CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Seth Koenig rode north in the shadow of the ten-mile length of the Tres Hermanas Mountains before the peaks faded away to a few hills that soon became one with the brush flats. Andy Moran, a Hellfire puncher who’d once ridden with Sam Bass and Joel Collins and that rough bunch, had arranged a secret meeting at a dry wash a mile northeast of the mountains.
“Seth, Davis Salt says to tell you he’ll wait at the wash for three days,” Moran had warned. “If you don’t show by then, he won’t linger any longer.”
“I’ll be there,” Seth had said. “How many men has he got?”
“I have no idea. They come and go. But when he hit the army payroll wagon that time last year he had thirty, enough to leave the paymaster and four cavalry troopers dead on the ground.”
Seth had smiled and hooted. “Yee-hah! He’s the kind of ranny I need.”
* * *
As he rode toward the wash on the second day he knew that Davis Salt would be there.
* * *
The banks of the wash were broken down by cattle, but Davis Salt had set up camp in a bend that was somewhat sheltered by a few mixed trees, mostly piñon and juniper. The monsoon season had played out in late September, but iron gray rainclouds hung in the sky and the west wind blowing off the mountains held a fall edge.
Seth Koenig smelled mesquite smoke and coffee in the air and slowed his horse to a walk, keeping his hands in view, but even so his welcome was less than cordial. Two riflemen appeared from the wash and walked toward him.
When he rode within talking distance, he drew rein and placed both his gloved hands on the pommel. “Howdy boys. Name’s Seth Koenig and I’m here to see Mr. Salt.”
One of the riflemen, a grim-looking man with a tight, thin mouth as clamped shut as a steel purse, turned to his young, red-haired companion. “Tell Davis we got company.”
The man nodded and left, taking his time.
“Looks like rain,” Seth said. “Maybe so, huh?”
Thin Mouth said nothing, his eyes fixed on the V-neck opening of Koenig’s shirt. A timorous man would have worried that it was there the outlaw planned to place his first bullet, but Seth Koenig had no such thought. Davis Salt had the undeserved reputation of being a gentleman outlaw, but nonetheless he was greedy and avaricious, a bandit businessman who would readily see that a profit was to be made from the death of Blade Koenig and the destruction of Kate Kerrigan’s ranch.
The carrot-topped rifleman stepped up from the wash and waved a hand. “Come in, you,” he yelled. “Give your pistol and saddle gun to Jasper.”
Seth smiled and said to the man called Jasper, “Salt ain’t a trusting man, is he?”
“That’s why he’s lived so long.” Jasper took Seth’s gunbelt and rifle and then said, “And now the hideout.”
Seth’s smile slipped as he reached under his shirt. From his waistband he pulled a .41 caliber derringer with ivory grips and amateurish engraving and passed it to Jasper.
“Fancy,” the outlaw said.
“How did you know I had it?” Seth said.
“You look the type,” said the outlaw, a man of grit, spit, and gravel.
* * *
Davis Salt was once a handsome man, but he’d been stricken with smallpox during the Deadwood epidemic of ’76 and the lesions had destroyed his features. Calamity Jane had nursed him back to health. Since then, the outlaw, a man of few loyalties, would never allow a bad word to be said about her. He’d killed a man in Abilene for calling her “a drunken whore” and as far is known, no one ever again mentioned Calamity’s name in his presence. John Clum, the first mayor of Tombstone, would later write that at the suggestion of Calamity, Salt sometimes wore a black velvet mask to hide his grotesque disfigurement. But the Earp brothers, who had business dealings with him, never mentioned the mask nor, apparently, did anyone else in Tombstone.
What is known is that Davis Salt’s appearance was a shock to those meeting him for the first time, many of who took him for a leper.
Seth Koenig was no exception.
Salt met him in the wash and told him to light and set. Seth could only stare at him, his expression a mix of amazement and horror.
“You’ll get used to it,” Salt said. “Now climb down and state your business.”
Playing for time to collect himself, Seth stepped from the saddle. “Smelled your coffee, Davis. I could sure use a cup.”
Salt told one of his men to get Seth coffee and then fixed him with a stare. In contrast to his face, the outlaws’ eyes were startling, golden brown with green highlights, the lashes long, black and thick, eyes that would be the envy of a beautiful woman.
After he tested his coffee and lit a cigar, Seth recovered enough composure to say, “Got a proposition for you, Davis. I think you’ll like it.”
Salt’s cold stare was unrelenting. “Koenig, you can call me Mr. Salt. Hell, you can call me plain Salt, but I’ll tell you when you can use my given name. Now state your business and your intentions.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Salt. But what I propose involves killing.” Seth was uneasy. At that moment, the tall, lanky outlaw looked dangerous, almost disdainful, like a man who doesn’t like what he sees.
“I’ve killed before,” Salt wore a full dragoon mustache, the better to cover some of his scars. His pockmarked skin was tight to the skull of a strong-boned, domineering, bold face.
“Have you heard of the KK ranch in West Texas?” Koenig said.
“I’ve heard it mentioned a time or two. Owned by a woman, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, her name is Kate Kerrigan.”
