Cutthroats

by William W. Johnstone

  Pecos flushed and glanced at Slash.

  Slash said, “It can’t be. We killed Loco and Arnell in Saguache. You know. You were there.”

  “Who was there?” Pecos said, gritting his teeth again and groaning at the battering his own head was taking.

  “I was,” Jay said.

  “She was the funny-lookin’ little man with the big hat and the big black mustache,” Pecos said.

  Pecos glowered up at Jay. “You was?”

  “Yes. I bought the hat and the mustache from a traveling theatrical troupe out of Denver.”

  “Why?”

  “I was shadowing you two. I didn’t want to be recognized until I was ready. I also didn’t want to be pestered by other men. Thus the costume.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Slash said. “This would be way too complicated for me even if my head didn’t feel like it had been run over by a runaway train. Let’s take it one step at a time. First, how do you know Myra was gonna kill us for the Marauders even though the gang’s two leaders are as dead as last year’s Christmas goose?”

  “I saw her in Silverton with the gang.”

  “What were you doing in Silverton?” Pecos asked her.

  Jay had returned to the fire and poured another cup of coffee. She gave the cup to Pecos, saying, “Drink that. It’ll make you feel better.”

  Pecos looked skeptically down at it. “You sure it ain’t spiked?” He grimaced and glanced at Slash. “Does your head hurt as bad as mine?”

  “If your head hurts like holy hell, then twice as bad.”

  Jay sat down on a rock by the fire and flipped the pancake. “I’ve been tracking the gang since you two scalawags got run down by Bledsoe.”

  “With your help!” Pecos lashed out at her, then sucked another pained breath through gritted teeth.

  “I’ll get to that,” Jay said, removing the pancake and adding it to the five she’d already cooked, on a plate over which she draped a cloth to keep them warm. “I learned of the gang’s whereabouts from friends of mine peppered throughout the mountains. Old friends. They’re in the old business—saloon business and parlor houses.”

  “Oh, those businesses,” Pecos said knowingly.

  “Yes, those businesses. They’re loyal women. Some were once like mothers and sisters to me. I’ve kept in touch with a few of them over the years. A woman never knows when she’s going to need the help of other women.”

  Jay prodded the fire with a stick. “I sent telegrams out, and one of my friends wired me back, telling me the gang was in Saguache. By the time I got to Saguache, most of the gang, except for Loco Sanchez and Arnell Squires, had left for Silverton. I headed for Silverton, then, as well, knowing that Sanchez and Squires were deeply involved in their poker game and also knowing, from my friend, that the gang was planning a job soon. A big one.

  “My friend has a friend who entertained one of the gang, and he’d bragged to her about their plan to kill Sanchez and Squires, thus ridding themselves of all the old men who they equated to ‘dead wood’ merely holding the gang back from the greatness they thought was their destiny.”

  “Who said that?” Slash and Pecos said at the same time, angrily.

  “Billy Pinto.”

  “Billy?” Slash and Pecos both intoned at the same time.

  Slash shook his head. “No way. Billy wouldn’t say nothin’ like that. He was a good kid. Quiet and respectful of his elders.”

  “Or so he let on,” Jay said.

  Sitting tied to the aspen, Myra snorted a caustic laugh. “Or so he let on!”

  “How would you know?” Pecos asked her.

  “When I first met him, he was nice. Then, suddenly he wasn’t so nice. But he got me out of a—well, we’ll just call it a bad situation in Silverton. He shot a man for me. A man who thought he owned me. Billy took me under his wing, so to speak. He said he’d let me run with him and his gang, and protect me. Give me a cut of what they robbed.”

  Slash and Pecos shared another dubious glance. They couldn’t wrap their minds around the kid they knew as the quiet, respectful, even bashful Billy Pinto shooting anyone. He’d always acted as though a pistol were pure poison in his hands. A stick of dynamite with its fuse lit.

  Could both aging cutthroats have been so wrong?

  Myra must have been reading their minds. “He was going to shoot you, too.”

  Slash and Pecos cut her a shocked look.

