The Savage Trail (2 page)

“We're not far enough away, Rosa, even so. That Savage is like a dead cat. He keeps coming back with more lives.”

“Are you afraid of him, Ollie?”

“Not him. That gun of his. Look what he's done to my men.”

“He's just a man. His gun is not so special.”

The horses were heaving, blowing the snot from their rubberynoses, their ribs expanding and contracting under their hides. They had not started to lather, but Hobart knew they needed rest after that long gallop.

“It's special the way that bastard uses it,” he said. “I'd like to own such a gun. And maybe, by damn, I will, one of these days.”

“We could wait and hide along the road,” she said, “shoot them as they come by. It's just Savage and that old man.”

“We might do that. Ever try to shoot something in the dark? Your eyes play tricks on you. You shoot either high or low. If we missed Savage, he'd be on us like ugly on a bear.”

“We could use the scatterguns,” she said.

“Maybe. Still a big risk.”

“I want to go back to my cantina.”

“Your brother can take care of that, Rosa. But I'll tell you what. You can go on back there now, if you want. I got businessin Fort Laramie and I'm ridin' on to Cheyenne.”

“What business in Fort Laramie?”

“My business.”

“You bastard. You never tell me anything.”

“Maybe you don't want to know. I'm going to meet up with Army Mandrake there.”

“That man. It's too bad he wasn't at the cantina. Maybe you'd be rid of him.”

“Army is one of my best men.”

“You mean he don't have no conscience.”

Ollie laughed.

“Maybe. He's not afraid of nobody and he handles a knife better'n anyone I know. Army is a good man. A damned good man.”

“He's a killer,
sin verguenza
.”

“Ain't we all, though?” Ollie said with a wry laugh.

The horses were still breathing hard, blowing jets of steam from their nostrils that shone in the moonlight like miniature clouds floating across the face of the moon. There was no traffic on the Cheyenne road at that hour and it was quiet.

“If I go with you, Ollie, I want to know.”

“Not yet. I got to keep some things to myself.”

“Bastard,” she said again.

He could almost feel her anger, but he didn't care if Rosa went with him or not. She had been someone to use back in Denver, but unless she could be of help to him now, she was just so much unnecessary baggage, just like those no-accounts who had gotten themselves killed back at the cantina. The West was full of dumb men like them. They had no trade, rode the owlhoot trail, and just drifted from one sorry place to anotherlooking for an easy poke.

“Make up your mind, Rosa,” Ollie said, reaching into his shirt pocket for a ready-made. He kept listening for hoofbeats, a sign that Savage and his partner were coming after him, but the quiet remained. He worked a cigarette out of the pack, put it between his lips. He was surprised when Rosa leaned over with a box of matches, struck one, and lit his cigarette. She did that sort of thing. She could be a warm woman on a cold night, but she had a jealous streak a yard wide and had her a temper. She was away from her home now and he didn't know how far he could trust her. Probably about as far as he could throw her horse, he thought.

“I don't have no pretty clothes, no paint for my lips, no underwear.I don't got nothing.”

“I can buy you those things in Cheyenne.”

“You got a lot of money, Ollie?”

“Enough.”

“You said you had a lot of gold.”

“I have money, I said. Just quit your damned bellyachin', Rosa. Or get the hell back to Denver. I don't need no whinin' woman with me.”

“I thought you loved me,
querido
. You told me you loved me, eh?”

“Aw, stop that, Rosa. I love you, darlin'. I just got other things on my mind now.”

He wanted to smack her across the mouth. But he realized that he needed her, too. She was a good shot, could ride as well as any man, and if it came to a showdown with Savage, he could use her, maybe, another way. Savage might think twice before shooting a woman, and if she was between him and Savage, that would give him a slight edge.

“Well, I don't want to just run like the rabbit and not have nothing.”

“I'll take care of you, Rosa. And once Savage is six feet under, you can go back to your cantina. I'll go with you. We can have a good life, you and me.”

“Promise?” she said.

