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Authors: William W. Johnstone

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BOOK: Destiny Of The Mountain Man
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C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN
“Let me make the next raid, Major,” Stone said. He shook his head. “The last two raiding parties we've sent out have come back with their tails tucked between their legs.”
Stone and Brandt were sitting at their regular table in the Gato Rojo Saloon.
“I don't know,” Brandt said. He picked up the bottle to pour himself another glass of whiskey, but the bottle was empty. Kunz, ever the efficient businessman, was there instantly to replace the bottle.
“Captain King has been training his men,” Kunz said as he put the bottle on the table.
Brandt looked up at him. “What do you mean, he's been training his men?”
“Several of the Mexicans who live in this town have relatives who work at the Santa Gertrudis. Word has gotten back that the gunman he hired, this man Smoke Jensen, has been training them, just like you would an army.”
“Well, I'll be damn,” Brandt said. He rubbed his disfigured eyelid with his forefinger. “An army, huh?”
Kunz poured the liquor into Brandt's glass. “Well, that's what the Mexicans are saying. But if you live down here long enough, you know you can never believe anything a Mexican tells you.”
“I don't know,” Brandt said. He took a swallow of his drink. “It makes sense when you think about it.”
“So, he's got an army,” Stone said. “We've fought armies before, me'n you.”
“Yes, but I remind you that we had an army behind us,” Brandt said. “Not a bunch of ragtag outlaws who are all out for themselves.”
“What do you think we should do? Think maybe we should have one big raid? Maybe against the house?”
“We can't do anything until we have more information,” Brandt said. “I need to send someone to find out. The only problem is, I'm not sure where to send him.”
“Benevadis,” Kunz said.
“Why Benevadis?”
“That's the closest town to the ranch and it's where all the cowboys from Santa Gertrudis go. And because there are a lot more Americans there than here, you could send someone there without raising too much suspicion.”
“Thanks,” Brandt said. “That's good to know.”
“Happy to help, Major,” Kunz replied as he started back toward the bar.
“Why?” Stone called out to him.
Kunz stopped, but he didn't turn around, nor did he answer Stone.
“Yeah, that's a good question,” Brandt said. “Before I act on any information you give me, I would like to know why you are helping.”
Kunz put an obsequious smile on his lips, then turned to face the two men who were now the most important people in all of Concepcion.
“Why, you ask?”
“Yeah, why? I mean, let's face it, we've run roughshod over everyone else in town . . . over your neighbors. So, why are you happy to help us?”
“Are you kidding, Major? Look around you. I've never had business this good. And no matter what you are doing to everyone else, you and your men have been straight with me. Seems only fitting that I be straight with you.”
Brandt nodded. “All right,” he said. “I'll accept that.”
Kunz kept the smile on his face until he turned back around and started toward the bar. At that moment his face registered complete relief that he had come up with an answer that satisfied Brandt. Kunz was playing with fire, and he knew it.
“So,” Stone said, continuing his conversation with Brandt.
“You want me to go to Benevadis and have a look around to see what I can find out?”
Brandt shook his head. “No,” he said. “I need you here. I'll think of someone.”
“We could send Waco,” Stone suggested.
Again, Brandt shook his head. “No, I don't want to send him. He's much too hotheaded to be dependable. We'll have to come up with someone else.”
“Shit! How do you do that with just three fingers?” someone asked from one of the other tables. His question was met with a raucous round of laughter from all the others at that table.
Looking toward the laughter, Brandt saw Three-Finger Manning performing some sleight-of-hand tricks with a silver dollar.
“It's easy if you know what you are doing,” Manning said. He held the dollar between the thumb and forefinger of his Three-Finger hand, then passed his other hand in front. The coin disappeared and almost immediately, he turned his good hand over to show that it wasn't there.
“That's the damnedest thing I've ever seen,” Preston said.
“There's our man,” Brandt said, pointing to Manning.
Smoke had not left the ranch since he arrived, so when Kleberg invited him to go with him into Benevadis, Smoke jumped at the chance.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might like to go into town?” Sally asked when Smoke told her of his plans.
“Oh, honey, you don't want to go into Benevadis,” Henrietta said. She shook her head. “It's much too rough a place for a lady like you.”
Sally started to respond, and Smoke could tell by the expression on her face that she was going to point out to Henrietta that she wasn't quite the “delicate” lady she appeared. But a warning glance from Smoke stopped her, though Smoke's glance was ameliorated by a smile.
Sally walked out front with Smoke. Kleberg was over in front of the barn saddling his horse. Stormy was already saddled.
“Thanks,” Smoke said.
“Thanks for what?”
