The big gundown (11 page)

By nightfall, the whole town was buzzing about the exploits of the Cannon Gang, as the citizens of Titusville had dubbed the outlaws who had attacked the train. Thirsty passengers and members of the train crew had hit the saloons and spread the story, including the way that the stranger called Kid Morgan had almost single-handedly foiled the daring holdup attempt.

After the violent incident in the general store, Glory Sheffield had lost her enthusiasm for looking around the town with Morgan. She had asked him if he would walk her back to the hotel, which he did. She said her good-byes there, none too warmly. Obviously, she had given up on him as a source of diversion. She probably would have switched her attentions to Phil Bateman, Morgan thought, if Bateman and a large group of men hadn’t ridden out of Titusville in the early afternoon, heading to the site of the attack on the train in an attempt to pick up the trail of the outlaws.

The Kid spent the afternoon looking over the town. Titusville appeared to be a prosperous settlement, which meant the Gloriana Mine was successful. All of it represented a steady stream of profits flowing into the pockets of Edward Sheffield. It was easy to see why Sheffield would be a tempting target for outlaws.

Was that all there was to it, though? An uneasy feeling stirred inside Morgan. He sensed there was something he didn’t know yet about the situation.

He took a room in the hotel and made arrangements at the local livery stable for the buckskin. After eating supper at what the hotel clerk told him was the best restaurant in Titusville, Morgan walked along the street to one of the saloons, a place called the Birdcage. He wasn’t sure why the saloon had been dubbed that. He didn’t see a bird or a birdcage anywhere in the big, smoky, crowded room.

Nursing a beer at the bar, Morgan listened to the conversations around him. Not surprisingly, most of them were about the attack on the train by the Cannon Gang. He thought he might pick up some information that could prove useful to him in tracking down the outlaws, but that didn’t seem to be the case. None of the men in the saloon knew who the bandits were, or if they did, they weren’t admitting it.

After a while, Morgan drifted over to a table where a poker game was going on. When a player dropped out and a chair opened up, the dealer gestured toward it, looked at Morgan, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Morgan thought
Why not?
and sat down to take a hand.

His mind wasn’t really on the game, but he played skillfully enough that he won a few hands, staying about even. After a while, one of the other players, a miner by the looks of him, threw in his cards and said, “That’s enough for me. I’m leavin’ while I still got enough money for a drink of whiskey and a woman.”

“Come back any time, friend,” the dealer said smoothly as the miner scraped his chair back and stood up.

At the end of the hand, which The Kid won with three nines, another man stepped up and rested a hand on the back of the empty chair. “How about if I sit in, gents?” he asked.

“As long as your money’s good, you’re more than welcome,” the dealer said.

The newcomer placed a stack of coins on the table in front of the empty chair. “Good enough for you?”

The dealer smiled. “More than good enough. Have a seat.”

The man settled himself in the chair and said, “I hope this is a friendly game.”

Something nagged at Morgan’s mind. He hadn’t really paid any attention to the stranger, but curiosity drew his gaze to the man’s face.

It took every bit of iron-nerved self-control in his body not to show the shock he felt as he recognized the newcomer as Colonel Gideon Black.

Morgan had seen the renegade colonel only one time, when he watched Black and his men from inside the Williams ranch house. Black was dressed differently now. Instead of the fringed buckskin shirt and cavalry trousers and hat, he wore a brown tweed suit and a derby. He looked like a businessman rather than a military commander.

But there was no mistaking the lean, almost satanic face with its dark goatee, as well as the dark hair curling out from under the derby. Morgan managed to keep his face expressionless, as if he had never seen the man who had just sat down at the table with him, but it required quite an effort.

And it took a lot of brass on Black’s part to waltz right into Titusville after attacking the train that morning. However, it was possible that no one in town would recognize him, especially dressed like he was. He didn’t really look like the same man who had been recruiting gunmen in Bisbee for the past couple months.

“My name is Sayers,” Black said. “Joshua D. Sayers. Mining equipment is my line.”

“Well, poker is mine, Mr. Sayers,” the dealer said. “Welcome to the game.”

Black smiled blandly. For a moment, The Kid wondered if he had made a mistake. Was the new player really a mining equipment salesman named Sayers? Was it possible that he just bore a strong resemblance to Colonel Gideon Black?

