“Where is it?” Jensen stepped into the room. He shoved the soiled dove aside when she came to shoo him out of the room. A huge hand closed on the man’s long johns and twisted them into a knot. Lifting, Jensen heaved and dumped the miner onto the bed so hard, it creaked once, then collapsed.
From the bed down on the floor, the man looked up. Fright replaced his initial irritation at being interrupted. “Wh-what do you want?”
“I want the map, Cooley. Where is it?”
“Map? I don’t have any map. And I’m not—”
Jensen kicked hard and twisted. He wore half-mounted spurs with knobbed rowels. The spur cut across the man’s face and opened a deep gash on his cheek. Again, the wound was more frightening than dangerous. It worked to set the man gibbering.
“The map, Cooley. Give me the map.”
“Quit saying that. I don’t have no map! I’m not—”
The whore attacked Jensen then, nails like claws raking down his arm. He whirled around, and she staggered. He saw the expression on her face and knew she was a fiercer opponent than the man with the bleeding cheek.
“This isn’t your fight, girlie.” He took a step away and held out his hand to warn her away.
That did nothing to stop her naked fury. She came at him again. Most of those he had faced were crazy old coots, drunken cowboys or those who thought they could win a quick reputation by taking him on. The woman should have been as smart as she was beautiful, but that didn’t stay his hand. With a single easy move, he drew and fired point-blank. The slug hit her like a sledgehammer. She straightened and then fell backward as if she stood at attention. With arms extended high over her head, she slammed into the floor. She had died before she even knew the danger she faced.
Jensen turned and cocked his pistol. Aiming between the man’s eyes produced another reaction Jensen had seen many times before. The man’s weathered face turned ashen.
“The map. Give me the map, Cooley.”
The man’s eyes darted toward saddlebags on the table that had been beside the bed. Jensen pulled the trigger. This slug tore through the man’s skull and knocked him back. Unlike the woman, he had known what was in store for him. The fright was something to behold, but Jensen had no time to appreciate his handiwork. A second shot ended the man’s life. He grabbed the saddlebags and dumped the contents onto the floor. A spare shirt tumbled out into a puddle of blood from the whore.
Jensen sorted through the contents. A smile bloomed when he found a pack of papers. He tore off the ribbons holding the papers and leafed through. Anticipation turned to anger when he reached the last of the pages. Nothing but legal documents. Nothing that looked like a map hastily drawn by Barton Beeman lay among the items.
Moving like a striking snake, he grabbed the trousers around the man’s ankles and heaved. Cloth tore. He went through the tatters, searching for the map. The man’s shirt and vest failed to deliver up the map, too.
Jensen stepped away from the bodies and let his towering rage take control. He emptied his pistol into the man’s corpse. It didn’t make him feel any better. Cooley had hidden the map before coming to the cathouse. That made no sense. Had he passed it along to someone else? Why would he do a thing like that when the stolen payroll was all his for the taking?
“Upstairs. I heard gunfire. Take him down, boys. Don’t be gentle. He’s a threat to all the girls.” The madam’s voice crackled with fury.
Jensen snarled. The kid had run off to get the madam’s henchmen. He took one last look around the room in case he had missed a hiding place for the map. Seeing nowhere that looked plausible, he opened the gate on his Colt and began punching out the spent brass. Each shell clattered to the floor as he walked. From the ruckus downstairs, at least two men were arguing about how best to kill him. His empties removed, Jensen began reloading. When he had all six chambers filled, he started for the stairs. Killing a few more men would help him let off steam.
A load of buckshot tore past his head. He ducked and backpedaled fast. It was one thing gunning down someone waving around a six-shooter. Madam Morgan’s bullies were using more firepower than he had. Opening up the way, they had shown how eager they were to shoot something.
As eager as he was to fire back, he still had to find the map.
After running down the hall, he reached the backstairs. A quick peek down didn’t bring another load of buckshot. He dived down the stairs and kicked open the side door. His horse waited impatiently for him and kicked its hooves in agitation. As long as he’d ridden the nag, it had never gotten used to gunfire.
