“Rather just leave Conroy’s bunch for the buzzards and the coyotes,” Dowd growled. “But I reckon they’d start stinkin’ the place up after a while.”
Tim Calvert said to Buckhorn, “You’re bound and determined to go back to Crater City?”
“That’s the next step,” Buckhorn said.
“Tonight?”
“I don’t see any reason to wait. Anyway, I can move around town easier while it’s dark. Less chance of being spotted that way.”
“You can at least take a fresh horse from here.”
“That I’ll do,” Buckhorn said with a smile.
A short time later, he was in the barn. The horses he and the others had ridden down here from the Jim Dandy had been brought in and unsaddled. Buckhorn’s saddle was now on the back of a sturdy chestnut that Tim vouched for as a good mount. Buckhorn’s eye, experienced in horseflesh, agreed.
Charlie Dowd was with him. The gunman thumbed back his hat and said, “You’re not gonna have any friends in that town, Buckhorn. All of Conroy’s men will have turned against you by now.”
“How about Gratton and the rest of your bunch?”
“They might back your play if they knew you’d switched sides, but they may not have heard about that. Could be they still consider you one of the enemy. You might do better takin’ me with you, so I could set ’em straight.”
Buckhorn shook his head.
“I need you and Weaver to stay here so I won’t worry as much about the Calverts. I can take care of myself. I’ve had plenty of practice.”
“Well, I reckon that’s true.” Dowd put out his hand. “Good luck, Joe.”
“Thanks,” Buckhorn said as he gripped the man’s hand.
Dowd was walking out of the barn when a small figure hurried past him. He turned his head to look at Lorna McChesney and cocked an eyebrow quizzically, then went on out.
Buckhorn had been about to swing up into the saddle when Lorna rushed in. He paused and said, “Is something wrong?”
“Tim says you’re goin’ back to Crater City tonight.”
“That’s right,” he told her.
“You can’t even wait until mornin’, get a few hours’ sleep?”
“It’s better if I go now,” Buckhorn said.
“Well, then, take me with you, damn it. I can help.”
The corner of Buckhorn’s mouth twitched. If he was about to laugh, he held it in. He said, “That’s just about the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
“I can use a gun, Mr. Buckhorn, you know I can, and I ain’t afraid of Yancy Madison nor any of them other gun-wolves Conroy’s got workin’ for him. They shot my pa and stole our ranch, and I want to go fight ’em with you.”
“I’ve partnered up with some pretty tough hombres,” Buckhorn said, “but I never went to war with a little girl at my side.”
“I done told you, I’m not a—Oh, hell!”
She reached up, threw her arms around his neck, and pulled herself up to try to kiss him.
Before she could do that, Buckhorn caught hold of her under the arms and lifted her away from him, holding her at arm’s length.
“What in blazes is wrong with you?” he demanded. “I’m ugly as an old bucket, half redskin, and more than twice your age!”
“I don’t give a damn about any of that!” she said as she kicked and tried to squirm loose. “I never met nobody like you before, Mr. Buckhorn. I want to go with you. I won’t let you down, you’ll see.”
Buckhorn set her on the ground and extended a hand, palm out, to fend her off if she tried to come at him again.
“You just go on back inside,” he told her. “I’ll bet Jasper’s wondering where you’ve gotten off to.”
She snorted and said, “Jasper! He’s just a dumb kid!”
“Yeah, well, so are you.”
She stared at him, and after a second her bottom lip started to quiver. “You . . . you think I’m dumb . . .”
“I think you’re stupid as a tow sack full of rocks if you want to come to Crater City with me,” Buckhorn said harshly. “Now git, before I paddle your bottom like the pestiferous little brat you are!”
Tears welled from Lorna’s eyes, but they narrowed with anger as she vowed, “You’re gonna be sorry you ever said that to me, mister.”
Then she turned and dashed out of the barn before she could cry even more.
