Ralph Compton Sixguns and Double Eagles (18 page)

“Find some rope,” Wes ordered, “and let's settle these hombres down.”

“You'll never get away with this,” shouted Denbow. “Help ...”

Wes slammed the muzzle of the shotgun against his head, silencing him.

Quince had been in Judge Hawk's quarters and emerged with two lariats. Quickly Wes cut the rope into the right lengths, binding Denbow hand and foot, while El Lobo—with the help of Quince—bound Judge Hawk in a similar fashion.

“I'll have the law on you,” Judge Hawk hissed. “You can't run far enough.”

“Nobody's going to recognize your kind of law,” said Wes. “Where are the keys to these leg irons?”

Hawk laughed. “You'll never find them.”

“I think we will,” Wes said. “I was in favor of letting you live, but you're beginning to talk me out of it. Denbow's coming to. Maybe we'll find out how much he wants to live.”

When Denbow opened his eyes, the muzzle of the shotgun was right under his nose.

“We want the keys to our leg irons,” said Wes. “We're leaning toward shooting both of you, and then taking this place apart one board at a time. The judge won't cooperate. How much do you want to live?”

“There's a key in my pocket,” Denbow said sullenly.

“One of you have a look,” said Wes. “I'll just keep this shotgun in place, in case he's lying.”

Kincer knelt down and digging into Denbow's pocket, came out with a key. He tried it on his irons and they opened. Quickly, he freed his companions.

“Now,” Wes said, “we feel like you owe us something, judge. My
amigo
and me, all we expect is the gold you took from us, our weapons, our horses, and our saddles. The rest of these
hombres
aim to make you pay a little more than that. I doubt they'll kill you, if you don't say the wrong thing, but I'm making no promises.”

Quince, Kincer, Olson, and Baker had gone into Judge Hawk's quarters, and there was a shout.

“Damn it,” said Wes, “quiet.”

“There's a cash box with near twenty thousand in it,” Quince said.

“Thirty-five hundred in gold belongs to El Lobo and me,” said Wes. “Do any of you want to dispute that?”

“Not me,” Quince said. “We owe you our freedom.”

“Damn right,” said Kincer. “Take your money.”

“We got nothin' but your word you're owed thirty-five hundred,” Olson said.

“That's right,” said Wes, “you have my word. Is that not good enough?”

“It's good enough,” Baker said, casting a swift look at Olson.

El Lobo had found the gunbelts and Colts belonging to himself and Wes, and leaning in a corner were their Winchesters. While they buckled on their gunbelts, Quince counted out thirty-five hundred in double eagles. Olson and Baker said nothing. When Quince had finished counting, Wes loaded the gold into his and El Lobo's saddlebags. Quince and Kincer had found weapons of their own, aware that Baker and Olson had their eyes riveted on Judge Hawk's cash box.

“El Lobo and me are going after our horses,” said Wes. “I'd suggest the rest of you finish your business here and ride out, because you don't know how soon Judge Hawk's bunch will return.”

“We owe Hawk some punishment,” Kincer said. “It don't seem right, us ridin' out and leavin' the old buzzard alive.”

“Leaving him alive is punishment enough,” said Wes. “Him and his pet sheriff will be laughed out of the territory, when word gets around. When his bunch rides in and finds both of them trussed up like Christmas geese, they won't seem so powerful. Besides, with the mine flooded, he'll never sentence another man to hard labor.”

Wes and El Lobo left the saloon, stepping into the rain-swept darkness. With a bark of joy, Empty came trotting up to Wes. Reaching the livery, Wes stepped inside, pausing when he heard a loud snore. Following the sound to a bunk, he drew one of his Colts and smashed the muzzle of it against the sleeping man's head. He then struck a match, found a lantern, and lighted it. While El Lobo saddled their horses, Wes found some rawhide strips and bound the still-unconscious liveryman. At least he wouldn't sound the alarm before the others made their escape. Quickly Wes and El Lobo left the livery, riding south.

“We no go west,” El Lobo said.

