Novel 1981 - Comstock Lode (v5.0) (45 page)

“Who could, Wag? You ain’t thinkin’. Who was there? Baldy an’ Pete were killed by the feller at the blue wagon.”

“That was Trevallion’s pa.”

“All right. That’s Baldy an’ Pete. Trevallion’s killed Rory and Obie Skinner. That’s four gone. There’s us, that makes seven, and the Clean-Cutter, which is eight. That’s all there was.”

Waggoner tossed off his whiskey, made a face, and refilled his glass. “Where’d the booze come from, Les? We were broke, remember?”

The other man looked up from the gun he was cleaning. “We got the booze from that busted wagon, don’t you recall? The one with the busted wheel. I was wantin’ a drink real bad and somebody says there was a jug in that busted-down wagon. Sure enough, there was. That was how we all got liquored up.”

“Who tol’ you about that jug?” Waggoner asked.

“Hell! How should I remember? There was a lot of us around. Somebody said it was there, that’s all I know. I wanted whiskey an’ I wasn’t about to ask no questions.”

“Same with me,” Les said. “What difference does it make, anyway?”

“Maybe none atall. Maybe a lot. What I’m askin’ myself is how that whiskey happened to be there in an empty wagon? Does somebody leave a jug o’ whiskey just asettin’?”

“How should we know? What the hell, whiskey is whiskey. I take it where I can get it.”

“That’s what he figured.”

“Who?”

“Boys, we been euchered. We been set up an’ taken. We done what we done but somebody else got the money. Did you get any money, Les?”

“Hell, no.”

“Well, neither did I. Neither did anybody unless it was him who left the whiskey there. Who was it yelled that somebody was comin’? That a whole gang was comin’?”

Les suddenly swore viciously. “Damn it! Damn it all to hell!”

“See? Somebody suckered us into it, somebody got away with all that money.”

Rig, who was cleaning his gun, began to reload. “That’s past. What the hell? So we were suckered? That was years ago.”

“I don’t like it,” Les complained. “I don’t like being played for no sucker.”

“Think back, both of you. We got to remember who told us about that liquor.”

“What the hell difference does it make now? That’s over an’ done with.”

“It makes a difference,” Waggoner said, “because he’s here. He’s right here in Washoe.”

They stared at him. He tossed off his drink. “I got a job to do.” He thumbed a roll of bills from his pocket. “See that? It’s from him. It’s got to be from him.”

“Then you know him!”

“No, I don’t. I don’t know him at all, but he knows me. He knows you all, too. He knows who we are an’ what we done.”

Les picked up the cards again and began to shuffle them for another turn at solitaire. He started placing the cards, then looked up. “He had to be there. He had to be in Missouri at the time. He had to be right there in town.” He glanced at the man cleaning the gun. “Got any ideas, Rig?”

“Uh-huh, but you’ve got to remember, there must have been two dozen wagon trains outfitting to head west, and there were others just like us who were hangin’ around to see what we could latch onto.” He put his gun into its holster. “What difference does it make? If he hasn’t said anything up to now, he ain’t liable to. Anyway, that was years ago. How they goin’ to prove it?”

“Lynchers don’t need much proof,” Les replied.

“You give it thought,” Waggoner said, “I’m busy. I got a job to do.”

“You say he paid you that money? Then you must’ve seen him.”

“One time, several years back. He met me out in the hills and he was all wrapped up so’s I couldn’t see his face or guess his size, except for height. He got word to me and I met him.” Waggoner jerked his head to indicate the east. “Over yonder.” He paused again. “He wanted Trevallion killed.”

“That must’ve really hurt your feelin’s.”

“He told me Trevallion knew us all, that he’d killed Rory and Skinner, and it was get him or Trevallion would notch his stick for us. It made sense. Besides,” Waggoner smiled, revealing his big, strong teeth. “He give me three hundred dollars. Ever’ time something like that come up, it was three hundred.”

“No wonder you ain’t killed him.”

“I tried. Believe me, I tried. Kip Hauser tried it, too, and Kip’s dead.”

“Kip was no gunfighter. Never knew him to kill anybody he couldn’t stick. He was a knife man.”

“He tried it. You got to remember Skinner, too. Obie was mighty damn good with a gun. Trevallion is no easy job.”

“The three of us,” Rig said. “We could box him.”

