Sathow's Sinners (7 page)

Mining camp near the Missouri–Kansas state line

N
ate hated backtracking. Retreading such familiar ground so soon after the last time he'd ridden over it either meant he was being chased or was lost. There were a few other possibilities, but none of them were any better. This time, however, he'd barely had a chance to think about the trail he was riding. His attention was split between swapping bawdy jokes with Deaugrey and trying to keep the other man from getting so anxious that he jumped out of his own skin. Once they rounded a bend that brought the mining camp into sight, that second job became even more difficult. Every so often, Deaugrey's excitement was passed along to the mule he rode which allowed him to coax enough speed from it to move ahead of Nate.

Overtaking Deaugrey's mule amid the thunder of hooves, Nate swore under his breath. Part of his frustration came from having to constantly wrangle the other man and the rest was astonishment that Deaugrey had gotten his tired animal to move so fast.

“You're gonna kill that damn mule if you don't ease up a bit,” Nate scolded.

“She's doing fine,” Deaugrey replied. “Or is it a he? Eh, who cares. We're almost there.”

“And if we ride into that camp like our tails are on fire, everyone with eyes in their head would know we've got important business to conduct.”

“Damn right I've got important business!”

“I'm not talking about that whore you've been going on about.”

Deaugrey blinked as if he'd just woken from a vivid dream. “You're not? Oh yes! The knife. That's not going to take long at all to resolve. After that, it's down to the real business.”

Since he didn't seem to be making any headway with words, Nate reached down to snatch the reins from Deaugrey's hands. He managed to wrestle one away from him, which was enough to get the mule to stop and shake its head angrily.

“What the hell's gotten into you?” Nate asked. “Have you lost even more of your mind? This isn't the first time we've scouted for a job! If you've forgotten everything there is to know about bargaining and negotiations, then you're less than useless to me.”

“Say what you want, my friend, but you're not the one who spent the last stretch of time locked away with nothing but filthy men and beastly women to look at.”

Since Deaugrey seemed to have lost a bit of his steam, Nate handed his reins back to him. “Beastly?”

“You saw that lady ox at the front desk when you went to McKeag's, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“Well let's just say that the sanitarium was putting their best foot forward when they made her the first one guests would see. Some of the others,” Deaugrey added with a shudder, “were the stuff of nightmares. Although . . . there was one young lady who filled out her dressing gown exceptionally well. She tended to be rather gloomy, which made relations with her somewhat less than gratifying.”

Even if Deaugrey was prone to exaggeration, Nate saw his point well enough. “This whore you spotted must really be something.”

“Oh my yes.”

“Then why don't you pay her a visit while I have a word with the fella who was in possession of that knife you stole?”

“Sounds fine to me,” Deaugrey said as quickly as he could shove the words past his lips.

“We're still not going in like a couple of crazed kids, though.”

“Agreed.”

“And I think it would be best if we didn't go in together,” Nate added.

Staring at the camp ahead of them as if he was already searching for the tent belonging to that soiled dove, Deaugrey said, “Whatever you think is best.”

“All right then. Hand over that knife.”

Deaugrey tore his eyes away from the camp so he could look at Nate as if he'd just been asked to sign over his soul to the devil himself. “What? Why? Haven't you seen it well enough to describe it?”

“Sure I have, but I'm not exactly a poet. My words won't be as good as having the real thing to show around. And it's not like we've got all the time in the world to . . .” Nate looked over at him with a half smirk. “I know you're touched in the head and all, but even you can't believe we'll get anywhere with this fellow you robbed unless we return his property to him.”

“All right, all right,” Deaugrey snapped. He pulled the knife from inside his jacket and handed it over. “I'll expect that back as soon as we leave this pit.”

Only after he'd tucked the knife beneath his gun belt did Nate say, “That ain't happening.”

“But . . . it's mine!”

Just when Nate was sure he was going to have to argue the finer points of possession and theft, he was surprised by Deaugrey's willingness to let it drop.

“Eh, keep it,” Deaugrey said. “I can always steal another one. Just don't get in my way before I find that sweet little filly of mine.”

Of course, there was no underestimating the attraction of smooth, warm and willing flesh to desperate hands. When Deaugrey broke away from him after telling him all he could remember about the man who'd been in possession of the fancy knife, Nate was more than willing to let him go.