  Myra nodded. “Since he first joined the gang, he told me he’d been maneuvering to take it over. He was just learning from you older owlhoots how to do things, then he was going to shoot you and anyone else who stood in his way, and take the reins. He said the others—mostly younger men—were in on it with him. Pretty much all of them, anyways. They were ready to cut you out.

  “Billy didn’t like it when Sanchez and Squires left you, drunk and sound asleep, in that saloon, an’ rode off without you. They were content with shaming the old dogs, as Billy called you, but he knew you’d be trouble. He figured he was proven right when one of the spies he left behind in Saguache cabled him in Silverton, informing him that you two had killed Sanchez and Squires. He made me ride back this way to set a trap for you and kill you. He said by doing so I’d earn a place in the gang.”

  “I followed her,” Jay said. “Lost her for a time. I got waylaid, you might say, by a gentleman who followed you out of Saguache. A friend of yours.”

  “That would be the man—Goose Johnson—that Billy left behind to keep an eye out for you . . . and to ambush Sanchez and Squires before they could get to Silverton. He didn’t want them taking part in the next job he had planned.”

  Slash glanced at Pecos. “I reckon that explains them chiggers down my pants.”

  Pecos nodded. “An’ that buzzin’ in my ears.”

  “I ran into Johnson when I was looking for you three,” Jay said. “I glassed him from a distance with my spyglass and recognized him. I’d met him one time in Denver, with the rest of you Marauders. When he’d stopped to fill his canteen, I fired a shot to frighten his horse off. Couldn’t bring myself to kill him in cold blood. Which means he’s likely out there . . . somewhere.”

  “Maybe he rode on to Silverton,” Myra opined.

  Jay sipped her coffee. To Slash and Pecos, she said, “When I finally saw your fire late last night, I was almost too late to keep you from acquiring third eyes.” She slid her dark gaze to Myra, who looked down again in shame.

  Slash studied the girl, who appeared nearly as miserable as he felt. “Was there anything true about anything you told us about yourself?”

  She nodded dully and said to the ground, “It was all true. Except . . . Pa died a year ago. I left the cabin last year. Went to town. Not much a girl can do in a town, except. . .” She gave a little sob and continued staring at the ground, then looked up at Slash, tears glazing her eyes. “It wasn’t an easy year for me in that mining camp!”

  “So you took up assassination for a livin’,” Pecos growled.

  “So you got us drunk to make us pass out, eh?” Slash asked. “So you could shoot us while we slept.”

  “It would’ve been a whole lot easier if you’d come after me while I was swimming. You could have done that at least!”

  “So the swimming was to bait us into your trap,” Pecos said, and glanced angrily over at Slash.

  Jay chuckled as she took another sip of her coffee.

  “What’s funny?” Pecos asked her.

  “You two were low-hanging fruit for that conniving child.” Jay laughed again without mirth. “Billy Pinto sure did know who best to send for the job. You two old cutthroats would never suspect a pretty girl. She set the most obvious trap in the world!”

  Slash ground his molars, the heat of embarrassment rising in his cheeks. He glanced at Pecos, who was also flushing, scowling over at Myra.

  “I’m sorry,” the girl said, sobbing, chin down against her chest.

  “Where’d you get the raw opium?” Slash asked her.

 
“Chinaman in town.” She looked over at Slash, tears running down her cheeks. “It really was my pa’s whiskey! I’d saved a bottle from home!”

  “Oh, well,” Pecos said ironically. “It’s nice to know you didn’t lie about everything!” He laughed, then groaned through gritted teeth as the little man in his head bashed his brain extra hard with his not-so-little hammer.

  “It’s our own damn fault,” Slash said to his partner guiltily. “There wasn’t anything swollen about her ankle.”

  “Yeah,” Pecos said. “And the mare’s hoof was fine.” He glanced at Myra. “She must’ve removed the shoe herself.”

  They looked over at the girl sobbing with her head down.

  “Eat the pancakes before they get cold, boys,” Jay said, rising from her rock. “I’m gonna take a little stroll.”

  “Hey, wait a minute!” Pecos called after her.

  Jay glanced over her shoulder. “All in good time.”

  She walked off through trees, heading in the direction of the stream.