Buckhorn watched her go, then shook his head, put his foot in the stirrup, and swung up on the chestnut’s back. Chances were, even if Jasper Calvert convinced Lorna to let him court her, she would go through half a dozen other suitors—or more—before she grew up and settled down with one of them, he thought as he rode out of the barn and turned the horse toward Crater City.
Whoever she wound up with, Buckhorn didn’t know whether to pity the unsuspecting fella—or envy him.
CHAPTER 25
It was after midnight by the time Buckhorn saw the lights of Crater City up ahead, and he felt like he hadn’t slept in a week. At least the supper he’d had at the C Cross had helped restore some of his strength. He couldn’t afford to give in to his weariness but had to stay alert instead.
He headed first for the livery stable. With Sol Baker laid up at Dr. Cranford’s house, the place was probably deserted at this time of night except for the horses in their stalls and the corral. When Buckhorn got there, he dismounted, opened the corral gate, and led the horse he had borrowed from the Calverts into the enclosure.
Buckhorn took the saddle off that animal and put it on another horse. If he had to get out of town in a hurry, it would be a good idea to have a fresh mount under him. That might lead to him being called a horse thief, but as much trouble as he was in already, that charge probably wouldn’t amount to much. True, horse thieves sometimes found themselves dancing at the end of a hang rope, but with so many enemies already gunning for him . . .
Buckhorn left the stable and moved along the alley behind the buildings on Main Street. His destination was a big house on the edge of town. When he got there, he saw that the lamp still burned beside the front door. A frown creased his forehead. Stepping up there into that light would be just about the same as painting a target on his back.
Instead he slipped around to the back and rapped softly on the door he found there.
For a few moments, it appeared that he wasn’t going to get an answer to his summons. He was about to knock again, louder this time, when he heard footsteps on the other side of the door and the panel swung open.
“Whoever you are, you should know better than to come to the back door,” Miss Ida Belle Quinn said with obvious annoyance in her voice. “This may be a house of ill repute, but it’s a respectable one! Now, what do you—”
She gasped in surprise as Buckhorn crowded in, forcing her back a couple of steps.
“Sir, you can’t do this!” Miss Quinn protested. “I’ll call for my handyman—”
His left hand clamped over her mouth, shutting off her complaint. Buckhorn’s Colt was in his right hand. He laid the barrel gently against Miss Quinn’s left cheek and said quietly, “I’m not here to hurt you. Just settle down and don’t even think about yelling, all right? Nod if you understand me.”
She stood there stiffly for a couple of seconds, then her head moved up and down a little.
No lamp was burning in this room, but enough light came in through the open door on the other side of it for Buckhorn to see that they were in a kitchen. Miss Quinn wore a dressing gown and probably had been getting ready for bed, but her hair was still put up. Her eyes were wide above the hand Buckhorn held over her mouth.
“I’m going to take my hand away, all right? I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t make any noise. Like I told you, I’m not here to hurt anybody.”
When he lifted his hand, she glared at him, but she didn’t cry out.
“Mr. Buckhorn,” she said. Her tone was scathing. “What are you doing here? I didn’t expect to see you in Crater City again.”
“I wouldn’
t be here if it wasn’t important,” Buckhorn told her.
“What could be important enough to risk your life like this? The talk is all over town about how you turned against Mr. Conroy. Yancy Madison is practically frothing at the mouth from wanting to kill you, and the rest of the men who work for Mr. Conroy are almost as eager to put a bullet in you.”
“I’ll just have to stay out of their way while I’m here,” Buckhorn said dryly.
“Is it true? Did you double-cross Mr. Conroy?”
“I’m not working for him anymore. I’m not sure that’s quite the same thing.”
“It is in his mind, and in the minds of Madison and those other gunmen.”
Buckhorn shrugged and asked, “How do you feel about it?”
“I’ve always done my best to remain neutral, like most of the other merchants in town,” she replied with a note of haughtiness in her voice. “Such disputes have no place in this house. That’s why I’m not pleased to see you here. I assume that you’ve come back to Crater City to stir up more trouble?”
