next to the wall.

“What the hell?” Dan struggled to his knees and looked across the tipped-over bed in sleepy bewilderment. “Goddamn, Zach! How come you went and did that?”

“To get that lazy ass of yours up and moving,” Zach said. “The boys out there with the herd are wide awake. I’m walking around. So you get to your feet and start moving.”

“It’s kinda hard to move around being as how I’m pinned between the wall and this bed,” Fenton said. Then he added, “As any damn fool can plainly see.”

“Well, you and them bedbugs get up off’n the floor. We got business with Squint this morning.”

Fenton got dressed, yawning and complaining. “Squint ain’t gonna give you shit for that damn herd.”

“That Cherokee knows good cattle,” Zach said.

“That don’t mean nothing,” Fenton said pulling on his boots. “Them might be the best cattle in the world—or even the last on earth—but that don’t mean that Squint is gonna give us a good price.”

“If he don’t, there’s some Mexican ranchero who will,” Zach said. “That’s something else Squint knows. Particular where this herd is concerned. I keep telling you, you dumb bastard, these longhorns is special.”

“Squint’s always bellyaching about the trouble of getting rid of what we sell him,” Fenton pointed out. “Ain’t this here extry special herd gonna give him problems?”

“Don’t worry,” Zach assured him. “Squint’s got ways of running a rustled herd in with reg’lar cattle at special places.”

Fenton finished dressing. He followed Zach out the door and down the hall to the stairs. “From now on, let’s get big herds no matter what.”

They reached the bottom floor and walked over to the bar. The saloon was empty that time of the morning. “Anytime I run across a high-class bunch o’ longhorn breeders like that, I’m taking ’em,” Zach said. “I keep telling you the herds went downhill during the war. So there’s folks that claim to be honest that couldn’t pass up a deal like this if the price is right.”

They bellied up to the bar and ordered a bottle from the Mexican named Tomas, who worked there. Tomas served them. “Are any more of your boys gonna be coming in?”

“Nope. They’re out with the herd,” Zach answered Then he added, “Get us some frijoles and tortillas to munch on.”

The barkeep went to the door leading to a kitchen in the back of the place. He gave the order and came back. “I hear that Squint is in town,” Tomas said “He come to see you, no?”

“That’s right, Tomas,” Zach said. He took a swallow of the whiskey. “I figgered he’d have a real interest in them cattle I brought in.”

“I talked to some vaqueros, Zach,” Tomas said. He poured himself an eye-opener. “They tell me then cows you got are de primera close. First class. They think maybe their boss is gonna want to look at them.”

Zach shrugged. “If Squint don’t come across with a good price, I’ll talk to the señor.” He gave Dan Fenton a hard nudge in the ribs. “See?”

“Ow!” Fenton complained. “I never said they wasn’t no good, did I?”

The batwing doors swung open and Zach turned to see if the man he had an appointment with him shown up. He was disappointed. It was the Cajun kid who’d been hanging around town the previous few weeks. Zach nodded to him. “How’re you doing, Marcel?”

Marcel Palu was a short, stocky fourteen-year-old with dark hair that went well with his olive complexion. “I still need a job.” He spoke in a heavy accent, and sported a Walker Colt stuck in his belt.

Fenton laughed. “Well, we ain’t got one for you, you little bastard.”

“I ain’t talking to you,” Marcel said. “So maybe you shut up that mouth, eh?”

Fenton’s face flushed with anger. “I’ll show you who’s gonna shut up around here.” He stepped forward but Zach grabbed his arm.

Zach laughed. “You’d best be careful, Dan. I seen ol’ Marcel use that six-gun o’ his.”

Tomas added, “He shot a man right in here one night.”

“He pull the knife on me,” Marcel said.

Zach looked at Fenton. “I seen it with my own eyes too.”

“I ain’t backing off no kid!” Fenton hissed.

“I want you to leave him alone,” Zach said calmly.

Shaking with anger, Fenton looked into Zach’s cruel face. After a moment he took a deep breath and turned back to his drink.

Tomas gestured to the Cajun boy. “Quieres de-say uno, Marcel?”

Marcel grinned. “Damn seguro! I got hombre.”

“Okay,” Tomas said. “You take that broken table and them chairs out to the back, eh? Then sweep the porch and mop the floor in here and I give you breakfast.”

“Hey, muchas gracias,” Marcel said. He rushed to the task.

“It’s amazing the way that little shit picked up Spanish, ain’t it?” Zach remarked.

“He speak the French,” Tomas said. “But since he come to Junto, he be talking much English too. Sometimes he mix ’em up.”

Dan Fenton was still shaking with anger when their food was brought to them. He ate with short, impatient bites as he consumed the simple breakfast.

Zach, eating slower, glanced over at his companion. “You’re really riled, ain’t you?”

“I got it in for that snot-nosed kid,” Fenton said. “Nobody tells me to shut up.”

“I do. All the time.”

Fenton took a bite of tortilla. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t want no trouble in here,” Zach said. “Marcel has a few fellers around here that treat him like a kid brother. If you beat him up, then they’d make trouble over it. I don’t want no problems while we still got this deal to make. Understand?”

“Mmmf,” Fenton grunted.

“Do you understand me?”

“Yeah, I understand, Zach,” Fenton said. “But when we’re finished, I’m gonna get that little shitass.”

“That makes no never mind with me,” Zach said. “You just wait, that’s all. Maybe I’ll give him a coupla licks myself. I don’t like him no better’n you do.”

The door opened again. This time it was the man Zach was waiting for. Squint Tallislaw, with two pistoleros, came into the saloon. He wasn’t a man who liked to waste time. He waved at Zach. “Let’s get a table.”