He jumped into the saddle and got a deep seat, then galloped away. He heard shouting behind him, but it died down as he put more distance between himself and the brothel. That had been messy. It’d get messier if he ever found Cooley’s partner. He had to be the one with the map.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TWINS,” ENGLAND DAN Rutledge muttered. “Identical twins.” He stared at Mandy in wonder. She had been with Cooley while her sister was with some other customer. “It could have been you that got gunned down.”
“Nobody’d want to shoot me.” John Cooley had turned pale as the undertaker removed bodies. “I haven’t done anything to anybody.”
“You fooling around with somebody’s wife? Have you been cheating on me?” The partially naked Mandy stamped a bare foot. With her hands on her hips, she looked and sounded like an aggrieved wife.
“There’s only you, my sweet.” Cooley finished buckling his gun belt and nervously fingered the Colt at his side.
England Dan wondered if gunfire was so common that Mandy and Cooley had ignored her sister and her customer getting mowed down. He was glad he never patronized the house.
England Dan wished his partner would stop playing with his gun. Cooley wasn’t much of a shot. More than once he had accidentally discharged his six-shooter trying to clean it. He had to be a lover and not a fighter, but chances were good that he was no great shakes at that, either.
“We’d better hightail it,” he said. England Dan turned and plowed straight into Madam Morgan. She had one of her bouncers standing guard behind her. The sawed-off shotgun was a formidable weapon. In Gus’ hand it looked insignificant. The man was almost as big as the giant who had tried to rob Dan’s mine.
“You take the tart with you,” the madam said furiously. She glared at the blonde. “This is the first trouble I’ve had since coming to Oasis. I might have known you and your sister would be the cause of it.”
“Mindy was shot dead, Madam Morgan! How could any of this be her fault? It had to be Justin’s fault. Maybe he crossed a jealous husband.”
“Justin wasn’t hitched, and the man who did the killing’s nobody I ever laid eyes on before.”
“Then you know me and Mindy aren’t the cause.”
“Clear out. You got ten minutes. Then Gus helps you along your way.”
“Not him,” Mandy said in a choked voice. “He’s big.” In a voice almost too tiny to hear, she added, “And he enjoys hurting me.”
England Dan spoke up. “There’s a federal deputy marshal in town. Tell him about this. The killer might be the man he’s tracking.”
“No!” Madam Morgan blurted out. “No lawmen in this house. They’re nothing but trouble. Local marshals always shake me down, and the federals expect everything to be on the house. And then they both cause all kinds of trouble with the other customers. Who wants to spend some time in a bawdy house with a peace officer giving you the once-over?” She shook her head. “Them two will get buried all right and proper but nothing more. No law. Ten minutes and you’d all better be out of here.” She herded Gus ahead of her down the stairs.
“Out the back way,” England Dan said. He wasn’t sure if Mandy had any belongings with her or was even fully dressed yet. She looked almost as naked wearing a yellow dress with a scoop neck and a hemline at her knees as she did wit
hout a stitch on.
“I’m coming with you,” she said, gripping his partner’s arm. “You got to protect me, Cooley. You lost me this job. You got to take care of me.”
“Watch after her, John. I’m going to find Deputy Gonzales and see if the killer’s not the outlaw he’s hunting.”
“Why? Is there a reward? Madam Morgan is right, Dan. Leave it be. Go pokin’ that hornet’s nest, and you’ll stir up the owlhoot that killed Mindy.”
“I don’t care if there is a reward. He shouldn’t be riding free after murdering two people in cold blood.”
“Cold blood, hot blood, what’s the difference? Mindy and that Justin fellow are dead no matter how it happened.” Cooley licked his lips. “I’ll head on back to the mine.”
“We’ll head on back to your mine,” Mandy said.
“Take Mabel,” England Dan said, “and there’s a crate of supplies. Take that, too.”
“Who’s Mabel? You are cheating on me!”