  Slash tossed away the blanket that Jay must have covered him with. “I’ll talk to her.”

  He’d tried getting up too fast. He sank back down to his butt, pressing the heel of his hand against his throbbing temple. “Damn, girl,” he hissed. “You sure got us good.”

  Myra looked up at him. “I know there’s no reason for you to believe me, but I wasn’t going to go through with it. I was about to lower Pa’s old Remington, but then Miss Breckenridge laid me out with her pistol butt.”

  “No,” Slash said, rising more slowly, tenderly, to his feet. He turned to look at the girl. “I don’t believe you.”

  She nodded weakly, understandingly.

  “Ah, don’t be so hard on the child, Slash,” Pecos said. “You were right. It’s our own damn fault we walked into that trap without sniffin’ the bait. All the signs were there.”

  Slash glared at him. “Well, don’t walk into it again, you damn fool!”

  “Stop callin’ me names!”

  “Oh, shut up!”

  Slash set his hat very gently on his tender head and followed Jay toward the stream.

  CHAPTER 30

  Slash found Jay strolling pensively along the water, arms folded across her chest.

  He moved up behind her. Hearing his footsteps, she turned toward him, one brow arched over a pretty hazel eye. The morning sun danced in her copper hair spilling down over her shoulders. Clad in a gray plaid shirt tucked into her form-fitting denim trousers, the cuffs of which were tucked into the tops of her high-heeled black boots, she had one of Pistol Pete’s old Colt Navy pistols stuffed into a back pocket.

  “Are you going after them?” she asked.

  “That can wait.”

  “Can it?” Apparently noticing the anger burning in his eyes, Jay turned to face the stream, and said, “Don’t be angry with me, Slash.”

  He closed his hand around her arm, turned her toward him. “Don’t be angry? You sold us out, Jay!”

  She drew her head back in shock. “Sold you out? I saved your life, you idiot!”

  “Yeah, okay, you got me there. Thanks for keeping that girl from drilling our fool hides last night. Much appreciated. Still, I’d like to know—”

  “Wait,” Jay said, interrupting him, frowning at him curiously. “I wasn’t talking about last night. At least, not only last night. I was talking about selling you out, as you so inappropriately called it, to Chief Marshal Bledsoe. I did that because he promised to spare you, you utter fool!”

  “Oh, come on,” Slash said. “What about the things he gave you? The jewelry! The new wardrobe! Enough money to start a new life in San Francisco?”

  Jay stared at him as though in total befuddlement, her eyes large and round, lower jaw hanging. Suddenly, anger sparked in her eyes. She slapped him hard across his right cheek. He felt the full burn of her anger as the blow aggravated the pounding in his head.

  He bunched his lips defiantly against it. The slap enflamed his own anger and he had to restrain himself from slapping her back.

  Jay said, “Thank you for proving just how right I was to call you a fool! You an’ Pecos both. Fools!” She gave a frustrated groan and turned away, again crossing her arms on her chest.

  Gritting his teeth, Slash said, “Are you denying he gave you those things in return for betraying us? Hell, Jay, for all you knew, me an’ Pecos might’ve really hanged!” He paused, thoughtful. For a few seconds he stared off over the water, then turned back to her and said, “Hey, wait a minute—how did you know where to find us, anyways? Why were you so sure me an’ Pecos were going after the Marauders?”

  “He told me!” Jay said, curling her upper lip back from her gritted teeth. “He told me all about the whole hanging ruse. He told me he was going to spare your lives in return for you two going to work for him.”

  She balled her fists at her sides and leaned forward at the waist, her face brick red with rage. “That’s why I sold you out! It had nothing to do with any gifts, because—listen, you idiot, and listen hard!—Bledsoe didn’t give me one goddamn thing except your lives in exchange for me telling him about that narrow-gauge train you were going to rob! I bought that dress and those fake pearls with the money Pete left me. If that crazy old marshal had given me enough money to start a new life for myself in San Francisco—believe me, I’d be drinking fancy drinks on the Barbary Coast right now!”

  Not only the woman’s fury, but the information she’d just imparted, almost literally rocked Slash back on his heels.

