Eagle made a sour face. “Not much left to tell. What it came down to was that, before I could do enough to stop it, Dixon had effectively painted me as crooked. A whole lot of people were quick to believe the lies he planted. Me bein’ a half-breed made it plenty easy for those who never completely trusted me on account of that to begin with. Our town and our little valley bein’ up here in the middle of nowhere didn’t help, either. Nobody down to the south gave a damn about us when things were goin’ okay, they sure didn’t want to hear about our troubles. Not even other lawmen I tried to contact. By the time I was willin’ to put aside my stupid pride and ask for help, Dixon’s lies—and, again, my mixed blood, I suspect, in some cases—resulted in all of ’em turnin’ a deaf ear. And with Dixon’s status and shiny clean reputation all around Helena, I shouldn’t have to tell you how far I got tryin’ to get anybody down that way to listen to the truth about him.”
Luke regarded him. “So you ended up one man left holding a mighty big bull by the tail. Not often I’d encourage a man to run from a fight, but what was left for you to keep hanging on for? Why didn’t you say to hell with it and just ride off while you were still able?”
Eagle paused with his coffee cup raised partway to his mouth. He held it like that for a long moment, staring into the cup as if he saw something more than the black liquid inside. Then, lifting his gaze to Luke, he said, “It ain’t that simple. I might be the one carryin’ most of the fight to Dixon’s thugs, but I’m not all alone in this.”
“So who else is there?” Luke asked.
“We’ll get to that. But first, I think it’s time for you to take a turn at fillin’ in a bit more from your end.”
“Such as?”
“The big thing I’m wonderin’,” Eagle said, “is why—if Dixon hired you to come here after me—were his men waitin’ to basically ambush you as soon as you hit town?”
“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself ever since the bullets started flying,” replied Luke. “I not only don’t have the answer, I can’t even make a decent guess. It just flat doesn’t make any sense.”
“Could it be those halfwits in town mistook you for somebody else?”
Luke shook his head. “Wasn’t that. One of them—the heavyset fella with the bloated-looking face—”
“That was Ferris. Hacksaw Ferris.”
“Okay. Ferris, then. The thing is, he called me by name. What was more, he kept ordering his men to take me alive, not shoot to kill.”
Eagle gave a low whistle. “For not meanin’ to kill you, they sure were throwin’ a lot of lead your way.”
“That’s why Ferris had to keep reminding them to take it easy. And that only adds to the strangeness of the whole business. Why ambush somebody with orders not to kill? And since they’re Dixon’s men and seemed to be expecting me as well as knowing who I was, they must have gotten the word from him. Yet if he wanted me captured for some reason, why wait until I was clear up here to do it? He had me totally off guard and right there at his fingertips down in Helena. Surely he could have hired thugs to try for me there.”
“It almost sounds like he has a notion to do some kind of toyin’ with you, and up here is where he wants it to take place,” Eagle suggested.
Luke’s eyes narrowed. “If that’s the case, I hope he also has a notion to show up and participate in the fun and games. I’m eager for the chance to have him in front of me again.”
Eagle’s tone hardened. “There’s a sentiment we share.”
After draining the last of his coffee, Luke said, “The only thing that seems clear is that Dixon’s reasons for getting me up here, whatever they are, actually have little or nothing to do with you. If there was any chance he was hoping for me to get rid of you before he revealed the rest of what he has in mind for me, that went out the window when his men were laying for me outside the church. But that don’t mean those same men aren’t still gunning for you.”
“And neither does it mean they’re done gunnin’ for you.”
“Yeah, I get that now. I had no clue, though, when I first rode in.” Luke’s brows pinched a little tighter together. “But what about you? What brought you so close to town, knowing those varmints had to be hanging around there and are on the constant lookout for your hide?”
“Supplies,” Eagle answered. “I was using the rain for cover to sneak in and gather up some supplies. When folks cleared out, see, a lot of ’em left behind useful things in root cellars and pantries and so forth. Things that Dixon’s pack of rats give no thought to or care anything about. Booze, money, any baubles that looked like they might have some value—those kind of things they scooped up right away.
