Outlaw Pass (9781101544785) (9 page)

“I have to eat and pay for my room,” she replied simply.

“Yeah, but . . . ,” he started, but did not finish the comment. “Oh, what the hell?” he blurted. “Can you tell me where Jake was campin'—where he was stayin'?”

“I don't know for sure,” she answered. “I've never been to his camp. All I know is that he had a place somewhere on the other side of the hills to the east of town, with a fellow named Finn. He was going to come back to get me. I waited for a week, but my money ran out, so I had to go back to work.” She studied his face for a few moments, waiting to see if he was going to offer any help, but he remained undecided. “Well, I'd better get back to the table before I lose the chance to pick up some grocery money,” she concluded.

Adam was lost in indecision. He was not of a mind to waste money on a barroom whore, but he was reluctant to toss the young girl back to the likes of the four at the table. Jake must have seen something beneath the powder and paint that he found worthwhile. Adam didn't have much time to make up his mind because two of the men helped Lon up on his feet, and started walking him toward the door. The one remaining, the wild-eyed one with the thin face, paused for a few moments to fix his threatening gaze upon Adam before following his friends. No one of them made any attempt to call for Lacey to come with them. “I was coming back,” she called to them, distraught to see her rent money walk out the door. Her plea was answered with a sneer from the wild-eyed outlaw.

Carefully watching the four men leave, his rifle muzzle following their path to the door, Adam reluctantly returned his attention to the distressed young woman, her face a worried frown as she saw her chance for a payday disappear. Fearing himself as big a fool as his younger brother, he reached in his pocket for the little pouch his father had given him. “Here,” he said to Lacey as he put one of his remaining double eagles in her hand. “This'll hold you for a few days—make up for the business you just lost.”

Misunderstanding his gesture, she frowned and asked, “You want it now?” She glanced at the stairs that led up to the rooms over the saloon.

“No, hell no,” he exclaimed. “That ain't what I gave you the money for. I gave you the money so you wouldn't have to do that for a few days.”

“Oh,” she replied, not fully understanding, but grateful nonetheless.

Having moved down the bar in order to overhear the conversation between Adam and Lacey, Bonnie interrupted. “I'll take a day off, too, if you wanna pay me,” she said.

“I can't afford but one fancy lady,” Adam replied. “Now, I've wasted enough time in this place. I've got to get an early start in the mornin', so I'd best see about gettin' some sleep.”

“I know your brother,” the bartender volunteered, surprising Adam, because up to that point he had not shown any indication of wanting to help. “I didn't know his name, but I know the young feller that came in to see Lacey. Him and another feller name of Finn that sometimes came in with him said they had a claim southeast of town on a little stream runnin' down to Grasshopper Creek. Lacey's right about that.”

“That's a helluva lot of ground to cover, lookin' for one cabin on a hill that's crowded with 'em,” Mutt commented.

“If you ride up from town about even with Harvey's Dry Goods,” the bartender offered, “you'll be lined up with a notch in the ridge. I'm pretty sure your brother said his camp was on the south side of that notch—if that'll help you a little.”

“Much obliged,” Adam said. He turned to Mutt then. “I reckon I'll be goin'.”

“What about us?” Bonnie asked, nodding toward Lacey.

“I reckon that's up to you,” Adam said. “I don't remember takin' you to raise. Do whatever you were gonna do before I got on the stage.”

“I thought I might bunk with you tonight,” Bonnie said.

“I'm bunkin' with my horse,” Adam replied with a shrug. “If you wanna sleep in the stable, you'll have to talk to the stable owner.” He turned to leave.

“I reckon I'll get a room,” Bonnie said with an exaggerated pout.

“You can stay with me tonight,” Lacey said to Bonnie.

“Adam, I don't know if it's healthy for you to walk out that front door,” Mutt said. “You might wanna go out the back.”

“I reckon,” Adam said. The thought had already occurred to him. In fact, he counted an ambush a sure thing. “Might be a good idea for you folks to stay here until after I'm good and gone.”

