Lost Banshee Mine

by Jackson Lowry

  He prowled the streets and circled back to the Thirsty Camel a couple times, thinking his partner had wanted the dollar for more liquor. The barkeep denied having seen Cooley again, and England Dan believed him. There was no love lost between him and most of the Oasis residents, but Ray Hendrix was usually polite and not surly like O’Dell or dismissive like the federal deputy.

  England Dan stepped out from the saloon and looked around. The only place Cooley could have gone other than the Thirsty Camel, where he’d need money, was on the edge of town opposite the undertaker’s parlor. England Dan started walking, taking time to rest in the shade along the way. His feet ached, and his entire body felt like a giant raw nerve from the afternoon heat. More than that, he dreaded the chore ahead of him. Getting his partner out of the cathouse would take some diplomacy on his part. Madam Morgan wasn’t anyone he wanted to cross. She was a formidable woman in her own right, and she hired bouncers who could pick him up and tear him in half without breaking a sweat. At this time of day, the bouncers weren’t likely on duty. That gave him a small hope of convincing Cooley to leave without their interference. Madam Morgan was protective of her customers and the money they spent in her establishment.

  The two-story brothel stood away from several other buildings, all boardinghouses. England Dan wondered what the owners of those more legitimate hostels thought of the goings-on next door. Madam Morgan ran a bawdy house, after all, serving liquor to her customers and making little attempt to rein in her soiled doves’ antics. If nothing else, he supposed, it provided a subject for endless discussion at the dinner tables of the boardinghouses nearby.

  The building was well tended. The railing carried a fresh coat of whitewash, and the chairs set at the far end of the porch looked comfortable. He almost went to see just how comfortable. After all that had happened, he was bone-tired, but he had lingered on his way to the brothel. If he sat down here, Madam Morgan likely would charge him for the pleasure.

  “You’re not who I expected.” The buxom woman stood in the doorway, peering myopically at him with fists resting on ample hips. Madam Morgan wasn’t a bad-looking woman considering her size, but stories about her using a straight razor on lovers who disappointed her abounded. England Dan looked past her. Two bouncers moved around just behind her. Both of them carried sawed-off shotguns.

  “I’m looking for my partner.” He made a point of looking past Madam Morgan. “What’s going on?”

  “I thought you were Hiram.” She moved close to study his face. “Don’t worry your head none about it. Everything’s as fine as frog’s fur now.”

  “Hiram O’Dell?”

  “Don’t go getting too curious. While you’re waiting for Cooley to finish up, you want to see what some others of my girls have to offer? I have a couple new ones since the last time you were in. One of them might be able to fake a Brit accent. Isn’t that what you want, you British rake?”

  “I want for me and my partner to clear out of town.”

  “After everything that’s gone on today, I understand. It’s getting so a lady can’t run a peaceable establishment where a gent can relax and enjoy himself.” Madam Morgan spoke more to herself than to England Dan. She looked up and past him. She waved and called, “Around to the side, Hiram.”

  The undertaker drove a black-painted wagon. He gave England Dan a sour look, then yeehawed and snapped the reins to get his team pulling around the building, hidden from sight. Whatever had happened in the brothel had left behind a dead body. That wasn’t so unusual since the Cyprians were the most likely in any town to commit suicide, but England Dan felt something more had gone on. The two armed bouncers showed that. If a girl had killed herself, they’d move the body out quietly without drawing attention to it. He almost asked Madam Morgan if she wouldn’t have buried the body out back and never called for the undertaker.

  “I want to get Cooley. Don’t make me start up a ruckus.”

  “You always were a pain in the butt, Dan, but I have a soft spot for you and that ornery partner of yours.” Emotions washed over her. Her bosoms heaved up and down as she came to a conclusion. “Go on up. It’s on your head if you disturb him in flagrant delgado.”

  “In flagrante delicto,” he corrected automatically.

  “You Brits, you know everything,” Madam Morgan said sarcastically. She signaled her bouncers to let him pass. “They’re up in room five.”

