.44 Caliber Man (6 page)

Asking the
depot agent about his cousin, Colin had learned that Tam Breda was
away on business and not expected back for some weeks. Further
questioning brought the information that the Grand Hotel was the
best hotel in town. A small, sly-looking, dirty man called Arnie
had offered to help carry his baggage to the hotel. On the way,
Arnie had asked many questions about the hold-up which Colin put
down to idle morbid curiosity.

Despite its
grandiloquent title, the Grand Hotel proved to be a two-floor
wooden building of no great size. If lacking in many of the
facilities Colin expected in a hotel, it was clean and he had
decided it would suit his purpose until Breda returned.

Walking down
the stairs, Colin saw a tall, lean young man studying him from the
reception desk. Straightening up, the young man ambled across the
room. He had reddish-brown hair and a cheery, freckled face. A
battered Confederate Army forage cap perched on his head and he
wore a buckskin shirt, levis pants and riding boots. Although his
face had an amiable grin, he kept his right hand thumb-hooked into
his gunbelt close to the butt of a long-barreled Army Colt.

‘
Howdy,’ the man greeted, freeing his thumb and extending the
hand in Colin’s direction. ‘Name’s Kenny Schell. My lil sister,
Jeanie, told me what happened on the trail. So I figured least I
could do was come around and thank you for saving her
hide.’

‘
I didn’t save her,’ Colin objected, shaking hands.

‘
That’s how she tells it,’ Kenny replied. ‘If that greaser’d
laid hands on her, she’d be dead—or wishing she was—right
now.’

‘
The cowboy shot the man,’ Colin insisted. ‘All I did was stop
your sister catching one of the horses.’

‘
She told me how you stopped her,’ Kenny chuckled, ‘I’d vote
Republican to’ve seed her face when you hauled her down. Happen
you’re not ag’in it. I’d sure admire to buy you a
drink.’

Suddenly Colin
felt the need for company. He also decided that a second meeting
with Jeanie Schell might be interesting, especially as she appeared
to have lost her animosity towards him. There was something
friendly and appealing about Kenny which suggested he might be
worth cultivating as a companion. So Colin smiled and indicated the
dining room.

‘
I’m just going in to eat. Will you join me?’

‘
Be right pleased to,’ Kenny grinned. ‘We could go home for
some victuals, but Ma ‘n’ Jeanie’s out visiting.’

If Colin had
been more experienced in western ways, he might have read
significance in the way Kenny acted. After shaking hands, the young
Texan returned his thumb to the belt. While walking towards the
dining room, Kenny’s eyes darted from side to side. He was tense,
watchful and, to anyone who knew of such things, ready for trouble.
Leading the way into the room, Kenny gave its few occupants a quick
scrutiny. Then he walked by the empty tables in the center of the
room, selecting one against the wall and not in direct line with
either door or windows.

Hanging his hat
on the back of the chair, Kenny sat down and looked his companion
over. Colin was still bare-headed, and had left off his plaid and
the dirk.

‘
Don’t you have a gun, Colin?’ Kenny inquired, after the Scot
introduced himself.

‘
I’ve a Henry, a shotgun and a double-barreled
rifle.’

‘
No handgun?’

‘
No. I’ve a brace of pistols—’

‘
Why aren’t you packing ’em?’ Kenny asked bluntly.

‘
I didn’t see any need to go armed in town,’ Colin
replied.

The young Texan
let out his breath in a long hiss. ‘That was Adàn Flores you killed
on the trail. Didn’t the Kid warn you that his kin’d be gunning for
you?’

‘
Yes. But the sheriff said I’d have nothing to worry about in
town.’

‘
Henny Lansing don’t know a greaser from a Tejas Injun,’ Kenny
scoffed. ‘You should’ve listened to the Kid. Now there’s a feller
who knows Mexicans. Will you be staying around for
long?’

‘
Until Tam Breda comes back,’ Colin answered.

‘
That long, huh?’ Kenny said. ‘I can’t sti—’

At that moment
the waiter arrived, a gnarled old-timer who rattled off a string of
unintelligible names instead of offering a printed menu. So Colin
took the easy way out.

‘
What do you suggest, Kenny?’

‘
Son-of-a-bitch stew, followed by apple pie,’ the Texan
answered.

‘
I respect your judgment,’ Colin said as the waiter hobbled
away. ‘But what was that you ordered?’

