Lookout Hill (9781101606735) (24 page)

Siebert sat slouched in his saddle, his wrists crossed on his saddle horn. He waited until the Cadys rode away and the rest of the men fell back into line.

“
Ouch…,
” he said quietly to Bellibar. “Maybe you best give me my gun back now, Bobby Hugh. The crowd’s starting to get a little cross and edgy with me.”

Jesus
…. Bellibar shook his head in disgust, starting to wish he’d made sure Aces Siebert was dead the day he’d left him floating downstream.

“I told you, Copper Gully,” Bellibar replied. “You’ll get it then, and not a minute before.”

They rode on in silence for the next hour and a half
until the line of riders stepped their horses onto Copper Gully’s main street. Bellibar rode up ahead of the men and the Cady brothers and met the Russian as he stepped out of the adobe building, stuffing his shirttail into his trousers. His gun belt hung over his shoulder. Behind him, a plump, naked young woman ran out onto the boardwalk. She slowed long enough to wiggle into her thin gingham dress and raced away in the dark toward the tent cantina.

“Who you are, and why do you come here?” Cherzi called out before recognizing Bellibar in the grainy darkness.

“It’s me, the sheriff,” Belliber replied, riding in closer, seeing the shotgun waving back and forth in the Russian’s hands. “Don’t shoot,” Bellibar added, raising his hands chest high. “These men are all with me…with
us
, that is.”

“Oh,” said Cherzi, looking back and forth among the faces of the Cadys and their men.

Bellibar stepped down from his saddle, walked up to the Russian and reached out for the shotgun.

“I’ll take that, for safekeeping,” he said.

Cherzi handed it over.

Seeing Bellibar had the shotgun and had things under control, Fletcher Cady stepped his horse forward and looked down at him.

“We’ll water our horses and rest them for an hour,” he said. He added in a lowered voice, “Then we’re pushing straight up the gully to the far end.”

Cherzi grinned watching the Cadys and their men turn their horses toward the livery barn.

When they were gone, Cherzi turned quickly to Bellibar.

“Newton Ridge and the half-red Indian fellow rode down to check on us,” he said, sounding almost worried about it.

“Did they suspect anything?” Bellibar asked.

“I do not know,” said Cherzi. “But I killed Ridge. Cold Foot is with us. He says he wants to ride with you, but I told him to see you about it.”

“And where is he?” Bellibar asked, looking around the darkness.

“I don’t know,” said the Russian. “He’s been gone since this afternoon.”

“All right, then, forget him for now,” Bellibar said, needing answers in a hurry before the Cadys returned. “Tell me about the mining yard and the buildings—how everything looks at Pettigo-American.”

“Is big dirty place,” Cherzi said. He shrugged. “There is livery barn, blacksmith shop, supply buildings—”

“Hold it,” said Bellibar. “What’s in the supply buildings?”

“Supplies,” Cherzi said flatly.

“I mean is there anything of importance? Have you been inside them?” Bellibar asked.

“Just tools, equipment,” said Cherzi. “I have been in all except the one by the house, the one that is guarded.”

Guarded! All right!

Bellibar stared at him for a moment, then said, “This guarded one you can’t go in?”

“Nobody can except the guards and Denver Jennings,” said Cherzi.

“So you have no idea what’s inside it?” Bellibar asked.

“Is wagon filled with relics,” said Cherzi. “Is no secret. Old man Pettigo tells everybody that’s what’s in there.”

“I bet he does.” Bellibar grinned, getting suspicious. He wasn’t certain what this all meant, but ever since Bert had made his slip of the tongue, everything Bellibar thought of now had a shiny yellow sparkle to it.

“Relics,” said Cherzi. He shook his head in disgust. “Who cares about old relics? The Mexican miners don’t care. None of us mercenaries care.”

“That’s what I say, who cares about relics?” Bellibar repeated.
And yet here’s a man, Edgar Pettigo, who keeps a wagonload of them under guard,
he thought to himself.

He held the shotgun out to Cherzi.