England Dan wondered at the blonde woman’s possessiveness. She rented herself out and yet demanded that Cooley be faithful. There were too many things he didn’t understand, and this was a lesser one. He followed them down the backstairs and outside. He waited to be certain Cooley and Mandy headed for the livery stable before he circled around the brothel, not sure what he sought.
A youngster sat huddled at the far end of the front porch, his back pressed against the wall and his knees drawn up so he could hug them close. If he tried any harder, he would curl up into such a small ball that he’d disappear. That was likely his intent after everything that had gone on.
England Dan settled down beside him and said nothing until the boy began to squirm.
“What do you want, mister? Madam Morgan said I ain’t s’posed to talk to nobody.”
“Well, that works out, then. I’m pretty much a nobody.” England Dan fell silent until the void had to be filled with words. “Was you upstairs when that big blond fellow pushed Madam Morgan and then stomped up the stairs?”
The boy swallowed hard. “I didn’t see. Brutus wouldn’t let me go up, but I saw Mr. O’Dell taking out bodies. Mindy was shot dead.”
“By the big blond owlhoot?”
“Had to be him. Never saw anybody look so mean. He had to be to cow Madam Morgan like he done.”
“You liked Mindy?”
“She was all right. She and her sister—they’re twins, you know. That means they look exactly the same. She and Mandy never talked to me, but they sure were pretty.” A flush rose. “I saw both of them as naked as jaybirds. I wasn’t supposed to. Madam Morgan said not to look, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“They’re beautiful. You think either of them knew the big blond fellow?”
“Not from the way he acted. I never seen him ’fore. Madam Morgan never had, either. When I described him to Gus and Brutus so they’d know what they was up against, they had no idea who he was, either.”
“If a deputy marshal comes around, you tell him what you saw, no matter what Madam Morgan said about talking to anybody else. Deputy Gonzales is likely after him for other crimes. If he’s not stopped, he’ll keep killing folks.”
“Even Mandy? That’d be a cryin’ shame.”
England Dan allowed as to how that was possible. He sat for a spell longer, then got up and began the hike back toward the jailhouse that he supposed Alberto Gonzales had made his own. When he got there, the deputy was nowhere to be found. He sat at the desk, turned over a wanted poster and carefully wrote out on the back what had happened at Madam Morgan’s. The penciled report might catch the lawman’s attention, or he might ignore it. England Dan did what he could to emphasize that he thought the killer was the same outlaw Gonzales had followed from Mesilla. This was all he could do.
Weighing the sheet down with a lawbook he found in a desk drawer, he decided it was time to clear out of town. Something ate at his gut about the shooting at the bordello. The shooter had thought the man with Mindy was Cooley. Confusing the twins was easy enough, and an innocent man had died because of that. But what had Cooley done to be such a target?
“He got the man he wanted,” England Dan said, trying on the idea for size. The words rang hollow. Why would he have killed Justin? The man was a clerk who had lived in Oasis for as long as England Dan had been working the Trafalgar Mine. Still, this made him feel a bit better.
“Lars Jensen,” he said. “That was what Gonzales called him. Killing Justin might have satisfied the outlaw’s bloodlust and let him go on his way. Yeah, that’s it. Jensen is in Mexico by now.”
He gave the jailhouse a final look. The deputy hadn’t left any trace behind. If Jensen was heading for Mexico, Gonzales must have been on his trail. As comforting as that idea was, England Dan doubted it. Stepping out, he pulled down his bowler so the narrow brim shaded his eyes. He took a deep breath and started walking. It was a long way to the mine. If he walked fast enough, he might overtake Cooley and Mandy before nightfall and help himself to some of the victuals he’d bought earlier.
By the time it got too dark to walk, he had put close to ten miles between him and Oasis. His legs ached, and he was too tired to hunt for a rabbit or a marmot for dinner. He gathered berries and found a few other plants that tasted good when boiled into a stew but that were a tad bitter when eaten alone. A stream gurgled pleasantly and soothed his ruffled nerves. The trip to town had been as harrowing as chasing off the thieves stealing the supplies from the mine.
