The Devil's Payroll

by Paul Green

  ‘This town must have been built because of the mine, there’s nothing else within miles of the place,’ remarked Harrison. ‘When the silver ran out, there would have been no reason for it.’

  ‘Do you think there’s any whiskey left in the saloon?’ asked Johnson hopefully.

  Ortega’s laugh sounded bitter. ‘We could all use a drink, my friend.’

  The saloon was round the next corner but, like the rest of the town, it looked as though it had been abandoned long ago. However, they were startled to hear sounds of laughter coming from inside and then a swarthy, bearded Mexican wearing a bandolier across his chest emerged through the swing back doors clutching a dusty bottle in one hand. He looked momentarily surprised to see Ortega but quickly recovered his composure.

  ‘Ah, Don Pedro, you are here at last!’ he cried as he came towards them.

  ‘Lopez, your orders were to wait at the mine and surprise Gabriel and his companions, so what are you doing here?’ demanded Ortega sternly.

  Apparently unperturbed by this rebuke, Lopez responded with a great belly laugh. ‘We figured they would pass through here so we waited and gave them a little surprise this morning.’ He tapped his forehead with a grimy finger and gave a knowing wink. ‘You see, Don Pedro, a man of action must also be a man of brains.’

  Ortega dismounted impatiently and seized the bottle from the bandit’s hands. ‘You won’t keep your wits about you if keep drinking this stuff,’ he said contemptuously. ‘Where are your horses?’

  ‘In the stables at the end of the street. It’s a bit dusty, but they are all right.’

  Ortega nodded. ‘Very well, put our horses in there as well. Rub them down and give them some water.’

  Lopez nodded reluctantly as Harrison and Johnson dismounted. ‘Where are Jorge and the rest of the men?’ he asked, looking suspiciously at his boss.

  ‘Why, did you expect Jorge’s little plot to succeed, eh? Are you sorry I’m not dead too?’ Ortega towered over the man and Lopez sweated with fear, his eyes darting between the saloon, his boss and the companions who travelled with him, but he said nothing.

  ‘Go on, get out of here!’ Ortega told him contemptuously as the man scurried away.

  Ortega led the way as they went inside to the sound of a tinkling piano. The saloon was covered in dust and cobwebs hung from the ceiling but that did not seem to bother the bandits sitting around the few tables that were left in the place. They had found some unopened bottles of brandy, rum and whiskey from which they sat swigging.

  A nervous-looking man sat playing a piano that was badly in need of retuning. It was a moment before Harrison recognized Gabriel, as he had shaved off his beard and no longer wore spectacles.

  ‘That’s terrible, you must play better or I’ll have to kill you,’ said the red-shirted bandit who stood behind Gabriel wielding a pistol. To make his point, the man fired a shot into the wall opposite and the others joined in his laughter. Barton, his hands bound in front of him, sat drinking with the bandits while Maggie sat silently at one of the tables as she fended off the attentions of the drunken men at each side of her.

  ‘What is this?’ demanded Ortega. ‘You should be on your guard. The time to celebrate is when we find the money, not before!’

  The outlaw standing behind Gabriel gave a nonchalant reply. ‘OK, just relax. We’ll get the money tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t tell me when to relax, Herrera. I give the orders here,’ said Ortega coldly.

  Herrera took another swig from the bottle beside him before wiping his long moustache with the back of his hand. He pointed his gun at Ortega. ‘So, if you’re still the boss where are all your men?’ he asked insolently as he gestured with the weapon.

  ‘Jorge is gone; there’s no one else to lead you now.’

  Herrera’s leer of contempt vanished as he pointed his gun at Ortega’s chest, the hammer thumbed back and ready to fire.

  Ortega’s knife caught him squarely in the throat and he staggered backwards, dropping his gun to the floor. There was a gargling noise as blood spurted from the wound and poured over his shirt front before he finally collapsed. Two of his companions reached for their guns but quickly put their hands up when Harrison drew his own weapons.

  Ortega looked at each of the remaining four bandits in turn. ‘Does anyone else want to challenge me? There was no reply but they all exchanged nervous glances.

