by Lou Bradshaw
I could see a little barn and corral, with some chickens pecking around in the grass and dirt. Then I saw what was once a good sized cabin, which was only a pile of charred timber and a chimney standing against the sky. I hated to even go and take a closer look, but I knew I had to.
The burned bodies of Nell and Marcum Fisher were laying side by side on what was probably their bed. Both bodies had been shot in the head. I found a shovel from the tool shed and buried them together in the yard.
Fargo must have stood over them and shot them both at the same time with a double barreled ten gauge. In the barn, I found the remains of a horse. It had been stuck in the stable for more than a week without feed or water. It had just folded up and died. Before I left, I found the cow in the brush. Her bag was swollen and looked bad. She was most likely burning up with fever… It’s been a long time since I knew anything about milk cows. So I put her out of her misery and went back down the trail…. The chickens would last for a while or not.
The Fishers had what seemed to be a nice place there, and there was a chance that he had stashed away some booty somewhere. But it wasn’t in my mind to look for it. Gold or silver would have lasted out the fire, but paper money would just be ashes. Furthermore, I wasn’t interested. They seemed to be good people, what little bit I’d known them, and the boy was well treated by them…. They didn’t deserve what happened.
When I got back to the lower cabin Tobe asked,
“Did you find him? I heard a shot and figured you got a shot at him.”
“No… The old couple was killed… I buried them…. Had to shoot a half dead cow.” That was all he needed to know.
You ready to move out?”
He said he was, so we moved on down the trail on the west side of Rincon Peak. I’d studied the tracks in the yard and the little corral and had committed both sets in my mind. The first one of the two I came across would be the one I’d follow. It didn’t seem likely that the dead horse had been down any kind of trail in the last week, so I could cross that one off my list.
We camped that night in the western foothills of the isolated mountain cluster. I didn’t have much to say that night, but Tobe was getting used to my ways, so my quiet nature didn’t seem to bother him much. The truth was I wasn’t upset that Fargo had got away. I was upset that I hadn’t chased him back up that hill and killed him when he shot me. It would all be over, and I could go home to Colorado.
When morning came, we parted company, with him going northwest for Tempe and a new life to start. I was headed southwest for Tucson and a life to take.
Chapter 23
When Tobe was out of sight, I finished the last of the coffee and the last few strips of bacon and broke camp. Taking my time cleaning and stowing everything away, I found myself killing time.
Now what’s your problem, Shadrac Cain? I asked myself. You ain’t worried about that Fargo fella are you? No… that wasn’t it, although anything could happen. Well then, what’s ailin’ you? I didn’t have an answer to that question.
As I kicked sand on the fire, the thought came to that in the last couple of days folks have been moving onto starting things. And I’ve been in the business of standing still and going nowhere. Tobe Crocket would go up there along the Salt, find him a gal, and grow oranges and kids. Cal Bailey already had him a family, except for making it official, but he’d likely be getting more youngens. He already had himself a good job, and he should go right on up the ladder.
I thought about both men for a while and decided to be happy for both of them and asked myself the question I’d been avoiding. Would you trade places with either one of those men? No, I didn’t reckon I would. I may never be anything different than what I am.
If I don’t ever find a Missus Cain, then that’s the way it was supposed to be, and if I should die tomorrow, I’ll have no regrets. So I just threw my leg over that big son of a Prince horse and pointed him down the trail that would most likely lead us to Tucson.
Before long, I was able to pick out Fargo’s tracks. That little cluster of mountains could only claim two mountains and a bunch of hills, but both those peaks were over eight thousand feet. Down on the desert floor, things were a bit different than they’d been at eight thousand feet. For one thing it was a good twenty or so degrees hotter, and the only way you could find shade was to stand in your own shadow.
I kept the pace down to save my horse and my dog. Dog had done a lot of traveling, and the pads on his feet were thick and tough, but susceptible to cracking. If he showed any signs of foot problems I’d have to make him some moccasins, which he wouldn’t like but they would save his paws.
It took two days to reach Tucson, which was a town of over four hundred people, and about half of them were tied to the railroad in one way or another. And about half the rest of them were there trying to figure a way to beat the railroad crowd out of some of their money. That left roughly a hundred folks who lived there and would still be there when the tracks went as far as the eye could see in both directions. And that last hundred may not be as smart as some of the slick ones, but they were as tough a lot as you’ll find anywhere.
It wasn’t unusual for a slicker to have his mark all set to make a score, only to wind up with a busted head, broken bones, or just plain getting shot full of holes. Most of the locals were quick to learn there ain’t no such thing as getting something for nothing. But you’d see gandy dancers lined up six deep to put money on the big spinning or a shell game of some sort.
A few days later those track layers would be broke, hung over, and back at the end of track hell hole. While a whole new bunch of gandy dancers were lined up six deep and trying to win a pot of gold. Of course, when you had that many single or not so single men in one place, you were sure to have a thriving flesh trade. When they call it, “the world’s oldest profession”, I’d say some of those gals were around when it was started.
