The moon hung in the clear sky, bathing the earth in soft light. The harshness of the day’s heat had given way to a surprising chill. Far distant, the soft cry of an owl sounded like a lullaby of peace to all but the rodents it sought.
Sam stood in the deep shadows of a grove of trees. He studied the area ahead of him intently. He was in no hurry, he had time to be sure who was where, and why.
He had entered Mariposa without using the road, keeping to the bottoms of draws, skirting hills, staying well out of sight. His horse was just beyond a clump of plum bushes, tied to a small elm tree.
In front of him the back side of Grede’s Lucky Lady Saloon and Gambling Hall spilled yellow light from every window. From his vantage he could see through clearly, watching the lively business within.
He had quickly picked out which windows opened into Grede’s living quarters. The windows were larger, the drapes that hung on the inside of those windows were plush fabric. The visible furnishings within were elaborate and clearly top quality. Every facet of those quarters reeked of prosperity.
As far as he had been able to ascertain, there was only one guard on this side of the building. Either Grede was supremely confident, or thought he had no enemies likely to be stalking him. That didn’t square with the mental image Sam had formed of the man.
Grede himself seemed to be alone in his quarters. He was seated at a desk, with several ledgers open in front of him. The window behind him was open to the world. ‘He either thinks he ain’t got an enemy in the world or he’s dumber’n a knot-headed calf,’ Sam muttered to himself.
The lone guard idled at the corner of the building, leaning against it, listening to the noise of the conversations and revelry within. He rolled a cigarette and smoked it, oblivious to the fact that he was broadcasting his location to anyone approaching.
The whole scene made no sense to him, but he finally decided he had to accept it at face value. He made a wide, silent circle, coming up on the guard from around the corner he lounged beside. He stood there, less than three feet from him, watching his shadow. When the shadow indicated he had turned to look along the back side of the building, Sam stepped into the open. The guard sensed his presence just in time to turn into the gun barrel that slammed into the side of his head. He crumpled noiselessly to the ground.
Moving swiftly and soundlessly, Sam approached the open window. He stepped over the sill and eased himself into the room, almost within reach of Ben Grede. The saloon keeper gave no indication he sensed Sam’s presence.
Sam stood still in indecision. He looked around. Just to his right a wingback chair, upholstered in rich burgundy velvet, stood empty. He eased himself into it, holding his gun in his lap. He lifted his right boot on to his left knee in an exaggerated position of relaxation. By doing so, he knew he also concealed the gun from Grede’s angle.
‘Nice night,’ he said, keeping his voice conversational.
Grede jumped as if he had been shot. He whirled, nearly upsetting his chair. ‘Who are you? How’d you get in here?’
‘I walked. My name’s Sam Heller.’
Recognition flashed in Grede’s eyes, followed by a perceptible paling of his face. ‘The gunman.’
‘Only when I have to be,’ Sam rejoined amicably. ‘I understand you’ve sworn out a complaint against me with the US marshal.’
A film that should have been invisible passed over Grede’s eyes. Sam recognized it for the wariness he expected. ‘I went along with Lance’s complaint,’ he admitted. ‘You killed a couple of his boys.’
‘Did he tell you why?’
‘Because he wants the widow’s place.’
‘Because his boys were busy drivin’ off about fifty head of her cows.’
Grede’s eyebrows shot up. ‘They were rustlin’?’
‘That’s what it was called the last I knew.’
‘You got any proof of that?’
‘The woman and her son were both with me. She shot one of ’em.’
‘The Bond woman shot one of Lance’s hands?’
‘She shot one of the rustlers. You’re the one that seems to know it was Russell’s hands that were doing the rustling.’
Grede laughed unexpectedly. ‘He sure didn’t tell me that one of his tough Texas gun hands got himself shot by a woman.’
‘She’d have shot the one at her place a couple days before that if I hadn’t done it first.’
Grede’s smile disappeared. ‘You shot another one of his hands?’
‘I shot one that drew on me. Russell thought he could force her to sell out to him for five hundred dollars, lock, stock, and barrel. He doesn’t seem to have much respect for a woman.’
Grede took a deep breath. ‘I’ll give you that. That bothers me some about Lance. I got more respect for the whores that work for me than he does for good women.’
‘So what are your intentions toward her?’ Sam demanded.
‘I’d love to buy her place, if she wants to sell it.’
‘For five hundred dollars, I suppose.’
Grede shook his head. ‘I said I’d love to buy it, not steal it. I might not be the most respectable citizen of Mariposa, but I’m not that low, to take advantage of a widow. By the way, where’s my guard? Did you come in that window?’
‘I did. Your guard’s right where he was. When he wakes up, he’ll have a dandy headache.’
Grede thought about it a long moment, then nodded. ‘You know I could holler and have half a dozen of my men in here instantly, don’t you?’
‘You know you’d be dead before the first one made it through the door, don’t you?’
Grede studied him a long moment. ‘I like you. Do you want a job?’
‘I got one. I just want to know whether I’m gonna have to deal with you to make sure the Bond woman gets a fair shake.’
Grede shook his head. ‘Like I said, I’d love to have her place. But I play it straight up with everyone. I don’t need to be crooked or lowdown to make money. I probably made more money this year than you’ve ever seen at one time. But I’ve done it honest. I don’t rig the games. I don’t water the whiskey. And I don’t let the girls roll any drunk cowboys. If the Bond woman wants to sell out, I’ll pay her a fair price for her patent and market price for her livestock, whenever she wants to sell.’
It was Sam’s turn to study the other man for a long moment. He stood up and dropped his gun back into its holster. ‘Fair enough,’ he said.
He deliberately turned his back on Grede, knowing he was inviting a bullet in the back if he had mis-read the man. How badly he had mis-read the man became immediately apparent.
‘You’d best not be goin’ out that window.’
He looked back at the owner of the Lucky Lady. ‘Why not?’
‘You don’t really think I’d sit there with my back to a window, with the lamps on, without taking measures to be sure I don’t get shot, do you?’
Sam’s mind cast about feverishly, trying to figure out what he might have missed. Either Grede was bluffing, or he had missed something that could well be fatal. ‘It sure enough appears that way,’ he stalled.
Grede chuckled. ‘Every fifteen minutes my guards have to check in. When the guard you knocked out didn’t, someone came to check on him. By now there’s half a dozen men with their guns trained on you. If I give the signal, you’re a dead man. And it doesn’t matter how fast or good you are. You’re standing in good lamplight. My boys are standing in the dark. You don’t have a chance to see them. They don’t have a chance of missing you.’
If it was a bluff, it was a good one. It explained why Grede was so willing to visit. He was giving his men time to get into position. Now the tables were turned, and Sam was in a situation from which he had no chance to escape.
He thought of the bustling saloon and casino on the other side of the door. If he took Grede hostage and exited that way, he might make it to the outside door alive.
Grede chuckled as if reading his thoughts. ‘You don’t need to try to take me hostage,’ he said. ‘I already said I like you.’
He picked up the coal oil lamp from his desk, walked to the window, and swung it back and forth twice in a wide arc. He set it back on the desk. ‘You can go ahead and leave now. The next time you stop in to visit, please use the front door.’
Sam hesitated for a long moment, uncertain whether to take the man’s word. He shrugged inwardly, deciding it was as good a course of action as any. He stepped out through the window. To his left, the guard he had knocked out was struggling to his feet. He walked over to him and grabbed his arm, steadying him. He steered him toward the open window. ‘Better go tell your boss you got a headache,’ he advised.
The guard shook his head and tried to focus his eyes on whomever had helped him up. There was nobody there.