The Copper City (13 page)

“It stinks here.”

Pete turned. Quantro caught up the spread of saddlebags from behind his saddle, then held them out across the gap between the two horses. The bags were heavy.

The two men exchanged a look.

“Look after them for me. I'm going to talk to Harley. You go up to the house on Capote hill and get White-Wing. Wait for me at the creek on the east side of town where we camped when we first came to this godforsaken place. Don't make a fire. We'll be riding as soon as I get there.”

Pete frowned, but Quantro's gaze had returned to the street. If anything, he appeared even grimmer than before.

“Anything you say.” Pete put his heels to the pony and veered toward the company town, partially obscured by the grey streaks of rain.

Quantro waited until he had gone, then clucked at the buckskin. Obediently, the big horse started forward, plodding through the deepening mud. In front of the Copper Queen, he tethered the buckskin and the six packhorses one by one to the rail, then splashed up onto the boardwalk. The saloon was doing good business.

The bartender eyed him warily.

“Harley around?”

The man jerked his head. “'Cross the street. He's opening another house over there.”

“House?”

“You know.” The barkeep swiveled his eyes at the ceiling, referring to the girls that plied their trade behind closed doors.

Quantro nodded. He turned back toward the street. He waded across, ignoring the mud as it sucked hopefully at his heels, trying to extend his passing visit. On the boardwalk he was confronted by a heavy door that boasted an inspection hatch. He knocked twice before the panel swung open. Somebody looked him over then called back into the room behind.

“Mr. Harley? It's Quantro.”

“Well? Let him in, you stupid son of a bitch!”

The door opened and Quantro entered, tipping his hat. “Obliged, friend, but leave it open. I don't like the smell in here.” His smile was frosty and the doorman didn't miss the implication of Quantro's hand gesturing loosely by his gun-butt.

The room was plushly furnished, heavy drapes and rich carpets, even a crystal chandelier. Velvet couches lined the expensively wallpapered walls. In the center Harley sat at a circular table, the inevitable cigar clamped between his white teeth. His eyes sparkled falsely as they fell on Quantro.

“You got it?”

Quantro pursed his lips. “I wouldn't be here if I hadn't.”

Harley's lips drew back from his teeth and he settled himself more comfortably in the chair. “Have a drink. You look like you could use one. Sit down, don't worry about wetting the chair.”

“I wasn't going to,” Quantro smiled as he lowered himself on to one of the carved seats, still wearing his dripping slicker. As he reached out for the glass that Harley offered, a rivulet from his hat brim splashed on to the table. Harley stared at it, as though fascinated by the way the water held together in isolated globules on the highly polished surface. Quantro thought he detected a glimmer of distaste, but then Harley covered it.

“You have any trouble?”

Quantro sipped the whiskey as he pretended to consider the question. “Some,” he conceded.

“Upton?”

“He's dead, but he had it coming. He was trying his damnedest to kill me at the time.”

“What about the others?”

“Upton killed them all. He was getting greedy. He figured it all belonged to him. Had us a job getting it back.”

“You got it all?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“Outside. On the packhorses.”

Harley jerked his head at the doorman, who immediately went out into the rain.

“It's all there…”

“But what?” Harley's gaze suddenly became intense.

“Later.” Quantro swallowed the last of the whiskey, appreciating the warmth that spread through his stomach. He motioned to the glass. While Harley poured from the decanter, he took the opportunity to look around. “Nice place you got here.” He paused then added, “Yes, it'll be considerably comfortable when you get it finished.”

“Finished?” Harley's eyes flickered to the doorman, who was ferrying in the wet saddlebags and taking them into the next room.

Quantro smiled. “The stock for the paying customers.” He waggled a forefinger at the ceiling.

Harley understood and his expression thawed a little.

Quantro waited until he had the whiskey glass in his hand, then looked the other man in the eye.

“You used me, Harley.” The tone of his voice was so harsh that Harley sat back. “Once I found the silver I figured it all out. Then everything made sense. Why you got the doctor to me and let us have a company house when I didn't even work for the company. Why you got me out of jail with a flash of your white teeth and why you gave me a job. You knew it was going to happen. You knew Upton was working up to taking off with that silver. Why? Because Upton knew it wasn't an ordinary payroll job. This one was earmarked special, so you put me and Pete in to protect your interests “

The corner of Harley's mouth twitched. “Why was this payroll special?”

Quantro laughed. “Who're you kidding? Since when did a miners' payroll amount to $20,000? Yes, I counted it. You must have the richest miners in the territory.” He swallowed the last of the whiskey. “I don't give a damn what the money was for, whether it was genuine or whether you intended to salt it away for yourself.” He glanced around the room. “Who knows, maybe it was to finance this place. Is it Green's, or is this one yours? Don't bother to tell me, I'm not interested. What does is that you put me and Pete in there without warning. And Buck Hulbert? He ended up with a knife sticking in his ribs in some hole of a
cantina
in Santa Cruz. And for what? For you, so you could get your money.”

Harley stared at him, eyes steely. “But you fulfilled my expectations of you.”