The bartender shook his head slowly as he watched Adam move through the crowded saloon toward the back door. “Yonder goes a walkin' dead man,” he said to Mutt.

 

Well aware that he had very likely set himself up for a hell of a lot of trouble, Adam slid the bolt on the back door of the saloon and stood just inside while he let his eyes adjust to the darkened alley behind the building. When he was satisfied that there was no one in sight as far as he could see through the partially opened door, he took a cautious step out on the four-by-four back stoop and searched the alley in the other direction. It appeared that, if the men at the table had ambush in mind, they were counting on him using the front door. If that was the case, he decided, he had best get moving before it occurred to them to cover the back.

There was what appeared to be a store of some kind next to the saloon, so he made his way quickly around to the other side of it. Then, holding close to the side of the building, he moved silently along the side toward the front. He had not taken three steps before he stopped stone cold in his tracks. A movement in the shadows at the front corner of the building caused him to drop to one knee and raise his rifle, preparing to fire. He hesitated, however, when he realized that the figure crouched beside the porch was concentrating his gaze toward the front door of the saloon, and was unaware of Adam's presence behind him.

Still intent upon avoiding bloodshed if possible, he very carefully backed away, keeping a wary eye on the figure in the shadows. It would have been easy to continue walking behind the buildings until he came to the stable where his horses were, but he was concerned now that Mutt might be targeted when he left the saloon, simply because he had come in with him. So he circled around the next building in line and made his way to the street again. The only lights were those from the two large windows in the saloon and they provided two square patches of light in the middle of the dusty street. He could barely make out the figure he had almost surprised at the edge of the porch. That accounted for one of them. Where, he wondered, were the other three? He stepped back in the deeper shadows beside the building when two men on horses came up the street, on their way to the saloon. As soon as they passed, he walked briskly across to the other side of the street, confident anyone staking out the saloon door would hardly notice him. Once across, he started inching his way back toward the saloon, seeking out every dark recess that could hide a potential assassin. There were many between the vacant stores that lined that side of the street. He paused at the corner of the barbershop to study the alley between that building and a harness shop beyond. After a moment, a match flared in the darkness when someone lit a smoke of some kind—Adam's guess was a cigar or cigarette, because of the short duration of the flame; it usually took longer to light a pipe. In a moment or two he saw a red glow freshen, then break apart to form two tiny red glows, telling him that there were two of them in the alley next to the barbershop.
That's three of them
, he thought, and shifted his gaze back across the street toward the hotel on the opposite side of the saloon, where he speculated the fourth party might be hiding.

At this point, he wasn't sure of the best way to handle the situation, but he couldn't take a chance on having Mutt walk into an ambush.
Damn it
, he thought,
why in hell didn't I tell him to walk out the back door with me? No good to dwell on it now.
He decided he could at least make enough noise to expose the ambush. The events of the next moment left him with no time to consider his actions, forcing him to rely on his natural reflexes. For at that instant, Mutt appeared in the doorway and stepped out on the stoop. Adam had no choice. The bushwhacker at the corner of the hardware store got to his feet, stepped away from the building, and aimed his pistol at Mutt, who was unaware he was about to be shot. Adam had no time to think about it. He felt the Henry rifle buck twice as he threw two shots in rapid succession to knock the would-be assassin against the front wall of the store. His shots ignited a brief hailstorm of rifle and pistol shots that sent Mutt diving for the ground beside the stoop. Without hesitating, Adam swung his rifle around to pump three more shots into the dark alley where he had seen the muzzle flashes. There was no time to try to measure his results because the fourth gunman stepped out from the corner of the bakery to draw a bead on Mutt, huddled up against the saloon stoop. The Henry barked once more, dropping the man in his tracks.

