CHAPTER SIX

LARS JENSEN VAULTED into the saddle and turned his horse’s face to get out of Oasis. Before he had gone a hundred yards, he slowed and let the horse come to a halt. He had to feed and water the horse or it would die under him. He dared not let that happen. Without the map, Poke would shoot him. And without the horse, the deputy marshal would run him to ground before sundown.

He urged the horse in the direction of the feed mercantile. Around behind the store, he let the horse drink from a rain barrel. A fifty-pound sack of feed sat out where he could run a knife through the burlap. The grain spilled out. The horse perked up and abandoned the water in favor of eating the grain. Jensen put his hand down flat on the dock behind the feed store, spread his fingers and began moving the sharp tip between fingers, slowly at first and then with greater speed. The click-click-click drew the attention of the store owner.

“What are you doing? That’s not your feed. I set it aside special for Mr. Contreras. You owe me ten dollars!”

Jensen never slowed as he stuck the knife deeper and deeper into the wood with every stroke. When the owner came toward him, he flipped the knife around and drove it deep into the man’s thigh.

The owner let out a strangled cry of pain. “You stabbed me!”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t leave me alone. I might kill you even if you do because you annoy me.” Jensen wiped the blood from the blade, using the other man’s own pants leg. When the owner began limping away, Jensen lifted the knife and brought it down hard. The man spread his legs wide to keep from being stuck again.

“You just keep on feeding your horse, mister. You can have all the grain you want.” Clutching his bleeding leg, he dragged himself back to the doorway. Using the jamb, he pulled himself partially erect. Leg dragging, he fell through the door into his store. He slammed the door behind him.

Jensen chuckled when he heard a locking bar drop into place. That took care of another problem. His horse was fed and watered now. It had rested for a spell, so it was ready to hit the trail, only he couldn’t do that. Not yet.

Without the map he was a dead man. Poke wasn’t the kind to forgive and forget, not with a thousand dollars at stake. It was his brother’s fault all this had happened, but explaining that to him wouldn’t work too good. Poke had a fierce temper. After being locked up in Yuma for six months for another crime, he’d want to claim what was his from the payroll robbery that had been a complete disaster.

The best Jensen could tell, Poke’s partner in the robbery had been Barton Beeman. Poke had decoyed the cavalry patrol away, and Beeman had hidden the gold. Somewhere along the way, he’d been all shot up and was dying, so he drew the map for Poke. Rusty Rivera had come along and agreed to deliver the map. Whatever had happened to Rivera left him dead in the desert, the cowboy with the yellow bandanna taking the map and everything else before Jensen reached Rivera.

He had almost caught up with the cowboy while he had the map. But he had passed it along to somebody named Cooley. That was all he knew.

“Cooley. How many of them can there be in a nothing town like Oasis?”

He looked over his shoulder at the barred door. Chances were good the grain store owner knew this Cooley. Or he knew someone who could get Lars aimed in the right direction. Going around to the front of the store wasn’t high on the list of smart things to do, not with Deputy Gonzales prowling around.

Having the lawman on his trail was a stroke of bad luck. What he had done to get such a bird dog after him hardly mattered. Any of a half dozen crimes might have set Alberto Gonzales on the trail. Killing the lawman from ambush seemed the best way of eliminating the problem. But that would be like kicking a wasp nest. A half-dozen federal marshals would be set on his tail for such a crime, but so what? Dodging a dozen wasn’t that much harder than hiding from one dedicated marshal like Alberto Gonzales.

Lars Jensen checked his six-gun and made sure all six chambers were loaded. He usually rode with the hammer resting on an empty. The time had come to have the extra round. His eyebrows rose when he saw that there were three empties. He hadn’t reloaded after gunning down the cowboy with the flashy bandanna. Remedying this took a few seconds. The weight at his hip now felt good, right, ready to throw down on a federal deputy or . . .

“Cooley. That’s the name of the galoot who has the map.”

Jensen gathered up some spilled grain and wrapped it in the burlap. He slung this over his horse’s rump for feed later. Leading the horse back to the main street, he made a beeline for the Thirsty Camel. As much as he wanted another drink, he had a job to do, a man to find, and time was running away from him like a scalded dog. He whipped the reins around a hitching rail and went inside.

The barkeep rushed for the far end of the bar and grabbed underneath. The two patrons bellied up to the bar paid no attention.

“I’m not here to drink,” Jensen called. “Has Cooley been back?”

“You clear out. Go on. Shoo!” Ray Hendrix laid his six-gun on the bar and tried to look tough.