  ‘You are not men, you are cattle,’ said their leader in disgust.

  At that moment Lopez returned from the stables. His eyes widened in horror when he saw Herrera’s corpse lying in a pool of blood and he looked questioningly around the room.

  ‘You wanted him to kill me, now you can bury him,’ said Ortega, pointing at the two men who had reached for their weapons. Silently, they rose and dragged the dead Herrera outside. Curtly, Ortega instructed the remaining two bandits to take Barton away and lock him in the disused jail. Lopez did not wait for any orders but followed them as they went outside.

  ‘I’ll leave you to settle your scores,’ Ortega told Harrison before he too left the saloon.

  ‘Shall I stick around?’ asked Johnson.

  Harrison nodded but did not take his eyes off Gabriel, who coolly returned his stare.

  ‘I’m a Pinkerton’s man, working under cover for the army to recover their loot, so running out on you like that was nothing personal. I was just doing my job.’

  ‘What about forcing Maggie to go along with you and then trying to kill me? Was that just doing your job?’

  ‘He didn’t force me, John. I agreed to help in return for a reward when he came to Brandon after Joel was killed, but everything else I’ve told you is true, I swear it.’

  Gabriel defended her. ‘Look Harrison, we needed you to get Barton to lead us to the money,’ he said. ‘He would only have agreed to do that if he thought he was going to get his hands on some of it. Unlike you, Maggie only did what she had to.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ demanded Harrison.

  Gabriel sat back in his chair. ‘It means that if you lie down with dogs you can expect to catch fleas. No one forced you to keep coming after that money or to get yourself mixed up with bandits and army deserters. That’s why I started throwing rocks down at you and your unsavoury friends. I’m standing for the law here, so don’t start getting sanctimonious.’

  Johnson cut in before Harrison could reply. ‘We were captured by those bandidos ourselves after comin’ out here to get that payroll back for the army. Mr Harrison just wanted to get the reward for Barton and rescue Mrs Sloane because he thought you’d kidnapped her.’

  Gabriel shifted awkwardly in his seat. ‘Well, in that case I guess I owe you an apology, but my job’s not over until that money is returned to its rightful owners.’ He began stuffing tobacco into a hornrimmed pipe and struck a match against the table to light it. ‘Barton and these folk don’t know I’m a detective, which may just give us an edge.’

  ‘You’re assuming we’ll help you, but that’s a lot to take for granted,’ said Harrison.

  Gabriel nodded, blowing smoke into the air. ‘I guess it is.’ He pointed the stem of his pipe at Johnson. ‘What about you, Sergeant?’

  ‘I’m with you, but the bandits won’t give up that money without a fight.’

  Harrison remained unsure. ‘You were very convincing as a huckster, Gabriel. How do any of us know this isn’t just another act to help you get your own hands on that money?’

  Gabriel shook his head sadly. ‘You’re quite a cynic, aren’t you? My official papers are sewn into the lining of my jacket but Maggie has seen them and can vouch for me.’

  ‘He’s telling the truth, John,’ Maggie urged him. ‘Come on, I know you were never really keen on sharing stolen money and now you’ve got the chance to do the right thing.’

  Harrison nodded his agreement as he sat down. ‘So, do you have a plan in mind?’

  The detective drew on his pipe. ‘We’ll wait until it gets dark, then you go with J
ohnson to fetch Barton and bring him to the stables. I’ll be there with Maggie and we’ll let the other horses out so they can’t follow us when we ride off.’

  ‘It won’t be easy takin’ care o’ the guards and then gettin’ away,’ Johnson pointed out.

  ‘No one said anything about it being easy, Sergeant. You’ll have to knock out, maybe kill the guards and then we might have to shoot our way out.’

  ‘Wait a minute. Have you got any of that laudanum left?’ Harrison asked.

  ‘Just a little, why?’ Gabriel fumbled in his pocket for the bottle.

  ‘We could bring Barton’s guards some coffee. A few drops of that stuff and they’ll soon be snoring. At least then we won’t have to make any noise when we get him out.’

