Chapter Forty-five
Dawn was breaking when Jacob O’Brien and Dallas Steele rode into Silver City. The streets in front of the businesses were deserted except for the cur dogs that sniffed around the false fronts of the stores and slunk into the shadowed places between buildings.
But in the open spaces behind the businesses were stirrings of life—the sound of freight wagons being loaded and unloaded and the coughs and hoarse voices of men who talked in different languages working unseen at dozens of different tasks. At the train station, a locomotive clanged cars together.
If anyone noticed the two tall riders, they paid them no mind.
“I could use a cup of coffee, Jake,” Steele said. “Up there beyond the saloon, what’s that place?”
“Looks like a restaurant. We’ll see if anyone is awake.”
The place was already open, its front windows steamed up. Oil lamps glowed inside in a smoky haze.
Jacob and Steele reined and dismounted in front of the restaurant. They entered and took a seat. Ten or so other customers sat at tables, one stout man with the prosperous look of a banker making a start on an enormous steak topped with half a dozen eggs.
A middle-aged, handsome waitress poured coffee without even waiting for their order. It was good and strong.
She appeared talkative and had her own opinion when they asked about Silas Strangewayes. “You boys steer clear of him. He’s a mean, grasping old beggar who would cut his mother’s throat for a dollar.”
“Is he a moneylender?” Steele asked.
“He’s an importer, or so he says, but usury is his game and more besides, including murder, if you ask me.”
“Is he rich?” Jacob said, trying to assess the man.
“As Midas. He owns half of Silver City, cowboy, and he’s got his greedy finger in every other pie, legal and illegal, in the town.”
“You ever hear of a ranny by the name of English Nate Condor?” Steele asked.
The woman shook her head. “Name doesn’t ring a bell with me.”
A man’s voice yelled, “Bessie!” from the kitchen. The waitress said, “I got to go. But remember what I told you. Steer clear of that old rogue Silas Strangewayes.” She hustled away.
“After all that, I’m quite anxious to meet the gentleman,” Steele said.
“Then drink up, Dallas. Condor won’t wait for us.”
Across town at the Blue Coyote livery stable, Nate Condor was having his own problems.
“The wagon will be back by noon,” said the proprietor, a fat man who walked in a fragrant aura of horse dung and sweat. “You can wait until then, surely.”
“Where the hell is it now, Cobham?” John Gaudet said, his reptilian eyes angry. “Mr. Strangewayes said it was all arranged.”
“Nothing was arranged, and that’s why the only wagon I’ve got is out at the Rafter-T delivering barbwire. It will be back by noon, like I said.”
Condor glanced at his watch. “Five hours from now. Is there any other place in town we can hire a wagon?”
“Nope,” Cobham said. “At least not a Studebaker that will carry a heavy load over rough country. As soon as it gets back, I’ll change the horse team and you’ll be on your way.” His red, polished face took on a sly look. “Why are you in such an all-fired hurry, mister?”
“That’s none of your damned business,” Condor said.
“But it is my business.” Cobham didn’t look in the least intimidated by Condor. “I’m mighty particular about them as I rent a wagon and horse team to.”
“You’re renting it to Mr. Strangewayes,” Gaudet said. “That’s all you need to know.”
“Silas’s marker is as good as cash in the bank. You’re right about that.” Cobham picked up the bridle he’d been repairing. “You boys look sharp set. There’s a restaurant at the other side of town by the name of the Hungry Hunter. It’s a fair piece, but the grub is worth it and the walk will kill time until Bertie Yates gets back with the wagon.”
Twenty minutes later, Nate Condor and John Gaudet sat in the same seats recently vacated by Jacob O’Brien and Dallas Steele.
The middle-aged waitress took their orders, but didn’t engage them in conversation.
The sun had not yet cleared the peaks of the Mimbres Mountains forty miles to the west and the street where Silas Strangewayes did business was even gloomier than usual. A dim light glowed behind the black-painted window as Jacob and Steele dismounted and hitched their horses.
“Egg and cheese importer,” Jacob read. “Sounds innocent enough.”
“Maybe he’ll sell us some eggs at cost,” Steele said, smiling. He bowed and extended his arm. “After you, Mr. O’Brien.”
The bell above the door jangled as Jacob stepped into the office, Steele right behind him.
The man Jacob took to be Strangewayes sat behind a desk like an emaciated troll, the steel pen in his hand scratching across a thick ledger. Without looking up, the troll said, “What can I do for you?”
“Silas Strangewayes?” Jacob asked.
“Yes, yes, that’s me. Now what do you want? Be quick of tongue, man.”
“A dozen eggs and a pound of English cheddar, extra sharp,” Steele said.
Now Strangewayes looked up. “You are pleased to be funny.”
“Just trying to attract your attention,” Steele said.
“You have it. Now what do you want?”
“We’re trying to find a man and we believe you know where he is,” Jacob said.