  England Dan touched the brim of his bowler by way of thanks and pushed past her, though not before enduring a quick pinch to his butt. He carefully watched the two men with the shotguns to be sure they’d gotten the word from their boss. They reluctantly let him go up the steep stairs unhindered.

  He stopped at the head of the stairs while Hiram O’Dell wrested a body from the room opposite Cooley’s. The naked man had been shot repeatedly. A cold shiver ran up England Dan’s spine in response to the wounds. They seemed so callous. He shook it off and went to room five when the undertaker dragged the man’s body toward the back stairway.

  “It’s me, Dan. Open up. We’ve got to get out of town. Come on, John. Finish up and get your drawers on.”

  He heard a mumbled conversation. It didn’t take a genius who knew Latin to guess what was being said, both by his partner and his partner’s temporary bed partner.

  The door was flung open. John Cooley clutched his shirt to his chest and tried to get into his trousers. He stumbled and fell back into the arms of a half-naked woman. Given other circumstances, England Dan would have appreciated the sight more. She was blonde and, while not beautiful, definitely cute with a button nose and pouty lips and bright green eyes. Her other attributes were equally on display, and she made no effort to cover them. A bold smile and a hip cocked to one side with her hand resting on it made her appeal about complete.

  “You owe me a dollar, John.”

  “Here, Mandy, here, my darlin’.” Somehow Cooley found the greenback dollar and handed it to the woman. She fielded it easily. The way she slipped it between her fingers like a gambler showing off his dexterity with a poker chip impressed England Dan. Cooley had gotten his money’s worth with this one.

  He turned and almost fell over O’Dell as the undertaker dragged another body along the hallway.

  England Dan looked at the dead woman. His throat constricted, and his stomach knotted. He looked back into the room at Mandy, then at the dead woman.

  That was when Mandy let out a soul-curdling shriek and pushed past Cooley to drop to her knees beside the lifeless woman.

  “Mindy! What happened?”

  England Dan stared. Mirror images: blonde hair even done in a similar fashion, finely boned cheeks and a swanlike neck. If the prone woman had opened her eyes, he didn’t doubt they would be emerald green, too. Blood colored the thin muslin shift but no longer spread in a sanguine bloom. Her vitality was gone, snuffed out by a bullet. He forced himself to look at the woman crying bitter tears. There wasn’t a whit of difference between the two women, other than the one who’d been with Cooley was alive while the other lay unmoving and cold to the touch.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LARS JENSEN VAULTED into the saddle and turned his horse’s face to get out of Oasis. Before he had gone a hundred yards, he slowed and let the horse come to a halt. He had to feed and water the horse or it would die under him. He dared not let that happen. Without the map, Poke would shoot him. And without the horse, the deputy marshal would run him to ground before sundown.

  He urged the horse in the direction of the feed mercantile. Around behind the store, he let the horse drink from a rain barrel. A fifty-pound sack of feed sat out where he could run a knife through the burlap. The grain spilled out. The horse perked up and abandoned the water in favor of eating the grain. Jensen put his hand down flat on the dock behind the feed store, spread his fingers and began moving the sharp tip between fingers, slowly at first and then with greater speed. The click-click-clic
k drew the attention of the store owner.

  “What are you doing? That’s not your feed. I set it aside special for Mr. Contreras. You owe me ten dollars!”

  Jensen never slowed as he stuck the knife deeper and deeper into the wood with every stroke. When the owner came toward him, he flipped the knife around and drove it deep into the man’s thigh.

  The owner let out a strangled cry of pain. “You stabbed me!”

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t leave me alone. I might kill you even if you do because you annoy me.” Jensen wiped the blood from the blade, using the other man’s own pants leg. When the owner began limping away, Jensen lifted the knife and brought it down hard. The man spread his legs wide to keep from being stuck again.

  “You just keep on feeding your horse, mister. You can have all the grain you want.” Clutching his bleeding leg, he dragged himself back to the doorway. Using the jamb, he pulled himself partially erect. Leg dragging, he fell through the door into his store. He slammed the door behind him.

