“I know, but I’m getting irritable.”
“Getting?” Brian raised an eyebrow.
Chapter two
Evening time had quickly become my favorite time of day. The main reason being that it brought a halt to riding in the wagon.
We made camp beside a small creek, and it was a good spot. It was well sheltered with brush, and there was plenty of loose mesquite wood for a fire.
My mood brightened as we unhitched our team of horses. I gathered some wood, built a fire, and got the coffee on while Brian unpacked our bedrolls and made camp.
We had some salt pork, and Brian placed thick slices in a frying pan. It didn’t take long for the pork to start sizzling, and my stomach growled.
As soon as the pork was done, I warmed up some leftover sourdough biscuits from the day before. We filled our plates, poured some coffee, and ate with a vengeance. Afterwards, we sat by the fire and drank more coffee.
I sighed as I leaned back and got comfortable against my bedroll. I pulled out a cigar, bit off the end, struck a match, lit it, and took a deep puff.
“Peaceful evening, pleasant conversation, tasty food, and a good cigar,” I commented as I exhaled. “Doesn’t get much better than this.”
Brian shrugged.
“You disagree?” I looked at him.
“I was married once,” Brian recalled. “Those were the happiest years of my life. Especially in the beginning.”
“You? Married?”
“Sure. Old as I am, you never thought I was married?”
“Never thought on it, to be honest,” I admitted, and asked, “What happened?”
“She left me,” Brian said matter-of-factly. “Said she didn’t want our son growing up to be an outlaw.”
“You have a son?” I almost dropped my cigar.
“I do.”
“We’ve been riding together off and on for years,” I stared at him. “You never told me any of this.”
“You never asked.”
“If I had been married, I would have told you.”
“That’s cause you talk more than I do,” Brian said, and added, “Besides, this is personal. And painful.”
“How long has it been since you saw your wife and son?” I asked.
“Ex-wife.”
“Whatever.”
Brian thought for a moment.
“Twenty years, give or take,” he said.
“That’s a long time.”
“Yes,” Brian nodded. “It is.”
“Your son should be a grown man by now,” I figured.
“I hope so,” Brian said wistfully.
“You don’t know where he is?”
“No,” he shook his head.
“Well, I’m sorry, Brian,” I said earnestly. “I really am.”
“I messed it up, but at least I have fond memories to think back on,” Brian said, and he looked at me. “That’s more than you have.”
He had a point, and I winced.
“Thanks for that depressing thought,” I said.
“’Course, you’re younger than I am,” Brian continued. “You’ve still got time.”
“Mebbe I will marry, one of these days.”
“I wouldn’t wait too long,” Brian warned. “You mess around a few years, and all of a sudden you’ll wake up some morning and be as old as I am.”
“You are just full of inspiration tonight.”
Brian grunted and said, “Older you get, the more you think about things. This past year, I’ve often wondered how my life might’ve turned out different if I had changed a thing or two.”
“Like meeting me?” I smiled.
“And others. Like Ben Kinrich.”
“Ben’s dead.”
“That happens often with outlaws.”
“That’s why we’re building this hotel,” I reminded, “so we can live a long and prosperous life.”
“We might not be outlaws anymore,” Brian replied. “But, we still have the reputation, and that’ll be something we can never get rid of.”
“We can try,” I said.
Chapter three
Time passed as we sat around the campfire. I smoked another cigar, and Brian drank more coffee. By then, it was dark.
“If I remember right, we should pass through a small town tomorrow,” Brian recalled as he poked at the coals with a stick.
“We should,” I agreed.
“We’re running low on supplies.”
“Slow as we’re going, we might as well stop and stock up,” I figured.
“Sounds good,” Brian nodded. He shook the coffee pot and asked, “Want more?”
“Sure.”
He refilled our pot with fresh water from the creek, and it fell silent while we waited for the coffee to boil. I finished my cigar while Brian just sat there, looking thoughtful.
“Recalling more fond memories with the wife?” I smiled.
Brian looked at me and scowled.
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
“’Course, if I had fond memories, I’d be remembering them too,” I continued. “But, I mainly just have bad ones.”
Brian sighed, and I chuckled as I rubbed out my cigar and grabbed my cup.
I was reaching for the coffee pot when I heard chipping noises in the distance. I glanced at Brian, and he’d heard them too.
We both knew what it was. It was the sound of horses, traveling in the rock.
“Coming this way,” I said softly.
“Traveling late too,” Brian added.
I nodded and stood, and we were quiet as we moved about camp.
There was no reason to speculate if trouble was coming. The only thing we could do was be prepared, and we both knew that.
Brian grabbed his shotgun, checked the loads, and sat next to the wagon. As for me, I grabbed my Henry rifle and walked across camp. I sat with my back against a tree, and I positioned myself so I could see as much ground as possible.
If need be, we also wore our Colts on our hips.
I nodded at Brian. He nodded back, and we hunkered down and waited.
