The Loner (25 page)

The man with the mustache turned out to be Jake Hamlin, the local marshal. The other shotgunners were his deputies, of course. They had seen half a dozen cowboys and a couple of horses shot to pieces in the street, and had no idea what had prompted this bloody massacre, but the busted windows of the Birdcage told them that the fatal shots must have come from inside the saloon. So they had charged in and thrown down on the first two gun-toting gents they had spotted, in this case Bo and Scratch.

It took a good half hour for Strittmayer, Davidson, and the other witnesses in the saloon to convince the lawman that Little Ed Churchill had been responsible for the hell that had broken loose. Churchill had been an important man in West Texas, and now he lay dead on the sawdust-littered floor of the saloon. To Jake Hamlin’s mind, that meant somebody was guilty of murder, and who better for that role than a couple of no-account drifters?

“Creel and Morton, eh?” the marshal mused when he found out their names. “I think I got paper on you two back in my office.”

“We’re not wanted in Texas,” Bo said.

“And any reward dodgers you got on us from other places, well, those charges are bogus,” Scratch added. “We’re law-abidin’ hombres.”

“If you put those two fellows in jail, you will be the laughingstock of El Paso, Marshal!” Strittmayer bellowed. “I will see to this myself. Why, for Gott’s sake, they saved the life of Herr Davidson here!”

Hamlin frowned. “What the hell’d you say? Here, here?”

“No, Herr here!” Strittmayer said, pointing at Davidson.

Hamlin snarled and sputtered and finally said, “Oh, shut up and lemme think!” After a few moments of visibly painful concentration, he turned to Bo and Scratch and went on. “All right, I reckon you two acted in self-defense. But there’ll have to be an inquest to make it official, so don’t even think about slopin’ outta town until then.”

“We were planning to be here for a day or two anyway,” Bo said.

“Yeah, well, just remember what I told you!” Hamlin turned back to Strittmayer. “Anybody else killed?”

“Just poor Johnny there,” Strittmayer replied as he waved a hand at the fallen gambler. “Several people were wounded, and my beautiful saloon,
ach!
It is shot to pieces!”

“Well, you can talk to Little Ed’s lawyer about the estate payin’ for the damages, but I wouldn’t hold my breath waitin’ for it if I was you,” Hamlin advised. He looked around the room and raised his voice. “This saloon’s closed for the night! Everybody out! Go home!”

Davidson said to Bo and Scratch, “Do you fellas have a place to stay here in town?”

Bo shook his head, and Scratch said, “Not yet. We’d just rode in and stabled our horses. This was the first place we stopped.”

“Come on over to the Camino Real with me, then,” Davidson suggested. “That’s where I’m staying. We’ll see about getting you some rooms and a good hot meal.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Bo said.

“I think I do. Churchill would have killed me, sure as hell, if not for you two.”

Bo and Scratch couldn’t argue with that, so after saying good night to Strittmayer, who promised to see to it that Johnny Fontana got a proper burial, they headed for the Camino Real Hotel with Davidson.

The Camino Real was El Paso’s best hotel, and its rooms didn’t come cheap. The fact that Davidson was staying there confirmed that he had plenty of money. As the three men walked along the street, he said, “We were never actually introduced. I’m Porter Davidson.”

“Bo Creel,” Bo said as he gripped the hand that Davidson put out. “This fancy-dressed drink of water with me is Scratch Morton. But I reckon you already know that since we told our names to the marshal.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Davidson,” Scratch said as he shook hands with the man. “Too bad there had to be so much gunplay first.”

“Yes, it ruined what had been a fairly pleasant evening. But maybe we can make something out of it yet.”

Davidson spoke to the clerk at the desk in the hotel lobby and maybe slipped him a greenback, too. Bo wasn’t sure about that. But either way, within minutes the clerk was sliding a pair of keys across the desk to them. Even though the clerk had said originally that the hotel was full up, at Davidson’s urging he had somehow found a couple of vacant rooms on the third floor.

“Is the dining room still open?” Davidson asked.

“I believe it’s just about to close,” the clerk said.

“Would you go out to the kitchen and let the cook know that we’ll need two dinners? Whatever’s left will be fine, as long as it’s hot.”

“Yes, sir.”

As they went into the empty dining room and sat down at one of the tables, Scratch commented, “You seem to be the big skookum he-wolf around these parts, Mr. Davidson.”

“Not really,” Davidson said with a laugh. “I guess it doesn’t take long for word to get around, though, when you own a gold mine.”

Scratch lifted his eyebrows.

Bo wasn’t particularly surprised, though. Davidson hadn’t struck him as a cattleman, and on the frontier a rich man who didn’t run cows was usually mixed up with either the railroad or mining.

“I didn’t know there were any gold mines around here,” he commented. “There are a few down in the Big Bend, but they’re not what I’d call bonanzas.”

“The mine’s not in Texas,” Davidson said.

“New Mexico Territory?”

“No. It’s across the border in Mexico, in the mountains. A place called Barranca del Asesino.”

Bo and Scratch looked at each other, then back at Davidson. “Cutthroat Canyon,” Bo translated.

“That’s right.”

“Does it live up to its name?” Scratch asked.

Davidson chuckled. “No, most of the time it’s a pretty peaceful place.” His face grew more serious. “The trouble happens between there and here.”

Bo said, “You have trouble, do you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. That’s one reason I wanted to talk more to you two fellows. That and my gratitude for what you did for me, of course. I’m hoping I can persuade you to do even more. I’d like to hire you both.”

