Chapter Thirty-five
Sheriff Jim Clitherow and his small posse rode out of Recoil.
A couple of things about Silas Shaw troubled Dallas Steele. The first was the belted Colt he wore and the Winchester in the boot under his right knee, hardly the armament of a timid storekeeper. The second was that Shaw sat his horse with jut-jawed determination, as though he planned to see things through to the bitter end, no matter the cost to him or anyone else. It was not the demeanor of a man who’d been pressed into posse service.
It seemed to Steele the store owner had an axe to grind and it involved Nate Condor. Steele was convinced the two were in cahoots. As to their exact relationship, he had no idea.
“Hey, Steele,” Ironside said, “I thought you said you couldn’t ride a hoss?”
“I said I didn’t particularly like horses. I didn’t say I couldn’t ride one.”
“Well, you look good, all dressed in fancy duds and sitting straight up and down in the saddle like a Yankee general on parade.”
“Maybe I should try to look like a Confederate general,” Steele said.
“Nah,” Ironside said, shaking his head. “You don’t have the breeding for that.”
“Luther,” Shamus O’Brien said, turning in the saddle, “Southern gentlemen do not cast aspersions on another gentleman’s breeding. Now watch your tongue.”
“No harm intended, Colonel. What does cast aspersions mean?”
“It means—”
“It means, Luther, that you’re a plain-talking man,” Steele said, smiling at Shamus.
“Damn right,” Ironside said. “That’s me all right. As plain talking a man as ever was.
“Dallas, thank you for your patience,” Shamus said. “Luther can be a trial and a tribulation sometimes.”
“Apache Hills s-s-straight ahead.” Steve Sparrow glanced at the sky. “And it l-l-looks like we’re in f-f-for it, boys.”
Building ramparts of black clouds loomed over the Cedar Mountains to the northeast and lightning flickered. The wind rose quickly, tossing the brush and skittering leaves and small branches across the ground.
Clitherow turned in the saddle. “We go in easy and with our eyes skinned. Condor and his damned night riders could still be there.”
Steele kneed his mount forward. “I’ll scout ahead, Sheriff. Make sure there are no unpleasant surprises waiting for us.”
The lawman nodded. “Take care, Dallas. We’re not dealing with pilgrims here.”
Steele touched his hat and then galloped for the hills gouged with shadow as the storm threatened. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the wind pummeled him mercilessly.
Slowing his horse to a canter, he reached under his English tweed hacking jacket and drew his Colt. His eyes scanned the hills, but only the wind moved.
He reached the dry wash with the skeleton of the dead piñon on the bank and rode into it as thunder muttered closer. He followed the wash for a hundred yards before a cabin came into view on his left.
Not a horse fighter, Steele dismounted and approached the cabin on foot. The door hung partially open on its rawhide hinges. He called out, “Anyone home?”
No answer, just the endless sigh of the wind.
Gun in hand, Steele stepped inside into silence. There is nothing quieter than the quiet of the dead. Lum Park, looking old and shrunken in death, lay sprawled on his back. He’d been shot in the chest several times.
A porcelain clock decorated with tubby cherubs ticked on the mantel, a small sound joined by the patter of rain on the cabin roof. Steele heard a noise behind him and spun around, his Colt coming up fast.
“Hold up. It’s only me, Dallas.” Shamus looked at the old man on the floor. “Condor did for him?”
“Seems like,” Steele said.
Shamus crossed himself. “Where is the gold?”
“Well, I believe the gold is gone for sure, but maybe we can find where it was. If it was the army wagon, it would leave tracks.”
“This rain and wind will wash away any tracks, I imagine.”
Steele nodded. “That would also be my guess, Colonel.”
Shamus stepped to the table. Three coffee cups, half full, still sat in their saucers with a platter of uneaten salt pork sandwiches nearby. A chair was tipped over where someone had risen in a hurry.
Shamus picked up a sandwich. The bread was curled and dry, the pork already odorous. “I’d say they left yesterday after something scared them.”