“But canned goods, medicine, blankets, and the like got paid no attention to. I even know where there’s a couple barrels of cured meat they never discovered that I draw from a little at a time.” Eagle’s expression grew more intense as he locked eyes with Luke. “Dixon sees to the needs of his hired thugs real good,” he went on, “but the folks he ran out from their homes with nothing but what little they had on their backs, he don’t give a damn about. Yet some of them are . . . still around. It is for them that I scrounge and hunt supplies. And continue to remain here myself. They’re who I was talkin’ about before when I said I wasn’t in this alone.”
Luke was at a temporary loss for words. Springing from the discussion of so much betrayal and deceit having already taken place, a delayed suspicion had suddenly gripped him about the hunted man’s motives for being so conveniently present back in town when it seemed like a place he should have avoided at all costs. Now that Luke had been given the answer, he was left with a pang of guilt for his suspicion.
Before he could say anything, Eagle had more to add. “You’ll note that your packhorse has a few extra bundles on its back. Those are the result of my foraging. I left my own horse stashed out back and had snuck into the barn to grab one of the gunnies’ nags for a packhorse when you showed up and conveniently left off your animals. At that point, I figured you for just a new recruit to the gang and I decided your horses would suit me just fine. By the time I got ’em out back, though, and was up in my own saddle once more, you’d made it to the church and commenced that commotion with the bell. I found that powerful curious. Then I saw Hacksaw and his boys closin’ in, gettin’ ready for you to step outside again, and it was startin’ to look like you wasn’t such a welcome guest after all.
“Next, when the bullets started flyin’, that got more clear than ever. But to be honest with you—and I ain’t especially proud to admit this—my first inclination was that none of it was any of my business, and in fact, the gunplay would make good cover for me hightailin’ away.”
“I’m glad you changed your mind,” Luke said.
Eagle shrugged. “Somehow, it didn’t seem like I had a choice. When I saw you skin out the back of the church and make your break across the cemetery, I started pullin’ for you. I had no idea what all the ruckus was about, but you was fightin’ the same lowdown scum I’m up against, so that’s really all I needed to know. When I saw you duck into the back of the old saloon and watched Hacksaw and his bunch scatter all down the street tryin’ to corner you so they could root you out, I had a pretty good idea what you was up to. That’s when I took the horses down into that gully and waited, figurin’ that when you popped back out again you’d likely be in the mood for some help when it came to a getaway.”
“Well, your figuring certainly turned out handy for me,” Luke stated. “And, in case I haven’t expressed my gratitude sufficiently before this, allow me to say it again now.”
Eagle cocked an eyebrow. “You might want to stop and remember what you’re in the middle of before you go gettin’ too grateful. The thing about it, though, is that you still got yourself an option left. Me, I’m pretty well locked in for all the reasons I’ve already explained. But you—and I heard something along these lines from a fella not too long ago—what have you got left to keep hangin’ on for? Why don’t
you just ride away while you’re still able?”
Luke gave a quick, firm shake of his head. “No, that’s not the way it’s going to go. Dixon sent me here to toy with me, play some games. Call it curiosity or plain stubbornness, but I’m not leaving until I find out why . . . And then, when I do, I mean to have a say in how the game ends.”
“Well don’t look for me to put no more effort in tryin’ to talk you out of it,” Eagle declared. “After watchin’ the way you had Hacksaw and his boys dancin’ to your tune back there in town, I’m interested in seein’ what other moves you got. But before that, I’ve got some supplies to deliver and you’re invited to come along, especially since they’re loaded on your horse. There’s some rugged miles between here and there, though, so we’d best get a move on if we want to make it ahead of dark.”
Luke made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “Lead on, Sheriff. I’ll be right behind you.”
Chapter 14
Roland Dixon wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You stink of burnt hair, burnt flesh—and failure,” he snarled. “On top of that, the gash on your head is threatening to drip blood on my carpet. Didn’t it occur to you to at least take time to clean yourself up before you came barging in here?”
