Luke smiled wryly. “That’s right. These are the Turpins. I don’t make a habit of shooting up men I’m not on the trail of. Wouldn’t have had to shoot up these two if they hadn’t sort of insisted on it. Augie, over there in the rocks, tried to ambush me. His brother Oscar, the one on the horse, failed to learn anything from his brother’s misfortune and decided to make his own run at me.”
“I heard the shooting from back down the canyon,” Patton explained. “I was too far away to make it in time to intervene. And, to be honest, without knowing what the situation was, it didn’t seem particularly wise to get in too big a hurry to try.”
Luke nodded. “Smart thinking.”
“So,” Patton said, “since this matter is concluded, it seems reasonable to assume you are now, ah, between engagements. Is that an accurate statement?”
“Close,” Luke conceded. “But this matter isn’t all the way concluded until these bodies are turned in to a proper legal authority who can match them to their wanted posters and my payment for delivery has been arranged. There’s a sheriff in Marysville who’s worked with me on that sort of thing in the past. I figured that’s where I would head next.”
“Not all that far from Marysville to Helena, where Mr. Dixon is waiting to meet with you,” Patton pointed out.
“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”
“So is Parker Dixon.”
Luke considered. Then he said, “Tell you what. If you’re willing to help me dig Augie out from that rock pile, load him up with his brother, ride with me to Marysville and give me a chance to take care of my business there . . . then I’ll go on with you to Helena to meet your Mr. Dixon.”
Chapter 4
Parker Dixon was a tall, lean, square-shouldered individual who looked to be a couple years one side or the other of fifty. His bearing was ramrod-straight, suggesting former military, though the impression was softened somewhat by the fine tailoring of his suit as well as the silk shirt and crimson string tie complimenting it. A single streak of silver running slightly off-center from the top of his forehead and then up through a sweep of pomaded, precisely barbered hair provided an added touch of distinction to the carefully cultured image of a successful, wealthy man.
But for all that, Luke sensed a certain hardness around the eyes and mouth that suggested here was someone who hadn’t always led such a pampered life.
Rising from behind a massive desk that dominated his handsomely appointed private office—the headquarters for Dixon Enterprises, a name prominently displayed on the front of the building as well as several others to be found throughout Helena—the man himself managed a brief smile that appeared as if it might be a rare departure from his otherwise stern expression.
“Mr. Jensen,” he said by way of greeting. “I’m glad you agreed to this meeting.”
Dixon made no attempt to come around the end of the desk and shake hands. That suited Luke just fine. Although he could draw with either hand, he never liked to willingly place himself in the grip of another and diminish his chances to react in case of trouble.
Plus, in this instance, he’d opted against wearing his rather showy brace of Remingtons for the meeting with Dixon and was instead heeled more discreetly with a short-barreled .38 holstered in a shoulder rig under his left arm, covered by the suit jacket he had also donned for the occasion. Luke had made too many enemies over the years—a few of them still on the loose—for him to go completely unarmed in even the most refined setting.
“Have a seat, make yourselves comfortable,” Dixon said, gesturing toward a pair of deeply cushioned leather chairs arranged in front of his desk.
Luke, along with Asa Patton, who had escorted him into the office, did as instructed. Dixon lowered himself back into his own chair on the other side of the desk.
Leaning forward, interlacing his long, blunt-tipped fingers on the desktop before him, Dixon announced, “When it comes to matters of business, as well as most other things, I believe in getting right to the point, Mr. Jensen.”
“Same here,” Luke replied.
“Good. Then, in order to prevent wasting time,” Dixon suggested, “why don’t you tell me what Mr. Patton has already revealed about the nature of why I sent for you.”
A corner of his mouth quirking upward, Luke glanced over at Patton. In the five days the two of them had spent together on the trail—part of it to reach Marysville, the rest to proceed on here to Helena—the dark-eyed messenger hadn’t spilled a peep more about Dixon’s “business proposition” than he had in that first handful of minutes in that nameless canyon where he showed up after Luke had bested the Turpins.