The Kid leaned forward and held out his hand. “Name’s Morgan,” he said.

Black…or Sayers…gripped The Kid’s hand. “Joshua Sayers, at your service, sir.”

The second The Kid heard those drawled words, he knew he wasn’t mistaken. The colonel had said the same thing to Sean Williams back at the ranch, only there he had introduced himself as Colonel Gideon Black, not Joshua Sayers. The voice and the phrasing were identical. For some reason, Black was pretending to be someone else.

“I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Morgan,” Black went on. “You’re the man everyone in town is talking about, aren’t you? The man who saved the train single-handedly?”

“The train crew and some of the passengers were putting up a fight, too,” Morgan pointed out. “I wouldn’t say I did anything single-handedly.”

The dealer was tossing cards in front of each of the players with a deft skill born of long practice. “The game is five-card stud, Mr. Sayers,” he told Black. “That suit you?”

“It suits me just fine, sir,” Black said as he lifted the corner of his hole card to study it. Then he looked at Morgan again and went on, “You killed several of the bandits and stopped the others from holding up the train. People say that you’re a hero, Mr. Morgan.”

The Kid shrugged. “I can’t stop folks from thinking whatever they want to think.”

Had Black come into town looking for vengeance on the man who had ruined his plans? Surely he didn’t think he could just walk into the saloon, look around, and kill Kid Morgan. The Kid wasn’t going to let that happen, for one thing, and for another, even if by some fluke the colonel succeeded, he would never get away with it.

Unless there was some sort of distraction, like an attack on the town…

Morgan stiffened in his chair as he thought about the death and destruction the outlaws could wreak on Titusville if they bombarded the settlement with that cannon. Nestled in the mountains as it was, there was plenty of high ground around Titusville where the big gun could be positioned to fire down on to the town.

“Something wrong, Mr. Morgan?” Black murmured. He was an observant son of a bitch, The Kid had to give him that. He had noticed the reaction when the thought of that potential threat had gone through Morgan’s mind.

“No, I’m fine,” Morgan said. “And since it’s up to me to open the betting…” He shoved some double eagles from the pile in front of him to the center of the table to join the ante. “A hundred dollars.”

Most of the opening bets since The Kid joined the game had been the five or ten dollar variety. Opening for a hundred was enough to make a couple of the players drop out right away. Black just smiled and matched the bet, as did the other two men, and then the dealer saw the hundred and raised it twenty. He smiled at Morgan and said, “Finally, some real action.”

Morgan saw the bet and bumped it up twenty more dollars. Black stayed in, as did the other three. Cards were dealt.

Morgan hadn’t paid much attention to the cards in his hand. He didn’t care about the money. If you added up all the money in the bank accounts he had from one end of the country to the other, he was worth considerably more than he could ever spend in one lifetime, even if all his holdings never earned another penny, which, of course, they would. He just wanted to get under the man’s skin, maybe rattle the bandit leader’s composure.

So far, though, it didn’t seem to be working. Black still wore a placid smile. He saw the bet and raised again, forty dollars this time. There was a lot of money in the center of the table. One of the remaining players dropped out, but the other one and the dealer stubbornly stayed in.

Morgan had two eights showing. A thought occurred to him, and he lifted the corner of his hole card again. It was an ace, all right. His father had told him one time about Wild Bill Hickok. Frank Morgan had been acquainted with the man some called the Prince of Pistoleers, and seeing long-haired Phil Bateman that afternoon had reminded The Kid of Hickok as well. Now the hand The Kid was being dealt was shaping up to possibly be aces and eights, the same hand Wild Bill had been holding in Deadwood’s Number 10 Saloon when Jack McCall came in and shot him in the back of the head.

If Morgan was the sort of man who was inclined to be nervous, he might have started wondering about bad omens along about now.

But he had been through enough tragedy in his life that he knew the worst omen of all was being born in the first place.

“Hell with it,” he said when the bet came around to him again. He saw it and then shoved out five more double eagles. “A hundred more.”

The man to his left didn’t even wait for the next card. “Too steep for me,” he said with a shake of his head. “I hate to walk away from a pot that size, gents, but I don’t have any choice.” He shoved his chair back and stood up.