He spread pine needles on the ground, snuggled down to hollow out space at his hip and shoulder and felt almost comfortable. Lying back, he began drifting to sleep, but the image of the giant he had killed at the mine haunted him. Somehow he worried the Goliath hadn’t been stopped and had clawed his way out of his grave to go after Cooley, killing wantonly.
He came awake with a start when he dreamed hands were reaching for him. With his Webley out and pointed, it took him a few seconds to realize he had been dreaming. Another few seconds passed, and he realized he had the drop on a dark shrouded figure sitting cross-legged beside him.
“You snore.” The dark figure began laughing. It built until his entire body shook with mirth. He rolled over on his side and kicked his feet. Starlight revealed moccasins on those feet. By now England Dan knew who his sentry was.
“No Shadow, calm down.” He sat up and holstered his six-gun. Reaching out and shaking the Indian did no good. No Shadow continued his maniacal laughter until he suddenly stopped.
“You have food for me?”
“I don’t even have food for myself. But there are a few berries on a bush. Over there.”
The Indian crawled on hands and knees, snuffling and barking like a dog. England Dan heaved a sigh of resignation. No Shadow was of the Mogollon tribe, and he roamed the Superstition Mountains on his own for the most part. Sometimes he joined a larger band, usually hunters who tolerated him because he was plumb loco. England Dan never understood what the Indians thought of him. Being crazy didn’t seem to give him special privileges, but the tribe didn’t avoid him, either. For his part, England Dan wondered if No Shadow was anywhere near as loco as he acted. It was a convenient way to beg for food and not be obliged to repay favors.
It wasn’t hard to see Cooley playing the same role, if he thought it would be easier than scrabbling in the mine for a few ounces of gold dust.
“What are you doing out tonight?” England Dan lounged back. He was awake now, and getting back to sleep with No Shadow prowling about wasn’t going to be easy.
“Hiding. I fear him.”
“What are you talking about?” England Dan sat up straight. Lars Jensen came instantly to mind. “Do you mean a big, tall blond fellow?”
“Blond? You mean with yellow hair?” No Shadow shook his head, then shook all over like a wet dog. “I hide from Big Owl. He hunts again.” The Indian came up on his haunches and turned
his head back and forth, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.
“Is he one of your tribe? Did you get in trouble with him?”
“He not human.” No Shadow sank down and stretched out, his chin on his folded hands in front of him. “He is a man-eater. All over he roams. I heard him.” He let out a long, mournful howl. “His cries bewitch.”
“How’s that? They scare you away?”
“No!” No Shadow moved to sit cross-legged again. “You hear his cries and accept his curse. He is your chief forever. He lures you and then eats you!”
“What’s this ogre look like?”
No Shadow barked out a laugh and shook his head. “How can any know? They go to him and get eaten. Nobody lives. All that remains are skeletons. Gnawed-clean bones after Big Owl gorges himself.”
No Shadow fell silent. England Dan had nothing more to ask about Big Owl, but he found himself straining to hear tiny sounds in the night. Nothing close to them moved or made any noise. That was to be expected since they were the intruders, but in the distance, a wolf howled, and other less identifiable sounds echoed through the mountains. He tried to figure out what made those noises but couldn’t.
“These are the Superstition Mountains,” he said more to himself than to No Shadow.
“You think I am crazy.” No Shadow swayed back and forth. “Not when I speak of Big Owl. He preys on Indian and round eyes, but he prefers Indians. We taste better.”
England Dan knew better than to ask how No Shadow had come by that fact. “How long’s Big Owl been after you?”
“A week. I left a hunting party of my people to lure him away. Every night I hear his cries but do not go to him.” No Shadow whipped out a knife. It flashed in the dim starlight. England Dan shifted to reach his six-shooter if the need arose, but the Indian only brandished the weapon for emphasis, not for killing.
“If I kill Big Owl, I will be chief!”
“How are you going to do that if the man-eating ogre can mesmerize you?”
“I do not know what that means. He hunts. If he is distracted by other prey, then I can kill him.” The knife rose and fell, buried to the hilt in the soft earth. “It is a terrible thing to kill a god.”
Lost Banshee Mine Page 6