“Wait, let’s see if this does him in. This could do it.”

“Hold on, Wag. Wait just a minute. Who is this gent who comes up with three hundred dollars ever’ now and again? Where’s he get his money? What’s his stake in this?”

Waggoner took up a tin pail and began packing a few odds and ends for his lunch. “Asked myself that. I figure he was in it, too. He’s scared of Trevallion. Wants him dead.”

“You think he was the one who got the money?”

“Well, I think he’s well-off now.” Waggoner paused, considering. “Maybe a gambler. They have money.”

“More than likely it is somebody else, somebody with something to lose. If you’re goin’ into that mine to do what I think you’re plannin’, how is he so sure Trevallion will be down there? That ain’t Trevallion’s mine. I think he’s after somebody else.”

“I’d be curious,” Les suggested. “I’d be wonderin’ who this gent is who knows so much.”

“Look,” Waggoner said. “Every now and again he has something needs doing. Each time I get three hundred. First time, that time I seen him, he warned me against tryin’ to find out who he was, said he’d have me done in.

“Hell, what do I care who he is? I been livin’ it easy. You think I want to nose around an’ mess that up? You got to be crazy.”

“Whoever it is,” Les insisted, “he’s got something to lose. Maybe he’s away up there, big mining man or businessman.”

Waggoner opened the door and stepped outside. “You fellers want to earn your keep, you kill Trevallion. I can get you a hundred dollars apiece for that.”

Waggoner started down the trail, and Rig stared after him. “What’s he talkin’ about? A hundred dollars?”

“That’s a summer’s work punchin’ cows,” Les said. “You an’ me both have killed men for less, a lot less.”

There was silence in the room and then Rig said, “I don’t like it, Les. I don’t like somebody knowing about that thing back yonder. I don’t care who he is.”

“What we goin’ to do about it? We don’t even know who he is, nor what he is.”

“Trevallion knows. He knows some of us, anyhow.”

“How could he? Nobody was around.”

“That’s what we thought. He was probably hidin’ in the brush, scared to death.” Rig stuffed his pipe and tamped it down. “If he killed Rory and Skinner like they say, what’s he waitin’ on? He must know Waggoner’s in town. Maybe he even knows about us.”

Rig was uneasy. He struck a match and lit his pipe. “We got to get him, Les. We got it to do, and before he can get us. He’s planning something, you can bet on it.”

“To hell with him!” Les held an ace in his fingers, looking at the cards before him. “I’m thinking about the other gent, the one who can afford to pay Wag three hundred dollars ever’ now and again. Why should Wag get it all?”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Well, if he’s so doggone anxious to have Trevallion killed, it’s because he’s scared himself or he’s afraid he’ll be exposed. We got us a pigeon, Rig. This man is
some
body. He can’t afford to have his past brought up; maybe he’d pay real money to have it all kept quiet. Maybe he’d pay us five thousand dollars to keep quiet, and then after a little while, another five thousand?”

“What about Wag?”

“You seen him givin’ us any of that three hundred? And he won’t, neither.
Five thousand,
Rig, split right down the middle. That’s a lot of money, Rig.”

“I never seen that much. Never in my born days have I seen five thousand dollars all to oncet.” He took his pipe from his lips and spat into the fire. “Don’t do no good talkin’. We don’t even know who he is.”

Les was silent while he studied the cards. “No, we don’t, but we’re goin’ to find out. We’re goin’ to study on it. We’re goin’ to do a little
ree
-search, as the fellow said.”

“Hell! There must be ten thousand people on the Comstock! How do you pick one out of all that bunch?”

“It won’t be easy, but let’s study on it. There’s a whole lot of deadbeats, cardsharks, and crooks. We know who they are, and it won’t be one of them. It’s got to be somebody who
is
somebody, or seems to be. That narrows it down.

“It’s got to be somebody who was in Missouri in ’49 or ’50, long about that time. There’s a whole lot who didn’t come out until much later, and there are some who were in California before. And it’s got to be somebody who was here in ’59. You look at it that way, and the field’s mighty thin.”

“What do we do?” Rig asked.

“We go down to town. You go one way and I’ll go the other, and we find some of the oldtimers and just get them talkin’ about the good old days. Names will come up; if they don’t, we bring ’em up. No time at all we will know who is still around, and from them we don’t have much trouble sortin’ out those who’ve done well, and so have somethin’ to lose.”

