Wild (2 page)

“I don’t think there’s anything bad happens between here and Arizona that Black Tom doesn’t have a hand in, or at least intimate knowledge of,” Kearney said. “Half the outlaws ‘round these parts have ridden with him at one time or another. He’s got too many friends ‘round here for me to have him tried and hanged.”

“Why not just shoot him?”

“Well now, then I’d be no better than him, now would I?” Kearney grinned up at the buxom young serving girl who came to the side of their table with two large mugs of beer and plates of tortillas, chicken, salsa, and cheese.

“We can, however,” he continued, toasting Matt with his mug, “Stir him up a bit and see what he knows about the colonel.” They rolled the chicken and fixings up in the tortillas and ate and drank in silence. When they were finished, they gestured to the barkeep with their empty mugs and he sent the serving girl over with fresh beer. They sipped the full mugs down a bit and without a word, got up together and walked over to the outlaws’ table.

“Afternoon, Tom,” Kearney said, nodding to the three hard-looking men. Their faces were worn, stubbled, and flecked with dust from the road. All of them wore large guns on their belts. Black Tom looked up at Kearney.

“What can I do for you, deputy?” Tom spit on the floor beside his feet and grinned wide. There was one empty chair at the table, and Kearney sat down. Matt dragged another over from a nearby table and sat between Kearney and one of the outlaws.

“Colonel Waters turned up missing sometime between twilight and dawn,” Kearney started. Black Tom cut him off with a raised hand and sipped his whiskey.

“Wait just a minute, now,” Tom said, setting his cup aside. “If you’re accusing us of something, I sure do hope you got a warrant. Not that it’ll make a lick of difference.” He laughed and looked around at his boys, who joined in.

“I’m confident that you fellas would have rode off before sunrise if you’d done anything,” Matt interjected. “But you do have quite a reputation, and as a gesture of goodwill we were hoping you’d share what you might know about the whole thing.”

“And who exactly,” the man beside him said, rising to his feet, “are you?”

“I recommend you take your seat, sir,” Matt said, placing his hand on one of his guns. “This can remain civilized, I promise you.”

“You ain’t making me feel civilized right now.” The man drew his revolver and pointed it at Matt’s chest. “I suggest you mosey on out of here.”

Matt flicked his gun out of its holster and shot the weapon from the outlaw’s hand before any of them could even blink. A split second later Kearney was on his feet, both guns drawn and pointed at Black Tom and his other associate.

“Now this is going to get a lot worse, boys,” the deputy said. “Place your guns on the table and back your chairs off a bit, and let’s have us a little chat.”

“We don’t know anything about it,” Black Tom’s other man said. Tom glared at him.

“Just put your gun on the table, James,” he said. “You too, Will. The other one, I mean.” The three outlaws laid down their weapons. Will sat back down, rubbing his hand.

“You could have taken my hand off!”

“If I wanted to,” Matt agreed. “But we really do just want to talk a bit.”

“Okay, then,” Tom said. “You want to know of anyone who’d want Waters out of the way.”

“That’s right,” Kearney said.

“Everyone,” Tom laughed, “To include us. But we didn’t do it, of course.”

“Of course, but you need to be more helpful than that,” Kearney said, “Or we might just feel the need to lock you up until we find out how helpful we can be to our pals in the surrounding jurisdictions.”

“Well, if you put it that way,” Tom said, “There were a couple of other guys that were supposed to meet us here. And they didn’t.”

“Don’t you reckon that’s a bit rude?” Matt asked.

“Especially considering one of them owes me a bit of money, yeah.” Tom drained his glass and waved the barmaid over.

“This round’s on me,” Kearney said when she arrived. “Double whiskey all around. See?” He smiled at Tom. “I can be reasonable. Now tell us about your boys.”

“Alright,” Tom said. “But I’m coming with you.”

“Let’s hear a name before I agree to that.”

“Lee Oliver.”