Oh, Tucson looked to be an all right town. It was no better or worse than most of the towns west of the Mississippi. It was wild as a Kansas cyclone, but when the track layers moved on through, the trains would bring new folks and business…. The craziness that was happening was just the price the town would have to pay for progress…. I was just hoping nobody had plans to build a railroad across old Marble Mountain, south of Creede Colorado…. I’d have to find myself some wilder country.
After several days of visiting the saloons that catered to needs of the track layers, I ran into a gent who knew Fargo and had seen him in one of the dives down along the Santa Cruz River. As he explained it, there was a whole other town down there. It was a town without law and rules. He told me,
“You go down there, you watch yourself. Keep your poke tucked away, and your guns and knives close at hand…. You back off from anybody, and you won’t come out of there alive. If you gotta shoot or cut somebody…do it. Otherwise don’t go.”
“I just told you all that, so you’d have an idear what the place was like. But if you’re half as rough as you look…why they’ll elect you mayor.”
I thanked him for the advice and directions and left. Back at my boardinghouse, I stowed my rifle and took my extra six-gun from my duffle. A quick look over and a spin of the cylinder, told me it was ready if and when I needed it. I was ready.
Down Under was uglier than that fella had described. It was built on the flood plain of the Santa Cruz. From the looks of the river, I speculated the last flood to wash over that plain must have been the one Noah’s Ark floated on. The river was once a quarter mile wide, but it wouldn’t go thirty feet wide these days. From the bank to the river’s edge was a good hundred and fifty yards of baked and cracked dirt.
The town was built against the upper bank… the older one, which rose up forty to fifty feet. At the river’s edge there was a more recent bank, which was only about ten feet high. Cottonwoods and willows were strung out along the lower bank. What called itself Down Under consisted of two saloons and a dozen shacks. There were at least that many dugouts
carved into the bank made from any material handy, but mostly mud and wattle.
Dog and I had walked the half mile from Tucson mainly because I didn’t want to leave too much temptation tied up at a hitch rail. From what I was seeing in the faces of some who were best described as “done to a turn”, made me wonder if I should have left Dog at the boardinghouse. They looked at him as if he was a piece of prime beef. Well I didn’t see any that would have been able to get a fork in him.
To avoid anyone having to go back to his shack missing an arm or a leg, I took Dog inside the first saloon. It wasn’t nearly as dark and gloomy inside as I had expected it to be. That was due mostly to the gaps in the walls and ceiling letting the sunlight in.
“Beer,”I told the barman, “in a clean glass.” He glared at me, but turned around and took a glass off the back bar and filled it from the spigot.
“That’s five cents… in a clean glass.” I gave him a dime and told him to keep it.
I should have taken one in a dirty glass because I didn’t plan on drinking much of it. One sip told me it was fresh. I reckoned that the bulk of it was still a part of the river this time yesterday. What else was in it I wouldn’t venture a guess.
I turned around to face the room, and saw that I was the center of attention. There were eight or nine men sitting at tables or leaning on the bar, and they were all looking at me. No one was making eye contact, and none of them were saying anything, so I guessed it was my show. I opened it with,
“My name is Cain, and I ain’t from around here…. I’m lookin’ for a hombre that calls himself Fargo…. My business with him is just that…my business and none of yours. But I got a double eagle for the man who puts me in touch with him.” I held up a twenty dollar gold piece and slipped it back into my pocket.
“You and him, musta been robbin’ the same bank… he’s been here flashin’ a few of them around…. What’d he do run off with your share? Sounds like him.” Said one of the nine men there.
Another one spoke up saying, “He was in here yesterday, or maybe it was the day before. But I ain’t seen him today…. You might try the other saloon down the street. He goes from one rats nest to another…. If you find him, do I get the money?”
“If he’s there, and I come back…he’ll be payin’ you. If he’s there and I don’t come back…he’ll never know who it was that sent me. That’s the best I can do.”
I turned to the bartender and told him, “Give that gent another of what he’s drinkin’…. I don’t care if it’s in a dirty glass.” I laid four bits on the bar and left.
There was no boardwalk, so Dog and me stepped out unto the hard baked and cracked flood plain and looked down the street to the next saloon. It wasn’t but about a hundred feet away with three shacks and a dugout in between. I reckoned that little stretch must be what they’d call downtown, or maybe it was uptown…. I never could get the straight of that.
The second saloon must have been uptown because it had two steps leading up to the open door. Stepping inside, I realized it was definitely an upgrade over the other place. The second one even had a floor. It was puncheon, with some rough spots and poor work, but it was better than bare dirt. I went to the bar and made the same speech to those gathered there. There were six plus the bartender in the room.
A few of the boys were eyeing me with appraising looks. They were most likely trying to decide if I would be worth trying… although one fella looked as though he wanted to ask me to dance. Him, I would ignore, but the other two looked like trouble and I always liked to know which direction trouble was coming from.
“I could probably get five of them from Fargo for your scalp… Or I could just take what you’re carryin’.” A fella with long dirty blond hair said as he reached for his gun.
