As far as Pete was concerned, being in the company of his fellow human beings wasn’t nearly as beneficial as everyone else seemed to think. If he had things his way, his days would all rush past him in a furious gust of wind and the thunder of a horse’s hooves beating against the ground. When he didn’t have to concern himself with things like another person’s well-being or the letter of the law, everything just became clearer.
Not all folks were cut out for living in the hills or forging new paths across an untamed land. Those were the folks who needed to keep to their towns and lock themselves away behind their walls. As he rode over the rough terrain, watching for any flaw in the ground before him that could send him flying from his saddle, Pete wore a cruel grin at the notion of tenderfeet trying to survive in his world.
Out there, miles from civilized niceties, was most definitely Pete Meyer’s world. Anyone who couldn’t read every last sign given by the grain of the earth or the creatures dwelling there was headed for a swift and painful end. For those folks, there was no practical way to find a bloodthirsty animal like Dog Ear Pescaterro until he showed himself in his own terrible way. All Pete had to do was keep his nose to the wind and his eyes open wide. Sooner or later, even the deadliest predators stepped where they shouldn’t. Bear, wolf or man, it made no difference. They all made mistakes.
For the next day’s ride, Pete reveled in his element and tore through Missouri like the last plate of Nate Sathow’s cooking had ripped through his innards. With nobody else to guide through the mess of Missouri’s backwoods, he traversed a route that barely qualified as a trail. Since Pescaterro would have needed to be a miracle worker to bring a wagon through there, Pete didn’t even need to concern himself with tracking the outlaw. His only task was to move swiftly, and he fulfilled that purpose with true tenacity. By late morning of the following day, he’d made even more progress than he could have hoped.
A simple breakfast of cold oatmeal and jerked venison kept him going for the rest of the ride. Before he could even think about supper, he caught sight of a small cluster of men huddled around a crook in a stream. Pete skirted the men’s position, getting close enough to tell they were panning in the water. Not much farther along, Pete met up with the proper trail leading toward the mining camp. He was so far ahead of schedule that he didn’t bother looking to see if Frank was there or not. If the preacher had beat him to that camp, Pete would gladly pick up a shovel and join the miners in a new line of work.
The camp was less than a mile away. Once his horse slowed to a walk and the wind in his face had dwindled down to a hot, sticky breeze, Pete wished he could look over to Frank and nod for the preacher to take over from there. But Frank was still somewhere in the dust behind him, and Pete needed to do some scouting of a different sort, which involved talking to folks and getting a few answers. It wasn’t anything new to him and neither was the sour expression that settled onto his face as he climbed down from his saddle to lead his horse through camp.
The first place he went was the corral where he, Nate and the others had put up their horses during their last stop there. He handed over his reins to the same man who’d been there before and gave him enough money to pay for a feed bag and some clean water. Holding out a bit more cash, Pete asked, “You seen the other men that were with me the last time?”
“Oh yeah,” the stableman replied. “There was another one, sure enough. Had a scar, I believe.”
“When did they leave?” Pete asked.
“Leave?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You’ve only got one horse here and I ain’t never seen it before. The loud one and the one with the scar probably left in the last few days. If you could narrow it down for me, I’d be obliged.”
Once a bit more money was dangled in front of him, the stableman asked, “What horses were they riding?”
Pete looked in the corral roped off in front of him. “I don’t see them. One should be a spotted gelding and the other’s a mule.”
“Right. They’re still here. I got ’em inside.”
“Inside?”
The stableman nodded over to a long tent set up nearby. All this time, Pete had written it off as a bath house or laundry because of all the puddles around it.
“I own that place as well,” the stableman said. “Use it to wash the horses and clean half the clothes in this camp.”
“At least I was half right,” Pete grumbled.
“Huh?”
“Forget it. You were paid to give my friends’ horses baths?”
“Nah. I also use that place for anyone who wants to rent a space for extended periods. That don’t happen very often since most folks who stay are workin’ here, and they can keep their own horses themselves.”
Now more than ever, Pete longed for the solitude of an open trail. “You’re not making this very easy on me,” he grumbled as he walked over to the long tent.
“What do you mean?” the stableman asked. “Where are you going? Hey! You ain’t allowed to just poke your nose in wherever you like!” Although he was more than willing to grouse about what Pete was doing, the stableman wasn’t about to get off his wide ass to do anything about it himself.
As the man outside continued to holler at him, Pete stepped into the long tent to have a look. The interior was divided into spaces the size of stalls for the horses, two of which were occupied. He was relieved to find the spotted gelding and mule he’d been after and was even happier that he didn’t have to continue talking in circles with the stableman. Unfortunately, there was just one more question that needed to be asked.
Once Pete had walked away from the tent that reeked of wet animals, he made his way back to the stableman. Obviously pleased with himself for some reason, the fat man folded his hands across his belly and looked up at Pete. “Sorry to speak so roughly to you,” he said. “A man’s got to protect his interests.”
“I understand,” Pete replied. “How long have the two men who own those animals been in camp?”
“Awhile.”
“Have they ever left?”
“No, but I expect they won’t be leaving anytime soon. Ever since Dale got ahold of one of ’em, that fella ain’t seen the light of day.”
Keeping his face an unreadable mask, Pete asked, “Who’s Dale?”