The camp hadn't impressed Nate very much the first time he rode through it and there was nothing to change his opinion now. Ruts in the ground took the place of anything close to roads and, after a few short bouts of rain had rolled through the area, those ruts were filled with muddy water. Unlike most places, rain didn't do a damn thing to break a hot spell in Missouri. Instead, the clouds rolled out to leave watery memories in the air like warm, sticky tendrils that soaked through a man's clothes to pull the sweat from his brow.

From a distance, Nate could see several small groups of workers sifting through the waters of a stream, busting rocks or doing all manners of work that tended to break a miner's back. In front of him lay the main camp which consisted of about a dozen hastily built shacks, tents of varying sizes and several carts lined up to sell various wares. Nate rode to a corral that was just a larger shack with a small patch of ground roped off to keep a few bony horses from getting away. Judging by the sorry condition of those animals, they probably didn't have the strength to jump the low barrier unless a fire was nipping at their rumps. He dismounted and led his horse to a man who sat in a chair with his legs splayed in front of him and his hands clasped over a belly that poked out from beneath his ill-fitting shirt.

“Howdy,” Nate said as he came to a stop in front of him. “Is this a good spot to put up my horse for a short stay?”

“I don't know,” the fat man grunted. “Is it?”

Nate reached into his pocket for a silver dollar and flipped it into the air. The fat man took notice of the sound of a thumb meeting the edge of the coin and was sitting up by the time the dollar slapped against Nate's palm.

“Is this what passes for a stable in this shit hole or isn't it?” Nate growled.

The fat man couldn't get up fast enough. “Sure it is! Sorry about before. We get plenty of undesirables through here that don't have a penny to their name. Didn't I see you come through here not too long ago? Maybe you were riding with a group of other fellas?”

“I got a real common face,” Nate told him.

Dismissing his own question, the fat man said, “I'll watch over your horse, feed him and even toss in a good brushing. Best bargain in camp!”

“I doubt that, but here,” Nate said while tossing the coin to the fat man. “If I come back to an unhappy horse, I'll come looking, and a man like yourself,” he added while eyeing the other fellow's ample belly, “will be mighty hard to miss.”

“Take a look at these horses right here. There ain't an unhappy one in the bunch.”

Although none of the animals in the corral looked healthy enough to pull a cart, Nate doubted that was the fat man's fault. “Just be sure to feed and water him. I don't intend on being here long.”

“You here looking for work or just passing through?”

“I'm looking to have a word with someone who's supposed to be working here. Name's Dan or . . . maybe Jesse.”

“Which one? Dan or Jesse?”

Silently cursing Deaugrey for not paying closer attention to the men he robbed, Nate said, “Maybe . . . both?”

Instead of looking at Nate like the fool he felt he was, the fat man nodded and said, “Oh! I bet you mean Stan Jessowitz!”

Nate mimicked the other man's expression. “That's him. Any notion of where I can find him?”

“See that big tent right over yonder?” the fat man asked while using a pudgy finger to point deeper into the camp.

Nate looked in that direction, past a cluster of fur traders sitting behind their stacked pelts toward what amounted to the center of camp. “You mean the one with the red scarves tied to the top of its posts?”

“No. That's the whores' tent.”

If he'd looked just a bit harder, Nate would have been able to see as much for himself since Deaugrey's mule was already tied off in front of that place.

“Plenty of nice ladies in there, though,” the fat man said through a lecherous smile. “And they're open to negotiation, if you know what I mean.”

“That ain't what I'm here for.”

“Right. The place I meant to show you is the tent just past that first one you spotted. That next tent is where you go for a drink or a game of cards. Whenever Stan ain't working, he can be found in there. Tell the bartender I sent you, and your first drink is free.”

“Much obliged,” Nate said. After all the help he'd been given, he felt a little bad for being so harsh with the fat man earlier. If the information panned out, and if his horse still looked better than the poor specimens in that corral, Nate decided to toss a bit more money into the other man's hands. If things went a different way, the fat man would get something much different for his troubles.

“How long will you be staying, if you don't mind my asking?”

“Shouldn't be long,” Nate replied. “Tell me, this is a mining camp, right?”

