Chapter Seven
“I gathered you here today to compliment you on last night’s work. You all did a splendid job and the boss will be well pleased.”
A murmur of thanks rose from the twelve men gathered in the cabin.
Englishman Nate Condor’s next words silenced them. “But we can’t rest on our laurels.”
They listened as he continued. “There is still much work to be done. We can’t sit back until every living soul has been eliminated or driven out of this part of the Playas Valley.”
The speech was greeted with cheers and cries of “Damn right!”
“It is the boss’s wish and mine!” Condor, a tall, slender man with wavy black hair and dark, weathered skin said to more cheers. He knew it was time to dangle the carrot again. “I confidently predict that a month from now every man jack of ye will be rich beyond your imaginings.”
“Spoke like the old pirate you are, Nate,” a man yelled.
“Not are, Joe, was. I’ve turned my back on the sea and I’m well content to undertake my piracy on dry land.”
This brought laughter and Condor yelled, “Splice the main brace! Now there’s a pirate’s order for you, lads.”
The men cheered again as a couple of pretty young Mexican girls circulated and poured raw whiskey from earthenware jugs.
Condor took advantage of the din to signal his second in command should step outside.
The two men left the cabin and walked into lilac light as the day shaded into evening. A few sentinel stars hung in a jade sky and fragrance of the surrounding pines was tangled in a web of stillness.
Condor led the way to a tall limestone rock that jutted out of the ground like a flatiron. When he stopped, he lit a cigar. “Barney, I’m concerned we may be moving too quickly.”
“Bless you, Cap’n, why would you say that?” Barney Merden said. “I reckon it’s all going according to the boss’s plan, lay to that.”
“Maybe the wagons were a step too far. I mean, too many dead all at once. It’s the kind of thing that could get the army involved.”
“And who’s to tell them, Cap’n? Hell, that sheriff in Recoil can’t even get a United States marshal to ride down here. Once the word gets out that this part of the country ain’t healthy for rubes, we’ll see no more of them.”
Merden, the former first mate of Condor’s ship the Sea Raven, grinned, showing few teeth and those black. “After that, all we need is a few days to get the job done, then we’ll all be riding carriages in Boston town, or London town come to that.”
“There are men at the wagons now, poking round,” Condor said. “John Landers says he saw at least five of them.”
“Then the skull riders will take care of them tonight.”
“No, let them be. Wait, I have a better idea. Scare them, Barney. Scare the hell out of them, that’s all. But no killing. When I want more killing done, I’ll give the word.”
“Whatever you say, Cap’n,” Merden said. “But I tell ye this, we’ll have no peace until that pestilence they call Recoil is wiped off the map.”
“That will be the last act, Barney. Then, by God, the winner takes all.”
The hooded, robed riders stood by their horses in the gathering night, waiting the command to ride out.
Barney Merden, dressed like the rest, was already mounted. “Ye know what to do, lads. We stand off and hoot and holler and scare the living daylights out them. Shoot your rifles, but no killing.”
“Hey, Barney, can’t we plug a few of them?” The man’s voice sounded hollow behind his carved skull mask.
“No, Landers. Cap’n Condor says we scare ’em, but there will be no killings. He reckons they’ll scamper back to Recoil and spread the word that the night riders are out, and we’ll see a skedaddle from the Playas, lay to that.”
“Pity,” Landers said. “I’d like to bed down another rube or two.”
This drew laughter from the waiting riders.
Merden said above the noise, “You’ll have your chance soon enough, Landers. The killing isn’t over just yet.” He raised his Winchester above his head. “Mount up, mates! We’ll give them interlopers a taste of hell’s fire.”
One by one the riders rode past the campfire, leaned from the saddle, and lit their torches. Flames reflected scarlet on bone white masks and Nate Condor, watching from the shadows, thought they truly looked like riders from the lowest pit of Hades.
Among them were some of the West’s most notorious gunmen, killers, rapists—all slaughterers of men, women, and children. Condor had commanded many a crew of bloodthirsty pirate rogues, but none like these . . . the most dangerous men on earth.
Even he, accustomed to violent death in all its forms, felt a shiver of fear run down his spine as he watched the riders vanish into the night, their bobbing torches winking like scarlet fireflies. He shook his pigtailed head. The sooner this endeavor was accomplished and the hired gunmen paid off, the better.