Black stayed in, as did the dealer, and The Kid caught a three to go with his ace and pair of eights. Logically, he knew that it didn’t matter whether he won or lost, and he would have said that his competitive instincts didn’t care, either.

But he found himself pondering what to do next as if it really mattered. He had enough money left in front of him to see the bet, but that was all. If either Black or the dealer raised, he would have to drop out. Of course, he could have written a bank draft, if they would agree to accept it, but he didn’t want to have to reveal who he really was. He settled for pushing in what was left of his readily available cash and said, “That’s it for me, gentlemen.”

Black and the dealer both saw the bet as well, without raising it, then the dealer handed out the final cards. Morgan tried to keep his face expressionless, but he felt the corner of his mouth twitch a little as another ace landed faceup in front of him.

That gave him two pair. Aces and eights, just like Wild Bill Hickok. He flipped over his hole card, and the men who had gathered around the table to watch the outcome of this big game muttered amongst themselves.

“That’s quite a hand,” Black said. “I’m afraid I have it beat, though.” He turned over his hole card and revealed a third deuce to go along with the two already showing.

The dealer said, “Good, but not good enough.” He’d had a pair of jacks showing, and the third one was lurking facedown. He revealed it with a flourish. A sigh came from the crowd as he leaned forward to rake in the pot.

Black smiled across the table at The Kid. “Well, Mr. Morgan, it appears that we’ve been beaten fair and square. I’m just about cleaned out, but I still have the price of a couple of drinks, if you’d care to join me.”

Did he really want to have a drink with the man he had sworn to kill, The Kid asked himself?

“Why not?” he said.

They went to the bar, and Colonel Black told the bartender to bring them two whiskeys. He looked over at The Kid. “I hope that’s all right with you.”

“You’re buying,” Morgan said. “It’s up to you.”

“All right, then.” When the drinks came, Black lifted his glass and said, “To the hero.”

Morgan frowned. “I told you, there’s nothing to that.”

Black shook his head and said, “That’s not the way I hear it. You not only saved that train from being held up today, you also killed several men down in Bisbee in the past couple of days and probably saved Edward Sheffield’s wife from being killed by a shotgun blast. You impressed Sheffield enough that he wanted to hire you to hunt down the men who have been stopping his trains and stealing his ore shipments.”

The Kid wasn’t sure how Black had heard about all of that. The renegade colonel might have some spies working for him in Bisbee and in Titusville. That was the only explanation Morgan could think of.

He didn’t bother disputing what Black had just said. Instead, he threw back his drink and then placed the empty glass on the bar. Black did likewise.

“What did you tell Sheffield?” Black pressed him. “You must have agreed to take the job, or else you wouldn’t have come up on the train with him and his wife.”

“Not necessarily,” The Kid said. “Could be I wanted to get the lay of the land before I told him anything.”

“If that were the case, then why get mixed up in that fight earlier today?”

“Because I don’t like anybody shooting at me, no matter what the situation,” The Kid snapped. “Especially with a damned cannon.”

Black gave him a level stare for several seconds, then abruptly chuckled. “I can see where that would be a little annoying, all right. Have you made up your mind?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“I’m curious, that’s all. A man who can handle a gun like you…well, it’s interesting to see which side he’ll pick in a fight. Especially when he doesn’t know the full story.”

The Kid returned Black’s cool-eyed gaze for a moment, then signaled to the bartender. “Next round’s on me,” he said.

“Fine.” Black nodded toward an empty table in the corner. “Why don’t we go over there so we can have a little more peace and quiet while we talk?”

And a little more privacy, The Kid thought. He didn’t know what was going on, but Black had certainly piqued his interest, especially with that comment about him not knowing the whole story. Of course, that was probably exactly what Black had intended by it. But Fate had given The Kid the opportunity to learn more about his quarry, and he wasn’t going to turn it down.

When the bartender had refilled their glasses, they picked them up and carried them over to the table Black had indicated. They sat down so that neither man had his back to the door, and once again The Kid was reminded of Wild Bill Hickok. He held his glass in his left hand, and his right slipped the Colt from its holster and leveled it at Black under the table.