Kearney whistled. “Can’t say I wouldn’t appreciate the help,” he said. “That boy’s a slick one. But how do I know whose side you’ll be on when we catch him?”

“That’s easy.” Tom smirked. “I’ll be on my own.”

The five men finished their whiskey without another word. Tom slammed his glass down on the table, wiped his mouth, and gestured towards the weapons.

“May we?”

Kearney nodded and the outlaws plucked their guns from the table and holstered them.

“I’ll meet you at the northwest end of town in twenty minutes,” Tom said. “I just need to talk to my boys for a minute and send them on their way.”

“You’re coming alone?”

“Well, I’m not afraid to be outnumbered by the two of you,” the outlaw said with a smile, “But do you really want to be outnumbered by us?”

“Not really,” Matt agreed. The men got up and left the tavern, nodding at the barman and serving girl as they passed the counter.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Matt asked as soon as the door slammed shut behind them. “I’m from out of town, and even I would have shot that man on sight.”

“You’re absolutely right, too,” Kearney said. “Not sure what choice we have, though. I can guess we’ll be riding to Mesilla since Tom wants to meet on the northwest end of town, but I don’t know how many people are riding with Oliver these days. I’m not too sure I could round up a trustworthy posse, either. The colonel has at least as many enemies as friends.”

“There is that,” Matt said. “At least there’ll only be one of him. I wouldn’t put it past him to have his boys follow us from a safe distance, though.”

“No, I’m actually counting on it,” Kearney said. “This isn’t my first rodeo. If I see a cloud of dust pick up behind us, I’m tying that boy up well before they get within shooting range, and then the odds’ll be even.”

Matt grinned. “Let’s gear up then.”

* * * *

They stopped off at Matt’s room. He paid the baker for an additional week’s rent. Then he and Kearney walked to the sheriff’s office.

“There’s a stable ‘round back,” Kearney said. “If you’d be so kind to bring two of the horses and a week’s feed ‘round front, I’d be much obliged. The sheriff’s is the white one; I’ll ride him, since you’ll be taking mine. He’s the black one.”

“Where is the sheriff, anyhow? I’d have thought he’d handle a high-profile case like this himself.”

“You’d be right, too, but he’s visiting his parents in Louisiana. He’ll be back next week. Hopefully we’ll have this all wrapped up by then.”

Matt nodded and went around the back of the sheriff’s office while Kearney went in the front door. Five minutes later, Matt came back leading two saddled horses by the reins just as Kearney came out with two full duffels.

“Tie this off to the back of your saddle,” Kearney said, tossing one of the bags to Matt. “Got you some extra provisions, water skins, and bullets. Pretty sure you didn’t come here loaded for a rescue hunt.”

“That’s right kind of you, deputy,” Matt said, loading up his horse before swinging into the saddle. “Let’s go meet the outlaw.”

Matt started his horse off at a trot as Kearney jumped atop his mount. Just as he pointed his horse westward, he heard a loud burst of laughter behind him. It didn’t sound like the cheerful kind. He wheeled his horse around. A hundred yards away, in front of the general store, several young cowboys were standing around in a circle, pushing someone around.

“Back me up, deputy?”

Kearney nodded, and Matt kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks and rode him into the group.

“How about you boys let me in on the joke,” he said, jumping down into the middle of the cluster of men. A dust-covered Mexican man was sprawled in the dirt.

“You a lawman?” one of the cowboys asked.

“Nope, just a private citizen that doesn’t much like bullies. Now why don’t you all go on and let this man go about his business?”

“Because his business is taking away our work,” the cowboy explained. “Damned Mexicans come over here and do the same job for less pay; and there’s hundreds of them every year, ‘round this time!”

“Yeah,” one of the other young men agreed. “I got two sisters and a sick ma. We don’t need his kind ‘round here messing things up for honest folk.”

“What’s your name,
amigo
?” Matt turned toward the Mexican, who had picked himself up and was brushing the dust from his clothes.