  Jensen chuckled when he heard a locking bar drop into place. That took care of another problem. His horse was fed and watered now. It had rested for a spell, so it was ready to hit the trail, only he couldn’t do that. Not yet.

  Without the map he was a dead man. Poke wasn’t the kind to forgive and forget, not with a thousand dollars at stake. It was his brother’s fault all this had happened, but explaining that to him wouldn’t work too good. Poke had a fierce temper. After being locked up in Yuma for six months for another crime, he’d want to claim what was his from the payroll robbery that had been a complete disaster.

  The best Jensen could tell, Poke’s partner in the robbery had been Barton Beeman. Poke had decoyed the cavalry patrol away, and Beeman had hidden the gold. Somewhere along the way, he’d been all shot up and was dying, so he drew the map for Poke. Rusty Rivera had come along and agreed to deliver the map. Whatever had happened to Rivera left him dead in the desert, the cowboy with the yellow bandanna taking the map and everything else before Jensen reached Rivera.

  He had almost caught up with the cowboy while he had the map. But he had passed it along to somebody named Cooley. That was all he knew.

  “Cooley. How many of them can there be in a nothing town like Oasis?”

  He looked over his shoulder at the barred door. Chances were good the grain store owner knew this Cooley. Or he knew someone who could get Lars aimed in the right direction. Going around to the front of the store wasn’t high on the list of smart things to do, not with Deputy Gonzales prowling around.

  Having the lawman on his trail was a stroke of bad luck. What he had done to get such a bird dog after him hardly mattered. Any of a half dozen crimes might have set Alberto Gonzales on the trail. Killing the lawman from ambush seemed the best way of eliminating the problem. But that would be like kicking a wasp nest. A half-dozen federal marshals would be set on his tail for such a crime, but so what? Dodging a dozen wasn’t that much harder than hiding from one dedicated marshal like Alberto Gonzales.

  Lars Jensen checked his six-gun and made sure all six chambers were loaded. He usually rode with the hammer resting on an empty. The time had come to have the extra round. His eyebrows rose when he saw that there were three empties. He hadn’t reloaded after gunning down the cowboy with the flashy bandanna. Remedying this took a few seconds. The weight at his hip now felt good, right, ready to throw down on a federal deputy or . . .

  “Cooley. That’s the name of the galoot who has the map.”

  Jensen gathered up some spilled grain and wrapped it in the burlap. He slung this over his horse’s rump for feed later. Leading the horse back to the main street, he made a beeline for the Thirsty Camel. As much as he wanted another drink, he had a job to do, a man to find, and time was running away from him like a scalded dog. He whipped the reins around a hitching rail and went inside.

  The barkeep rushed for the far end of the bar and grabbed underneath. The two patrons bellied up to the bar paid no attention.

  “I’m not here to drink,” Jensen called. “Has Cooley been back?”

  “You clear out. Go on. Shoo!” Ray Hendrix laid his six-gun on the bar and tried to look tough.

  Jensen almost threw down and shot him just for practice. The memory of Alberto Gonzales riding along, alert and ready to find himself a fugitive from the law, stayed his hand. He left without a word. Chances were good the barkeep wouldn’t tell the deputy about such an insignificant showdown. He might brag about chasing off a gunman, but who’d believe him?

  If Cooley hadn’t come back to the Thirsty Camel to dip his beak once more, he was likely to find other pursuits. Jensen mounted and rode to the hotel. From its deserted appearance, Cooley wasn’t here to find feminine companionship. Jensen sat astride his horse, thinking on the subject, when a man came out of the hotel.

  “You. Yes, you,” Jensen said when the man recoiled at being called out. “I’m looking for a young lady for . . . well . . . you know.” He let the man fill in the requirements. “Where might I find my choice of such ladies?”

  “You want Madam Morgan’s. A two-story house on the other side of town.”

  “Sounds like the very place I want to be.” Jensen wheeled his horse around and trotted off, wondering if the man had lied just to send his annoying interrogator on his way.