For all he knew, Black had a gun on him, too, he thought as he noticed the colonel was also using his left hand to hold his drink. Morgan couldn’t help but smile.

“Something amusing, Mr. Morgan?”

“I was just wondering how long we’re going to keep up this masquerade.”

“Masquerade?” Black raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re
not
the man called Kid Morgan?”

“Not at all. You’re the one who’s posing as someone you’re not…Colonel.”

Black looked at him for a long moment, then chuckled and took a sip of the whiskey in his glass. “What gave me away? We’ve never met before, so I know you didn’t recognize me.”

“Actually, that’s not quite true. We haven’t met, but I
have
seen you before.”

“Oh? Where?” Black sounded genuinely interested.

“That doesn’t matter,” The Kid said. “What’s important is that we each know who the other is, and we might as well stop beating around the bush. If you’ve come here to kill me, Colonel, you’ll find that it’s not an easy job.”

“Kill you?” Black laughed again. “You’ve got me all wrong, Morgan. I came into town and looked you up so that I can ask you to join forces with me.”

The Kid couldn’t have hidden his surprise if he tried. “I was doing my damnedest to kill you earlier today, out there at the edge of the foothills where you stopped the train.”

The colonel didn’t try to deny the charge, The Kid noted. Black merely made a small gesture with one hand and said, “That was war. Allegiances can change, and a wise commander knows that.”

“War?” The Kid repeated.

“That’s right. What else would you call battling against an evil aggressor who has vast forces at his command?”

“You’re talking about Edward Sheffield.”

The faint smile disappeared from Black’s face at the mention of Sheffield’s name. “The man is a monster,” Black stated flatly. “You have no idea how many crimes he’s committed to get where he is.”

Morgan thought back over everything he had heard about Edward Sheffield and the man’s business practices, back in the days when he’d still been Conrad Browning. Sheffield had a reputation as a sharp, canny, even ruthless businessman, but Morgan didn’t recall hearing any rumors that he had engaged in anything criminal.

Of course, it was possible that Sheffield was just good at covering up his less savory practices. Some men were like that.

A fervor crept into Black’s voice that made him sound almost insane, as he continued, “All I’m trying to do is set things right. It’s a matter of justice, Morgan, plain and simple. Justice…and retribution!”

Morgan wanted to ask the colonel how slaughtering Sean, Frannie, and Cyrus Williams had furthered the cause of justice. He kept his own anger under control, though. He could gun down Black right then, but that might not put a stop to the rest of the Cannon Gang. Besides, he couldn’t prove who Black was or offer any evidence that the renegade colonel was behind the outrages carried out recently, although Black had just all but admitted it. Morgan wasn’t afraid of the law, but he didn’t see any point in risking a murder charge, either.

Quietly, he said, “Let me get this straight. You want me to join you, even though I killed some of your men and ruined your plans this morning.”

“I’ve heard a great deal about your exploits, and now that I’ve seen you in action with my own eyes, I know that we were meant to fight together side by side, rather than against each other. Think of what we could do, Morgan!” Black leaned forward, his eyes burning with the intensity of his emotions. “We could conquer the whole territory!”

Yeah, he was definitely loco, The Kid thought. He didn’t know yet what had caused the colonel to go mad, but he had no doubt that Black was insane.

Acting a lot more casual than he felt, The Kid leaned back in his chair and took another drink of the whiskey. As he set the glass on the table, he said, “I don’t have any interest in conquering the territory, Colonel, or in conquering anything else, for that matter.”

“Then why did you come to Bisbee looking for me?”

Yes, Black definitely had spies operating in that part of Arizona. It fit right in with the way he evidently regarded his vendetta against Edward Sheffield as a military operation.

“I heard that you were looking for men who were good with a gun,” Morgan replied with a shrug. “I was curious. I thought I’d see what it was about.”

“Then Sheffield swooped in and tried to hire you.”

“I didn’t take the job,” The Kid pointed out.

“And yet you came to Titusville on the train with him…and his wife.”

Morgan caught just the faintest hesitation on Black’s part before he mentioned Glory Sheffield. He didn’t know what that meant, but maybe…something.

