The Two Devils (11 page)

We'd made good time the first night out. We set up camp near some large rocks that sheltered us from the constant blowing wind. I scrounged up enough wood from Manzanita and scrub oak to conjure up a respectable campfire. Sister Bernadette fixed some flapjacks and heated up some sort of dried meat. It was tasty enough and filled my innards. The nuns really did sing. They sang a number of songs. Then, everyone sort of drifted off to sleep.

There was one exception. I awoke suddenly. The moon was high overhead, and I figured it was probably just after midnight. Paul was standing over me. It didn't seem to do any good at all to tie him up. He never stayed put anyplace. Paul nudged me, then looked off to the north. I didn't see anything, but put my boots on just the same. I followed him off through the sagebrush and rough terrain for, perhaps, a half mile, until I noticed the glowing embers of a small campfire.

One man slept near the fire. A horse was tied to a tree stump about twenty yards away. I suddenly decided to take a leap of logical faith.

"Glasgow Roberts!” I challenged. The man shook as if he were having seizures, then sat himself up and looked around vacantly. I repeated myself, “Glasgow Roberts, is that you?"

"How'd you know who I am?"

"Never mind that. Why are you following us?” I demanded.

"I'm trying to figure out what them thieving nuns did with my money."

"Your money?” My jaw fell down to the ground. “Your money?"

"Heck darn tootin'.” He picked himself up.

I figured he was pushing sixty, had little hair, a scruffy gray beard, and a rather weather-beaten face.

"Thieving nuns run off with my payroll. Then, I couldn't pay me crew. They all quit on me. Me ship got taken away. All on account of them women you're in cahoots with."

"Cahoots? I ain't in cahoots with nobody,” I protested, though I could see how he could make such a conclusion. We talked a little while longer, then I went back to the campsite.

The next morning, I had a fire going and coffee made before anyone else was up. What I couldn't figure was, if Glasgow Roberts was telling the truth, what these women had done with his $10,000. And most of that had been in five-dollar coins, no less. Each woman had a small trunk that would accommodate a few changes of clothing. I'd loaded them myself; they were all light. We had a box with just a few provisions—and our water barrels. I'd already been poking around them most of the night.

There was simply no sign of the money.

And another thing kept bothering me—"So, how'd you come to know Nick Mephistopheles?” I asked Sister Mary Margaret as I handed her a steaming cup of my best effort at coffee. No two cups of O'Malley coffee ever tastes the same.

She seemed to be having trouble getting the coffee to go down the hatch. “Well, we were rather disappointed with the police in Stockton. When we saw him in Reno, we decided a lawyer might help us. As it was, he didn't really offer us much assistance, other than suggesting you might see us home safely on account your sister was a nun, and all."

Miles O'Malley never had a sister. Oh, that Nick. I tossed out the remains of my dreadful coffee. “We best get a move on.” We had a long way to go.

Around midday, I noticed we were being observed from a long way off by a band of Indians. I didn't know much about the local natives, but knew they were few in number as the Nevada landscape provided little in the way of food or water to sustain much of a population. I reasoned we were not much of a threat to anyone and didn't mention them to the women as it would serve no real purpose, except to alarm them.

That night, as I lay there near the fire, Paul quietly crept up next to me and nudged my head. He kept looking off into the wilderness. “I know, buddy. He's out there. I know."

The next day proved more of the same. We rode and rode and rode. My posterior was beyond sore. Our water was running lower than I felt comfortable with. And, as if by magic, there was Lathrop Wells right before us. It wasn't much, but I figured we could replenish our water supply. The sisters had enough of their singing money to pay the outrageous fees for topping off our barrels. The alternative of dying in the desert made it well worth paying them, as I saw it.

Now, I wanted to buy something else, but there I was traveling with a bunch of nuns. The sisters wanted to get back on the road. The place was an obvious brothel and one of the ladies really caught my eye. But, I was traveling with a bunch of nuns. We moved on.

Again, after supper, I stretched out by the fire. Paul again came over and nudged me. “I guess he doesn't have any money for Lathrop Wells,” I whispered. Paul ventured back to where the two wagon horses were sleeping.