Jensen almost threw down and shot him just for practice. The memory of Alberto Gonzales riding along, alert and ready to find himself a fugitive from the law, stayed his hand. He left without a word. Chances were good the barkeep wouldn’t tell the deputy about such an insignificant showdown. He might brag about chasing off a gunman, but who’d believe him?

If Cooley hadn’t come back to the Thirsty Camel to dip his beak once more, he was likely to find other pursuits. Jensen mounted and rode to the hotel. From its deserted appearance, Cooley wasn’t here to find feminine companionship. Jensen sat astride his horse, thinking on the subject, when a man came out of the hotel.

“You. Yes, you,” Jensen said when the man recoiled at being called out. “I’m looking for a young lady for . . . well . . . you know.” He let the man fill in the requirements. “Where might I find my choice of such ladies?”

“You want Madam Morgan’s. A two-story house on the other side of town.”

“Sounds like the very place I want to be.” Jensen wheeled his horse around and trotted off, wondering if the man had lied just to send his annoying interrogator on his way.

When Jensen laid eyes on the house, he knew he’d been steered right. A half-naked woman in an upstairs window waved to him. He waved back and rode around to the side of the brothel. As he dismounted, a man came from the door, working to button his pants.

Jensen hardly looked at the man. His eyes fixed on the partially clad blonde leaning indolently in the doorway. She smiled at Jensen, licked her lips slowly and then blew him a kiss.

“My luck’s improving,” Jensen said as the woman disappeared back into the brothel.

“You’ll have to wait. She’s got a regular waiting in the parlor.” The exiting customer saw he’d buttoned his fly crooked and tried again. He never looked up at Jensen as he struggled with cloth and fastener.

“Who might that be?” Jensen sucked in his breath.

“Some miner named Cooley. Mandy and him’d get hitched if he ever struck it rich. She just takes his money a dollar a throw.”

“Sounds as if you are benefitting from his lack of gold. Me, too.”

“She’s a favorite, but there’s something even better. There’s a—”

Jensen pushed past the man to go in the side door. Listening to some local’s exploits bored him, especially when the lovely woman was his way of finding the man who had the map. If she met up with Cooley, that would make it easy to identify the miner. Jensen wasn’t likely to forget the charmer. If he’d had time, he’d sample her charms and make her forget the yokels.

“Whoa there, big boy.” An obese woman blocked his way into the parlor. “You got to check in first with me. I’m Madam Morgan, and I run this fine establishment.” She laid a meaty hand in the middle of his chest. “Oh, you got muscles, don’t you? You’re gonna be real popular with the girls, but you deal with me before making a selection.”

He peered past this meaty roadblock and saw the blonde stroking a man’s stubbled cheek over in the parlor. She whispered something that caused the man to grin lewdly. The customer tried to grab one of the woman’s breasts, but she danced away and shook her finger at him. This admonishment gave Jensen a good look at Cooley. Then the whore laughed and let the miner circle her waist with his arm and lead her off. Jensen heard the click of boots on stairs going up. A slamming door told they’d reached their location in record time.

“What room’re they in?”

“Now, you have to wait your turn,” Madam Morgan said. “They’re our most popular ladies, and for good reason. Mindy, there is—”

He pushed hard and sent Madam Morgan reeling. She caught herself against the wall. Her smile vanished. Her otherwise handsome face turned downright ugly. She pulled out a straight razor and swished it back and forth in front of her. From the way she held it, this wasn’t the first time she’d used the vicious weapon.

“You don’t go pushin’ me like that. Get out!” She came forward, brandishing the razor.

Lars Jensen sized her up, then swung hard. She tried to cut his left arm but only sliced away a patch of his coat. His fist struck her on the side of the head and knocked her back again. Dazed, she shook her head to clear it. Jensen was impressed. He had knocked out men with a softer punch than that. He ran his fingers over the hole she’d cut in his sleeve. If he hadn’t been so close to retrieving the map, he’d have shown her the error of her attack.

He swung around and started up the stairs to find Cooley. He didn’t expect her to come after him, and she didn’t.

“Clarence, fetch Gus and Brutus!” Madam Morgan’s voice came out ragged. She was still stunned from the punch.

From some hidden nook, a young boy darted out. He stared wide-eyed at Jensen, then bolted out the front door. Jensen had no idea where Madam Morgan had sent the boy, but if it was to fetch help, the effort would be wasted. He took the steps up two at a time. A twist opened the door on his left. An empty bed showed he had the wrong room. Pivoting, he opened the first door on his right.

It took him a second to figure out the tangle of arms and legs. The whore had dark hair.

“Hey, you, get out!” The man in the bed twisted around. “I paid for another ten minutes.”

