Chapter Sixteen
“Real nice place you got here, Captain Condor,” the man said.
“Well, I guess that goes to show that you’re either extremely stupid or that you live in squalor.” The escape of O’Brien and Ironside rankled Condor, and the letter he held in his hand promised no good news.
The man laughed. “Ha, very good, Captain. My name is—”
“I don’t give a damn what your name is.” Condor tapped the unopened letter on the table. “Did the man who gave you this say anything?”
“No, Captain. He told me where to deliver it and said he’d give me five dollars when I got back. He loaned me one of his hosses, that buckskin out there.”
Condor’s cold eyes assessed the messenger, a small man wearing a ragged suit that was too big for him and a plug hat that rested on his ears.
The former pirate sighed, opened the letter, and read. There was no salutation.
Do not move against Recoil until I give the word, but show yourselves on the hills at night. Maybe we can scare the rubes out of here without an outright attack that could draw unwelcome attention.
But a killing or two outside of the town limits would not go amiss.
I want two men shot on sight. One is Colonel Shamus O’Brien, the other is named Ironside. I made an attempt on their lives at the hotel, but it did not go as planned. A man called Dallas Steele is in Recoil and I don’t yet know why. He is called the Fighting Pinkerton and he’s dangerous. We may have to get rid of him, too.
Sheriff Clitherow is an idiot, and requires no further action at this time.
Have the goods been located yet? Let me know as soon as they’re found.
The bearer of this note is nothing. Eliminate him and return my buckskin at a later date.
There was no signature.
“Good news, Captain?” the messenger asked. “I always like to bring good news.” The man’s face clouded. “But I seldom hear any.”
Condor stared at him as though he was studying a strange new humanoid species. “You live in Recoil?”
“Sure do. I swamp the saloons and I do odd jobs around. Do you have any you want done, Captain?”
“You are impertinent.” Condor picked up the long-barreled Colt from the table and shot the man between the eyes.
A few moments later, Barney Merden burst inside. “Are you all right, Cap’n?”
“I’m fine.” Condor motioned to the dead man on the floor. “Get rid of that and then come back. I need to talk to you. Oh, and take good care of the buckskin out there.”
“I think he’s making a mistake,” Merden said. “I say we burn the place and kill everybody we can find.”
“What you say doesn’t matter,” Condor said. “Tell me about this Dallas Steele.”
“The Fighting Pink?”
“I suppose it’s the same man.”
“It’s the same man all right. The sheriff has put his name around town enough.”
Condor nodded. “Continue.”
“Well, he works for the Pinkertons and sometimes the government. He usually operates only in towns, and the wilder the better. Some say he’s killed a dozen men, some say less, but all say he’s good with a gun.” Merden’s slow brain cast back into memory. “Dresses like a dude and I believe he works out of Denver. Some say he a personal friend of the president of these United States, but I don’t know about that.”
“Some say . . . some say . . . I want facts. Is he as dangerous as the boss thinks he is?”
“I reckon, Cap’n. He was a named gunfighter even before he became a Pinkerton.”
“Then we’ll get rid of him as a precaution.” Condor picked up the Colt and laid the barrel on his shoulder, an aggressive motion not lost on Merden. “Now, tell me about last night.”
“Somebody helped them two escape, Cap’n.”
“I know, Barney, I know.” Condor’s voice hardened. “A dozen men bedded down within yards of the toolshed and nobody heard a thing, huh?”
“Jim Hogue said he heard coyotes near the corral and went outside and chunked a rock at them.”
“That was the colonel and Ironside stealing their horses back.”
Merden had no comment to make and lapsed into silence.
Condor dragged out the silence then said, “Tell Hogue he’s lucky, real lucky. I felt like killing a man this morning and I already did.”
“I’ll let him know, Cap’n.”
“Do that. And tell him he should stay away from me for a few days.”
“I’ll let him know that too, Cap’n.”
“And there’s another thing, Barney. Tell the boys to ride out during the day and scout the country around Recoil. If we can kill a few travelers or picnickers, it will put the town on edge.”
Merden grinned. “Sounds like a lot of fun, Cap’n.”
“Shoot and run, Barney. Don’t get caught.”
Merden nodded. “Just as you say.”
Condor laid his revolver on the table. “Now get out of my sight. You’re as responsible for the escape as the rest of them.”
Merden sprang to his feet, glad to leave with his life. He stepped to the door then turned at the sound of Condor’s voice.
“Send me one of the Mexican girls. I always feel the need for a woman after I kill a man.”