“Hell, maybe Sam don’t know he’s got one, either,” Tuck japed. “I bet he was a pistol when he was a younger feller.”
Rachel acknowledged his attempt at humor with no more than a look of exasperation and turned her attention back to Ben. “Johnny Grey’s here to take Annie home. Maybe he’ll give you a hand unloading the wagon.” She went into the saloon to get some more help and took over the bar while Tiny and Johnny went out to help Ben and Tuck unload the crates of whiskey. With all that help, it didn’t take long before it was stacked in the storeroom. Then they all had a drink to celebrate the acquisition of a two to three months’ supply, depending upon how busy they were. When that was done, Rachel wanted to bring Ben up to date on what had happened in town while he was away. “We’ve got a lot more business from the Double-D,” was her first statement. She waited for his reaction before saying more.
“The Double-D?” he asked to be certain he had heard her correctly. “Are you sure they’re from the Double-D?” She nodded slowly, a wry smile upon her lips.
“What happened to the Golden Rail? Did they close down or something?”
“Nope,” she replied. “I’ve seen several of these Double-D cowhands from time to time before now, but this past week, there’ve been four or five of ’em in here almost every night. And you might think it’s been good for business, but some of our regular customers have been leaving mighty early in the evenings. So far, the Double-D men have just been loud and a little obnoxious, making comments that could cause trouble. But our regulars have been real careful not to rise to any bait from them.” She made a little face and sighed. “It’s a good thing Tuck was with you, ’cause if he’d been here on a couple of nights, he’da been into it with those boys.”
Picturing the little red-haired gnome, Ben said, “I expect you’re right. Sounds to me like Daniel Dalton is hopin’ to run our regular business off. Have you seen any sign of him in town?”
“I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him ever since you shot Ed Hatcher,” she said. “I would ask Cecil Howard if he’s seen him at the store, but Cecil hasn’t been in for the last three nights. Johnny has been coming here to pick Annie up every day this week, just in case, he says.”
“Have you talked to Mack Bragg about it?” Ben asked.
“I told him I was a little worried about the possibility of trouble from the Double-D crew of roughnecks, but he said there’s nothing he can do unless they start some real trouble.” She paused and shrugged. “Like one of ’em shooting somebody, I suppose.”
“I reckon we’ll just have to wait and see what happens from now on,” Ben said. “And we’ll deal with it then. Everything else all right?”
“As far as I know,” she answered. “Are you going to the hotel to eat supper?”
“Yeah, I was thinkin’ about it. I’d like to sit down to a good hot supper. I’ve gotta take care of my horse first, then I’ll head up to the dinin’ room right away.” He sensed that, although her question was quite simple, she was hoping he wouldn’t be too long at the supper table. Even though he knew she never went to the hotel for supper, he invited her to join him anyhow, and she declined, just as he expected.
* * *
“Well, look who’s back,” Lacy James greeted him when he walked into the hotel dining room. “Where have you been? I thought you mighta drifted right outta town, just like you drifted in one day.”
“I had to go to Houston to pick up some whiskey for the saloon,” he said, “just in case you come in sometime and want a drink.”
She laughed and said, “Don’t be surprised if I do one night. Sometimes we get some of that ornery bunch from over the river, and I feel like I might be in the wrong business.”
“What else would you do?” he asked.
“Hell, I don’t know,” she insisted. “I don’t know anything else. Maybe I’ll come to see you one day, looking for a job. Clarice must be stacking up some years.”
He laughed with her even though he knew she had far too much class for that. “Yeah, but she’s got a heart of gold,” he teased, “she ain’t got that mean streak like you have.”
She gave him another hearty laugh. “You want your usual table?” He said he did, and she reminded him to park his gun at the table by the door. “I’ll get you some coffee. Anybody joining you?”
“Nope,” he said, but five minutes after he sat down, he was joined by Cecil Howard.
“I saw you go by the store,” Cecil said. “You musta just got back in town. Mind if I sit down for a minute?”
“Yep, I just got back. What’s on your mind?”