Jensen slammed the door and went to the next room. He threw open the door. The briefest glimpse told him he had the right place. The blonde was naked to the waist now, discarding even the immodest blouse she had worn downstairs. She looked at him with shocked eyes so green they looked like sparkling gemstones. The man was caught with his pants down around his ankles. He hadn’t shucked them off yet, or maybe he never intended to go that far.

“Where is it?” Jensen stepped into the room. He shoved the soiled dove aside when she came to shoo him out of the room. A huge hand closed on the man’s long johns and twisted them into a knot. Lifting, Jensen heaved and dumped the miner onto the bed so hard, it creaked once, then collapsed.

From the bed down on the floor, the man looked up. Fright replaced his initial irritation at being interrupted. “Wh-what do you want?”

“I want the map, Cooley. Where is it?”

“Map? I don’t have any map. And I’m not—”

Jensen kicked hard and twisted. He wore half-mounted spurs with knobbed rowels. The spur cut across the man’s face and opened a deep gash on his cheek. Again, the wound was more frightening than dangerous. It worked to set the man gibbering.

“The map, Cooley. Give me the map.”

“Quit saying that. I don’t have no map! I’m not—”

The whore attacked Jensen then, nails like claws raking down his arm. He whirled around, and she staggered. He saw the expression on her face and knew she was a fiercer opponent than the man with the bleeding cheek.

“This isn’t your fight, girlie.” He took a step away and held out his hand to warn her away.

That did nothing to stop her naked fury. She came at him again. Most of those he had faced were crazy old coots, drunken cowboys or those who thought they could win a quick reputation by taking him on. The woman should have been as smart as she was beautiful, but that didn’t stay his hand. With a single easy move, he drew and fired point-blank. The slug hit her like a sledgehammer. She straightened and then fell backward as if she stood at attention. With arms extended high over her head, she slammed into the floor. She had died before she even knew the danger she faced.

Jensen turned and cocked his pistol. Aiming between the man’s eyes produced another reaction Jensen had seen many times before. The man’s weathered face turned ashen.

“The map. Give me the map, Cooley.”

The man’s eyes darted toward saddlebags on the table that had been beside the bed. Jensen pulled the trigger. This slug tore through the man’s skull and knocked him back. Unlike the woman, he had known what was in store for him. The fright was something to behold, but Jensen had no time to appreciate his handiwork. A second shot ended the man’s life. He grabbed the saddlebags and dumped the contents onto the floor. A spare shirt tumbled out into a puddle of blood from the whore.

Jensen sorted through the contents. A smile bloomed when he found a pack of papers. He tore off the ribbons holding the papers and leafed through. Anticipation turned to anger when he reached the last of the pages. Nothing but legal documents. Nothing that looked like a map hastily drawn by Barton Beeman lay among the items.

Moving like a striking snake, he grabbed the trousers around the man’s ankles and heaved. Cloth tore. He went through the tatters, searching for the map. The man’s shirt and vest failed to deliver up the map, too.

Jensen stepped away from the bodies and let his towering rage take control. He emptied his pistol into the man’s corpse. It didn’t make him feel any better. Cooley had hidden the map before coming to the cathouse. That made no sense. Had he passed it along to someone else? Why would he do a thing like that when the stolen payroll was all his for the taking?

“Upstairs. I heard gunfire. Take him down, boys. Don’t be gentle. He’s a threat to all the girls.” The madam’s voice crackled with fury.

Jensen snarled. The kid had run off to get the madam’s henchmen. He took one last look around the room in case he had missed a hiding place for the map. Seeing nowhere that looked plausible, he opened the gate on his Colt and began punching out the spent brass. Each shell clattered to the floor as he walked. From the ruckus downstairs, at least two men were arguing about how best to kill him. His empties removed, Jensen began reloading. When he had all six chambers filled, he started for the stairs. Killing a few more men would help him let off steam.

A load of buckshot tore past his head. He ducked and backpedaled fast. It was one thing gunning down someone waving around a six-shooter. Madam Morgan’s bullies were using more firepower than he had. Opening up the way, they had shown how eager they were to shoot something.

As eager as he was to fire back, he still had to find the map.

After running down the hall, he reached the backstairs. A quick peek down didn’t bring another load of buckshot. He dived down the stairs and kicked open the side door. His horse waited impatiently for him and kicked its hooves in agitation. As long as he’d ridden the nag, it had never gotten used to gunfire.

He jumped into the saddle and got a deep seat, then galloped away. He heard shouting behind him, but it died down as he put more distance between himself and the brothel. That had been messy. It’d get messier if he ever found Cooley’s partner. He had to be the one with the map.