“I promise,” he lied. “We'll lay over at Fort Collins for a time, buy some fresh horses.”

“And buy me some new clothes there?”

“In Cheyenne, maybe. I don't want to linger.”

“My clothes will fall off by the time we get to Cheyenne. I am already smelling.”

“You smell just fine to me, Rosa. It won't hurt you none to wait until we get to Cheyenne.”

“Yes, it will,” she said.

“Daylight is my enemy right now. We'll rest up in Fort Collins, ride out before daybreak.”

“You are a bastard, Ollie. You are without shame.”

He didn't argue with her. He was, in fact, a bastard. He carriedthe name Hobart, but had no idea who his real father was. What's more, Ollie didn't care. He had always told his mother that if he ever ran into his father, he'd kill him.

After the horses were rested, and Rosa's side stopped hurting,they rode on toward Cheyenne over the road dappled in moonlight, the Rockies looming dark to the west of them, the Platte a shining ribbon of silver marking their way.

3

Ben dismounted first, holding one arm up, then the other, as he stepped from the stirrup.

“You just hold it right there, old-timer,” the voice from the shadows said. “Now, sonny, you step down real easy.”

John got down from his horse, stood by its side with both hands in the air.

Three men emerged from the darkness, their rifles still pointed at John and Ben.

John saw the flash of a silver star on one of the men's vests.

“That him?” one of the men said. He stepped up close to John. He, too, wore a badge on his vest.

“Naw. Never seen this one before.”

The man in front, obviously the one in charge, stepped up beside the other deputy and scanned John's face.

“Charlie, you go inside. Take Rob with you. See if Mandrake's in there.”

“Right, Bill,” Charlie said. He and the other men went into the cantina.

“I'm Sheriff Bill Dorsett, feller. You part of that gang?” Dorsett looked John square in the eyes, as if looking for the slightest flicker.

“No,” John said. “And Mandrake's not in there.”

“What about a man named Dick Tanner?”

John shook his head.

“There's been a shooting here,” Dorsett said. “You any part of that?”

“The men you named, and those inside, murdered my parentsand a bunch of miners. They tried to kill me and my friend there.”

“You the one with the pretty gun?”

“I'm John Savage.”

“I heard about you. Hell, everybody in Denver has. A man named Hobart robbed some miners and killed them all.”

“Same bunch,” John said.

Dorsett turned to Ben.

“You back him on that? Who're you?”

“I'm Ben Russell. Yep. We was up in a mine when these jaspers come and shot all our friends, his folks, stole our pokes.”

The two deputies, Charlie Haskell and Rob Emmons, came back outside.

“They's some dead men in there, Bill,” Charlie said. “Didn't see Mandrake ner Tanner. Place is plumb empty. Lamps still burnin' and all.”

“It's right spooky in there,” Rob said, his voice quavering slightly.

“Put your hands down,” Sheriff Dorsett said. “Maybe we can sort all this out. Can I take a look at that pistol of your'n I been hearing about?”

“I don't like to pass it around,” John said.

“Just want to say I seen it,” Dorsett said. "C'mon. I'll give it right back.”

“Maybe if you all take your rifles off of us,” John said.

“Oh yeah. Charlie, Rob. Put 'em away.”

John slid his pistol from its holster, handed it butt first to Dorsett, who handed his rifle to Charlie.

Dorsett held the pistol up, then turned it over and over. He squinted to read the legend engraved on the barrel, holding the gun so that it caught the light from the lamps inside Rosa's Cantina.

The inlays shot silver lances from the blue-black barrel, grips, and receiver, like tiny searchlights.

“Beautiful,” Dorsett said. “What's that mean, that writing on the barrel. Spanish, ain't it? My Spanish ain't none too good.”

“Ni me saques sin razon, ni me quardes sin honor,”
John said from memory. “It means, ‘neither draw me without reason,nor keep me without honor.' ”

The two deputies crowded close to examine the pistol in the sheriff's hand. John licked his lips, dry from worry over his pistol. He was ready to snatch it back if it went any farther from where it was in Dorsett's hand.