My left hand had been behind me, but it was full of that spare six-gun I’d tucked in the middle of my back. The hammer came back as it cleared my leg, and it slammed into the cartridge when the gun came level. That fella’s pistol was just coming to the top of the table when my first shot went through his left lung, and it was falling to the floor, when the second bullet shattered his breast plate.
The second man was closer to me, and I had him covered with a quick swing to my left. I didn’t even look at him for more than a heartbeat. I was sweeping the room to see if there were anymore fools in the room. Dog was standing ten feet in front of me facing the bar and growling. I pulled my other gun from the holster and pointed it under my left arm at where Dog was looking and said,
“Bartender… I’d better hear whatever you have in your hand hit the floor in the next two seconds or I start pulling triggers… One….T.” I heard it hit the floor, and told him to get out here where I could see him.
The second man was a cool customer. He just put both hands on the table and smiled. The bartender nervously sidled out from behind the bar with both hands high in the air. I told him to put them down, and he lowered them slowly. Sweeping the room again, I saw every pair of hands nicely laying flat on the table. Looking over the bar, I saw a sawed off double barrel on the floor.
“You fellas don’t know much about hospitality. I come in here real friendly like and nobody wants to be my friend. I offered a way to make a little money, but nobody wanted my money…. The offer still stands.”
The two men who were playing cards with the late big mouth, divided the pot and dragged him out the back door. I figured they’d empty his pockets and dump the body someplace. The river wasn’t deep enough to use as a graveyard. Two others settled down to their conversation at the bar. That left only the bartender and the second man. The bartender went back to work, and I put my artillery away.
That second man bothered me enough to make me want to keep him in front of me. He was a nice enough looking gent, with sand colored curly hair and a calm relaxed way about him. But the way he looked at me when I first opened my mouth made me feel like someone just walked over my grave.
He hadn’t taken his eyes off me, but there was no anger in them. Finally he took his foot and shoved the chair opposite him out away from the table and said,
“Have a seat, Cain…. You don’t know me do you?”
“No, I can’t say that I do, but that don’t mean much. There’s probably a million people right here in the US of A that I don’t know.”
“Well, we met one time. Over in California, it was, and that meeting only lasted a minute or so… if that long. You came in to a hotel lobby in Bakersfield, where a fella was signin’ on hired guns. The way you destroyed that lobby and whooped that fella, kinda made us all forget about joinin’ the cause. Then when I heard how you and that gambler sunk a whole saloon in the river…well it made me think about changin’ my profession. It just didn’t make sense to get crossways of solid citizens.”
I looked around the room and said, “You’re sittin’ here in the middle of the devil’s arm pit…just what line of work you doin’?”
He kinda chuckled and said in a real low voice, “Bounty huntin’. That way I can make a livin’ and the good folks don’t get upset about it.”
“There ought to be a few dollars to be made in this rat hole. You havin’ any luck?”
“Naw… I figured there’d be some money here, but it’s all nickels and dimes. I got some good papers on a fella in Nogales…on the Mexican side. If I can wait for him to come back across, I’ll take him…otherwise I’ll have to push him or drag him across.”
“You got papers on Fargo” He asked.
“Ain’t nobody wantin’ him but me, and it’s personal.”
“Yeah, he’s a bottom feeder alright. Nobody even offers a reward worth takin’ him in…. That’s how it is with most of these lost sheep…. Oh I reckon I can tell you… he’s gone off to Sonoita…claims he’s got a woman there…. A woman who would have any part of him, has got to be the last apple in the barrel.”
“Why don’t you ride over that way with me, and if he’s there, I’ll give you the double eagle.”
He laughed
and said in a hushed voice, “That’s about what the bounty is on him. Then I’d have to drag him to a sheriff somewhere…. Not worth it.”
He told me his name was Tom Grady, and I wished him well.
Chapter 24
The next morning I rode out for Sonoita. I figured it to be a two day ride in the hot sun, and I figured it pretty close. There was one cloud that showed up, but it never got within twenty miles of me. The second day we were in the grasslands and cattle started showing up here and there. Mostly they were in bunches. But I spotted a big old range bull standing out there all alone. Chances were, he was past his prime and run off by a younger version of himself.
That old boy had lost his place and his ladies. Although he was old, he was still a formidable beast, and I saw no need to go over and introduce myself. He was probably nursing a grudge and wasn’t in any kind of mood for strangers. One day he’d find himself driven into a corner by wolves, he’d fight like the devil till they hamstrung him and pulled him down…. I just tipped my hat and rode on.
Sonoita was an old town, and mostly the folks were Mexican. Whites had moved in with the cattle and there were some nice ranches scattered about. And there was mining being done… enough to start talk of trying to get a railroad spur down that way. But I didn’t think Fargo was here for the mines or the cattle.
It was near sundown when I rode in. I didn’t see any sign of a hotel, but there was a cantina, and sometimes they’d rent rooms. This one had a few rooms for travelers. It was like an inn with a wall around it and a stable. At one time, I imagined it was a fair to middlin’ hacienda. I could see scars where the walls had been used to ward off any number of enemies. There was a story there, but every one of those old Spanish towns had stories a plenty.