“No,” said Wes. “It's the long way around, but I think we'll ride through Santa Fe. If the Golden Dragon still has a pack of killers looking for us, maybe they won't be expecting us there. After that time in Hawk's mine, we're in need of some decent grub and a change of clothes.”

Eventually the rain ceased and the wind swept the clouds away. By starlight they rode south, toward Santa Fe....

By the time Wes and El Lobo had reached Santa Fe, the weather had grown colder and another storm was blowing in from the mountains to the west. Snow swirled about them and they had tied down their Stetsons against the rising wind.

“Just in time,” Wes said. “While this one blows itself out, we can hole up here. Some rest and decent grub will be welcome.”

“
Sí
,” said El Lobo. “Per‘ap nobody be here that try to kill us.”

“We can't be sure of that,” Wes said. “We'll have to keep our guns handy.”

The town had already prepared for the coming storm and the streets were virtually deserted. Lamps had been lighted, casting a cheery glow from many windows. A lighted lantern hung over the double doors of a livery, while almost directly across the street a pair of bracket lamps lighted the door of a hotel. Beside it, its windows steamed up, was a café. They reined up before the livery and Wes pounded on one of the doors with the butt of a Colt. Fighting the wind, a hostler shoved the door open enough for Wes and El Lobo to get their horses inside.

“Rub them down and grain them,” Wes said. “We aim to bed down in the hotel until this storm blows itself out. Do you have a place for our saddles?”

“In the tack room,” said the hostler.

The hotel wasn't crowded and there was no objection to Empty. Wes and El Lobo were assigned a first-floor room just off the lobby where they quickly changed clothes. Not having had a decent meal since leaving Dodge, they went immediately to the next-door café. It was considerably past the dinner hour and too early for supper. That, and with the storm becoming more intense, the cook sat on a stool sipping coffee.

“Pardner,” said Wes, “I have a dog that's hungry as we are, and I'll pay for his grub, if he's welcome.”

“The dog's welcome and he won't have to pay,” the genial cook said. “With this storm, business has been so bad I'd feed a tribe of hostile Utes. If I wasn't roomin' at the hotel, I'd be closed up and gone.”

“We're glad you're staying at the hotel, then,” said Wes. “We'll be here until this storm blows itself out, and we'll need a place to eat.”

“I got plenty of bacon, beans, steak, spuds, onions, dried apple pie, and coffee,” the cook said. “Sourdough biscuits, if you want ‘em.”

“No corn bread,” El Lobo said with a shudder.

“I reckon you'd better bring us some of all that,” said Wes. “We may sleep right on through supper.”

“Comin' up,” the cook said. “That's a right unusual dog you got. Never seen but one like him in these parts. A gent was in here maybe two years ago ...”

“He's a blue tick hound,” Wes said. “He's name's Empty, and he lives up to it.”

The meal was a memorable one, and they spent a pleasant hour in the café. Finished, they left the café as four riders reined up at the livery across the street. There was Olson, Baker, Kincer, and Quince. Seeming not to notice Wes and El Lobo, they led their horses into the livery. Wes and El Lobo went on to their room, and when they had entered and closed the door, Wes spoke.

“I reckon there's nothin' wrong with ‘em coming here, this being the nearest town, but I have my doubts about Baker and Olson.”

“
Sí
, ” El Lobo said. “They know us.”

“And we know who hired them to kill us,” said Wes. “Besides what they've been paid, I don't doubt there's a price on our heads. Silver warned us of that.”

“Per‘ap we kill them first,” El Lobo said.

“It's a tempting thought,” said Wes, “but they seemed to have given up on us, before Judge Hawk took them captive. I reckon we'll have to wait and see what their intentions are. At least there's only two of them, and that's better odds than we had when we left the train in Colorado.”

The storm roared on through the night, showing no sign of ceasing, and when Wes and El Lobo went to breakfast, there were waist-high drifts against some of the nearby buildings. Already, the path someone had shoveled from the hotel entrance to the café had begun to fill with new-fallen snow. When they entered the café, the cook nodded to Wes and El Lobo. Empty trotted to the kitchen, where he had been fed the day before. Four men were eating. Quince and Kincer sat at one table, while Baker and Olson sat at another.