  ‘Hmm, it might just work, but we’ll only get one chance. Otherwise we’re all dead.’

  ‘I have no doubt of that.’

  The voice was unmistakeably Ortega’s and all eyes turned to look at him as he strode through the swingback doors of the saloon and came towards them. He was alone and made no effort to draw his pistol, but he held a gunbelt in his hand, which he tossed on to the table.

  ‘Yours, I believe,’ he told Gabriel. ‘I think you might need it.’

  ‘How long have you been outside?’ Harrison asked him.

  ‘Long enough to hear everything.’

  ‘It looks like you’re figurin’ on helpin’ us, but why?’ asked Johnson.

  Ortega smiled. ‘Come, Sergeant, you’ve seen my men. Which one of them would you trust?’ He smiled when there was no reply. ‘That is my point. Once that money is found, those dogs will shoot me in the back and then they’ll start killing each other over who gets the biggest share.’ Ortega shook his head. ‘I want to make sure they don’t see a cent.’

  Gabriel nodded. ‘Fine. They won’t, but where does that leave you?’

  ‘I a small house in Mexico where what I have saved will be enough to live on.’

  ‘It sure feels good for us all to be on the right side of the law,’ remarked Johnson. He paused before adding slyly, ‘We’ll all have the same empty pockets, just like honest folk.’

  They all laughed at that but the tension remained. They might all be dead before morning.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘Forget the coffee idea; my men would prefer more whiskey, I’m sure,’ said Ortega as he sat down at the table to join them.

  ‘Yeah, I could bring some along, act friendly and get ’em to drink it,’ added Johnson.

  Harrison looked over the half empty bottles left by the outlaws earlier when Ortega sent them out. Three contained whiskey and there was an empty earthenware jug into which he tipped all of them. Gabriel poured in the last of the laudanum and the concoction was ready. However, it was Maggie who picked up the jug and turned towards the door.

  ‘Wait a minute! This is far too dangerous for you. Johnson said he’d go,’ protested Harrison. She gently prised his hand from her wrist but then patted it reassuringly. ‘They won’t suspect anything if I just go in there alone. Men like them think that women are good for only one thing, so they’ll just relax and get drunk.’

  ‘That’s what worries me, Maggie. You won’t be able to fight off two of them at once,’ he warned her.

  ‘They won’t stay awake long enough to try anything, but you can hide outside if you think I might need help.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. Besides, Barton won’t be easy to handle once he’s outside that cell, so maybe Johnson should come along too.’

  The sergeant nodded as he got to his feet. ‘Let’s go.’

  Gabriel looked at his pocket watch. ‘We’ll meet you at the stables in two hours. That should be long enough.’

  Outside, it was a clear night. The moon was almost full and the blue black-sky was filled with stars. On any other occasion Harrison would have enjoyed the spectacle but for now he was just grateful to be able to see where he was going. The jailhouse was at the other end of the street and they crept along behind the main buildings to avoid being spotted by any lookouts. At last they reached their destination and the two men crouched below a window that allowed them a clear view into the room. Maggie went inside, smiling at the two bandits guarding Barton as she held up the jug. Harrison watched as she pulled up a chair and offered them the drugged whiskey. They both drank greedily, passing the jug between them as they laughed at their good fortune. One of them picked up a small guitar that had been lying beside him and began to pluck the strings as he sang what sounded like a Mexican love song. His companion joined in while Maggie smiled encouragingly and clapped her hands in time to the music, frequently prompting the two guards to have another drink. Barton sat sullenly in his cell as he watched what was going on but said nothing.

  Time passed, the men’s voices became slurred and one of them fell into a slumber. The other was still alert enough to start feeling suspicious when unable to rouse his companion. He swore and hurled the jug against the wall where it smashed. Maggie backed away as he fumbled for his gun but Harrison and Johnson were through the door in seconds.

  ‘Put your hands up and turn around!’ shouted Harrison as the guard stared at the revolvers that were pointed at him. The man did as he was told while Johnson removed his keys and gunbelt, unlocked the cell, then clubbed him over the back of the head with the butt of his gun. Barton moved towards the door and Harrison thumbed back the hammer on his revolver, shaking his head as a warning. Johnson dragged both outlaws inside the cell while Harrison kept Barton covered until they were ready to let him out. The cell was then locked and the keys thrown out of the window.