Before the discussion could continue, the white-aproned cook came out of the kitchen carrying a couple of plates of food. “The waiters have all gone home already,” he explained as he set the plates in front of Bo and Scratch. They contained thick steaks, baked potatoes, and biscuits and gravy. “That’s all we got left.”

“Looks mighty fine to me,” Scratch said with a smile. “We’re much obliged, mister.”

“Got half a pot of coffee back in the kitchen, too, if you’d like some.”

“Bring it on,” Bo said.

For the next few minutes they were too busy eating to ask Davidson what he had meant about hiring them. The mine owner sat there with an amused smile on his face as he watched them putting away the food.

“You fellows look like you’ve been on short rations for a while,” he commented.

“We had to stretch our provisions the last few days on the trail,” Bo admitted. “I figured we could shoot a jackrabbit or something while we were on our way across the southern part of New Mexico Territory, but game was pretty scarce.”

“It’s been mighty dry over that way,” Scratch put in. “Reckon most of the critters ’cept for the rattlesnakes have gone off lookin’ for someplace that’s more hospitable. And I’ve never cared much for eatin’ snake, although I’ve known some hombres who think it’s good.”

“Well, you won’t go hungry if you work for me,” Davidson said. “There’s a nice little valley right outside the canyon where the Mexicans from a nearby village have their farms. We buy our food from them. And there’s a cantina in the village with some pretty girls who work there, too, if you’re interested in such things.”

“Interested in tequila and señoritas?” Scratch said. “I hope to smile we are!”

Davidson leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the table. “I think we should discuss wages, then.”

“Let’s talk about the job first,” Bo said. “Just what is it that you’d be hiring us to do?”

“That’s a fair enough question. Like I said, there’s been trouble between El Paso and the mine. I bring the ore here by wagon. There’s no way to refine it in the canyon, and this is the closest railroad stop so that I can ship it out. There’s been talk of building a spur line down there into the mountains, but the railroad and the Mexican government have to work out all the details first. It’s liable to be a long, drawn-out process. In the meantime, I’ve got ore sitting there that I can’t get out because of bandits.”

Bo nodded. “I reckoned that was what we were getting to. Your ore shipments have been held up?”

“Several times. I’ve lost shipments, and men who worked for me have been killed.”

Scratch’s voice was dry as he drawled, “You ain’t makin’ the job sound all that appealin’, Mr. Davidson.”

“We’ve ridden shotgun on gold wagons before,” Bo said. “It’s a good way to get killed.”

Davidson shook his head. “I’m not asking you to ride shotgun. I thought that if the two of you trailed the wagons at a short distance, when the bandits attack, you’d be able to jump them and take them by surprise.”

Bo took a sip of coffee and slowly nodded. “That might work. Once anyway. After that, the hombres who are after your gold would be watching for us.”

“Once might be enough to scare them off,” Davidson said. “They’ve had their own way so far, like Churchill, and nobody’s been able to stop them. I want to put the fear of God into them. Maybe even wipe them out.”

“Bo and me, we’re pretty tough,” Scratch said, “but even so, I don’t reckon the two of us would be any match for a whole gang of
bandidos.
”

“I don’t expect the two of you to take care of them by yourselves. I have several other men who’ll be riding back across the border with me. That’s why I came to El Paso, to recruit some good men who can take care of this problem. From what I saw of your abilities in the Birdcage, the two of you will fit right in with the other men I’ve hired.” Davidson looked back and forth between them. “Well, what do you think? Will you take the job? Remember, we haven’t even talked about wages yet, but I’m sure we’d be able to reach an agreement on that matter. I believe in paying for the best.”

“Give us a minute to ponder on it,” Bo said.

“Of course,” Davidson replied with a nod. “I need to speak to the hotel clerk anyway. I’ll wait for you out in the lobby.”

He stood up and walked out of the dining room. Bo and Scratch looked at each other over the remains of their supper, and Scratch said, “What do you think?”

“I don’t much cotton to being lumped in with a bunch of hired guns,” Bo said. “You know that’s what Davidson’s talking about.”

“Yeah, but he seems like a pretty good fella, and he’s got a right to get his gold up here without havin’ it stolen. Not to mention the hombres who work for him bein’ killed like that. Such things don’t sit well with me.”

“I know, you never have liked outlaws. Neither do I.”

Scratch grinned. “And I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t have a hankerin’ to visit Old Mexico again. I ain’t as young as I used to be, and the heat down there feels good on these bones o’ mine.”

“Not to mention the señoritas.”

The grin on Scratch’s rugged face widened. “They feel pretty good on these bones o’ mine, too.”

Slowly, Bo nodded. “Well, since we don’t have anywhere else we have to be…”

“As per usual.”

“I don’t suppose it would hurt anything if we rode down there with Davidson and had a look around. If we don’t like the lay of the land, we can always pull out. Wouldn’t be anything stopping us.”

“That’s right.” Scratch drank the last of his coffee. “Be good to spend some time in Mañana-land again.”

They found Davidson in the lobby. With an eager expression on his face, the man asked, “Have you made up your minds?”

“We’ll ride down there with you,” Bo said. “Whether or not we stay depends on what we find there.”

“Fair enough,” Davidson said with an emphatic nod. He shook hands with them again and added, “I think everything will work out just fine once we get to Cutthroat Canyon.”

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