“Are you sober enough to ride and handle a gun?” he asked.

“Russian always sober enough to ride and handle gun,” Cherzi said with an uptilt of his chin.

“Then get your horse and get ready to ride, Cherzi,” Bellibar said. “We’re hitting Pettigo-American.”

“Ah, the big payroll!” Cherzi said, a gleam coming into his eyes.

“Yeah, the big payroll,” said Bellibar, “maybe even bigger than we think.”

“What?” Cherzi asked.

“Never mind,” said Bellibar. “When we get inside there, make sure you stick close to me.” Bellibar wasn’t sure what to expect, but if it was worth Pettigo guarding, it was worth
him
stealing.

“I will. You got it, boss,” said the excited Russian.

In the grainy, moonlit darkness, the Ranger and Juan Lupo skirted the outer edge of Copper Gully and looked onto the main street from a dark alley. Having arrived shortly after the Cadys and their men, the two watched the stable boy hurry from the livery barn leading four freshly attended horses and deliver the animals back to their owners. Collecting his fee, the boy grabbed the reins to four more horses and hurried back to the barn to water and grain them.

Meanwhile, the gunmen sat sprawled along the boardwalk out in front of the new sheriff’s office. At one end, the Cady bothers stood on the street leaning against a hitch rail. Beside them stood one of their top gunmen, a Montana outlaw named Sonny White, who, along with two other outlaws, had met them along the trail from Lookout Hill.

When the gunmen had arrived moments earlier, a few townsfolk had poked their heads out of doorways, and lamplight had swelled behind closed windows. But upon seeing the size of the group and the demeanor
of its members, the townsfolk quickly ducked back inside, and windows once again turned dark.

“How many do you make it to be, Ranger?” Lupo asked, his voice lowered, unable to mask the pain radiating from his knife wounds.

“Upwards of twenty men,” Sam replied in the same lowered voice beneath a gust of dusty night wind. As he spoke, his gaze shifted away from the moonlit street to something shadowy he thought he’d seen move farther back across the alley behind them.

“
Sí
, twenty sounds right,” Lupo said. His eyes also went to the rear of the alley, but only for a moment.

“Did you see something back there, Easy John?” the Ranger asked him quietly.

“I thought I did,” Lupo replied. “But the moonlight and wind plays tricks on the eye.”

“Maybe,” Sam said with little conviction, eyeing the darkness closer. His eyes were not in the habit of falling for tricks of moonlight or wind.

Even as they spoke, another gust of wind bellowed and fell, stirring dust, leaving it looming midair at the rear of the alley. Between flanking black shadows, the two saw a number of small winged creatures cut sharply through the slanted purple moonlight and careen away on the night wind.

“Birds…bats perhaps,” Lupo offered.

“Perhaps,” Sam agreed, willing to let it go at that for the time being.

With no more on the matter, they turned back to the men and the horses on the dirt street.

“They could never have gathered here in this great
number without Bellibar being in with them,” Lupo whispered. “If they could, they would have done so and robbed Pettigo-American long before now.”

“Why would the Pettigos make a man like Bellibar sheriff, knowing they have so much riding on this place?”

“Even smart men do stupid things,” Lupo said. “I have learned to not question
why
when opportunity presents itself, only to take advantage—to strike before anyone realizes they have made a mistake and they hurry to correct it.”

“It never hurts to wonder why,” said Sam.

“
Sí
, you are right,” said Lupo, “unless wondering gets in the way of doing what must be done.”

Sam gazed out onto the street and looked back and forth, seeing two of the Cadys’ men step out and take up their horses’ reins while the others remained resting along the boardwalk. One of the men carried a railroad lantern in his hand. The lantern had been fitted with a tin blackout shield that blocked half of the lantern’s light, allowing it to only be seen clearly from one side at any great distance.

“These two are getting ready to ride on ahead,” said Sam in a whisper.

“
Sí
, they are the ones who will silence the guards for the others, and for us as well,” Lupo replied. “They are our key to getting inside. Let us hope they do a good job.”