Cutting his gaze back to Dixon, Luke said, “That’s easy—nothing. Your Mr. Patton was firm in his belief that you should give me the details yourself. He said only that it was a matter important to you and one that could prove lucrative to me in the event we ended up doing business together.”
Dixon gave a satisfied bob of his head. “Very well. The long and the short of it, then, is this: You, sir, have the reputation of being a highly skilled bounty collector, a manhunter, widely considered one of the best in the business. I am plagued by a black-hearted scoundrel—a robber and a killer—who needs to be run to ground. When I require a job done that falls outside my own capabilities, I have a habit of hiring the best I can find to take care of it for me. You fit that description for a matter of this nature and so, when I heard you had been spotted in the vicinity, I naturally thought to contact you.”
When Dixon paused, clearly expecting a response, Luke said, “This scoundrel. He have a name?”
“Tom Eagle. He’s a half-breed Shoshone.”
“Are there papers on him? Reward dodgers?”
“Not that I am aware of, no. One of the problems, you see, is that the area where Tom Eagle is raiding and killing is basically lawless and lacking in men willing to stand up and try to enforce what meager laws do exist.” Dixon’s mouth curled into a sneer. “Ironically, at one point Tom Eagle was the sheriff, one of the few anywhere for miles, of a small town called Hard Rock. But that was before greed turned him bad and he became worse than anything he ever faced when he was on the right side of the badge.”
“This lawless place, this town of Hard Rock . . . where is it exactly?”
“To the north and a bit east,” Dixon answered. “Hard Rock lies in the valley of a small mountain spur called the Spearpoints, an offshoot of the larger Flathead Range that runs not too far to the west.”
“About three days’ ride from here,” Patton added.
“And your interests there?” Luke said to Dixon.
The businessman unlaced his fingers and spread his hands. “A mining operation in the Spearpoints. Gold. It’s producing now, has been for going on two years. Not panning out as good as projected, but it still manages to show in the black and my engineers assure me there remains promise for a richer vein to be struck if we just stay with it. In the meantime, I can ill afford for repeated shipments of what we do yield to be stolen by this blasted half-breed.”
“Are your shipments all that he hits?”
“Not strictly. There are reports of him robbing at least one stagecoach, maybe a bank or two. But there isn’t a lot else up that way to hit.” Dixon scowled fiercely. “My gold shipments are his main meat, no two ways about it.”
Luke leaned back deeper in his chair. His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry to hear about your trouble up around Hard Rock. And I appreciate you thinking of me as a possible solution, Mr. Dixon,” he said. “But I’m afraid it sounds like a job I can’t accept.”
Dixon’s scowl intensified, displaying the reaction of someone who wasn’t used to being turned down.
“Why in blazes not?” he demanded. “I can’t believe you’re afraid of Tom Eagle as I’ve described him. Surely you’ve gone up against men more dangerous than him.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But that isn’t the point. The thing is,” Luke explained, “when I go after a man it’s because there are
papers on him issued by proper legal authorities. A lot of folks view bounty hunters as being not much different than the fugitives they track down. But I see it different—I see what I do as an extension of the legal system, one that’s been recognized for a lot of years, and that’s how I treat it. What you’re asking . . . well, it sounds more like a job for a hired gun.”
“Nonsense,” protested Dixon. “It’s not like I’m some greedy cattle baron looking to hide behind your gun in order to gobble up more land. What I’m looking for is to see justice done, to have this blatant outlaw apprehended and brought before legal authorities, exactly as you’re suggesting. I’m not asking you to go out and gun him down, for Christ’s sake—though I’ll admit that seeing him dead would not displease me. At the end of a rope, however, if that’s the verdict of a proper trial . . . You see, if you reconsider and are willing and able to take Tom Eagle into custody and place him in the hands of appropriate authorities, then there are witnesses ready to testify against him and his crimes. But until he’s captured, they’re afraid to come forward.”