‘
Son-of-a-bitch stew?’ Kenny grinned. ‘It’s made out of most of
a calf, ’cepting the hide, hooves and bellow, potatoes, stuff like
that, cut up small and stewed up until you can’t tell which
son-of-a-bitching part’s which.’

Despite the
description, Colin found the stew very appetizing. While eating, he
turned the conversation to the Schell family. From what Kenny said,
they lived a nomadic life, catching wild horses, and had come to
Fort Sawyer hoping to obtain a contract to supply remounts for the
Army.

‘
We should get it,’ Kenny continued as they finished the meal.
‘Pappy taught us all he knew about mustanging and we’ve a good crew
of men.’

‘
I wish you every success then,’ Colin stated, shoving back his
chair. ‘And now for that drink. Miss Hosman, she was on the coach
with us, invited me to the Black Bear Saloon. Shall we try
there?’

‘
It’s the best place in town,’ Kenny replied.

‘
Your sister didn’t mention why she was travelling,’ Colin
remarked as they walked out of the dining room.

‘
Went to Brownsville to see some of our kin,’ Kenny answered,
and for a moment a cold, worried expression flickered across his
face. ‘Do you want to go up and fetch your gun?’

‘
Surely not just to walk along the street,’ Colin
protested.

‘
Have it your way,’ Kenny drawled. ‘Only don’t count on getting
up close to any more of the Flores boys. They’ll shoot you on
sight.’

Although Colin
thought that Kenny was exaggerating the danger, he kept quiet. To a
man reared in the British Isles, it seemed improbable that known
outlaws would dare to come into a town on a mission of revenge. So
he declined to fetch the pistols from his room. Giving a resigned
shrug, Kenny took the lead as they left the hotel.

Once the train
of thought had been started, Colin could not help noticing the
caution Kenny displayed. Before letting Colin through the door,
Kenny swept the street in each direction with a cautious gaze. The
young Texan spoke little and remained alert as they crossed the
street and approached the Black Bear Saloon. Even as Colin began to
wonder why the other had chosen to stay in his company, they
reached the batwing doors at the front entrance.

Before offering
to open the doors, Kenny looked the room’s occupants over. He saw
only the usual sort of crowd, a few soldiers, townsmen, a
sprinkling of range-country dwellers, waiters and half-a-dozen
garishly-dressed girls. There were no Mexicans present in the bar
or on the balcony leading to the upstairs rooms.

Colin became
the target for every eye as he entered. Although he saw various
customers clearly talking about him, none of them came over or
addressed him.

‘
They’re telling each other about you killing Adàn Flores,’
Kenny remarked as he and Colin approached the bar.

‘
Do they know about it?’ the Scot asked.

‘
Everybody in town will by now,’ Kenny replied. ‘Likely they’re
wondering how soon it’ll be afore Tiburcio Flores comes after you.
What’ll you have?’

‘
Whiskey,’ Colin answered, looking around the room then turning
to the bartender who came their way. ‘Is Miss Hosman
here?’

‘
You’re the feller who killed Adàn Flores, huh?’ the man asked,
looking nervously around the room. ‘Sure, she’s here.’ He nodded
towards the stairs at the side of the room. ‘I’ll send word up to
her that you’ve come.’

Following the
direction of the bartender’s gaze, Colin saw a sharp-featured,
middle-sized, scrawny man on the stairs. Dressed in dirty range
clothes, with a Navy Colt holstered on his hip, the man stared
towards the bar. Yet Colin got the idea that, for once, he was not
the object of interest. Seeing Colin and Kenny looking his way, the
man turned and slouched back to disappear on to the balcony.

‘
How long’s Sprig Branch been in town, bar-keep?’ Kenny
asked.

‘
Who?’ the bartender grunted as he took up a bottle of
whiskey.

‘
That feller on the stairs didn’t come in on his lonesome,’
Kenny stated.

‘
Him and three pards come in just after sundown,’ the bartender
explained, pouring drinks into glasses. ‘Miss Hosman said for you
to have the first one on her, mister.’

‘
I’m getting to like her afore I meet her,’ Kenny grinned,
finding himself included in the gift. ‘Here’s long life to you and
her, Colin.’

‘
And to you,’ Colin answered, raising his glass. The drink had
a raw bite to it and did not taste like the whiskey distilled in
his native Highlands, but was better than he expected. ‘I take it
you knew yon wee feller who was looking us over from the
stairs.’