“What do you want me to do that involves this woman?”
“Like I said, there’s killing to be done.”
“You want this Kate Kerrigan dead?”
“Her? No, she’s a red-haired woman and I want her alive . . . but kill everybody that works for her—men, women, children, her dog, I don’t care. Kill them all.” Seth decided to make a good joke. “Salt, pepper them with lead.”
“We’re talking business here, Koenig. Don’t make funny remarks. Speak to me like a man.”
“Sorry, I sure will. Yes, I want the Kerrigan woman, but destroy everyone else. There, I’ve said it plain.”
“Tall order,” Salt said. “A ranch that big is bound to have some tough gun hands on the payroll. They usually do.”
“I know, and that’s why I came to you, Mr. Salt.” Seth looked around him. “I see six men here. How many more can you muster?”
“Enough.”
“How many is enough?”
“I’ll decide that.”
“They’ve got to be top gun hands.”
“All the men I hire are top gun hands.”
“You have to make this enterprise look good.”
“How good?”
“Well, here’s the nub of the thing. We’ll force Kate Kerrigan to sign a predated bill of sale, turning her ranch over to me.”
“Suppose she refuses?”
“She won’t refuse. Not when I’ve finished with her. And then, when everybody is dead, make it look like Mexican banditos crossed the Rio Grande and attacked the house. One thing . . . I like that house and plan to live there, so see that it isn’t damaged too badly.”
“You want the house?”
“Yeah. Hell, I want the whole ranch.”
“Got it all figured out, haven’t you, Koenig?” Salt said.
“Yeah, I got it figured. I even know where you can shoot some Mexicans and scatter their bodies around so it looks like they were killed in the attack. There’s a Mexican village just across the Texas border, a cantina and some adobe hovels around a central plaza. It ain’t much, but at any given time there’s thirty, forty males there, tenant farmers and the like who don’t know how to fight. Plenty enough greaser bodies for our purpose.”
“No, that becomes too untidy. I’ll figure another way.”
“Suit yourself.” Seth grinned. “But nobody gives a damn about greasers, especially dead ones.” He offered Davis Salt a cigar.
The man refused. “Your Pa owns the Hellfire spread, huh?”
“Yeah, but not for long. I’m taking over.”
“What does Blade say about that?” This from one of Salt’s riders, a sour-faced man who carried a Smith & Wesson .38 in a canvas shoulder holster.
“Leave Blade to me,” Seth said. “That old man has walked the earth long enough.”
The sour-faced man spat. “Big talk, but it’s empty, and empty talk comes cheap.”
“I talk the talk and I can walk the walk,” Seth said, his face ugly. “Maybe you want to try me some time?”
“Ben, let it go,” Salt said, talking to the sour-faced man. To Seth he smiled, showing good teeth. “So, if all your plans come to pass, you’ll own the Hellfire and the KK. Hell, man, that’s half the cattle country.”
“And it’s still not enough, not for a man like me who’s destined for great things. But it will do for a start.”
Salt sat in silence for a while and then said, “Koenig, you could be talking about thirty, forty dead people and maybe a sight more.”
As the shock of seeing Salt for the first time wore off, Seth Koenig’s self-confidence reasserted itself. “The only person still breathing when we’re done will be the Kerrigan woman and only because I want her for myself. Well, at least for a while and then I’ll dispose of her. But if the job is too big for you, Salt, I can find someone else.”
“Never said the job was too big, but it will be costly,” Salt said. “I mean, costly to you.”
“Once the business is done and the beautiful widow is in my bed, I’ll own the Hellfire and the KK ranch. Mr. Salt, I won’t only pay you, I’ll make you rich.”
“How rich? Put a number on it.”
“Hell, man, I haven’t counted the money yet but I’m talking thousands. I’ll put you on a retainer for life. Yeah . . . that’s what I’ll do, a retainer for life. Think about it, all the whiskey and whores you could ever want for the rest of your days.”
Salt stared into Seth’s face for long moments and then said, “Koenig, are you familiar with the works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment or The Brothers Karamazov?”
“Hell, no,” Koenig said. “Never heard of him. Sounds like a damned foreigner to me.”
“How about Alexandre Dumas? Does The Count of Monte Christo ring a bell?”
Koenig shook his head. “No, and I’m not catching your drift, Salt.”
“I didn’t think so,” Salt said. “All right. I’ll confine our future conversations to whiskey and whores. You understand those, huh?”
Seth grinned. “Damn right, I do. I’m partial to both.”
Salt nodded. “I took you for a whoring man.” He rose to his feet from where he’d been sitting on the trunk of a dead cottonwood. “Ten thousand. And I’ll need a week to round up about thirty more men. Attacking a ranch as big as the Kerrigan spread is like invading a country. It will take planning and manpower.”
Seth smiled. “I find those terms acceptable. By the time you’re ready to destroy the Kerrigan bitch, I’ll have the Hellfire.” He stuck out his hand. “Partners.”
Salt ignored the proffered hand.
“Ah, well, so we won’t shake on it until the job is done. Can I at least call you Davis?”
“No, you can’t.”