“Dale Chester. Him and Adam Ross act as regulators in this camp. Closest thing to law there is around here.”
“Where can I find them?”
“Dale only got one of your friends. The other one was fit to be tied when he came around to try and get the horses from me. Didn’t have any money on him, though. He was the one with the big mouth, so I guess that other fella with the scar you mentioned is the one in lockup. Ross keeps drunks and vagrants in the old smokehouse on the western edge of camp. There was some sort of commotion outside the Straight to the Eight, shooting and all. I imagine your friends were wrapped up in that somehow.”
“Much obliged,” Pete said with a tip of his hat.
“Hey!”
Turning around again, Pete expected any number of threats or boasts from the fat man who seemed to have grown roots into his chair. Instead, the stableman nodded up at him and asked, “You need a spot to put your horse up for the night?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Suit yourself.” With that, the stableman settled back into his blissful state of apathy.
On his way through camp, Pete went through the thick of the settlement, which included a saloon and some other large tent marked with red scarves fluttering from atop two of its posts. Having spotted the bar through the saloon’s wide front entrance, he went inside and rapped on the warped wooden surface.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“I hear there was some sort of commotion here not too long ago,” Pete said as he placed enough money on the bar to cover a drink and then some.
“Sure was,” the barkeep replied while scooping up the money. “What can I get you?”
“You can get me a beer and keep the change if you let me know what happened.”
“The two who were in that shooting. They friends of yours?”
Pete nodded once.
“Then you’ll be willing to pay a bit more to hear about what terrible bit of business befell them.”
“Or,” Pete offered, “I can consider it a kindness if you’d let me know what happened. In exchange, I’ll do you the kindness of not putting a match to this pile of kindling you call a bar.”
The barkeep was quick to offer a wide smile. “Kindness is a reward in itself, right? There was a fight or some such at the cathouse next door. Scared the hell out of the girls working there and part of the tent was knocked down. Dale got to him before anyone was hurt.”
Pete patted the bar and said, “Keep the beer and all the money,” even though the barkeep hadn’t made a move toward the tap. “What about the other one? My friend that wasn’t caught and dragged away.”
“The one with the big mouth?”
“That’s him.”
“Over yonder,” the barkeep replied while nodding toward the card tables.
When Deaugrey wasn’t acting like a fool, he didn’t stand out nearly as much. Still, it didn’t take long for Pete to spot him leaning over one of the tables with his back to the bar. Pete approached him, grabbed one of Deaugrey’s shoulders and gave him a shake as he leaned down to whisper, “You shouldn’t keep your back to the door like that, Grey.”
“I like surprises,” Deaugrey said.
“Where’s Nate?”
“Oh, that’s a hell of a story.”
“I already got most of it,” Pete said.
“Then why come and bother me?”
Tightening his grip on Deaugrey’s shoulder, Pete started to lift him from his chair. This wasn’t the first time Deaugrey was forcibly taken from one place to another, which meant he’d had plenty of practice in shaking himself loose. After a few quick twists of his body, he pulled free of Pete’s grip and turned to face him.
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Deaugrey snapped.
Pete gave a stern look to the rest of the players before they could object to the interruption of the game. “We got plenty to keep us busy so come along with me, crazy man, before I embarrass you in front of all your new friends.”
“If you’ve truly heard about our predicament, then you should be able to guess that we’re in need of as much money as we can get as quickly as we can get it.”
Admittedly, Deaugrey had a point. His case gained even more strength when Pete took into consideration the impressive stack of chips and cash in front of Deaugrey. Add that to the hopeful expressions that were starting to appear on the faces of the other players and Pete was certain Deaugrey’s luck was showing no hint of running out soon.
“How much longer?” Pete asked.
Settling into his seat and straightening his clothes, Deaugrey said, “It’s a game of ebbs and flows.” In a quick whisper, he added, “Two hours.”
Pete excused himself and headed for the bar. “What’s he been drinking?” he asked the tender.
“Whiskey. The cheap stuff.”
“Keep them coming,” Pete said as he placed some more cash onto the bar. “But start watering them down, you hear?”
In his experience, that was never a request a barkeep was unwilling to fulfill. So as not to disappoint him, this bartender smiled and reached for a bottle on the shelf behind him. It was one of the largest and least dusty in the entire place.
In the short amount of time that he’d been in the camp, Pete had gotten most of the answers he needed. He could get the remaining ones by simply doing what he did best. After leaving the Straight to the Eight, he went to the tent marked with red scarves and took a moment to have a gander. In a matter of seconds, a pretty young thing wrapped in nothing but a slip sauntered over to him and asked, “You look lonely, handsome. I can help with that.”
“I hear there was some trouble here recently.”
“Yes, but don’t worry about that,” the young woman replied with a dismissive wave. “Let me take care of you.”
“What’s your name?”
“Sadie.”
“Tell you what, Sadie. When I come back after collecting some money I’m owed, I’ll ask for you special.”
She winked and walked away to let him get to it.
Pete hadn’t asked where the trouble had been exactly because she’d told him enough by the direction she’d waved and glanced when he’d mentioned the commotion. Wandering outside to circle around to the side of the tent, Pete studied the ground carefully and blocked out everything else around him. It felt mighty good to get back to what he did best.