“I told you, I’m curious. I wanted to see this place for myself and get a good look at Sheffield’s mining operation. Sometimes men who are supposed to be rich don’t have as much money as they make out they do.”

Black nodded. “Sheffield is rich. Have no doubts about that, Morgan. But it’s ill-gotten gains.”

“You keep talking about him being crooked. Do you have any proof of that?”

The colonel made a curt gesture. “Never mind about that. I know the truth, and you can take my word for it. Just answer me this…do you have any intention of going to work for Sheffield?”

“None whatsoever,” The Kid answered honestly. “I’ve never been much of one for taking orders, even when the pay might be good.”

“Then join forces with me.”

“I just told you, I don’t like taking orders. Besides, I’m not sure how the rest of your men would feel about me joining up after I gunned down some of their friends this morning.”

“They’ll feel like I tell them to feel,” Black said confidently. “Besides, they’re professional fighting men. They know better than to make close friendships. They’ll accept you, I can promise you that.”

“And just what is it you’re planning to do?”

Black smiled and shook his head. “It would be rather foolish of me to explain all my plans to you before I’m sure that we share common goals, now wouldn’t it?”

The Kid shrugged. “I suppose so. But if I don’t know what you’re going to do, how do I know whether I want to be part of it?”

“Do you want to be a rich man?”

“Everybody would like to have plenty of money,” The Kid replied, thinking that in reality, he was one of the richest men west of the Mississippi, just like his father. Those riches hadn’t spared either of them from suffering tragic losses in their lives.

“Throw in with me, and before we’re through you’ll be one of the richest, most powerful men in the territory.” Black had that insane gleam in his eyes again. “Everything that belongs to Edward Sheffield will be mine.
Everything.”

That made a dark suspicion stir in The Kid’s mind. It was pure speculation, nothing more, but it fit the circumstances as he knew them and would explain some things. The best way to find out if he was right, he realized, would be to play along with the colonel.

“I suppose I could put up with taking orders for a while, if the payoff is as big as you make it out to be,” he said.

“It will be,” Black promised.

“Then I’m in. What do you want me to do?”

“Do you have a room at the hotel?”

“Yeah.”

“Go back there and get your things. Meet me on the ridge overlooking the town in half an hour.” Black’s voice sharpened in command. “No more than that, you understand. You have to be prompt if you’re going to be in my outfit.”

“Sure,” The Kid said. “I’ll be there.”

“See that you are, or the deal is off. And whatever you do, don’t tell anyone what you’re doing. Once you’re at the appointed place at the appointed time, you’ll find out what happens next.”

“All right,” The Kid said. He pushed himself to his feet. “Just one thing, Colonel…don’t double cross me. I wouldn’t like that.”

“I assure you, Mr. Morgan, the feeling is mutual. If you try any tricks, you’ll regret them.”

“So we’re sort of taking each other on our words, aren’t we?”

Black smiled thinly. “That’s all anyone can do in this world, isn’t it?”

He had a point there. The Kid nodded and left The Birdcage Saloon. He walked back to the hotel, taking note of the fact that Titusville’s main street was still crowded despite the fact that the evening was wearing on. In a boomtown like that, things might not ever quiet down completely.

When The Kid reached the hotel, he walked upstairs to his room. In the second floor corridor, he stopped short in front of his door and looked down at the place where he had shoved a matchstick between the door and the jamb and broken it off. It was an old trick but an effective one if a fellow wanted to know whether or not somebody had been in his room while he was gone.

In this case, the answer was yes, because the broken matchstick wasn’t where he had left it. The tiny piece of wood lay on the floor where there was a gap at the edge of the door. It had fallen straight down when someone opened the door.

Morgan glanced up and down the hall. He was alone at the moment, so he slipped his gun from its holster and held it ready beside his hip. He took out his key and slid it into the lock, not trying to be quiet about it. The key rattled as he turned it.

Then he grasped the knob, twisted it, and flung the door open. At the same time he took a quick step back, then threw himself forward in a lunging dive that carried him halfway across the room, moving low and fast. He hit the floor, rolled, and came up on one knee with the Colt in his hand, ready to pull the trigger.

“Oh, my God!” Glory Sheffield said from where she sat on the side of the bed, eyes wide with surprise. “Do you always come into a room that way, Kid?”