“As you know, I’m the mayor of Buzzard’s Bluff, so I’m talkin’ on behalf of all the members of the city council.” He hesitated before going forward, obviously uncomfortable in what he was about to ask. “I don’t know how else to ask this, so I’ll just put it to you bluntly. Is there some history between you and Daniel Dalton, like some bad blood or something?”
His question struck Ben as kind of strange. “I never heard of Daniel Dalton before I rode into town a couple of weeks ago. Why would you think there was?”
“The fact that you gunned down two of Dalton’s men would seem to have something to do with it. And you mysteriously show up here to take over a saloon that is Dalton’s competition. The council is worried that there’s gonna be a gang war over control of the town. We’ve had a little trouble with some of Dalton’s cowhands, but all of a sudden, since you hit town, they’re showing up in larger numbers than before.”
He paused and sat back in his chair for a moment when Cindy brought Ben’s supper. “Are you gonna have supper, Mr. Howard?” she asked.
“No, no thank you, Cindy, I’ll be leavin’ in a minute.”
Ben took a bite out of a large golden-brown biscuit, then looked Cecil in the eye. “So what are you tryin’ to get at, Cecil? You askin’ me to get outta town because some of Dalton’s men are raisin’ a little hell?” He found it hard to believe. This, the same man who gave him a big welcome when he first found out he had become a partner in the Lost Coyote—the same man who gave an inspired accounting of Ben’s shoot-out with Ed Hatcher? “I think you’re forgettin’ something when you say I gunned down two of Dalton’s men. What you meant to say was that I was attacked by two men I never saw before I came here, and I was successful in avoiding gettin’ killed. If you’re seein’ more Double-D riders all of a sudden, it ain’t because of me. More likely, it’s because Dalton thought he was gonna run Rachel outta business as soon as Jim Vickers died. And you and the other members of your city council would have to go to the Golden Rail for a drink of whiskey. Don’t that make more sense?”
Cecil didn’t reply for a few moments, until he thought about what Ben had said. “Yes, but why does he seem to be going after you and nobody else?”
“Because when I showed up, it was just the same as when Jim was still here running the Lost Coyote,” Ben said. “He figured Rachel couldn’t keep runnin’ it by herself.” He cut off a piece of the steak on his plate and started chewing it while Cecil thought for a few more moments. “You’re right, Mr. Mayor, you’ve got problems with Daniel Dalton, but they ain’t gonna go away if I leave.” He carved off another piece of his steak. “I will say this. I’ll do whatever it takes to take care of my saloon, so people like yourself won’t hesitate to go there for a drink and some conversation without worryin’ about some gunslingin’ drunk.” He paused briefly to stab a piece of potato with his fork. Pointing it at Cecil to emphasize his next comment, he said, “Rachel tells me you ain’t been in the Lost Coyote for the past week. She figures you’ve taken your business to the Golden Rail.”
“Of course, I haven’t!” Cecil exclaimed at once. “I just haven’t felt the need for a drink in the last few days.”
“Good,” Ben responded. “Rachel will be glad to hear we ain’t lost your business.”
“Well, I guess I’d best let you eat your supper in peace,” Cecil said, fumbling with his words while thinking he had
not handled the matter very well. “It’s just that the council... me being the mayor, I mean . . . I told them I’d check... you can understand there’s nothing against you personally... certainly not from me.”
“I know that, Cecil, and I respect your position in this problem for the town. We’ll just keep doin’ the best we can to make this a first-class town, Right?”
“Right,” Cecil responded. “Glad we could talk this over.” He pushed his chair back from the table and got to his feet. “Enjoy your supper. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”
“Anytime, Mr. Mayor.”
“You want some more coffee?” The voice came from over his shoulder. He recognized it as Lacy’s. She started pouring it before he had a chance to say he would appreciate it. “I couldn’t help overhearing part of what His Honor the mayor was whining about. He needs to go out to the Double-D if he wants to complain to somebody.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t come down too hard on him,” Ben said. “He’s just afraid something’s gonna start tearin’ this town apart and none of us wants that. Right?”
“If you say so,” she answered.
