Slocum watched as Hack saddled up his horse and placed a sack of hardtack and beef jerky in one of the saddlebags.
Moments later, he watched as Hack rode down Second Street and turned the corner, headed out of town.
He walked back behind the log huts and saw two Mexicans in a wagon at the back of the hotel.
One of the men stood in the bed, while the other sat on the seat, holding the reins for the two horses in his hands.
“Andale, Paco,” the man in the driver’s seat called out.
Paco lifted three or four carbines and restacked them in the wagon bed. He cursed in Spanish and then lifted more rifles and placed them with the others.
Slocum figured the wagon was full of rifles, and he saw what looked like ammunition boxes stacked near the front of the bed.
“These guns are all loose back here,” Paco said in Spanish, which Slocum understood.
“Hurry up,” the driver said.
“Ruben, you son of bad milk,” Paco said, “you could help. These rifles will break if I do not stack them tight.”
Slocum now knew the names of the two Mexicans. But why so many rifles? Where were they taking them? And so much ammunition, too.
He had a good idea as Paco finished snugging down the carbines and climbed onto the buckboard seat.
He watched the wagon rumble off and turn toward Main Street.
One thing was for sure—those rifles were not going into the valley, but into the Arizona desert.
He thought of the smoke signals.
His stomach sank.
Those rifles and ammunition boxes could be going to only one place.
Somewhere, among the buttes and mesas of the desert, the Apaches were gathering. They were going to get Spencer repeating carbines, courtesy of one Orson Canby.
The thought made Slocum wince.
There could be only one reason why Canby would supply the Apaches with arms and ammunition.
He wanted them to raid the valley and slaughter all the miners and prospectors.
Then he would have the town to himself and could lay claim to all the mines.
Diabolical, Slocum thought.
Then, as the sound of the wagon faded away, Slocum had another thought.
Canby would have to give a signal to the raiding Apaches and then get the hell out of town.
That was the only way he could escape the carnage.
A plan began to form in Slocum’s mind. There was a way to beat Canby and fend off the Apaches. He was sure of it.
For now, he had time to think it all through and prepare for what was bound to happen in Deadfall.
He stepped across the street and saw the back doors of the Wild Horse Saloon. There was a loading dock with steps on both sides.
He could hear the Mexican band playing a lively tune.
He climbed the steps and stood by the back doors for a few minutes.
Then he pulled on the handle of one door.
It opened.
Slocum slipped inside the back room like a shadow and waited.
He saw a young man silhouetted against the lamplight streaming down the hallway from the main hall. Then the man disappeared and the way was clear.
Slocum walked to the entrance to the dance hall and stepped out.
He saw an empty table nearby and sat down at it, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light.
He looked around.
Nobody had noticed him.
Then he saw Renata gliding between tables where men were seated with mugs of beer in front of them. More movement caught his eye and he turned his head slowly and removed his hat.
He placed his hat on the chair next to him.
Now, he thought, he might not be so conspicuous.
A young Mexican dressed in a skimpy glitter gal costume noticed him and walked over, a tray in her hands.
“Sir, I did not see you. May I serve you something?”
“Bring me a beer,” Slocum said.
She smiled and curtsied, then turned around.
In another part of the saloon, Slocum caught sight of Bonnie. She was walking toward him with an empty tray, but she pretended not to notice him.
Moments later, Bonnie stood in front of him.
“John,” she whispered, “what are you doing here? Don’t you know that Canby’s men are looking all over for you?”
“I just wanted to see how you and Renata are doing,” he said quietly.
“We—we feel like prisoners. Marlene, that woman sitting over there with a bunch of men, makes us take these smelly men up to our rooms and—”
“I get the idea,” Slocum said. “You’re unhappy, then.”
“Yes. Very,” she said.
Slocum looked over at the table where Marlene sat surrounded by garrulous men.
“I have to go, John,” Bonnie said. “You’d better go, too, before Canby’s men find you.”
Bonnie walked away and headed for the bar.
The Mexican girl came back with a glass of beer on a tray.
“One dime,” she said.
Slocum gave her a two-bit piece. She thanked him, then walked away with her empty tray.
Across the room, the woman he took to be Marlene looked over at him.
Slocum lifted the mug to his lips and drank. Then he hoisted the glass a few inches and looked at Marlene.
He smiled.
Marlene smiled back, then arose from the table. He saw her lean down and bid the men farewell.
She headed straight for his table, slinky and curvaceous in her black satin gown with its low-cut bodice. Her earrings dangled and sparkled with light from the saloon lamps.
The band played on as Marlene approached Slocum at his table.