By the following morning it had stopped raining in Yaqui, but there was still heavy cloud cover that kept the sun from showing through and drying up some of the wetness.
After a quick breakfast of eggs and ham, Virgil and I loaded our horses and boarded the train for Las Vegas. We left the young deputies, Hart and Flower, in Yaqui. They were both eager lawmen and good at their jobs, but Virgil figured both to be more of a liability than an asset for the job at hand.
The train ride from Yaqui to Las Vegas was a pleasant journey, and by midday the clouds had separated some and the sun offered up a welcoming appearance.
When we arrived in Las Vegas the sun was out and the wet landscape was drying up quickly. We did not bother to enter the streets of the town so that we could make it to the Montezuma by dark. We mounted up at the depot and rode straightaway to the hotel, and arrived about an hour before dark.
The hotel was a spectacular structure. Virgil and I had been to the hotel before, just after it was built, but had not seen the place in years. It was elaborately constructed with stone blocks and fancy woodwork inside and out and from top to bottom. The entrance of the hotel had a dome and spire that was more than five stories high. There were three restaurants, a number of bars, and hot-springs bathhouses built on the back side of the hotel, where guests soaked away their aches and pains. It was by far the nicest, most lavish hotel in the entire western expanse.
We were not sure just how long we would be in the Montezuma, so we did not stable our horses but left them saddled and looked after by the stable hands. We asked the hands if they had noticed three men come in that stood out in the manner of being less put together than what they’d expect of doctors and such. All of the stable hands said they’d not seen anyone who met that description.
We entered the hotel at just about sunset, as the evening light came through the celestial stained-glass windows high above the central atrium, scattering a kaleidoscope of colorful rays in every direction.
The central area under the atrium dome was filled with separate seating areas where numerous well-dressed guests sat visiting and sipping tea. The sound of the cups on saucers and the voices echoing under the great expanse resonated with an odd loudness that was the opposite of pleasant.
“You feeling what I’m feeling?” I said.
“We stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Yep.”
“Don’t see anybody staring at us yet, though.”
“Not as of yet, no,” Virgil said. “I don’t, either.”
“Matter of time.”
“Well, there is one thing for certain,” I said. “If they’re here, in this place of all places on high, there is a good chance they’d have to have got some clothes.”
Virgil nodded.
“You’d think,” he said.
“But then you have to think, how the fuck would three dumb-ass no-good hardened criminals even have an inkling of an idea how to function in an environment like this in the first place, clothes or no clothes.”
“Ravenscroft is a lowlife and mean,” Virgil said. “And no good, but he was a town member before he got to killing people and got his ass in a sling.”
I nodded a little, thinking about that.
“Well, without some refinement they’d stick out like a cete of badgers amongst this gaggle of geese.”
“They would,” Virgil said.
“Hell,” I said. “The idea of them just walking across this polished floor would be enough to cause concern.”
We just stood and watched and listened for a moment before we made a move.
“Since we got no real idea of what to do exactly,” I said, “or where to go, I figure we check out the most obvious possibilities first.”
Virgil nodded.
“Whiskey,” Virgil said.
“Yep,” I said. “Don’t think we’d find them among this bunch sipping tea.”
“No,” Virgil said. “I don’t, either.”
Virgil looked over to the front desk.
“Maybe we have a visit with the man in charge first,” Virgil said. “Gotta be a man in charge.”
We walked toward the long, wide desk, where a well-dressed woman and two men wearing matching vests were helping a handful of guests.
The woman was the first to look to us, and she came over to where we were standing. She was a nice-looking dark-haired woman with even darker eyes. She walked with her shoulders back and her head held high, as if she were in charge.
“Good evening, gentlemen, and welcome to the Montezuma Hotel. How can I be of service?”
I smiled and I tipped my hat, then Virgil ever so slightly showed his badge as he said quietly, “I’m Marshal Virgil Cole. This is Deputy Marshal Hitch and we would like to have a talk with the person in charge of this outfit.”
Her eyes worked back and forth between us, and then she nodded. She walked out from around the counter and smiled.
“Right this way,” she said.
We followed her as she walked across the polished floor toward a set of double doors off the main atrium. Above the doors was a sign: STATE ROOM. She stopped just before the door and turned to us.
“I’m not allowed inside,” she said as she opened the door, “but you will find Mr. Havenhurst sitting back there on the side of the bar, having his dinner.”
“Thank you,” Virgil said.
“My pleasure,” she said.
I smiled at her and entered behind Virgil, and the door closed after me.
It was a dark room with a low ceiling, and it was full of cigar smoke. Scattered throughout were a lot of men sitting on stuffed wingback chairs and couches. At the far end of the room there was a long bar with a mirror that extended the length of the bar, making the room appear to be twice its size. Virgil and I weaved between the tables and chairs and walked up to the bar. We were met by a heavyset bartender with arms the size of hams. He had slicked-back graying hair and was stuffed into a formal black suit with a white starched shirt and a silk tie.
“May I help you?” he said in a deep voice.
Then we saw him, a tall, slender man with white hair. He was sitting off to the side of the bar with a napkin tucked over the collar of his shirt, sipping soup from a large spoon.
“Mr. Havenhurst?” Virgil said.
He lowered his spoon into the soup bowl and shifted his eyes between Virgil and me.
“Yes?” he said.
Virgil and I moved down the bar toward him and Virgil showed his badge.
“I’m Marshal Virgil Cole and this here is Deputy Marshal Everett Hitch and we are looking for three men. We believe they could be here at your hotel.”
“I see,” he said. “And I assume these men you are looking for are wanted men?”
“They are,” Virgil said.
“We will do what we can to assist you.”
“Pardon me,” the big heavyset bartender said, interrupting as he held up his hand like a schoolboy, then looked to Mr. Havenhurst.
“Sir, I believe I know exactly who they are looking for.”