“I’ve come back to get some answers, and this is where I’m going to start.”
That put a puzzled frown on Miss Quinn’s face.
“What sort of answers could I possibly have for you?”
“You can tell me where to find the newspaper office.”
“The newspaper—Why in the world do you want to know that?”
“I need to talk to Edward Garrett. Are his living quarters in the same place?”
“No, but he lives in a cottage right next door to the office.”
“What about his uncle? Is he there, too?”
“Yes.” Miss Quinn sighed. “Matthew Garrett is a dear man. I feel so sorry for him.”
“A customer of yours?” Buckhorn asked.
“I should say not! Matthew is much too straitlaced for that.” Miss Quinn sat down in a chair at the kitchen table and sniffed a little. “He was a good friend, though. He would come over sometimes and talk with me about books and poetry and the theater . . . We were kindred spirits, you might say, Mr. Buckhorn, despite the great differences in our professions. For a while I held out hope that . . . that he would recover from that awful beating, but enough time has gone by now that I’m beginning to doubt it.”
Buckhorn heard the genuine sorrow in the madam’s voice. Her affection for Matthew Garrett was an unexpected stroke of luck, however. Buckhorn said, “I’m sorry. You know, though, that Dennis Conroy was almost certainly responsible for what happened to Garrett.”
She shook her head and began, “Mr. Conroy isn’t the sort—”
“I didn’t say he did it himself. Madison and some of Conroy’s other men did. Or Madison gave the orders, anyway, and the whole thing was on Conroy’s behalf.”
“But why?”
Under the circumstances, it was all right to reveal more than Buckhorn had intended when he came here. He said, “According to his nephew, Matthew Garrett had proof that Conroy was responsible for all the rustling and other lawbreaking going on south of the Mesteños. Conroy’s mixed up in a giant land grab so he can get his hands on the right-of-way for his railroad.”
“I daresay Mr. Conroy is rich enough to purchase whatever he wants or needs.”
Buckhorn rested his hands on the back of another chair at the table and said, “Conroy may be more cash poor than you think he is. From what I’ve heard, he’s sunk just about everything he has into this railroad scheme. Anyway, some men can never be rich enough, or powerful enough. However much they have, they want more.”
“That’s true, I suppose,” Miss Quinn agreed with a thoughtful nod. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s men and their frailties. But why are you telling me all this, Mr. Buckhorn?”
“Because you strike me as an honest woman.”
“I’m a whorehouse madam!”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t be honest,” Buckhorn said with another shrug. “I need an ally in Crater City. Maybe even a place to hide out.”
“You’re asking me to put myself at risk.” In a severe tone, she added, “Worse than that, you’re asking me to put my girls at risk. I won’t do that.”
“So you’re going to betray me to Conroy?”
She hesitated, then told him, “I didn’t say that. I won’t tell him you were here, nor will I mention anything that you told me. If you’re right about Mr. Conroy somehow being responsible for what happened to Matthew . . . well, I owe it to my friend not to betray you, I think.”
“I’m obliged to you for that,” Buckhorn said.
“What are you going to do?”
Buckhorn didn’t answer right away. After a moment, he said, “The best thing would be to get my hands on whatever evidence Matthew Garrett gathered, or for him to recover enough that he could testify against Conroy himself. Neither of those things is very likely. But maybe I can come up with a way to get Conroy to incriminate himself . . .”
“Good luck doing that. He’s a very cunning man.”
“I know, but he’s also very cautious. Sometimes when a man is too careful, he’s more likely to make a mistake . . . I’m going to start by talking to Edward Garrett again.”
“Then once more I’ll say good luck. But it’s an honest sentiment this time. I believe you’ll need all the good fortune that you can muster.”
“I’ll sure take it,” Buckhorn said.
* * *
Miss Quinn told him where to find the newspaper office and the little house next door where Edward Garrett lived with his uncle, and she even suggested a route Buckhorn could follow that would take him away from the main street and anyone who was still out and about.