Not sure where the rifle fire had come from, Lon Bridges decided it was too hot to remain, sufficiently jarred by the sight of his two companions gunned down. He promptly turned and ran down the alley to the back of the building where they had left their horses. Left to face the devastating rifle fire by himself, Junior Brown fled after Lon. Adam made it to the rear of the building in time to see their retreat. He resisted the urge to throw a few more shots in their direction, opting instead to see if Mutt was all right.

Now that everything was quiet again, a few curious souls ventured out of the saloon to witness the latest shootings in a town no longer surprised by the random mayhem. Mutt climbed slowly to his feet, not sure if he had been hit or not. He cautiously examined his left shoulder where his shirt was wet and sticky with what he feared was blood, although he could feel no real pain. “Mutt!” Adam called out as he crossed the street. “Are you all right?”

“I don't know,” Mutt answered as he stepped out into the patch of light from the saloon windows. “I reckon. I don't feel no wound.” He pulled the wet shirt away from his shoulder and looked hard at it. In a moment, his face screwed up in disgust and he swore, “Damn!” Adam tried not to, but he couldn't help laughing when it became apparent what Mutt's wound was. When the shooting started, he had dived for cover in the very spot where the last drunk had vomited the contents of his stomach off the side of the stoop.

Elbowing her way through the crowd of spectators, Bonnie came up to face Mutt. She shook her head in exasperation, as a mother would a precocious child. “Damned if you ain't a pretty sight,” she said. “I expect you're gonna have to take your yearly bath if you ain't already. You don't smell too good.” She turned her attention toward Adam then, and her expression changed to one of serious concern. “You're bound and determined to set yourself up for every two-bit gunman in the town, aren't you?”

“I just wanna find my brother,” he replied. He heard the bartender, who was standing in the doorway of the Miner's Friend, tell someone to fetch the deputy sheriff, so he decided not to linger any longer at the scene.

“Wouldn't be a bad idea for you to make yourself scarce,” Mutt advised. “They're gonna be lookin' for you.” Adam only nodded in reply as he walked away, heading for the stables where he had left his horses. Wilber Jenkins had told him that he slept in the tack room, so Adam hoped he wouldn't have to break in as he had done in Virginia City. “And, Adam,” Mutt called after him, “thanks for savin' my ass.”

“Man's got a habit of saving other folks' asses,” Bonnie commented thoughtfully. “I hope to hell he can save his own.”

As it turned out, Adam thought he might have to resort to another break-in, for he found Wilber to be a sound sleeper, so much so that he had evidently slept through the gunfire. It was necessary to almost beat the back door of the stable down before he was able to rouse the sluggish sleeper, who had apparently indulged in a generous bedtime toddy.
If anybody comes looking here for me tonight,
he thought,
at least they're going to make a hell of a lot of noise before they get in
.

The night passed without incident, and Adam was awake and ready to ride shortly after sunup. He was obliged to wait, however, for Art Thompson, the owner of the stables, to arrive in order to talk about trading his extra saddles and weapons. The sun was well up over the eastern ridge when Thompson arrived. He was met at the front door by Wilber, who told him Adam was waiting for him.

“Howdy,” Thompson said upon meeting the tall stranger. “Wilber says you might have some saddles you wanna get rid of.”

Adam nodded toward the two saddles he had left at the door of the stall. “I'm needin' a good packsaddle for my other horse,” he said. “I'm thinkin' they're worth that one I saw in the tack room and a lot more besides. It you're in a tradin' mood, and ready to get the best of the swap, I'll throw in those two handguns plus the rifles, for the packsaddle, last night's charge for my horses, forty pounds of grain, and fifty dollars' gold.”

It was too good a deal for Thompson to question how Adam came to possess the saddles, but his masculine side required him to counter the offer. “Thirty dollars,” he said.

“Forty,” Adam replied.

“Done,” Thompson exclaimed, satisfied that he had skinned the stranger properly, even though suspecting that Adam was not willing to drive a hard bargain because of the questionable means by which he might have acquired them. He looked at Wilber and grinned.

Wilber returned the grin and said, “Well, I reckon I'll go on over and have my breakfast now.”