Standing just inside the doorway of Roland’s private living quarters at the Gold Button mine, Hector “Hacksaw” Ferris looked down at the ornate carpet under his feet and stepped back as far as he could toward the edge. When he lifted his round, beefy face again—a face streaked with soot and dust along with tracks of dried blood from the wound Roland had mentioned—his expression resembled that of a scolded child.
“Jeez, Boss,” he mumbled, pressing an already blood-soaked handkerchief to the back of his head, “I guess I wasn’t thinkin’. I figured the most important thing was to not waste no time lettin’ you know what happened with that Jensen fella.”
“And why would I be in a hurry to hear the bad news about how you and the others bumbled your apprehension of Jensen and instead allowed him to get away?” Roland said acidly. “The thing you shouldn’t be wasting time about is going after him and running him to ground before he causes more trouble here or, worse yet, starts back to Helena.”
“I did that. I sent boys out after him right away,” Ferris was quick to say. Then, glumly, he added, “But with this doggone rain and night startin’ to settle in . . . I don’t know how much luck they’re apt to have.”
“Well, if it’s anything like the luck you’ve had so far,” Roland sneered, “then we can expect the worst, can’t we?”
He remained in the plush easy chair where he was seated long enough to pound a fist on one of the thickly cushioned arm rests before shoving to his feet. He stood uncertainly for a moment and then started to pace in long strides back and forth across the width of the well-appointed room.
He was a tall, lean man not yet thirty years of age, the angular features of his face bearing a definite resemblance to his father. Unlike the older Dixon, however, his son conveyed no sense of being former military, not in the faint slouch to his shoulders or the longish cut of his dark hair or the petulant twist his mouth seemed always on the verge of displaying. And in lieu of any genuine hardness around his eyes there was only a glint of bullying meanness.
The latter had been on full display when addressing Ferris. But now, as he abruptly stopped pacing, he returned his gaze to the bloated-faced man and his expression became more tolerant.
“Blast it, Hack, I had no business coming down on you so hard,” he said, pointedly stopping short of an actual apology. “Look at you, you’re battered and burned as a result of trying to carry out a senseless task and all the thanks you get is a berating from me.”
Roland turned to the third person in the room, a tall Oriental woman who had been standing silently and motionlessly behind the easy chair he’d been sitting in. She was of indeterminate age—maybe twenty, maybe forty. Her facial features were flawless: skin as pale and smooth as porcelain, lush mouth glistening with a touch of scarlet, striking almond eyes. Glossy black hair poured down around her face and over her shoulders, blending almost perfectly with the wrap of black silk that encased her Amazonian-proportioned body like a second skin.
“Ying-Su,” Roland addressed her. “Go and fetch Mr. Ferris a glass and a bottle of good bourbon.” As Ying-Su glided wordlessly away, Roland turned back to Ferris and said, “Come in and sit down, Hack. You look badly in need of taking a load off your feet.”
Ferris had trouble tearing his eyes away from the departing Ying-Su. When he finally did, he spread his arms out and glanced down at himself before replying, “I better not, Boss. I’m a mess, like you said before—I don’t want to ruin any of this nice furniture you got here. I’ll sure take a touch of that bourbon, though.”
“I appreciate your respect for the furnishings,” Roland said. “We’ll keep the rest of this brief so you can go get cleaned up and dried off. But before that, you need to stop by the infirmary and have Carstairs look at that head wound.”
“I intend to,” Ferris said. “I told the sawbones I’d be back when we dropped off the other injured men.”
Roland scowled. “Who was that again, the men who were hurt?”
“Stuckey, Rogers, and Hollister. Stuckey took a bullet to the thigh, Rogers burned his hands pretty bad in that stairwell fire.” Ferris’s forehead puckered with concern. “It’s Hollister I’m worried about the most, though. He got knocked loco when that chandelier fell on us and nobody’s had any luck bringin’ him back around, not even a little bit. He’s still laid out cold on one of those cots in the infirmary.”