Luke frowned in thought, chewing on this new slant to what Dixon had at first seemed to be proposing.
In the chair next to Luke, Patton addressed Dixon, saying in a quiet voice, “Tell him the rest of it.”
Dixon winced faintly at this. For a moment, he glared disapprovingly at Patton. Then, after brief consideration, he shifted his gaze once more to Luke. His expression and his tone turning quite grave, he said, “There is, it is only fair for you to know, another aspect to this. A very personal one, though it in no way changes anything I have previously stated. It involves my son Roland . . .”
Dixon paused, took a breath, and went on, “He was somewhat pampered by my late wife. After she passed away, I was afraid that her pampering had had an undesirable effect on the boy. Made him too soft. As he grew up, I took it upon myself to make sure that influence was countered. Toward that end, about a year ago I sent him to run our mining operation up near Hard Rock. He had the brains, he knew the business. It was his chance to prove he could control the men, make the tough calls, keep the operation running smoothly.”
Luke remained silent as Dixon paused again. The businessman seemed to have to force himself to continue, but continue he did.
“He did well. He pushed himself hard to show me he could measure up. He even took it upon himself to ride shotgun on some of the shipments that left the mine. Until, on one of those trips, the shipment Roland was riding with got waylaid by Tom Eagle’s gang. Roland resisted. They blew him off the wagon seat. He was dead before he hit the ground.”
Dixon’s voice thickened on those closing words. He went silent for several moments after that. Luke stayed quiet, too, not knowing what to say.
His businesslike tone, though still decidedly grave, returning, Dixon spoke again. “I’m asking you to reconsider my proposal, Mr. Jensen. For all the right reasons, apart from my personal hatred for the man, and following all the proper procedures you feel bound to . . . apprehend Tom Eagle. Please. Bring him to justice.” And then, after a measured pause, he added, “I will pay you five thousand dollars for the job. Twenty-five hundred now; the balance when you return with that murderous half-breed.”
Luke met his eyes, noting the sadness in them. “All right,” he said. “I’ll go after Tom Eagle.”
Dixon expelled a sigh of relief. “Excellent. When can you start?”
Luke shifted a little in his chair. “Well, I’d like to hang around long enough for a visit to a barber and a long, hot soak in a bathtub. A couple sit-down meals that I don’t have to cook for myself over a campfire. Maybe a taste of Helena’s nightlife after the sun goes down this evening. And then, by this time tomorrow, I figure I ought to be re-supplied and ready to head out.”
“Excellent,” Dixon said again. “Stop back right after lunch and see my secretary out front. She’ll have the first part of your payment ready. Anything else you need before leaving town—directions to Hard Rock, the names of some of the personnel at our operation there, whatever else you might think of—you can get from Asa.”
Sensing this amounted to a dismissal and taking his signal from Patton, who rose up out of his chair, Luke did likewise.
“One more thing,” Dixon added, remaining seated. “There’s a telegraph office in Hard Rock. It’s of some use when the line isn’t down. If you find it up and running, try to keep us posted on your arrival and progress. Address all of your transmissions to Asa. He’ll see to it I’m kept informed.”
With that, Dixon began rummaging through some papers on his desk and it was for certain their dismissal was now complete. Patton turned to depart the office, and Luke followed.
Chapter 5
Luke’s overnight stay in Helena proved most pleasant. He had his long bathtub soak, preceded by a barber shave and hair trim, then followed by some fine food and drink, a modestly profitable session at the gaming tables, and all capped off by a very enjoyable dalliance in the company of a frisky redhead named Lucille, who worked as a waitress at the restaurant where he had supper.
When he was ready to ride out late the following morning, decked out once again in his customary trail attire of all black—boots, trousers, shirt, and hat—Asa Patton was on hand to see him off. In the previous days they’d spent together, Luke had grown fairly at ease with the dark-eyed, tight-lipped messenger. More so than he normally did with someone he’d been around for such a short time. Life had taught Luke to be on guard against people in general and he tended to stay distant from most he came in contact with. Yet something about Patton had given him cause to relax a bit more than usual.