Sam and Lupo turned to their horses as the two men on the street mounted and rode off along the main street at a gallop.

“While they ride up the gully taking care of the
guards, we will flank them along the edge of the rocks,” said Lupo, the two of them leading their horses quietly to the rear of the alley.

When they were out of the alley, they stepped up into their saddles in another gust of night wind. Sam drew his rifle from its boot and laid it across his lap. He watched Lupo climb stiffly up into his saddle and adjust himself as a thin dust devil rose and swirled and danced alongside them.

“The wind will help cover our sound,” Lupo said, “even if it does keep the guards alert.”

The two turned their horses to the same back trail they’d come in on, and rode away in silence as the dust devil loomed and swirled in place, as if watching them go.

On the street, Sonny White straightened quickly from against the hitch rail and turned toward the dark alley, his gun coming up hand, cocked, ready to fire.

“Who the hell’s there?” he called out toward the alley. Wind kicking up dust and a scrap of debris at the alley’s edge.

Beside him the Cady brothers turned as well, following his lead, their hands going to their gun butts, without drawing.

“Whoa, now, Sonny,” said Fletcher Cady beside him. “Don’t be firing that six-shooter.”

“One shot and this all falls apart on us,” Bert Cady joined in, standing on the other side of his brother.

“I heard a horse’s hoof,” said Sonny White, still staring into the blackness.

“Lower the gun, Sonny,” said Fletcher. “You heard Bert. One damn gunshot and you’ll hear a lot of horses’ hooves—it’ll be ours, taking us home empty-handed.”

“Sorry,” said Sonny, lowering his gun, letting the hammer down, but keeping it in hand. “I know I heard a hoof back in there somewhere,” he added.

“You might’ve heard this wind,” said Fletcher Cady. “These Mexican west winds sound like all sorts of things.”

“Fletcher, you’re the boss,” Sonny White said, “but I’ve heard Mexican
wind
, and I’ve heard
hooves.
I know the difference.”

Fletcher just stared at him in the moonlight until White let out a breath, lowered his gun into his holster and leaned back against the hitch rail.

“Mexican west wind it is,” he said in submission. In a lowered voice he said, “Now, you were talking about these saddle tramps you want me to kill…?”

“That’s them down there,” Fletcher said, nodding without pointing toward Bellibar and Siebert, who sat on the far end of the row of gunmen. “Keep it to yourself. As soon as we get inside Pettigo-American Mining, kill them both.”

“Will do,” said White. “Mind if I tell Matt and Jarvis about it, though?”

“Why’s that?” Fletcher Cady said bluntly. “Can’t you do it by yourself?”

“I can do it by myself well enough,” said White. “But you know us three always do everything like that together.” He shrugged. “Hell, they don’t call us the three musketeers for nothing.”

“I never heard anybody call the three of you that,” said Fletcher.

“Well, they do,” said White, a little edginess coming into his voice. “Anyway, that’s the way the three of us work.”

Fletcher let out a patient breath, looked at his brother, then back at Sonny White.

“All right, tell Matt and Jarvis,” he said, “but make sure none of yas tell anybody else.”

“We won’t,” said White, “you’ve got my word.” He paused, then asked, “Who are these two? What’d they do to get your bark on so tight?”

“Bobby Hugh Bellibar and Hot Aces Siebert,” said Fletcher Cady.

“I’ve heard of them.” White nodded. “Some awfully bad hombres as I recollect.”

“Any problem killing these
awfully bad hombres
for me?” Fletcher asked.

“No, not at all,” said White. “You can count them dead and done with, soon as we get inside the mines.”

The Ranger and Lupo caught up to the two riders easily, but instead of getting too close, they pulled away from them. Riding a hundred yards up to their left, they flanked the gunmen from along a narrow game path that wound its way through rock along the steep, jagged slope. Beneath them, the two forward riders kept out of the pale moonlight and moved along quietly in the black shadows below the hill line.

At a point on the game path that Lupo seemed to recognize even in the darkness, he brought his horse to
a halt and held a hand back toward the Ranger to stop him.