“That's right,” the fat man grunted as he waddled over to a spot where the rope was looped over a post to act as a kind of gate to the corral.

“What is it that's mined?”

“Some silver. Some copper. A bit of zinc. I ain't never been a miner. I just go where the money is and when there ain't enough of it to keep food in my mouth, I move along to the next place.”

Nate could read most men just by talking to them for a few minutes. Some took a bit more time. Others, like the man in front of him now, took a whole lot less. Since he would have bet everything he had that the fat man would sell him out for the price of a steak, Nate took that option away by saying, “If Jessowitz or any of his friends come around, let them know I'm looking for him. No trouble. Just a friendly conversation.”

“Will do, boss.”

W
hen Deaugrey got close enough to see the tent with the red scarves flying from the top of its posts, he swore he could smell the sweet scents of what awaited him inside. He climbed down from his mule, snapped the reins around a hitching post without bothering to check how sturdy it was and marched inside through an open flap. Inside was a small room sectioned off by cheap partitions containing a small folding table bearing a ledger, pen and inkwell. A tall woman with dark blond hair stepped up to meet him with her hands on her hips and her chest thrust forward.

“My, my!” she said. “Aren't you in a hurry! Been out working on your own for a while, cowboy?”

“I'm looking for a woman,” Deaugrey said.

“We have plenty of those. What's your preference?”

“She was here a few days ago when I last visited this camp. A might bit taller than me, but not quite as tall as you, slender, pale skin, short, dark, curly hair. At the time, she was wearing a dark red ribbon with a bow near her left ear.”

“You have quite the eye for detail,” she told him with a smile.

When Deaugrey smiled back, he leaned in to whisper, “Actually, I've got two of 'em. And,” he added while allowing his gaze to wander down the front of her dress, “speaking of good things coming in twos . . .”

“Why don't I find you your lady?” she said. “It seems you're fit to be tied.”

“You're not the first to point that out, my dear.”

She went to the table, picked up the pen and started writing in her ledger. “The girl you're after is named Kaylee.”

“I do hope she's available.”

“Why don't you first let me know if I've got the name right after your colorful description.” After setting down her pen, she pulled aside another flap behind her which led to a narrow walkway formed by curtains sewn to the roof that went all the way down to the tent's canvas floor. “Kaylee!” she called out. “You have a visitor.”

Along the walkway on either side were doors consisting of narrow wooden frames used to support thick velvet curtains. One of those curtains, about halfway down the walkway on the left side, parted so a young woman could step out. She fit Deaugrey's description to the letter, right down to the ribbon in her dark curls.

“Have we met, sir?” she asked while extending her hand to him.

Deaugrey took it, stooped in a cordial bow and kissed her gently between her first two knuckles. “Oh, I'd say we're about to get real acquainted.”

*   *   *

The tent next to the camp's patched-together cathouse was slightly wider in front and just a bit taller. Its structure was maintained by a wooden frame that was meant to be as close to permanent as something with canvas walls could be. Those walls did nothing to keep sound from escaping, however, and Nate's ears were soon flooded with the cacophony of rattling glasses and impatient fists slamming down onto tables. A banner stitched to the wall next to the front entrance bore nothing but a crudely drawn poker hand: a straight to the eight.

There was no door for him to open. Judging by the ravaged state of the frame, there had been a door attached to it at one time or another that had probably been used for kindling after being smashed down by drunkards one too many times. Nate ducked his head slightly to step inside.

The bar was to his right and was built from spare lumber laid flat over stacks of old crates. One of those pieces of lumber could very well have been the door that had once hung in the frame at the front of the place. Nate stepped up to the bar and knocked on it.

“Help yerself to a beer,” shouted a muscular fellow standing behind the bar at the opposite end.

Nate leaned over, found a mug and filled it from a tap. The brew was cloudy and smelled vaguely of orange peels. His first sip wasn't easy to get down, but the beer was potent enough to make him want to come back for seconds. After a few more gulps, the bitter citrus taste started to grow on him.

“What brings you to the Straight, friend?” the bartender asked as he made his way over to stand in front of Nate. “Hopefully it ain't a lack of funds because you owe me for that beer you're drinking.”

“The fellow at the corral sent me,” Nate told him.

“Who? Fatty?”

“Sounds about right.”