* * *
His supper finished, he left the hotel and walked back up the street toward the Lost Coyote. When he walked past the sheriff’s office, Mack Bragg stepped out the door and hailed him. “See you got back from Houston,” Bragg said. “Any trouble?” Before Ben could answer, Bragg said, “I saw Tuck comin’ back from the stable.”
Preparing to answer Bragg’s question with a simple, “Not much,” he instead remarked. “Then I reckon Tuck gave you a detailed account of our trip.”
Bragg nodded. “I swear, Ben, trouble just wants to come to you. But I’m damn glad to see you back in town. Now there’s one saloon I don’t have to keep an eye on. I suppose you’ve heard we seem to have more Double-D men in town than usual and most nights they all come at the same time.”
“Is that a fact?” Ben asked. “Almost sounds like they’re bein’ sent in on purpose, don’t it?”
“That was my first thought,” Bragg answered. “But I might be expecting more trouble from Dalton than he intends to make. I thought he’d show up at my office the day after you shot Hatcher, raising hell about you, but he never showed up.”
“I’m hopin’ he’s got enough sense to know he can’t fight the whole town to win whatever he’s after. And the only thing I can think that might be, is him owning both saloons and makin’ the town wide open for gamblin’, prostitution, drinkin’, and all the problems that come with those things.”
“I reckon we’ll just have to wait and see,” Bragg said. “But I don’t intend to stand by and let ’em take over this town.”
“As a business owner here, I’m glad to hear you say that,” Ben said with a smile. “I’ll do what I can to help you out, Sheriff.”
The sheriff was counting on it. “Thanks, Ben, I ’preciate it.”
* * *
He noticed three saddled horses and two packhorses tied at the rail in front of the Lost Coyote when he was still walking past the Golden Rail. He couldn’t help wondering if they would have usually been tied in front of the Golden Rail. But then it occurred to him, if they were Double-D riders, they would not likely be leading packhorses. So it was just somebody passing through town. When he got back to the saloon, he walked in and paused to look the room over. He spotted the three men right away, seated at a table, playing three-handed poker. He glanced over toward the end of the bar where Rachel was talking to Tiny. She saw him at the same time and smiled. “Did you have a big supper?” she asked when he walked over to join them.
“I did,” he answered, “and it was pretty good eatin’.” He motioned with his head toward the three cowhands playing cards. “Double-D?” He asked to be sure, even though he had already assumed they were not.
“No,” Rachel answered. “They’re from the RBJ ranch, down south of here. It’s a ranch owned by Ross Jacobs. Some of those boys have been in here before, but it was quite a while ago. They’re on their way back to the RBJ after they escorted the owner’s wife to Waco. The older man with them is Ross Jacobs’s brother.”
While she was telling Ben about the three men, Ham Greeley walked in, and seeing them at the bar, walked over to join them. “Evenin’, folks,” he greeted them. Looking at Ben, he said, “I heard you and Tuck was back from Houston. I hope you brought some good corn whiskey back with you. I don’t wanna run out.”
“Ha,” Tiny responded. “We ain’t seen much of you in the last week. I thought you mighta give up drinkin’ for good.”
Feeling all their eyes upon him as they waited for his reply, Ham answered sheepishly. “I just didn’t come in the last couple days. I think I caught me some stomach problems from somethin’ I et.”
“There’s a lot of that goin’ around this last couple of weeks,” Tiny taunted. “Them stomach problems, ain’t that right, Rachel?”
“That seems to be the case,” Rachel confirmed. “It drove our business down, and that’s a fact. Quite a few of our regular customers stayed away. We did get some of the Golden Rail’s regulars and that helped us businesswise.” She looked at Ben and winked. “But I don’t expect that’s gonna last very long. Do you, Ben?” Before Ben could answer, she looked toward the front door and remarked, “Speak of the devil . . .”
Ben turned to see what had interrupted her train of thought. He at once recognized Marty Jackson as the man who had been with Bob Wills the night he had shot him. He was accompanied by two other men, and they entered the saloon with the kind of swagger that suggested they expected to be catered to. Ben looked back at Rachel. “Double-D,” he stated simply and she responded with a distinct nod of her head. “Well, let’s just treat ’em as nice as we treat all our customers,” Ben said. He waited and watched when one of the men, who looked to be a shade older than his two companions, walked over to the bar and bought a bottle of whiskey. While he was paying Tiny for the whiskey, his friends sat down at a table across the room from the three RBJ hands. Ben was aware of Marty Jackson’s eyes locked on him while his partner was busy watching Ruby, who was standing beside one of the RBJ men, encouraging him to bid on a hand of poker.