“This is a place of business, not a lost and found bureau,” Strangewayes said. “If you have no business to transact, then good day to you both.”
“His name is Nate Condor.” Jacob said. “He visited you here, Strangewayes.”
The man didn’t flinch. “A lot of people visit me here. As I told you, this is a place of business. Now, if you have none to transact, then be gone. Get out of my office.”
“We could beat it out of you, old man,” Steele said.
Without a word Strangewayes got to his feet, hopped like a seedy crow to a bell rope and yanked on it. “Now I’ll have you thrown out,”
A few moments later two men stepped into the office, the bell over the door clamoring above their heads. They had the look of knuckle and skull fighters who’d learned their trade in saloons and waterfront dives around the country. Both were big, brawny, and mean and seemed eager for a fight.
Strangewayes sat back at his desk, picked up his pen and bent to his ledger. “Throw them out.”
The broken-nosed faces of the bruisers broke into sadistic grins and their fists bunched at their sides. Not employed for their intelligence or perception, they saw a fancy-pants dude and a ragged, dusty puncher and figured it was going to be easy and fun.
It was a bad mistake.
They had not reckoned on gunfighters.
As Steele drew, Jacob took a couple of long, swift steps, and was at Strangewayes’ desk quickly. The little man opened a drawer and reached for a gun, but Jacob slammed the drawer shut on Strangewayes’ wrist. The man squealed in pain.
Jacob grabbed Strangewayes by the front of his coat, jerked him out of his chair, and pressed the muzzle of his Colt against the man’s temple. He turned to the bruisers who were momentarily rooted to the spot, their slow minds grappling with the implications of Steele’s revolver and their boss’s plight.
“Stay right where you are or I’ll scatter his brains,” Jacob said.
“The man means what he says,” Steele said, his Colt up and rock steady in his hand.
“Boss, what do we do?” one of the bruisers asked.
“Stay right there and don’t move,” Strangewayes said, his crow-croak of a voice quivering. “He’ll kill me.”
“Count on it, mister,” Jacob said. “Now, where is Condor?”
“Damn you to hell,” Strangewayes said.
Jacob shoved the Colt muzzle harder into the man’s temple. “You live or die by your next words, Strangewayes. Where is Nate Condor?”
“The Blue Coyote livery stable.”
“Is he still there?”
“No, he’s probably gone by now.”
“Where is he headed?”
“South. That’s all I know.”
“Tell me, damn you.” Jacob shook the man.
“He wouldn’t tell me where he was headed. South . . . just south.”
“Where is the Blue Coyote?”
“The north side of town. Take Hudson Street and you can’t miss it.”
Jacob turned to Steele. “You reckon he’s telling the truth, Dallas?”
“I’m telling the truth,” Strangewayes said. “You’ll find Condor there and God help you when you do.” The man’s voice rose to a hysterical shriek. “He’ll kill you . . . kill you . . . kill you . . .”
“Yeah, he’s telling the truth.” Steele smiled. “But maybe he’s lying about the kill you part.”
“Maybe.” Jacob dragged Strangewayes from behind the desk. “Call off your apes.”
Strangewayes hesitated and Jacob said, “I will blow your brains out, you know.”
The man heard the truth in Jacob’s voice and said to the bruisers, “You two, get back upstairs.”
“Boss, we—”
“Now!” Strangewayes yelled. “This here is a madman and he’ll kill me if you don’t leave.”
Reluctantly, the men left.
After a minute passed, Jacob said, “Dallas.”
Steele nodded and he too stepped outside.
The racketing roar of a Colt followed a moment later, followed by the crash of glass and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the concrete sidewalk.
“Seems like your friends had other ideas about letting us leave, Strangewayes,” Jacob said.
“That was none of my doing.” The man shivered with fear.
“No, I guess not,” Jacob said. “I’m in a good mood today and I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Have you any more stashed away upstairs?”
“No, only those two. Are they both dead?”
Strangewayes question was answered when Steele stepped inside, clanging the bell again. He frowned. “Damn that bell. It makes me jump every time.”
“What happened?” Jacob said.
“They were at the window, laying for us with rifles. Looks like they’re now both deceased.” Steele opened the jangling door again. “I suggest we leave before the law gets here.” He nodded at Strangewayes. “Are you planning to gun him, Jake?”
“No!” the little man cried. “Spare me, please.”
“Two dead hardcases outside, Strangewayes. I’d say you’ve got some explaining to do,” Jacob said.
The little man bit his lip and looked worried. “I won’t tell them it was you who killed them, I promise. Robbers. It was robbers. Yes, that’s what I’ll tell them.”
“Explain it any way you can,” Steele said. “Jake, are we riding? We’ve got an appointment with Nate Condor to keep, remember?”
Jacob nodded and holstered his Colt. “Yeah, so let’s go keep it.”