“Then your beer's on the house. At least,” the barkeep added, “the first one. The second one's double the price.”

“I'm here looking for a man named Stan Jessowitz. You know him?”

“Perhaps.”

“And perhaps,” Nate said as he shifted aside his coat to reveal the Remington holstered over his midsection, “I'm getting awfully tired of arguing what should be some pretty damn simple points.”

The barkeep smiled nervously. “I was only joking about charging you double for the second beer.”

“All right. Now what about this Jessowitz fellow?”

“That'd be him right over yonder,” the barkeep replied while nodding toward the rest of the room.

Nate turned to glance in that direction without taking his eyes fully off of the bartender. “Could you be a bit more specific?”

“You ain't no bounty hunter. Or a lawman, for that matter. Them sorts are usually able to spot their man when they're pointed in the right direction.”

“Is Jessowitz the sort who'd have a lawman or bounty hunter coming after him?”

“Not as such.”

“Then don't worry about who I am,” Nate said. “I'm not out to start any trouble and if I do, you've got my permission to toss me out on my ear.”

That brought a smirk to the barkeep's face. “Don't think I won't take you up on that,” he said before turning away from Nate and finding another customer with an empty glass. “Hey, Stan!” he shouted. “Someone here wants to buy you a beer!”

One of the gamblers perked up like a groundhog sticking its head from its hole. “Make it a whiskey and we're in business!” he said.

Nate nodded at the man who'd tipped his hand for him and waited for him to pour the liquor. When the barkeep walked the glass over, Nate said, “There was a payment in it for you if you would've kept your mouth shut.”

“Oh, really? You didn't specify.”

When Nate thought about what he would have liked to do to that barkeep right then, a few very specific things came to mind. Instead of airing his grievances, he took the whiskey and headed over to the table where Jessowitz was sitting.

Bartenders were a strange sort. Part busybodies and part mercenaries, they were always on the lookout for scraps of information that could be put to use. Nate had come to rely on them while also being wary not to take his eyes off of them for too long. Like unfaithful women, if they were willing to do the dance with you, they'd just as surely do it to you.

Jessowitz was probably within a few years of Nate's age, but had weathered enough hard times to make him seem much older. A scraggly beard covered the bottom portion of his long face and when he smiled, he showed a set of crooked teeth that had been stained by years of chewing cheap tobacco. There was an empty seat at his table, so Nate sat down and placed the glass of whiskey amid a scattering of clay chips and small coins.

Grabbing the drink before it could be taken by anyone else, the man with the tobacco-stained teeth asked, “What'd I do to earn this here drink?”

“You're Stan Jessowitz?”

“Sure enough.”

“Then think of it as an advance,” Nate said.

“For what?”

As Jessowitz slurped his free whiskey, Nate drew the finely crafted blade from its scabbard and drove it into the table directly in front of him. “For telling me everything you can about this here knife,” Nate said.

Jessowitz's eyes turned wide as saucers, and he set down the glass in his hand so quickly that a good portion of whiskey wound up dribbling into his beard. “Son of a bitch!” he roared as he got to his feet. “That's my damn knife!”

Having surely practiced the move several times in the past, the other miners and drunks scooted away from the table so as not to be knocked over if it was tossed onto its side. Nate, however, grinned widely as he stood up and plucked the blade from where he'd stuck it. “All right, then,” he said. “Let's take this outside.”

Perhaps Jessowitz had been expecting more of an uproar after his display. By the time he reached for the gun at his side, Nate had already come around the table to charge straight at him. Driving his shoulder into Jessowitz's gut, Nate wrapped his arms around the other man's midsection and shoved him back into the wall behind him. If that wall had been made of wood, the impact might have driven the wind from Jessowitz's lungs. Since it was only a piece of stretched canvas however, the wall gave way to allow both men to stampede outside like a pair of proverbial bulls making their way through a china shop.

Once the two men had left the tent, one of the gamblers tugged the canvas back in place while another pair straightened the table so their game could commence.

“All right, everyone!” the bartender announced. “Show's over. Anyone else makes a mess and they're cut off.”

Half of the gamblers weren't about to go against the bartender's decree and the rest didn't seem to give a damn that he'd spoken in the first place. None of them missed Nate or Jessowitz one bit.