With that assistance to go on, a short time later Buckhorn found himself standing at the back door of the Garrett cottage. He knocked on it softly at first, then louder when there was no response. His other hand rested on the butt of his gun. He didn’t expect to run into any trouble here, but it never hurt to be careful.
Finally, steps shuffled on the other side of the door, and a sleepy voice called, “Is somebody out there?”
“It’s Joe Buckhorn. Open up, Garrett.”
A yellow glow appeared in the window to one side of the door. Garrett had lit a lamp. Buckhorn’s eyes narrowed against the light as the young newspaperman swung the door open. He saw that Garrett held an old cap-and-ball pistol in his right hand. The weapon was leveled at the visitor.
“You don’t need that antique,” Buckhorn said. “It might blow up in your hand if you tried to use it.”
“No, it won’t,” Edward said. “My uncle always kept it in good working order, and I’ve done the same.”
“Don’t point it at me,” Buckhorn warned. “I don’t like that.”
“I’m not sure I care what you like. You’ve got the whole town in an uproar. Conroy’s men all want to kill you, and Thornton’s men think it’s hilarious that you double-crossed Conroy. You know I don’t have any use for Conroy, but the trouble that’s liable to break out if you’re spotted means innocent people could get hurt.”
“That’s a good reason to put the damned gun down and let me in,” Buckhorn snapped.
Edward considered that for a second and then nodded.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said as he pointed the old pistol at the floor. “Come on in.”
He stepped back. Buckhorn moved into the room, which like the one on the other side of Miss Quinn’s back door was a kitchen. He heeled the door closed behind him.
“What brings you back to Crater City?” Edward asked. “When I heard what happened, I figured you’d either head for the Jim Dandy and sign on with Thornton or leave this part of the territory entirely.”
“I was at the Jim Dandy earlier, but I’m not working for Thornton. We’re . . . temporary allies, I guess you’d call us. My goal is to see that Dennis Conroy gets what’s coming to him.”
Edward frowned and said, “I suppose that puts us on the same side, too, then.”
“I’m glad to hear it, be
cause I can use your help.”
Edward looked down at the revolver in his hand and laughed humorlessly.
“Despite how this may appear, I’m no gunman, Mr. Buckhorn. Far from it, in fact.”
“That’s all right,” Buckhorn said. “What I need right now is a newspaperman, and you fit the bill.”
CHAPTER 26
Obviously intrigued by Buckhorn’s statement, Edward Garrett placed the old gun on the table and told him to sit down.
“I’ll put some coffee on to boil,” he said.
“Good idea,” Buckhorn said as he pulled out a chair. “I’ve ridden a hell of a lot of miles today, been shot at more times than I like to think about, and there’s still work to do. We’ll start by having a talk.”
“I suspect it’ll be an interesting one,” Edward said as he kindled a fire in the stove.
A short time later, as both men sat with coffee cups in front of them, Buckhorn said, “A couple of days ago you came to see me at the hotel and told me your uncle had assembled evidence that Conroy was behind all the lawlessness south of the Mesteños. I don’t suppose you’ve come across that evidence since then.”
“If I had, I’d keep it to myself until I could put it into the hands of a U.S. marshal,” Edward said with a thin smile. “Letting it be known that I had something like that would be a good way to get myself killed. Conroy wouldn’t stop at anything to keep the law from getting hold of it.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I’m afraid it’s gone for good. Conroy’s men must have taken it the night they attacked Uncle Matt and wrecked the place.”
“Unless they couldn’t find it,” Buckhorn pointed out. “Your uncle might have hidden it where nobody else would ever find it.”
“In which case, killing him would be just as effective as destroying the evidence.” Edward sighed. “They didn’t kill him, but they might as well have.”
“He’s here?”
The young man nodded toward the front of the house.
“In his bedroom. He hasn’t been out of there since I brought him home from Dr. Cranford’s house.”
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