  When Jensen laid eyes on the house, he knew he’d been steered right. A half-naked woman in an upstairs window waved to him. He waved back and rode around to the side of the brothel. As he dismounted, a man came from the door, working to button his pants.

  Jensen hardly looked at the man. His eyes fixed on the partially clad blonde leaning indolently in the doorway. She smiled at Jensen, licked her lips slowly and then blew him a kiss.

  “My luck’s improving,” Jensen said as the woman disappeared back into the brothel.

  “You’ll have to wait. She’s got a regular waiting in the parlor.” The exiting customer saw he’d buttoned his fly crooked and tried again. He never looked up at Jensen as he struggled with cloth and fastener.

  “Who might that be?” Jensen sucked in his breath.

  “Some miner named Cooley. Mandy and him’d get hitched if he ever struck it rich. She just takes his money a dollar a throw.”

  “Sounds as if you are benefitting from his lack of gold. Me, too.”

  “She’s a favorite, but there’s something even better. There’s a—”

  Jensen pushed past the man to go in the side door. Listening to some local’s exploits bored him, especially when the lovely woman was his way of finding the man who had the map. If she met up with Cooley, that would make it easy to identify the miner. Jensen wasn’t likely to forget the charmer. If he’d had time, he’d sample her charms and make her forget the yokels.

  “Whoa there, big boy.” An obese woman blocked his way into the parlor. “You got to check in first with me. I’m Madam Morgan, and I run this fine establishment.” She laid a meaty hand in the middle of his chest. “Oh, you got muscles, don’t you? You’re gonna be real popular with the girls, but you deal with me before making a selection.”

  He peered past this meaty roadblock and saw the blonde stroking a man’s stubbled cheek over in the parlor. She whispered something that caused the man to grin lewdly. The customer tried to grab one of the woman’s breasts, but she danced away and shook her finger at him. This admonishment gave Jensen a good look at Cooley. Then the whore laughed and let the miner circle her waist with his arm and lead her off. Jensen heard the click of boots on stairs going up. A slamming door told they’d reached their location in record time.

  “What room’re they in?”

  “Now, you have to wait your turn,” Madam Morgan said. “They’re our most popular ladies, and for good reason. Mindy, there is—”

  He pushed hard and sent Madam Morgan reeling. She caught herself against the wall. Her smile vanished. Her otherwise
handsome face turned downright ugly. She pulled out a straight razor and swished it back and forth in front of her. From the way she held it, this wasn’t the first time she’d used the vicious weapon.

  “You don’t go pushin’ me like that. Get out!” She came forward, brandishing the razor.

  Lars Jensen sized her up, then swung hard. She tried to cut his left arm but only sliced away a patch of his coat. His fist struck her on the side of the head and knocked her back again. Dazed, she shook her head to clear it. Jensen was impressed. He had knocked out men with a softer punch than that. He ran his fingers over the hole she’d cut in his sleeve. If he hadn’t been so close to retrieving the map, he’d have shown her the error of her attack.

  He swung around and started up the stairs to find Cooley. He didn’t expect her to come after him, and she didn’t.

  “Clarence, fetch Gus and Brutus!” Madam Morgan’s voice came out ragged. She was still stunned from the punch.

  From some hidden nook, a young boy darted out. He stared wide-eyed at Jensen, then bolted out the front door. Jensen had no idea where Madam Morgan had sent the boy, but if it was to fetch help, the effort would be wasted. He took the steps up two at a time. A twist opened the door on his left. An empty bed showed he had the wrong room. Pivoting, he opened the first door on his right.

  It took him a second to figure out the tangle of arms and legs. The whore had dark hair.

  “Hey, you, get out!” The man in the bed twisted around. “I paid for another ten minutes.”

  Jensen slammed the door and went to the next room. He threw open the door. The briefest glimpse told him he had the right place. The blonde was naked to the waist now, discarding even the immodest blouse she had worn downstairs. She looked at him with shocked eyes so green they looked like sparkling gemstones. The man was caught with his pants down around his ankles. He hadn’t shucked them off yet, or maybe he never intended to go that far.