Something else, though, a curiosity, had been building in him to the point where he wasn’t ready to ride off without addressing it.
“You effectively stonewalled my questions about Dixon for five days,” Luke said now, as they stood out front of the livery stable he was preparing to depart from, “but I’m stubborn enough to give it one more shot—this time a question related to yourself as well as Dixon.”
Patton smiled tolerantly. “You’re welcome to try your luck. Ask away.”
“I can’t help wondering,” Luke said, “why Dixon didn’t assign this job to you. I mean, you’ve proven yourself capable on the trail, even to the point of tracking me to that remote canyon where the Turpins attempted their ambush. You pack a gun, and my sense—even though I’ve never seen you in action—is that you’re likely quite capable with it. And you already work for Dixon. Why bring in an outsider like me?”
Patton’s smile stayed in place. “I guess he thinks you’re better suited. You heard what he said about always hiring the best. You’re the one with the reputation as a manhunter.”
“But a reputation is just the perception of other people. To Dixon, you’re a known quantity. One he already clearly thinks highly of.”
“Maybe that’s it. Maybe he likes keeping me around close,” Patton suggested. “Or maybe he asked me to take the job up in Hard Rock and I turned it down.”
Luke cocked an eyebrow. “I get the impression that men who turn down an offer from Dixon don’t stick around too long . . . at least, not still in his employ.”
“Maybe he’s willing to cut some slack when it comes to Hard Rock.”
“Why would that be?”
Patton’s smile widened, became a lopsided grin. “You ever heard the old expression about a place not necessarily being the back end of nowhere . . . but close enough to see it from there?”
“I’ve been to a few of those places.”
“Uh-huh. Well, when you get to Hard Rock, you’ll be in another one.”
“That not only isn’t any kind of straight answer to my question,” Luke pointed out, “but neither is it much in the way of incentive for me being in a hurry to get there.”
“You don’t need incentive from me,” Patton told him. “You’ve already got five thousand other reasons for making the trip.”
Luke didn’t have a response for that.
And Patton, he could see, was once again going to avoid responding to his latest question.
It was time to hit the trail.
* * *
After his previous horse was killed, Luke had decided to stick with the pair he’d inherited from the Turpin twins. The deep-chested paint had proven itself to be sturdy and obedient—first when it came to hauling the brothers’ dead bodies as far as Marysville, then as Luke’s mount for the remainder of the way to Helena. Based on this, he put his saddle on it again for the trip to Hard Rock. The second animal, a big dun, was somewhat less impressive but would do all right for a packhorse.
With the sun nearly at its peak in a partly cloudy sky, Luke pointed the noses of the two horses north and put Helena behind him. He rode quite a ways before the last of the outlying buildings and pockets of activity, most of it related to mining, fell away and he found himself alone and passing through empty land. The terrain was hilly, covered by numerous stands of trees and frequent outcroppings of shale or sandstone. Now and then there were relatively flat stretches of prairie grass.
A few times Luke spotted wisps of distant chimney smoke and occasional clumps of livestock. Homesteaders trying to make a go of a farm or ranch, he guessed. But he steered clear, having neither the need to know nor enough curiosity to particularly care. And when at one point, from the top of a rise, he spotted a sprinkling of far-off buildings that marked a settlement of some sort, he steered wide of that also.
Luke had no intention of stopping anywhere until he got to Hard Rock. His focus was to reach there, conduct his business with Tom Eagle, and make it back to collect the balance of his pay.
As significant as the latter was, something about the job still didn’t sit quite right with him. He still felt a little too much like a hired gun, despite Dixon’s assurances that Tom Eagle would stand trial in a court of law and face sworn witnesses to his crimes before any punishment was meted out. If Tom Eagle was guilty of the charges against him—including murder—then he deserved to pay the ultimate price. But only if that was a properly arrived at verdict. And Luke meant to make sure it went down that way.
Hired Guns Page 3