‘
Sure,’ Kenny agreed. ‘It’s Slinky Moore, works with Sprig
Branch. They’re mesteneros, mustangers.’

‘
Like you.’

‘
I wouldn’t thank you for thinking it. Mustanging’s a rough
game, but I’d sooner vote Republican than handle hosses the way
Branch and his bunch do.’

‘
How do you mean?’ Colin asked.

‘
I don’t go much on a feller who uses clogs, or drag chains on
the hosses he catches,’ Kenny replied. ‘Branch’s bunch do that—and
worse. I was right, Slinky ain’t here on his lonesome.’

Turning his
head slightly, Colin saw four men coming down the stairs. Two of
them were gangling, unshaven, with hatchet faces, wearing
buckskins, moccasins and with knives as well as revolvers slung
about them. Kenny whispered that they were Sam and Eric
Trimble.

Sprig Branch
topped the Trimbles by maybe an inch, being around six foot tall
and heavy-built. Black hair straggled untidily from beneath his
dirty Jeff Davis campaign hat and stubbled his surly face. He had
on a grey shirt, riding breeches of faded blue and calf-high Indian
moccasins. Butt forward on an Army weapon belt hung a Remington
revolver. Like his companions, he showed signs of long, hard
riding.

‘
Howdy, Kenny,’ Branch greeted, coming to the bar followed by
his men. ‘Didn’t figure on finding you here. How’s Ma and lil
Jeanie?’

‘
Well enough,’ Kenny replied, watching the men fan in a half
circle around him and Colin. ‘You all right, Sprig?’

‘
Nothing wrong with me that getting an Army remount contract
won’t cure,’ Branch answered and hooked his elbow on the counter.
‘Which same’s’s good’s got.’

‘
Nice to be sure,’ Kenny said dryly, turning with his back to
the bar and facing the Trimble brothers. Moore stood beyond Colin,
a sly, vicious grin twisting his lips.

‘
There’s nobody else for it,’ Branch stated.

‘’
Cepting me,’ Kenny commented.

‘
Your pard sure dresses elegant, Kenny,’ Eric Trimble remarked.
‘I ain’t never seed a feller wearing a skirt afore.’

‘
Now that ain’t the truth, lil brother,’ Sam Trimble put in.
‘We did so see one. Back in Galveston afore the War. Only he wore a
wig, face-paint and jewelry as well. Them sailor-boys sure used to
come ’round him like bees to honey.’

Sucking in his
breath, Colin put down the glass. He still faced the bar, but could
see the Trimbles’ leering faces reflected in the mirror. Something
about them gave Colin a warning. The two men were looking for
trouble, that showed in their attitude. Not wanting to become
involved in a brawl, Colin tightened his lips and ignored the
words. A red flush crept up the back of his neck and he clenched
his fists.

‘
I mind the feller,’ Eric continued. ‘They say he used to dress
like a gal all the way through. Fancy frilly drawers and all. Is
that what you wear, feller—or should I say “girlie”?’

Still Colin
refused to be goaded. However, Kenny looked at Branch and growled,
‘Call ’em off, Sprig.’

‘
The boys’re only funning, Kenny,’ Branch answered in a
carrying tone, but made no attempt to do as the young mustanger
asked.

‘
I asked you a question, girlie,’ Eric said. ‘What do you wear
under that skirt?’

Slowly Colin
turned to face his tormentors. ‘I’m thinking you’d best mind your
own business.’

Games stopped
and conversation around the room drifted to an end as the people
present became aware that the group at the bar were doing more than
making idle conversation. Moving along the sober side of the
counter, the bartender hoped to prevent trouble.

‘
Take it easy, boys,’ he said in a placating manner. ‘Let’s all
have a drink and keep things friendly.’

‘
Sure we will,’ Sam agreed. ‘Only if we’re all so friendly,
this feller oughta show us what’s under his skirt.’

Watching the
others, Branch grinned. On learning of Kenny Schell’s presence, he
had seen a way to remove his only rival for the Army remount
contract. No other mustangers were in the area and the Army needed
horses badly. So their buying commission would award the contract
to the first mesteneros who applied. All too well Branch knew the
Schell family’s reputation and so did the Army. Even with Trader
dead, the soldiers might figure the Schells their best bet.
However, if Kenny met with an accident there was no other man to
take his place.