Thirty-nine

 

Out on the street the boys hiked along with their warbags and saddlebags. Leñeros, or woodmen, were selling bundles of mesquite off their burros, and housewives were buying produce from Chinese vegetable men who had wrapped their lettuces, tomatoes, chiles, and squashes in wet burlap and loaded them into bamboo baskets dangling from either end of a thick wooden pole. The 130-pound loads these slender Chinamen carried reminded Gillom of the extra weight on his own shoulders, and his sore ribs. A loafer enjoying a morning cigarette on a bench against the front wall of Mammon’s Chinese Café watched them stroll down the boardwalk, not stopping in for breakfast. The watcher spit, got up to hurry across the street toward the Blue Goose to report their passing.

Hop Yick’s grocery at the south end of Clifton’s commercial strip provided foodstuffs for their long ride home. Burlap sacks full of slab bacon, hardtack, beans, bread loaves, and steaks for today, salt crackers, coffee, even a wheel of hard cheese. At least we’ll eat well, Gillom thought, if there’s enough left of us to enjoy it. Ease remembered to buy several boxes of .44-.40 rounds and .41-caliber cartridges for his lighter Colt. Gillom even gifted his friend with a gun-cleaning kit.

*   *   *

In the Blue Goose’s back room, too, preparations were under way. Luther had an oiling kit out on his desk and had his Remington derringer and a .38 Lightning, a smaller, lightweight, double-action Colt, apart for cleaning when Cripes hurried in. This middle-aged man in soiled, raggedy clothing couldn’t stand still as he made his report.

“They was walkin’ south, Mister Goose, carryin’ saddlebags and toting goods. Didn’t stop for breakfast.”

“Maybe they’ve checked out?” Luther chewed this thought while Cripes scratched his scraggly red beard. “See what the hotel clerk says, if they’ve gone? Then check the train station and stage office, see if they’re buying tickets? You”—he pointed a cleaning rod at Sunny Jim—“check the stables. They might take a long ride home, but I doubt it. I wanna make sure those bastards are outta our hair, so we don’t have to sit here jumpy, waitin’ for ’em to pop in to give us a six-chamber hello.”

“Should I plug ’em I get the chance?” It was Sunny Jim, his chief bodyguard.

“No. Let’s not get Sheriff English aroused if we don’t have to. If those young jaspers haven’t heard anything about her, they might just leave town, spare me more grief.”

“Boss, we’ll let you know.”

Luther Goose stood up behind his scarred wooden desk, indeed a little jumpy as he poked a stiff thin brush down the barrel of his small revolver and squinted through its empty hole, pondering eternity.

*   *   *

So the boys were well laden when they walked up to the stable corrals south of town. Sam Graham awaited them, looking over the horseflesh. The horsebreaker had already picked out a couple five-year-old geldings from the limited string there, a bay and a buckskin, and Gillom quickly liked a paint pony for his missing girlfriend. Since they were buying several mounts, they were able to wheedle a deal for saddles and bridles and several well-used saddlebags to carry their food from Henry Hill, the stable owner. The bill rounded off to four hundred dollars, greenbacks, with a sack of oats and a morning’s feed for Sam’s nervous stallion, which he also talked the stableman into. This big, skinny racer was the best of the bunch he’d broken for Gene Rhodes over in New Mexico, and Sam had trained the new horse well on his long ride west. Gillom felt lighter in the moneybelt sewn inside his holster as he buckled it back on. His worldly wealth was now down to seventy-five dollars, and his posse expected him to keep paying for this rescue ride as long as it was under way.

After adjusting saddles and bridles and tying saddlebags to the new mounts, the boys practiced on these three horses, reining and starting and stopping them around a side corral to ascertain how well these animals handled before the men were finally ready to ride.

“Looking forward to greeting old Bisbee again,” Gillom said loudly, making sure Henry Hill heard him as they loped away. The saddled paint pony ran on a long lead rope trailing Ease’s horse, carrying no rider. The three amigos rode south, on the stage road that would soon angle off to the right, southwest, toward Solomonville. As soon as they were out of the stableman’s view, though, the young men looped around north, riding back toward Clifton through the brush.

*   *   *

The trio dry-camped north of town, where they could see Clifton in the distance from atop the low hill they squatted behind, hoping no one would come out to investigate a midday campfire. While Sam cooked fresh-cut steaks and beans, Ease tried his new gun-cleaning kit while Gillom oiled his leather holster. Over a sizzling pan, the outlaw eyed Ease working on his new pistol.

“You like that Thunderer?”