Chapter four
They rode in closer, and then the chipping sounds stopped.
A few tense minutes passed, but to me it felt like an hour. And then, we heard their horses moving forward. Seconds later we could make out two men on horseback.
They pulled up and looked around. I pulled the hammer back on my rifle, and it made a soft click.
“Hello the camp!” One of them suddenly called out.
I glanced at Brian. He nodded, so I replied, “Who’s out there?”
“Two riders, looking for a cup of coffee,” came the answer.
“Come on in then,” I said.
They nudged their horses forward, and they rode up to the outskirts of our camp and stopped.
Nobody said a word as we studied each other.
The apparent leader was an older man, close to Brian’s age. He had curly, white hair, and his face was covered with a white, grizzled beard. His nose was slightly bent, hinting that it had been broken before, and maybe even twice.
His companion was a few years younger. He had a cruel, killer’s face with wrinkles around his eyes and deep grooves at the corners of his mouth. He was staring at me through cold eyes, and it was a chilling look.
I’m an observant person, and two things stood out immediately. First; their horses were lathered in sweat. And second; while they were being nonchalant about it, they kept their gun hands close to their Colts.
Old Chisel Whiskers studied Brian first, and then he looked at me. Finally, he cleared his throat.
“Smart, spreading out like that,” he said in a naturally husky voice.
“We thought so,” I said.
“You expecting trouble?”
“No, we do this routine every night.”
Old Chisel Whiskers smiled at that.
“Keeps you sharp,” he said.
“Does,” I agreed.
“You trust us?”
“Don’t know you,” I shook my head.
“Well, don’t be too alarmed. We smelled your campfire smoke, and figured you might have some coffee on. That’s all.”
“Get down,” I offered. “Have some.”
“’Preciate it,” he said.
They dismounted and stood there. I could tell they were looking our camp over, but I didn’t say anything.
“Mind if we tie our horses to the back of your wagon?” Old Chisel Whiskers asked.
“Go ahead,” I said.
He nodded, and they led their horses into the darkness.
Brian glanced at me, and he looked concerned. He mouthed the word ‘trouble’.
I nodded curtly as they returned from the wagon.
Chapter five
Not a word was spoken as they walked over to the fire. They both held a cup, and they squatted by the coffee pot and filled them.
Old Chisel Whiskers took a deep swig. His eyes grew wide, and he coughed violently.
“Hot!” He exclaimed.
“Often is,” I said.
He coughed again, and coffee dribbled down his beard and shirt.
He wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve and took another cautious swig.
“But strong,” he remarked.
“Glad you like it,” I said.
“Nothing beats a good cup of coffee,” he declared.
I nodded while they eased down beside the fire and got comfortable.
Old Chisel Whiskers glanced around our camp again, but his companion never took his eyes off me. It was a cold, calculating look, as if he was wondering who he should shoot first.
I had nothing else to do, so I just stared back.
“You boys from around here?” Old Chisel Whiskers broke the silence.
“No, we’re from Empty-lake,” I replied.
“Long ways from home,” he commented.
“You could say that.”
“Passed through there a time or two,” Old Chisel Whiskers recalled. “Good cow country.”
“It is,” I agreed.
“You a cowman?”
“No, we’re in the hotel business.”
Old Chisel Whiskers looked surprised.
“You two look more like cowpunchers than businessmen.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, and then I prodded for some information. “How ’bout you? What’s your line of work?”
Old Chisel Whiskers smiled at that.
“Oh, a little of this, and a little of that,” he said.
“Where you boys headed?”
“Nowhere in particular.”
I nodded, and we were quiet for a moment, waiting for the conversation to go to another place.
“Last I heard, Rondo Landon was sheriff at Empty-lake,” Old Chisel Whiskers commented.
“That’s right,” I nodded.
“He can be difficult.”
“We get along,” I said, and added, “We go a long ways back.”
“Oh?” Old Chisel Whiskers looked interested as he took another swig of coffee.
“My name’s Lee Mattingly,” I explained.
As soon as I said that, Old Chisel Whiskers coughed and spewed coffee from his mouth and nose. He also dropped his coffee cup.
Chapter six
I watched his coughing fit with a wry smile.
“You’ve heard of me,” I said.
“I have,” he bobbed his head up and down. He glanced at Brian and added, “You must be Brian Clark.”
“I am.”
“Heard of you too,” Old Chisel Whiskers said, and he turned to his companion. “Ain’t this something?”
The Silent One made the longest conversation I had heard out of him so far.
“Yep,” he said solemnly.
He was still staring at me, but some of the hostility had faded.
“We’ve been admirers of yours for a long time,” Old Chisel Whiskers said. “It’s an honor to finally meet.”
“Thanks,” I said stiffly.
“Are you boys really in the hotel business?”
“We are.”
“I see,” he nodded, and asked, “What’s in the wagon?”