“I got eggs,” said the cook. “How many?”

“Scramble us a dozen,” Wes said, “with plenty of potatoes, biscuits, bacon, and coffee.”

Wes and El Lobo took a table next to Quince and Kincer, who nodded at them. Olson and Baker continued eating, appearing not to notice. They finished first, and only when they left the café did Quince speak.

“Kincer and me each took a thousand in gold. Them scruffy varmints took the rest.”

“I reckoned they would,” said Wes. “Did you see anything of Hawk's outlaws?”

“No,” Quince said. “We took your advice and was careful not to stir up any of ‘em that wasn't on the raid. We got our horses and rode out without seein' a soul. Sometimes, them that's on a raid is gone a week or more. Judge Hawk warned 'em to leave Santa Fe alone. It's too close to Hawktown.”

“So we're not likely to have any trouble with ‘em here,” said Wes.

“Likely not,” Quince said. “They're holed up somewhere, waitin' out the storm, but we best keep cur eyes open. We can't count on ‘em not ridin' through here, on their way to Hawktown.”

“Yeah,” said Kincer with a shudder. “If they see any of us, they'll know there's been trouble at Hawktown. They might forget Judge Hawk's warning not to stir up anything in Santa Fe.”

“When the storm's done,” Wes said, “where do you aim to go from here?”

“Kincer and me are goin' to Texas,” said Quince.

“Have you heard Baker and Olson say what they intend to do?” Wes asked.

“No,” said Quince. “From Hawktown to here, they didn't say nothing to us, and little or nothin' to one another. I don't know what they was, before fallin' into Hawk's trap, but now they got the look of killers.”

“I think you're right,” Wes said, “and soon as the storm lets up enough, I think you and Kincer should head for Texas.”

“We aim to,” said Kincer.

When Baker and Olson returned to the hotel, Olson spoke to the desk clerk.

“Where's the telegraph office?”

“Two blocks west of the livery, on the same side of the street,” the clerk said, “and it won't be easy gettin' there, through the drifts.”

Despite the deepening snow, Baker and Olson made their way to the telegraph office, where they sent a telegram to Elkins, at the High Plains Hotel, in Boulder, Colorado.

“Twenty thousand split two ways is a fair piece of money,” Olson said as they left the telegraph office.

“Yeah,” said Baker, “but then we got to tote them two dead bodies all the way back to Boulder. You think that ain't gonna get some attention from the law?”

“For that kind of money, I'll risk it,” Olson replied, “and if you ain't got the sand, I'll do it by myself.”

“Ah, hell,” said Baker, “I'll do it. With that kind of money, we can ride to Sonora and never lift a hand at nothin‘, from now on.”

A day's ride south of Santa Fe, following a successful raid, twenty-four renegades prepared to ride north, bound for Hawktown.

“Nance and me is layin' over a night in Santa Fe,” Whitmire announced. “Hawk said we wasn't to rob the town. He didn't say we couldn't stop for grub and a few drinks.”

Quickly, Elkins prepared a response to the telegram he had received from Santa Fe:

“Deliver what you promise and reward will increase five thousand.”

He then sent coded telegrams to Kansas City, San Francisco, and Carson City, Nevada. If the quarry successfully escaped from Santa Fe, preparations would be made to greet them in Nevada and California. Elkins smiled grimly to himself, for it had been an eventful day. His superiors could ill afford to overlook what he had accomplished.

With the exception of Whitmire and Nance, Hawktown's renegades bypassed Santa Fe. While the storm had ceased, snow was still drifted deep, making travel difficult.

“Hell,” said Whitmire, “Hawk can't say nothin' if we have a few drinks, good grub, and a night in a warm bed. It'll be easier travelin' tomorrow.”

Wes and El Lobo had been about to leave the hotel for the café when they saw Nance and Whitmire leave the livery.

“Back to the room,” Wes said quietly. “We have a score to settle with that pair of varmints.”

Wes cracked the door just enough to see into the hall. Once Nance and Whitmire had passed their door, Wes and El Lobo stepped out behind them, cocking their Colts. In the quiet of the hall, it was a deadly sound. Nance and Whitmire froze.