“Here you go, boys,” Deacon Moss announced as he set the bottle down in the middle of the table, “courtesy of Mr. Daniel Dalton.” He pulled a chair back and sat down heavily.”
“You didn’t bring no glasses,” Shorty Dove said. “Whaddaya expect us to do, take a swig and pass the bottle?”
“The bartender’s bringin’ the glasses,” Deacon said. Then, seeing Marty’s attention distracted from the bottle, asked, “What are you lookin’ at, Marty?”
“Spade said he was outta town,” Marty replied, clearly worried.
“Who?” Deacon asked.
“That big ape, standing down at the end of the bar, Ben Savage,” Marty answered.
“Ben Savage?” Shorty responded, that being sufficient to interrupt his concentration on the young woman watching the card game. He had never seen Ben Savage, so he turned, as did Deacon, to look toward the end of the bar where Ben was still talking to Rachel and Ham. “Is that the gunman who done for Bob and Ed?”
“He’s a full-grown boy, all right. I’ll say that for him,” Deacon commented. “Are you sure that’s him? Spade did say he was out of town.”
“I’m sure, all right,” Marty insisted. “It was right here in this saloon. He got the jump on us, and we was leavin’. But Bob went back to settle it with him.” He shook his head slowly, recalling the way Ben had turned and cut Bob down, quicker than Bob could pull the trigger.
“Well, that was Bob’s fault,” Deacon said. “If it was like you told it that night, this jasper had his back turned to Bob. There ain’t no way any man’s gonna beat me if I’m lookin’ at his back, with my gun in my hand.” He paused to shake his head. “Bob did somethin’ wrong somewhere, hesitated, or didn’t cock his pistol, somethin’ to get his ass shot like that.”
“Uh-oh,” Shorty warned, “he’s up
to somethin’. He musta recognized you, Marty.” While they watched, the subject of their conversation intercepted Tiny on his way to their table and took the three glasses from him. “He’s comin’ this way.” All three dropped a hand to rest on the handles of their pistols.
“Evenin’, boys,” Ben greeted them cheerfully. “I’m Ben Savage. I’m one of the owners of this saloon. You fellows ride for the Double-D, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I just thought I’d welcome you to the Lost Coyote. We’re glad to see that a lot of your crew have decided to try us out for your drinkin’ and windin’ down after a hard day workin’ with cattle.” He parked an empty glass in front of each man. “We’re hopin’ you’ll find out you like it a little better here where we try to make sure nobody disturbs you and you don’t disturb anybody. So enjoy yourselves. We’re glad to see you and your friends in our saloon.”
He turned around and returned to an amazed partner and bartender. “Well, that was a right pretty little welcome for our troublemaking competition,” Rachel declared, a devilish grin on her lips. “What are you up to?”
“Like I said,” Ben answered, “treat ’em like our best customers.” He grinned and said, “It’ll give ’em something to think over.”
He was right in thinking that, for it left them puzzling over what his play was, for he could not possibly be welcoming them to his saloon. “This is a setup,” Shorty finally blurted and immediately turned to look behind him as if expecting the sudden appearance of a firing squad of vigilantes to wipe them out.
“I don’t think so,” Deacon said. “We’d already be dead, if that was what he’s up to.”
“You reckon he’s really tryin’ to get us to behave ourselves and not start any trouble?” Marty asked. “It is a lot more peaceful in here. Ain’t like the Golden Rail, is it?”
“Damn it, man! What’s the matter with you?” Deacon demanded. “What the hell do you think the boss sent us in here for? Bought us a bottle of whiskey and told us to go have ourselves a good time at the Lost Coyote. You think he wants us to like this place and quit spendin’ our pay at the Golden Rail?”
Buzzard's Bluff Page 13