“Just bought it used, but it hefts lighter than a bigger Colt and has an easy double-action pull. Rubber grip, six-inch barrel, shoots straight, I like it. Now I have this sudden reputation in Bisbee as a shooter, my boss at the Bonanza wants me to display a sidearm, to help prevent shootings inside. I tried a hip holster, but it got in my way mixing drinks. This shoulder holster fits better, but I don’t fancy toting this lump of metal under my arm for eight hours drawing beers. You ever drink in the Bonanza?”

Sam Graham shook his head.

“It gets rowdy weekends sometimes. Last Fourth of July, they picked one guy out of a corner next morning, thought he was just sleeping off a drunk. Little bullet hole under his left ear and no one heard a thing.”

“I thought the Bonanza was a gentlemen’s club, Ease?” Gillom added.

“Not every night.” He and his pal chuckled.

Gillom looked over at their cook. “How you wanna do this, Sam? Take ’em about midnight, after they’ve been drinkin?”

“No. Early, just after dark, when they’re still thinkin’ about what they’d like for supper. We get away clean, then we’ll have all night to ride southeast, hide out at daybreak.”

Ease’s curiosity got the best of him. “You goin’ to Silver City with us, Mister Jones?”

“Might. This Goose may send men on the stage to check Solomonville, or wire ahead to have the trains watched for you all in Lordsburg. Silver City’s the most unlikely spot to be caught right off.”

“Or head the other way, up into Apache country north a’ San Carlos,” said Gillom. Graham just smiled. “Gonna ride that outlaw trail till you die, Sam?”

“I dunno. Gettin’ worn down. Robbin’s hard work and now they’ve gone and put numbers on the banknotes. Makes stolen money easier to trace by the damned bankers. I may retire to a life of leisure, runnin’ cows back in Central Texas, where my brother’s got a ranch.”

“I’d pay to see you proddin’ cattle for an honest living. We’re not breaking any laws, you know, rescuing a girl held against her will,” argued Gillom.

“Brothel owner won’t see it that way,” answered Sam. “Think of whores as their property.”

“She’s not a whore!”

“Just explaining that a fickle woman is like a careless man with a gun. They’re both apt to hurt somebody.”

“She’s not fickle, either! Whatever the hell that means?”

After a good meal the three drowsed in the summer sunshine, resting on blankets or propped against a rock. A temperature inversion was holding the warm air still and close to the ground so the smelter smoke lingered, irritating their noses and throats with sulfurous acid in the air. Nobody moved around much, hoping for a cleansing breeze. Gillom nudged Ease and they both watched dumbstruck as Sam stirred his hot coffee with the barrel of his .45, absent-mindedly flicking off the wet drips before reholstering.

“Still not too late to pull out of this, Gillom. No shame in that. You ain’t married to Anel,” said Ease.

“I might like to be.” The young gunslinger got on his knees, reached into his Levis. He pulled out the silver locket and showed it to them. “We had our photographs taken in Bisbee and Anel had this keepsake made for me, a surprise.”

His pal looked it over. “Very nice.”

“Gave you a lock of her hair, too,” admired Mr. Graham, lifting it up.

“That hair ain’t off the top of her head. Trimmed it special to prove she’d always be faithful.”

The outlaw dropped the hair clump tied with a tiny pink ribbon back into the silver oval and snapped it shut. Even the tough Texan looked a little shocked as he handed the locket back.

Ease Bixler was open-mouthed. “Jesus, Gillom. You are serious about this girl.”

The young gunslinger looked grim. “That’s why I’m here. I know Anel’s faithful, not whorin’ for this bastard. She’s my silhouette girl, Ease, trusts me to aim true for her.”

His buddy nodded, remembering. “That was quite a picnic, you two challenging each other, your tremendous target shooting.”

“Tonight ain’t gonna be easy or fun, my friend.”

“I’m aware of that, amigo.”

*   *   *

In the Blue Goose, glasses were being polished behind the front bar, food prepared in the kitchen for Friday night’s business. Upstairs the ladies began to get dressed, putting on their war paint for the night’s festivities. Luther Goose was busy, too, checking rooms in his two stories for shuttered windows and locked doors, securing his castle, when his chief henchman reported.

“Cripes didn’t see ’em catch a stage or a train,” announced the boss.

“I know. They bought horses this morning. Three mounts, saddles, tack for ’em, had supplies in their saddlebags. Henry at his stable said there was another man with ’em, older, knew horses, riding his own black stallion. They rode off south together, one of the youngsters saying they were going to Bisbee.”

“Three men? Four saddled horses?” Luther Goose was figuring hard as he began working his eyebrow mole again with a long finger.