Smoke chuckled. “You know for what. For not spoiling Henrietta's illusion about your . . .” He paused and stared pointedly at her. “What was it you called it back in Colorado? Your female decorum?”
Sally laughed, then hit Smoke on the shoulder. “You are awful,” she said.
About that time Kleberg had his horse saddled, and he rode over to Smoke.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
“I'm ready,” Smoke replied.
“Oh?” Sally said, lifting her eyebrows. “Are you really ready?”
Smiling, Smoke kissed her.
“Now,” she said, when their lips parted. “You are ready.”
Benevadis was the closest town to the Santa Gertrudis Ranch, and although it, like all the other small towns around the ranch, was predominantly Mexican, Benevadis had considerably more Americans than the others. In fact, it was almost half and half. It was this demographic makeup that made Benevadis the destination of choice for most of the Americans in the area, whether they worked on the Santa Gertrudis or one of the other ranches.
Even the architecture of the little town reflected its split personality. One side of the street was American, lined with false-fronted buildings thrown together, washed out and flyblown. The first structure Smoke and Kleberg rode by was a blacksmith's shop. From the blacksmith's shop, going down on the same side of the street, was a butcher shop, a general store, a bakery, six small houses, then a leather-goods shop next door to an apothecary. A set of outside stairs climbed the left side of the drugstore to a small stoop that stuck out from the second floor. A painted hand on a sign, with a finger pointing up, read:
W. W. WEST, M.D.
After that came a saloon. On the opposite side of the street the buildings were constructed of adobe, with red tile roofs. Here was a cantina, a seamstress, a Roman Catholic church, a restaurant, and a few houses.
“You can go on down to the Hog Lot if you'd like,” Kleberg said, pointing toward the saloon that bore that unlikely name in front. “I have some business to take care of with the blacksmith. I'll join you in a few minutes.”
“All right,” Smoke said.
Kleberg dismounted and was met by a smiling blacksmith who was wiping his hands on his apron as he approached. Smoke rode on down to the far end of the street, stopping in front of the saloon. Tying off Stormy at the hitching rail, he stepped inside the saloon, moving quickly, as he always did, to one side of the door, then stepping back against the wall.
He recognized many of the men because they were the same Santa Gertrudis riders he had been working with for the last several days.
“Hey,” Spitz said. “There's Smoke.”
“Smoke, over here. Let us buy you a beer!” Barrett called.
After scanning the entire saloon and determining that there was nobody there to pose a threat, Smoke smiled at the greeting and went over to join the others.
“Barkeep, a beer for our friend,” Spitz said.
“Coming right up,” the bartender said, sticking a mug under a barrel and pulling the lever. The mug filled with an amber liquid, then formed a two-inch foam on top. He handed it to Smoke, then took the nickel from Spitz.
“Thanks,” Smoke said as he blew the foam off the head.
“I was tellin' the boys about our little run-in with the rustlers the other day,” Barrett said. He went back to his story. “So, here we were, the bullets flying by,
zing, zing, zing,
” he mimicked, using his fingers to show the flight of the bullets.
“So what did you do next?” one of the others said.
“Well, I did just like Smoke here taught us,” Barrett said. “I put the reins in my teeth”—he lifted the rawhide string that hung from his hat and bit down on it in demonstration—“then I filled both hands with guns and started firing away.
Bang, bang, bang,
” he said, marking each shot with his hands, formed into the shapes of pistols.
At that moment, Manning came into the saloon and, seeing everyone gathered around the talker, he moved, unobserved, to the far end of the bar. He started to call the bartender down to him when he noticed the tall man drinking the beer.
Damn! That's Smoke Jensen!
Manning moved slightly to put several people between him and the gunfighter. He didn't know if Jensen would remember him from the encounter at the dance. After all, it was Waco who'd challenged Jensen. Still, he'd rather not take any chances.
He listened to the loudmouth telling his story, realizing that he must be talking about an encounter with some of Brandt's men.
“By now,” Barrett said, “bullets were flying both ways.
Bang, zing, bang, zing.
”
“Oh, man, I wish I'd been there,” one of the other cowboys said. “That sounds excitin'.”
“It was exciting all right. But also scary. Remember, this is the third time I've run into them fellas,” Barrett said. “But this time they bit off more'n they could chew when they messed with Emil Barrett,” he said, pointing to his chest with his thumb. “I mean, we must'a killed, oh, I don't know, six or seven at least. Hell, more'n that, because I got that many myself.”
Suddenly Spitz laughed out loud. “Barrett, you are as full of shit as a Christmas goose,” he said. “In the first place, I've never known you to carry two pistols. And as clumsy as you are on a horse, you prob'ly couldn't even stay on holdin' the reins in your teeth.”
BOOK: Destiny Of The Mountain Man
8.31Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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