I glanced Brian. He nodded, so I told him.
“A mirror?” Old Chisel Whiskers pinched his face in disbelief.
“That’s right. Biggest in Texas.”
“That’s it?”
“That, and our saddles and camping gear. Not much room for anything else.”
“Must be impressive.”
“We think so.”
“I’d like to see that,” he said, almost wistfully.
“Take a look,” I offered.
“You don’t mind?” He looked surprised.
“Just don’t break it.”
He chuckled at that and stood, but The Silent One stayed put.
He disappeared behind our wagon, and we could hear him as he rummaged through it. The wagon rocked back and forth, and Brian and I cringed.
The wagon jolted again as Old Chisel Whiskers climbed out. He had an amused look on his face as he returned to the fire.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“After some reflection, I like it,” he said.
I smiled faintly. Old Chisel Whiskers had attempted a joke!
“I have to admit, I thought you boys were lying,” he said.
“And now?” I asked.
“Biggest mirror I’ve ever seen.”
“It is,” I agreed.
Old Chisel Whiskers nodded and glanced at his companion.
“Well, reckon we should ride on. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Anytime,” I said.
The Silent One took his eyes off me, stood, and walked over to our wagon. We heard them mounting up, and they rode by us on their way out.
“You never told us your names,” I called out.
Old Chisel Whiskers pulled up his horse and looked back.
“That’s right,” he said.
“I’d sorta like to know,” I tried again.
“Compared to you, we’re nobody,” Old Chisel Whiskers said. “We’ll leave it that.”
I frowned, and no more words were spoken as they kicked up their horses and rode out.
Chapter seven
Brian and I stayed still for a long time.
As they rode away, we could hear the chipping sounds of their horses’ hooves on the rocks. By the time the sounds faded, we were satisfied they had left for good.
I eased the hammer back down on my rifle, and then I joined Brian at the fire.
“You figure coffee is all they wanted?” Brian asked.
I leaned against my bedroll and tried to look contemplative.
“No, I think they intended to rob us,” I said, and Brian nodded in agreement.
“I wonder what changed their minds?”
“Our reputations might’ve had something to do with it,” I suggested. Another thought occurred to me, and I added, “That, or considering how ugly Old Chisel Whiskers is, mebbe he didn’t want the biggest mirror in Texas.”
“That’s probably it,” Brian smiled, and asked, “‘Old Chisel Whiskers?’”
“Think I’ll call him that from now on,” I decided. “It sorta fits.”
“I’m just glad we avoided trouble,” Brian looked relieved. “I didn’t feel like shooting anybody tonight.”
“Night’s not over,” I warned.
“Think they’ll come back?”
“No, but you should keep watch, just to be safe.”
“What about you?” Brian objected.
“Wake me at midnight.”
“I will,” Brian declared.
Now that everything was settled, I rolled out my bedroll, pulled my boots off, and crawled in. Meanwhile, Brian poured another cup of coffee and got comfortable.
Minutes later, I was just about to fall asleep when Brian said, “They didn’t talk much about themselves. Wouldn’t even tell us their names.”
“I sen
sed that,” I replied groggily.
“They must be feeling guilty about something.”
“Perhaps.”
“You sure didn’t hesitate to mention our names,” Brian said, and then he scolded, “You should learn to think before you speak.”
“Why?” I rolled over and looked at Brian. “That would take all the fun out of it.”
Brian grunted.
“Go to sleep,” he said.
“I almost was, until you started talking.”
Brian grunted again, and it fell silent.
Chapter eight
I awakened Brian from his usual deep slumber right before daylight.
I had rebuilt the fire, and after breakfast I cleaned our utensils in the creek while Brian packed up everything else. Next, we hitched up the horses and climbed onto the wagon seat.
I was just about to encourage the horses forward when we heard chipping sounds in the distance.
I grunted and glanced at Brian.
“More riders,” I said.
“A lot more,” Brian agreed.
They were coming from the same direction that Old Chisel Whiskers had come from. A few seconds passed, and I could make them out. It was six men on horseback.
A short, squatty man led them, and as they rode up I spotted a sheriff’s badge pinned on his vest.
I guessed him to be in his early twenties. His face was flushed and hot, and I could tell he thought he was important.
As for everyone else, they were older, normal looking town folk. They looked grim, and that made me nervous.
They formed a semi-circle in front of us, and it was quiet while we studied each other.
“Morning,” I finally smiled and tried to look pleasant.
“First thing,” the sheriff spoke in a hard, curt voice. “Keep your hands where we can see ’em. Both of you.”
“Sure,” I said, and asked, “You hunting somebody?”
“Two fellers robbed the bank last night. Killed the clerk and made off with several bags of cash.”
“You don’t say,” I said, surprised.
“Tracks lead straight here,” the sheriff continued.
“You don’t think we did it?” I said, and Brian and I tried hard to look innocent.
Wanted: A Western Story Collection Page 6