We missed Las Vegas somehow. It's not much of a place, from what I hear. We made camp outside the town of Boulder. Once again, Paul came and woke me when the nuns were asleep. He kept bugging me, so I ventured off into the sagebrush.

Glasgow Roberts was stretched out. He had no fire going. As hot as it was, I wasn't all that surprised. He was smoking a cigar. “Tomorrow?” I asked.

"Tomorrow,” he said. “Wish I'd caught up before you left civilization."

"Me too."

He took a really long drag on his cigar. “You smoke, O'Malley?"

"No."

"You should,” he said. “Relieves stress."

I returned to the campsite. “Mr. O'Malley, is something wrong?” Sister Mary Margaret whispered.

"Just Indians. Go back to sleep,” I said. I doubt that she did.

The next day brought us to the mighty Colorado River. In late summer, it wasn't all that impressive as most of the snow runoff had long since flooded through on its way to Mexico. We took a ferry across with little fanfare.

At the other side, two men with badges, Glasgow Roberts, and Nick Mephistopheles and another man were all waiting.

"Ladies, I said I'd see you through to Arizona. We are now in Arizona Territory, as I understand these matters.” I looked at the two men with badges. “I take it you're the sheriff?"

"Roscoe Rodgers,” he pointed with his thumb, “my deputy Carl, and you know Captain Roberts. This is Mr. Haddock from Lloyds of London, and Mr. Mephistopheles, a lawyer from Nevada."

"I am so pleased you apprehended him, sheriff,” Sister Mary Margaret declared.

"Well, not exactly,” the sheriff said. “Apparently the California authorities never tried to verify your story. I, however, did. There's no mission in Canada. You've been running up and down the coast, stealing payrolls and hiding behind your religious status."

"You mean they're not nuns?” I asked.

"They're nuns. From a parish in Tucson.” The sheriff dismounted and approached the wagon.

"I can assure you, this must be a misunderstanding,” Sister Mary Margaret insisted. She looked at Nick. “Surely?"

"Ladies, I merely advised you to have someone escort you to Arizona, as I didn't feel it was safe to travel alone. I cannot represent you here, as I am not a member of the Arizona bar,” Nick explained. “You'll have to obtain counsel in Kingman, I am afraid."

"You can't possibly take the word of this sea urchin,” Sister Bernadette insisted.

"Thing I can't figure out,” Sheriff Rodgers said, “they must have nearly a hundred thousand dollars, yet they travel so light."

"That's what I been wondering,” Captain Roberts said. “For a long time."

Nick approached the wagon. “Gentlemen, this is not the dark ages. This is the nineteenth century. He opened the small suitcase, opened a Bible, then extracted a few sheets of paper. “You don't have to actually carry coins and such anymore.” He handed the papers to the sheriff. “These are bank letters of credit. They need only be presented to a bank in Tucson and the funds can then be drawn on these letters. Then, it's a quick ride to Mexico and a nice retirement out of reach of American law enforcement,” Nick explained.

"I'm not sure,” the sheriff said, “there's any crime committed in Arizona."

Nick gazed off into the small case that had held clothing and the Bible. He tossed a single dollar coin to the sheriff. “Look under stolen goods, receiving and possessing,” Nick suggested. “Or, perhaps you might extradite them to California."

"I think we'll let Judge Gamsby sort this out,” the sheriff decided.

"An excellent idea,” Nick agreed.

"Mr. O'Malley, as I understand it, you were simply acting as a Good Samaritan in all this,” the sheriff decided. “You are free to go."

"Thank you, sheriff,” I said.

"Where you headed?” Captain Roberts asked me.

"I been reading about Tombstone,” I said.

"Boomtown,” Nick said. “You'll like it there. Lots of action."

That made me almost want to change my plans. But, I didn't. We headed south.

I never really understood Nick's angle in this case. I know he hates the clergy. Of course, I never did know where or when Nick would turn up. He just did. It seemed odd, though. I guess I would never quite figure Nick out.

Now, I know some folks would look askance at my near friendship with the devil himself, not to mention my carrying on with angels from hell. Still, my dealing with hell's emissaries had been fairly pleasant and honest occasions. I didn't especially trust Nick, but he'd always treated me a lot better than most folks had. And Janus and Mabel, well they couldn't have been nicer.