“Condor doesn’t strike me as a man who’s easily scared,” Steele said. The horseshoe-shaped diamond pin in his cravat caught the gray light angling in from the cabin window.
“He left in haste,” Shamus said. “That’s all I can gather.”
“Shot the old man, then scampered?” Steele asked.
“I’m not a detective, but that’s how it looks to me.” Shamus stepped to the mantel and stared at the clock for a moment. “Austrian,” he said to himself. “Made in Karlstein, I would say.”
“Where’s the girl? Did she go with Condor, do you think?”
“No, Dallas, I fear we’ll find her body very soon.”
Sheriff Clitherow stepped into the cabin and glanced at the body on the floor. “Lum Park.”
“As ever was,” Steele said. “Shot through and through. Did you find his daughter, or her body?”
“No, but we found someone else,” Clitherow said. “You’d better come outside and take a look.”
They walked through dashes of rain and gusts of wind to a patch of heavy brush and a few junipers near the bank of the wash, where a dead man lay on his back. His spurs had gouged the damp ground when he was dragged from the undergrowth.
Steele stared at the corpse. “He’s a gun hand. No puncher could afford those boots.”
“Then he must be one of Condor’s boys,” Shamus said.
“Look at his throat,” Clitherow said. “Look real close.”
Steele squatted beside the corpse. “My God. His throat’s been torn out.”
Shamus, not trusting his legs, bent over and saw what Steele had seen. “May God and all his holy saints in Heaven grant this poor man eternal peace,” Shamus crossed himself and straightened up. “An animal did this? A wolf or a bear?”
“Whatever it was, it scared Condor and them out of here, Colonel, just as you had it figured,” Steele said.
Ironside stepped beside them, wearing a slicker. He passed the one in his hand to Shamus. “What happened to him?” He pointed to the dead man.
“Look closer, Luther,” Shamus said. “His throat’s gone.”
“Hell, I thought that was gunshot blood,” Ironside said. “Damn it, Colonel, you’re right. Something bit him, and it was big.”
“A wolf, you think?” Shamus said, shrugging into the slicker.
“Could be,” Ironside said. “Or a mighty mean grizz.”
“Sheriff!” Silas Shaw stood farther up the wash, wind-blown rain slamming at him. “Come see this,” he yelled.
Beside him, Steve Sparrow stood hunch shouldered and miserable.
“What is it, Silas?” Clitherow hollered.
“A cave! And the army pay wagon!”
They met up with Shaw and he led them into the rocky draw and to the break in the rock. The wagon had been pulled out of the cave, but it teetered to one side like a bird with a broken wing. The right rear wheel lay flat on the ground and even from a distance it was obvious the axle had shattered.
“Dry rot,” Shaw said. “When they pulled the wagon out of the cave the axle broke in about three places. And look”—he dug into a pocket and produced a couple of double eagles—“they were in so much of a hurry to get the hell out of here they dropped these.”
“I guess they loaded the sacks of coin onto the mules,” Clitherow said.
“Yes, that’s exactly what they did. Damn their eyes.” Shaw’s face was bitter, shadowed with anger, and at that moment Steele knew for a certainty that Nate Condor had crossed him.
Clitherow thought for a few moments. “It’s only six, seven miles from here to Chihuahua, and it’s all flat country. They’re in Mexico by now, damn them.”
“Aren’t we going after them?” Shaw rubbed his left arm and kept working his jaw muscles by opening and closing his mouth.
“They could be anywhere,” Clitherow said. “It would take a regiment of cavalry to search that desert country, and that might not be enough. Besides that, it’s out of my jurisdiction.”
“Why, you damned fool, you’re letting Condor get away with a hundred and thirty thousand dollars,” Shaw yelled.
“Don’t call me a fool, Silas,” the sheriff said, his voice low and flat.
“Then if you’re not a fool, you’re a damned coward,” Shaw said.
“Don’t call me a coward either, Silas, unless you’re prepared to back your words with a gun.”
“Enough,” Shamus said, stepping between the two angry men. “We’re all a little tense here, today.”