Ying-Su returned carrying a serving tray upon which rested a glass and a bottle of bourbon. She carried this over and rested it on the ledge of a bookcase built into the wall next to where Ferris stood. Silently, with deft movements but without making eye contact, she uncorked the bottle, poured the glass three-quarters full, and handed it to Ferris. As soon as he took the glass, she backed away and then turned and retreated to a corner of the room where she sank onto a short divan strewn with multi-colored pillows. As she sat, she crossed her legs and a slit up the side of her gown parted to reveal a daring expanse of thigh as pale and smooth as her face.
This time Ferris had so much trouble tearing his eyes away that he nearly tipped up the glass of whiskey and poured it down the front of his chin. He caught himself at the last second, though, and managed to lift the fiery liquid to his lips instead. After he’d knocked back a healthy swallow, he cut his gaze to Roland and said, “Ain’t you havin’ a touch with me, Boss?”
Roland had watched Ferris’s uncontrollable gawking with amusement. He was used to it when any of his employees came within sight of Ying-Su. There’d been a time when such drooling behavior had angered him. But he came to realize that they couldn’t help it, and as far as the remote chance any of them would draw even the tiniest speck of return interest from Ying-Su, it was impossible to fathom. So let the fools make do with the whores working the tent cribs that the company allowed to occupy a corner of the mining property while they fantasized fleetingly about the unattainable that belonged to Roland alone.
In response to Ferris’s question, Roland let his smile fade and gestured to a crystal glass of amber liquid perched on the table next to where he’d been seated. “I’m a brandy man, Hack. Was already working on one when you showed up.” He reached over and picked up the glass. “So I’ll save us both from drinking alone.”
Once he’d tipped up the brandy and then lowered it, Roland’s expression again grew somber. “You said we also lost two other men who were shot to death.”
Ferris’s nod was barely perceptible. “Cleve Rolly and Jim Dreyford. Good men, both.”
“Yes. Dreyford, especially, was a top gun.” Roland’s free hand balled into a fist that he raised to chest level. “What a waste! Five men—two hurt, two dead, one perhaps hovering near death—all lost for the sake of my father’s overly complicated vendetta against an elusive ghost from the past
.”
Ferris took another drink of his whiskey and then set his jaw firmly as he lowered the glass. “Not to argue, Boss, but that Jensen ain’t no ghost. I seen him bleed. But if we’d’ve been allowed to, we damn sure could have made him a ghost. I ain’t makin’ excuses, mind you, but tryin’ to take a gun hand like Jensen alive—especially when he’s shootin’ back, and shootin’ to kill—makes for a mighty awkward set of rules to operate by.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Roland snapped. He raised his brandy glass again but paused, merely glowering into it. Then he said, “But what I also know is that when my old man issues a set of orders, there are those of us who hop to whatever he says, few questions asked.” He took his drink, then lowering the glass again, he said to Ferris, “I have little choice in the matter. But you and the others always have the option to draw your pay and ride off. Is that what you want, Hack?”
Ferris thrust out his chin defiantly. “Hell no. Especially not now, not where this Jensen is concerned. Me and that varmint have a score to settle—for what he did to my boys, and what he damn near did to me. I don’t know what this ‘vendetta’ thing is that your old man has in mind, but I’m countin’ on it not bein’ very pleasant for Jensen when all is said and done. And I aim to be around to see how it ends.”
“If my father has his way,” Roland said, “I’m sure you won’t be disappointed in the final outcome. But first, Jensen’s apprehension needs to be accomplished.”
“Me and the boys will see to that,” Ferris said confidently.
Roland arched an eyebrow. “You said you saw him bleed. What did you mean by that?”
“Just what I said. There was a cut on his face—maybe a bullet graze, a ricochet or some such,” Ferris explained. “Whatever it was, I saw blood on his cheek when he went runnin’ out of that cemetery.”
“Maybe it will be enough to slow him down, aid in your eventual capture of him.”
Hired Guns Page 8