“Mighty nice sentiment,” Dorsett said.

“I hold to it,” John said. “May I have my pistol back, Sheriff?”

“Sure. I guess it's okay.” Dorsett handed the pistol back to John the same way, butt first. John slipped it back in his holster,stepped back a pace.

“What did Mandrake do that's got you looking for him?” John asked.

“He cut a man's throat. We know he's in with Oliver Hobart. We got wanted flyers on the whole damned bunch. Those men inside the cantina. They Hobart's men?”

“Yes,” John said.

“Cutthroats, just like Mandrake,” Ben said.

The sheriff turned and looked at Ben.

“You didn't get 'em all. Hobart wasn't in there, or Charlie would have told me. We got a good description of him, most of the ones who run with him.”

“Nope, Hobart slipped out with Rosa herself.”

“We had an eye on her, too. I reckon we didn't watch her close enough.”

“Fact is,” Charlie said, “we didn't even know Hobart and his gang were in Denver till Mandrake kilt Bernie Robbins over at the Brown Palace this afternoon.”

“There'll be hell to pay over this,” Dorsett said, his jaw tightening. The other two deputies wore grim looks on their faces.

“I don't know the man,” John said. “Who was Bernie Robbins?”

“Territorial marshal,” Dorsett said. “We knew him. Good man. Mandrake near cut his head off with a big bowie knife. Got him from behind, while Tanner pinned Bernie's arms. Slicker'n winter snot, the bastards.”

“Why?” John asked. “Was this Bernie on to Hobart, huntin' him?”

“We don't know. Bernie rode down from Laramie where he's been working on a case. Said he was near to calling in the U.S. Army and closing it out. Said he got a telegram from somebody down here who could fill in all the missing pieces.”

“You think Hobart sent the telegram?”

“It sure fooled Bernie. He was hoppin' glad that he could solve his case.”

Ben moved closer. The lights from the cantina threaded his beard, glistened in the depths of his eyes like candle flames.

“What kind of case was this U.S. marshal on?” he asked.

“Seems like somebody up in Laramie's been smuggling in a lot of guns, Henrys and Winchesters, ammunition. And a whole lot of Mexicans come up from down south, then disappearedalong with all them guns.”

“Doesn't make much sense to me,” Ben said.

“Not to anybody else, neither,” Dorsett said. “But Bernie said it looked like somebody was going to start a war, and the law up there got worried about the Arapaho, Southern Cheyenne, even the Sioux, breakin' loose and goin' on the warpath. Mighty puzzlin', you ask me.”

“So the marshal doesn't know where the guns went or why all those Mexicans disappeared,” John said.

“Nope. He was still working on the case. But he said he'd heard the name Hobart more'n once and then that telegram come and said much the same thing. That Hobart was here and some of his men wanted out of the deal and would talk to him. Hobart set him up, and Mandrake killed him.”

“Must be something big,” John said. “But why would Hobartwant the Indians to go on the warpath?”

“Bernie didn't think that was it. He said he thought Hobart was putting together his own private army for some damned reason.”

“Well, you can bet there's money stuck to that reason,” John said.

“I sent a telegram off to Washington this afternoon. The government's going to have to send somebody up here to take up where Bernie left off. Going to take some time, probably. That's why I was hoping we'd find Hobart here. Maybe meetingup with Mandrake and Tanner. Looks like they got clean away.”

“Why don't you get a posse together and go after them?” John asked.

“They've got too much of a head start on me. By the time I rounded up enough good men to chase after Hobart, he'd be in Cheyenne, I reckon. 'Sides, I got to tell my sister about Bernie.”

“Your sister?” John shifted his weight. It seemed he had been standing in one spot for hours and one of his feet was goingto sleep.

“Bernie was going to marry my sister Nancy when this was all over. Now, I'll have to take her up to Laramie so she can pack up all her things he took up there with him.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “Bernie was going to resign as a marshaland work for the sheriff in Laramie. Nancy was set on goingup there to live.”