“Why do you care so much, Shaw?” Steele asked. “It’s not your money.”
The man was taken aback, but only for a moment. “I wish to see justice done. Condor is a murderer and I plan to stand at the gallows and watch him hang.”
“Well, he isn’t going to hang, at least anytime soon,” Clitherow said. “Like it or not, the pirate turned outlaw has won.”
“Jim, at least the danger to Recoil is over,” Shamus said.
“Yes, I guess it is. Condor has what he wanted and he’s flown the coop. Colonel, I guess your task here is done. I’m grateful for your help, yours and Luther’s.”
“We didn’t do much, Jim, and in the end . . . well, as you say, we lost.”
Clitherow looked at Steele. “What about you, Dallas? Is your job done here?”
“Let’s step into the cave and I’ll tell you what I think, Jim. The rain is doing nothing for my tailoring.”
“Damn you, you can all go to hell,” Shaw said. “I’m riding after Condor.”
“We don’t even know he’s headed for Old Mexico,” Shamus said. “He could’ve gone in any direction.”
“Mexico is the closest place of safety for him. It’s somewhere he can spend his money in peace. Well, I won’t let him get away with it.”
“He’s a man to be reckoned with, Shaw,” Steele said. “He’s real fast with the iron, maybe the fastest there is.”
“Unlike you damned cowards, I’ll take my chances.” Shaw stomped away through the rain toward his horse.
Ironside said, “Now there goes an angry man.”
“Yes. But maybe too angry.” Steele waved toward the break in the rock. “Shall we?”
Once out of the rain and wind, Clitherow said, “You were planning to tell us something, Dallas?”
Steele took time to light a cigar, a damp one he observed. “Through the Pinkertons, I was ordered by President Cleveland to investigate the murders in and around the town of Recoil, and something else—the whereabouts of Lowery’s gold.”
“Lowery’s gold? I’m not catching your drift,” Clitherow said.
“The major in charge of the guard detail for the pay wagon was named Lowery,” Steele said. “Apparently, that’s what Washington now calls the missing money that they’d dearly love to get back, especially since the president is pushing for a gold standard to back up our currency.”
“Hell, Steele, it’s gone,” Ironside said. “They can’t blame you for that.”
“They can and they will,” Steele said. “Washington always needs a scapegoat.”
“Dallas, you can always come work for me at Dromore,” Shamus said.
Steele smiled. “That’s very kind of you, Colonel, but I wouldn’t make a very good cowboy. I’m going after the gold.”
“When? Now?” Clitherow questioned.
“Of course now, Sheriff. That is if I can keep the horse for a little longer.”
“Keep it as long as you want.”
“I can understand your haste,” Shamus said. “It’s your duty. Luther, give Dallas your slicker. He can’t ride in this weather without one.”
“Hell, Colonel, I’ll get wet.”
“Yes, but you’re heading back to town and can dry yourself. Dallas is riding into the wilderness.”
“Thank you, Luther,” Steele said. “I appreciate it.”
With a deal of ill grace, Ironside took off his slicker, muttering about the young whippersnapper. . . and the damned rain. “Buy his own slicker . . . too much favoritism around here . . .”
“What did you say, Luther?” Shamus said.
“Nothing. I didn’t say nothing.”
“I should hope not. Flatter not thyself if thou hath no charity for thy neighbor, Luther.”
A smile touching his lips, Steele took the dripping slicker from Ironside’s hands. “I really do appreciate it, Luther.”
Ironside caught Shamus’s glare and growled, “You’re quite welcome, I’m sure.”
Clitherow turned his attention back to Steele. “Dallas, if you can bring Nate Condor in alive, I want the pleasure of hanging him.”
“What about Shaw?”
“Silas Shaw?”
“Yes, Sheriff. I believe he’s every bit as guilty as Condor and probably more,” Steele said. “I’m beginning to think he was the brains behind the night riders and the killings.”
“Hell, we just let him go,” Clitherow said.
Steele nodded. “Recovering the government’s money comes first. Silas Shaw can wait. I’ll round him up later.”