“That I would use my gun, even though I said I wouldn't, that day you got me out of jail?”

Harley's smile was thin. “So you used it? You did the job you were paid to do…” He paused as the doorman came to stand next to his chair. “What?”

The doorman hesitated, his gaze moving from his employer to Quantro and back again. “It's not all there.”

Harley's head snapped around. “This is the bit I think you said you were going to explain later.”

Quantro's mouth maneuvered into a slow smile. “The silver's all there except for expenses I took out. I had to buy fresh horses, Upton's were dead on their feet. I put back what I got in trade for them. There was a couple of railroad tickets as well.”

Harley glanced at the doorman. “That right?”

“There's less than $18,000.”

“That so, Quantro?”

“Slipped my mind for a moment. There was $2,000 that was my commission.”

“Commission?” Harley barked.

“Ten per cent. That's what an investigator would have claimed. And he would have had to catch Upton to claim it. Upton had already made it to the railroad. By today he could have been in New York.”

“$2,000?”

“Cheap at the price. $18,000 is a whole lot better than nothing at all. We could have walked away with all of it.”

“You think I'm going to let you walk out of here with $2,000?”

Quantro smiled again. “I already have. The money's clear out of town by now. Probably over the border.”

Harley's eyes narrowed, searching for a loophole. “Don't forget I know all about your little Apache squaw. The one that should be on a reservation. What's her name? White-Wing?”

“She's long gone too. You're too late, Harley. For once you've been screwed yourself.”

“I'll kill you for this,” the businessman said in a low voice.

“I don't think so,” Quantro said slowly, inspecting his empty glass. “Unless you didn't notice, my right hand is under the table. Just so happens it's aiming my Colt right at your most treasured possessions.”

“You're bluffing.”

“Try me.”

“You're bluffing.”

Quantro let the pistol barrel droop a fraction, then pulled the trigger. Harley jumped as the .44 bullet ploughed into the floorboards between his feet. His face paled, ghostly as the gun smoke drifted from beneath the table.

The door from the other room sprang open and a guard leapt into the salon. There was a Winchester in his hands. Quantro's Colt appeared from beneath the table in a flash. He pulled the trigger. Mingled with the sound of the deafening gunshot was the guard's cry as the bullet spun him against the wall. His rifle landed with a dull thud on the carpet. Unarmed, he cowered against the paneling, holding his wounded shoulder.

Quantro looked back at Harley. “Now put that fancy little Derringer you carry in your waistcoat pocket on the table, and tell your doorman there to shed his own gun.”

The two men did as they were told. Quantro emptied the guns with his left hand, wearing the glimmer of a smile. “Much better. Anybody else in the back room?” The guard shook his head. “Fine. There's a lariat on my saddle outside. You, the one that's still in one piece, go and fetch it. If you're not back in fifteen seconds I'm going to blow your boss's head clean off his shoulders.” Quantro smiled icily. “Now get going.”

The doorman ran.

Harley's hands moved placatingly. “Okay, Quantro, you hold all the cards. Tell you what, you got a deal. Keep the $2,000. You did a good job. And there's still a job here for you…”

“Bullshit. You'd kill me as soon as smile.”

Harley's mouth twitched. He looked about ready to say some more when the doorman returned carrying the lariat. Quantro directed him to stand against the opposite wall next to the wounded guard, then stood up and placed his gun on the table.

“The rope.”

The guard tossed it. Quantro caught it. He went to stand behind Harley, ready to tie him up. In a blur of motion he reached around the businessman and snatched up the gun. Even as they saw it happen the muzzle of the big .44 was staring them in the face.

“If you think you could make it across the room while I'm using this rope, I'd be pleased if you'd try. It'd save me hog-tying you.”

The doorman shook his head while the bleeding guard looked on, grimacing in pain. When Harley was trussed up tight, Quantro beckoned over the doorman. It didn't take long.

He stood back and eyed his handiwork critically. He nodded, then scooped up his Colt to check on the back room. It was empty except for the silver piled on the table. He moved back into the main saloon and looked at Harley's glaring eyes above the gag securely tied across his mouth.

“You'd better be careful, Mr. Harley. Somebody might come in and steal all that money laid on the table in there.” Quantro picked up the guard's Winchester from the carpet, then emptied the magazine. There was a patch of mud by the door. He plugged the rifle's barrel with it, making sure they could all see him. “Don't want you blowing off your hands trying to shoot this thing,” he explained. He collected the bullets from their handguns and dropped them in his pockets.

“I forgot,” he said, pausing by the door, waving the Colt casually. “I also took out the $30 bonuses you promised Pete and me for doing a good job.” He smiled then went out into the street.

The buckskin felt good beneath him as it worked up to a gallop once it was free of the deep mud of Cananea's main street. It was still raining heavily but it didn't bother Quantro. He liked it. It would wash out all his tracks. There would be no pursuit.

It was rapidly growing dark. Soon, he would be at the creek. His woman, White-Wing, was waiting for him there. His friend, Pete, too.

And of course there was the $2,000.

The End