I decided early on to keep my own counsel on this sort of thing. Few folks would understand. Even I didn't really understand. But, few men got invited into hell and fewer still had the pleasure of seeing heaven first on. So, I'd reasoned that Nick would cross paths with me again. Why he seemed to need me in his life, that was something I had yet to figure out, probably never would. So, I didn't really dwell on this sort of thing. To do so, would drive me mad.

I just figured I'd do what seemed right, and live life as best I could. A bunch of nuns stealing from ships ... well, compared to what I'd seen, it just didn't seem that remarkable.

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I quickly found Arizona much too hot for my liking, but decided to try the mining town of Tombstone for a while. We were heading into September and they kept telling me the heat was bound to ease up—eventually. Anything below a hundred degrees was apparently cooler weather. My barbering skills proved once again to gain the favor of an employer.

Most of our work was done on a wooden porch, with a trellis offering some protection from the brutal sun. Our clientele, for the most part, was split evenly between the miners who lived in town and the ranch hands who worked in the surrounding areas. It was unusual to see both kinds on the same day, as the two factions would have little to do with one another.

Tombstone itself was a small town, consisting primarily of canvas and lean-to buildings. I'd lucked out and landed a room in a relic from the Spanish days, an adobe building with thick cool walls.

Most mining towns were near a mine. In Tombstone, the activity was right underneath us. Every now and again, we could feel the vibration from blasting as we shaved our customers at the barbershop. I'd been there all of two weeks when I had my first encounter with Virgil Earp, the town marshal.

The Earp Brothers ran the town, though they were not necessarily popular. In addition to Virgil, there was also Wyatt and Morgan. I gathered Wyatt had worked as a marshal or sheriff somewhere before. The Earps owned part interest in the Oriental Saloon and Gambling Emporium, a brand new establishment created to part miners from their pay.

They pretty much ran things to their liking. Marshal Earp got into a tussle with two drunken cowboys one afternoon. He got the better of both of them and knocked one of them out cold. In so doing, his hat got knocked off. I'd simply picked it up and took it over to the jail and gave it to him. Virgil would've thought I'd saved his life, instead of his Stetson. He pulled out a bottle or red eye and insisted I share it with him.

A few days later, there was Virgil standing on our porch. It was bright and early. We were just opening up for the day. “Need a shave, Marshal?” I asked.

"No, Miles, not today,” came his reply.

"Well, then?” I asked.

"My brothers and me, we're all going to a convention in Phoenix.” He started fiddling with his hat. “Well, I was wondering, if you'd look after things. We'll only be gone two days."

"What happened to that sickly dentist you're always talking to?” I asked. I couldn't remember his name.

"Doc Holliday's going with us,” Virgil said. “So you'll do it, then?"

"I've got my work here,” I protested as I leaned against an empty chair.

"We don't need ‘im,” my boss grunted from inside.

"You got a gun. You got a horse. That's all you really need. Heck, even the horse ain't real necessary. Tombstone ain't really all that big. I left a few instructions across the street in the Marshal's Office."

"I don't know,” I protested.

"Great, then it's settled.” Virgil fished around in his pocket and handed me a silver star that said deputy marshal on it. He had me raise my right hand and swore me in. I really don't understand how I keep getting talked into things like this.

The Earps and Doc Holliday all left on the two o'clock stage. Nothing much happened that day. I strutted around town, checked on my horse at the livery stable then I turned in at the usual time.

I heard some shooting around midnight, but nobody ever came looking for me, so I didn't get too concerned about it. Somebody was always shooting, even with a no firearms ordinance in the town.

Next morning, I set myself out on the porch in front of the marshal's office. I had a nice cup of coffee and a copy of the
Epitaph
. Some kid came and said I was needed at the saloon. Reluctantly, I followed him on over. The proprietor, Big-nosed Kate, motioned me over to the bar. She made a subtle glance toward the back table. The problem was obvious.

Even I could figure it out. Four local miners were playing five-card stud with a gussied-up stranger. I placed my hand on the gentleman's left shoulder.

"Suh, whea ah come from, we'd have to be a might better acquainted,” the stranger said without looking up from his cards. “Unless you ah trying to pick my pocket."