He brought the deck together with a swift gesture and placed the deck, squared and neat, at the side of the table. “You an’ me, Rig, we’re goin’ to have us some money!”

Together they closed the shack and started down the rocky street toward town. Pausing at the corner of A Street and Union, Rig said, hesitantly, “Les? Just suppose he won’t stand still for it? Suppose he decides to have
us,
killed?”

“Hell,” Les said, “he won’t know who we are. Anyway, who are we? A couple of chickens? We don’t kill easy, Rig. We can take care of ourselves. Anyway, who would he hire to kill us—Wag?”

They started down toward C Street when Rig stopped suddenly. “Les? What about Wag? Supposin’ he did hire Wag? Are we worth three hundred dollars apiece to Wag? The way he figures it, that’s nigh onto two years of lazy, easy livin’.”

Les stared out over the town, thinking. “We got to think about that, Rig. We got to keep an eye on Wag. If this pigeon of ours doesn’t come through, and quick—”

“Yeah?”

“Then we kill Wag. It’ll be him or us.”

Chapter 52

T
REVALLION WAS WAITING when she came to the lobby. She hesitated a moment, watching him in conversation with Teale. He was a remarkably handsome man in his own rugged way, and he possessed a certain air, a certain style that was his own.

That he would be wearing a pistol she knew. Here, in the quiet precincts of the International, those who wore weapons kept them from sight, and they were rarely seen unless worn by someone just in off the trail and seeking a drink or a room.

Trevallion looked around and saw her, and the men crossed the room to where she stood. “You saw Hesketh?”

“I did, and gave him his walking papers. I let him know that as of now he was no longer welcome at the Solomon and orders were to refuse him entry.”

“How’d he like that?” Teale asked.

“He didn’t. He was very angry, I think. I shall ask Mr. Teale if he will guard the mine for me, and—”

“No,” Trevallion interrupted.

There was such finality in the word that she was startled. Teale had turned his eyes immediately to Trevallion.

“I want Teale with you,” Trevallion said. “I’ll get one of Ledbetter’s boys to stand guard at the Solomon. You’ll need at least two, one to spell the other so that he can rest. Teale must stay with you. I wouldn’t feel safe with anybody else on the job. There isn’t anybody in Nevada going to bother you with Teale around.”

“It shouldn’t matter now,” she protested. “He knows that he has no business there now, and he certainly will have none with me. I have laid claim to the mine and shall see that it is announced in the
Enterprise
.”

“Do you believe that?”

She hesitated, then shook her head quickly. “No, I don’t. I think he is a mean, revengeful man who would stop at nothing. I offered to buy him out,” she added.

“And—?”

“He was furious. It is obvious he believes the mine is his, stockholders or no.”

“Maybe I’d better go up there and look the place over for you,” Trevallion suggested. “It has been some time since I’ve been there.”

“We will go,” she smiled at him. “
We
will go, Mr. Trevallion. After all, the mine is mine, or the largest piece of it.”

Margrita turned to Teale. “You can have something to eat. We won’t be gone long, and you can take me to the theater.”

Teale nodded. “All right, ma’am. Some grub would taste right good.” He started to say something else, but they were walking away.

F
ROM HIS WINDOW in the International, Hesketh watched them go, taking out his watch to note the time. “Something else,” he muttered, “I need something else.”

Had their guard arrived yet? He thought not. His own men would be gone. Santley would be there, but Santley always left early on Saturday afternoon to buy groceries for the coming week.

The theater? There was no play tonight, as there had been a minor fire and some damage done, yet it was likely she would return to the theater to see how repairs were progressing and to check damaged scenery. It had been very little, after all, and they should be ready to open Sunday night.

He permitted himself a little smile. They would be ready to open, but they never would. Not unless they had a new leading lady.

He tapped lightly on the table, thinking carefully, trying to run an assay on every aspect of the problem.

Teale, Teale had not gone with them, and Teale was a most careful man. Something must be done about Teale.

He shook his head irritably. Too much, too close together. And he must take his walk at the wrong time if the message were to go out. He disliked breaking a pattern. It might be noticed. Still, there was no way he could be connected with any of it. He would be dining at his usual hour, in his usual place, and if all went smoothly it would be a clean sweep, and all must go well.