  Haltingly, incredulously, he said, “Bledsoe . . . he said that . . . he said he gave you—”

  “He lied, Slash,” Jay said, enunciating her words clearly, as though talking to a simpleton. “Obviously, he lied!”

  “Why would he . . . why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe just for the fun of it. You saw how eccentric he is. Maybe he . . .” Jay shrugged, looked off again, her cheeks coloring again slightly, this time with embarrassment. “Maybe he wanted you to forget about me. Just focus on the task he gave you—of running down . . . and killing . . . the Marauders.”

  Slash thought it through, the heat of his anger changing to a burning shame.

  “Jesus,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  Slash looked at her. “What are you doing out here? Why didn’t you take the stake Pete left you and . . .”

  “Go to Mexico?” Jay shrugged again. “I don’t know. I guess I’d never been in Mexico alone. It didn’t seem all that appealing. And . . . well, I thought maybe you two could use a hand bringing down the Marauders. If what Bledsoe . . . and Miss Thompson . . . said is true, they’re not your old gang. They’re far different. Far more savage than the men you once rode with.

  “Not that I’d be much good against them directly, but I’m right good at getting information between shootouts.” She smiled, adding wistfully, “Like finding out when that ranch train was going to pull through the mountains, and how much money was aboard. I mean, of course it all went for nothing . . . after Bledsoe’s operative recognized me . . . but I did quite well up to that point—wouldn’t you say?”

  Slash smiled, nodded. “You sure did.” He paused. “Even afterwards you did just fine.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry, Jay. I never should’ve doubted you. You didn’t deserve that.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she said with a wry smile.

  Slash hadn’t realized how heavy his heart had been, believing that Jay had double-crossed him and Pecos to Bledsoe. Believing that she’d literally sold their lives to the half-crazy chief marshal. He realized it now, however. Now, suddenly, his ticker felt as light as a newborn bird.

  He found himself reaching out, taking her hand, squeezing it. He stared at her, his soul opening like the wings of that baby bird. Jay gazed back at him, her eyes soft, lips slightly parted. Slash leaned toward her. He began to slide his mouth toward hers.

  He stopped, hesitating. Jay gazed back at h
im, her eyes vaguely curious. She’d parted her lips slightly farther, as though ready to accept his mouth with her own. Seeing him hesitate, she drew her lips together and turned away.

  The breeze tussled her hair, blew several locks across her cheek, obscuring her expression.

  “I reckon we’d better get back to the camp,” Slash said, his heart suddenly feeling heavy again, a vague frustration vexing him. “Them pancakes are gettin’ cold.”

  “You go ahead,” Jay said. “I’ll be along in a bit.”

  Slash headed back toward where the fire danced and smoked. He paused to kick a rotten log in frustration. Glancing toward the camp, he saw Pecos standing at the edge of it, holding his coffee cup in his hands, gazing skeptically toward his partner.

  “What’re you lookin’ at?” Slash said testily as he approached.

  “You.”

  “Yeah, well, stop lookin’ at me.”

  He stopped before Pecos, then glanced away as he said, “She didn’t double-cross us the way we—”

  “I know—I heard.”

  “All of it?”

  “Enough to know we were dunderheads to believe that crazy old man.” Slash stepped around Pecos and moved toward the fire. “Enough to know I’m a dunderhead for a totally different reason,” he added.

  “What’s that?”

  Slash knelt by the fire and glanced back at Pecos. Beyond Pecos, Jay was crossing the stream via a beaver dam, holding her arms out slightly for balance. Returning his gaze to his partner, Slash said, “Huh?” He hadn’t realized he’d spoken that last sentence aloud.

  “What else have you been a dunderhead about, Slash?” Pecos glared at him, his voice reproving. He glanced over his shoulder at Jay.

  Slash’s cheeks warmed as he used a leather swatch to remove the coffeepot from the iron spider. “Nothin’.”

  “Nothin’,” Pecos mocked.

  Slash grabbed a pancake off the plate, then sat down again by his saddle. He glanced at the girl, Myra Thompson, who sat as before, her eyes on him now, vaguely speculative.

  “What’re you looking at?” he asked grumpily, and took a bite of the hotcake.