“My name is Juan,
señor
. Juan Vargas.”

“And what is it that you do for work, S
eñor
Vargas?”

“Please, call me Juan. As for my work, I do whatever I can. I was a field medic in the Mexican Army ten years ago, and I’ve managed to practice my skill here and there. Learned English from a retired American Army captain and his wife. No doctor in El Paso will take me on, though. They all have apprentices. White apprentices from rich families.”

Matt walked up beside Kearney and leaned over.

“You reckon we could use a good field medic on this little mission?”

“I think he could come in handy,” Kearney said.

“Good. You live up there, Juan?” Matt pointed to the second floor of the general store. Juan nodded. “If you want a job, go on up and get your things.”

“I have only a couple of bags, and my medical gear.”

“Be back down in three minutes.” Juan turned to the doorway. “Second thought,” Matt added, “Make it five. Go buy yourself some supplies.” He tossed the Mexican some money. “Call it an advance.”

“Now, none of you boys are doctors, right?” Matt asked, turning back to the cowboys. The young men shook their heads. “Well, then, I guess everyone wins. Now, which one of you is going to sell me your horse?”

Part Two

Journeys with Jacoby, Vol. I, Chapter I.

Published 1890, by Juan Vargas:

I’m still trying to figure out what I’ve gotten myself into. I’ve been riding for the past three days with a strange group of men, and the things I’ve seen? No one will ever believe me. I owe the writing of these things to myself, but even more so to Matthias Jacoby. If I do nothing else with my life but write the story of his, it will be time well-spent.

When I first met Matt, he drove off a group of angry cowhands that harassed me. Five minutes after he shook my hand we headed out of town, and I on a horse he bought me. It was while he performed that uncommon act of generosity that I purchased this paper and ink, among other things. Kindness comes naturally to him, and compassion, but he’s always on edge. Deputy Kearney—Kurt, that is—told me he saw Matt shoot a gun out of a man’s hand shortly before making my acquaintance. It’s a bit unsettling to have such a generous but dangerous friend.

Kurt’s a good man, too. I’d seen him around town on and off since my arrival in El Paso, always working or mingling with the people. He must really care about them. I’ve seen plenty of other deputies, and the sheriff himself, for that matter, spending their time in the tavern, at the barber shop, or asleep in their office. Come to think of it, Kurt reminds me a bit of my father when he was younger, and of Captain Crabbe. Good men who prefer to get through trouble with a joke, but understand when things are no longer a laughing matter.

Black Tom Catch would be one of those “no laughing matters.” I knew I was in for more than I’d bargained for almost as soon as we left town. He waited just inside the town line, by himself; an outlaw famous enough that even I know of him. Trouble is, in El Paso, he’s a landowner who’s caused no disorder within its borders and has too many friends in high places. Maybe that’s why he rides confidently in the company of a deputy and an unknown gunslinger. Or perhaps he’s just cocky.

Or maybe he has a plan. Maybe he knows something we don’t. Too many variables with that one, the captain would have said. If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that predictable is better. The only thing I know about Catch is that Matt and Kurt need him, and that we watch him a lot more closely than he watches us.

Matt Jacoby is a smart man. Not just the battle-hardened common-sense type of smart, either; I have plenty of that myself. But he’s well-read and has studied a lot, and I get the impression that he sees more than the rest of us. The first example I saw of this was when we were a couple miles outside of El Paso. He was in the lead, and I was pretty much next to him. Black Tom rode behind me and Kurt rode trail, to keep an eye on the outlaw.

“Hold up,” Matt said, pulling his horse to a halt. He dismounted and walked over to a patch of tumbleweeds. “These here don’t look right at all.”

“It’s just some tumbleweeds, partner,” Black Tom said, chuckling. “I know you’re not from around here, but those might as well be the Texas state flower.”

Matt just looked at him, bent down and yanked up on one of the weeds. It took a little more effort than it should have, and when he held it up a short, metal stake dangled from the dry, twisted branches.