“Sure,” Zach said. He gestured to the empty barroom. “Be my guest.”

Tallislaw went to one where he could keep his back to the wall. His two companions spread out, each sitting down where they could see—and cover—the entire room.

Zach sat down across from him, offering his hand. “Nice to see you again, Squint.”

“Same here.” He waved up at the bar. “Tomas, bring us some tequila and glasses.”

Squint Tallislaw was half-Cherokee and half-black. His mother had been a slave to his father, a farmer up in the Indian nations where the Five Civilized Tribes lived in the vast lands on the west side of the river from the state of Arkansas. That was before they’d taken up the Confederate side of the late conflict. As slaveholders, they didn’t think Abe Lincoln had much to offer them.

Squint had gotten his nickname from a birth defect that caused his left eye to be permanently closed. He didn’t object to it. If he had, few men would have dared address him in that manner.

Tomas set the liquor and glassware on the table. “We got a fresh pot o’ beans,” he said. “We can fry ’em up quick for you. And get some tortillas too. Good Mexican breakfast.”

“I already ate, Tomas, thanks,” Squint said.

As Tomas went back to the bar, Zach started to speak. But the boy Marcel Palu walked past him with a broom. The outlaw grabbed the kid hard, pulling him to him. “You listen to me, you little Cajun asshole! You don’t mouth off to my boys, understand? You mouth off to them, you mouth off to me.”

“Hey! Let me go of my arm!” Marcel protested trying to wiggle free.

“You’re just dying to have me kick your ass, ain’t you?” Zach asked.

“I ain’t done something to you,” Marcel protested.

“We’ll settle your hash later,” Zach said. “I just want you to know you ain’t getting away with nothing. Now get on with your business.” He gave the boy a shove, almost making him fall down.

Marcel held onto the broom, staring in blazing hatred at the man who had threatened him. For one wild moment he thought of going for his pistol, but he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance. Fourteen-year-old Marcel had seen more than one man either die on that same barroom floor or fall to it already dead.

Zach turned back to Squint Tallislaw. “Now let’s you and me talk business.”

“I already took a look at them cattle,” Squint said.

“What’d you think?” Zach asked.

Squint shrugged. “Nothing special. I don’t even know if I could use ’em.”

“You know damn well that’s a good bunch o’ breeders,” Zach said grinning. “But if you really ain’t interested, I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” Squint said. “I just don’t know if I could make a deal on the other side o’ the border.”

“That’s too bad,” Zach said. “If you can’t, I’ll do business with that herd on this side. Them’s top notch longhorns, Squint. And you know it.”

Squint thoughtfully toyed with his glass. He knew the worth of the stolen herd without Zach Medford pointing it out to him. He also knew that any Mexican rancher would be glad to get his hands on the cattle. Squint took a drink then said, “I’ll pay out five dollars a head.”

Zach smiled slightly and slowly shook his head. “The latest price at Indianola is anywhere from twelve to eighteen dollars a head.”

“Well, these here cattle ain’t in Indianola – yet, are they?” Squint remarked. “They got to be took there. That’s an expense. Six dollars a head.”

Zach poured himself a drink. “I think you’re forgetting that this here herd ain’t gonna be driven nowhere. They’re gonna breed others that will. Fifty dollars a head.”

“Jesus!” Squint yelled out loud.

“That’s a thousand for the whole caboodle,” Zach said. “I already ciphered it out.”

Squint Tallislaw kept his emotions under control. He looked at Zach with his one eye. “I ain’t giving you no thousand dollars for twenty-five head o’ cattle.”

“I’m right sorry to hear that, Squint,” Zach said. “I always liked doing business with you. I reckon I’ll put out the word to some o’ the rancheros here abouts.”

Squint took a drink. He realized that Zach had a pretty good idea as to the true worth of the herd. He wiped his mouth, “I’m gonna have to send off for some cash money.”

“How long will that take?” Zach asked.

“A week,” Squint said.

Zach offered his hand. “It’s a deal, Squint.”

Squint shook hands knowing that he would get almost twice that much up in northern Texas through his broker connections. That was something Zach didn’t know. Rustling cattle and keeping with the latest market were two entirely different things. Texas cattlemen were already beginning drives north through the Indian Territory to get their herds to the railheads at such new and blossoming places as Dodge City, Wichita, and Abilene up in Kansas. That breeding herd’s value was growing daily.

Zach got up and went back to the bar. He grinned at Dan Fenton while pouring himself a drink from their bottle.

“Ain’t you a happy one?” Fenton remarked.

“Yeah. I got that thousand dollars I was after,” he said. “That’s a hunnerd and fifty each for you, Ed, George, and Ted,” he remarked.

“What’re you getting?” Fenton asked.

“Can’t you figger it out?”

“You know I can’t!” Fenton said angrily.

“Well, I ain’t making no secret out of it,” Zach said. “That leaves four hunnerd for me. He looked into Fenton’s eyes. “Any objections?”

“We never howled about your bigger cuts,” Fenton said. “We know you figger these things out for us, Zach. So you should get extry.”

“Let’s get out to the herd,” Zach said. He finished the drink and walked to the batwing doors with Fenton right behind him. When they stepped out onto the porch, they saw the Cajun boy Marcel Palu sweeping. The kid looked at them in dull-eyed hatred. Fenton said. “I’m gonna get that little bastard.” Zach slapped Fenton on the shoulder in a friendly manner. “As soon as this deal is made you can do what you want to the little bastard.” He grinned. “All I ask is that you let me watch.”

The two headed for the livery stable to get their horses.