  Johnson gave Barton a shove. ‘C’mon, get movin’, but no tricks, understand?’

  ‘Them Mexicans were gonna kill me for sure, once they got their hands on that money, but how do I know I’ll be better off with you fellas?’ the outlaw asked.

  ‘You don’t,’ Harrison told him, poking a pistol into his ribs, ‘but if you make a run for it, you won’t live to share that money with us.’

  They stepped out into the moonlight and made their way towards the stables as quickly as they could. They saw no one and all was eerily quiet as they reached the other end of the street. Ortega was outside when they reached the stable door. ‘I told the two men I posted as lookouts to get some rest,’ he explained. ‘By the time our noise wakes anyone up it should be too late for them to stop us.’

  They slipped inside to find that Gabriel had their horses saddled and ready to go. He untied those belonging to the bandits and opened the doors wide. Barton was tied on to his mount, to be led behind Harrison, and then Gabriel swung himself into the saddle of a dappled mare. He raised his pistol and fired it three times in quick succession. The bandits’ horses galloped off into the night, closely followed by the fugitives making their escape. Bleary-eyed bandits stumbled from their bedrolls as Harrison and his companions raced out of the ghost town. A couple of shots were fired in their direction but no one was hit and soon they were well on their way.

  They kept riding for a couple of hours, then Ortega suggested that they should rest until dawn. Johnson lit a fire and they bedded down for some much needed rest while Harrison took the first watch, mainly to prevent Barton making any attempt at escape. He sat wrapped in a blanket, watching the stars, but his gun was in his lap and he remained alert for any sound. The time passed uneventfully before Ortega came over to replace him. Within minutes he was asleep but in his dreams he chased piles of dollars whipped up by the wind. The faster he ran, the further they flew away from him while the mocking laughter of the gods echoed in his mind. Harrison awoke with a start as the first streaks of dawn appeared in the sky, hoping that his nightmare did not turn out to be an evil omen of some kind.

  The mingled smells of coffee and frying eggs brought a change in his mood. Maggie had prepared them a fine breakfast but they ate quickly, keen to get on their way. They kept up a steady pace and as noon approached Johnson pointed out a row of ramshackle wooden huts just ahead of them. As t
he disused winding shaft came into view it was clear that this was the place, and they slowed their horses to a trot.

  ‘All right, Barton, where is it?’ asked Gabriel.

  The outlaw dismounted and walked over to the entrance to a limestone cave near the winding shaft. Turning, he looked around, frowning for a moment, then he stopped by a low, rather flat boulder. Holding out his bound hands he said, ‘It’s under here.’

  Ortega drew a short spade from his saddle-bag and threw it down, then dismounted and cut Barton’s bonds with his knife. ‘You’d better start digging,’ he told him. The stone was quickly shoved aside and Barton set about his task. As he dug deeper, he became excited and by the time his spade struck metal he could hardly contain himself.

  ‘It’s here! It’s here!’ he cried. He went down on his knees in the pit he had dug and hauled the strongbox out as the others all gathered around in a circle.

  Barton looked up at them all pleadingly. ‘I know we gotta share but can I be the first to open it?’

  Gabriel shrugged. ‘I don’t see why not; you put it there in the first place.’

  The lock had been shot away when Barton originally buried the box and all he had to do was lift the lid. No one saw the Colt .45 that lay on top of the cash as he kept the lid tilted towards him when he started firing. The first bullet hit Gabriel in the stomach and as the Pinkerton’s man was spun around by the impact the second one hit Ortega squarely between the eyes. The third shot would have been for Harrison but he was already firing back with both guns, aiming low shots into the pit as Johnson reached for his weapon too.

  Three bullets hit Barton squarely in the chest and he fell back into the hole he had just dug, but Harrison kept firing into the outlaw’s twitching, bloodstained body until he had emptied both chambers. Then, as his rage subsided, he turned his attention to the victims.