Colorado Crossfire (A Piccadilly Pulishing Western Book 15)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “Rooms Three and Four,” the clerk said giving them the keys. “And that’s a dollar each in advance.”

  Lefty looked at Bigelow. “You know we ain’t got any money.”

  Bigelow silently paid, then turned and went up the stairs with Lefty and Kiowa on his heels. “Drop off your gear and come over to my room pronto.”

  The pair did as they were told. They settled down on the bed while Bigelow leaned against the commode facing them. “I reckon you’ve figgered that the railroad has a job for you.”

  “Any fool’d know that,” Lefty said. “Why else you been paying our damages and hotel room?”

  Kiowa nodded. “It sure wasn’t on account o’ any goodness in your heart.”

  “When’s the job start?” Lefty asked.

  “Right now,” Bigelow answered. “And you’ll be riding out of town early tomorrow morning.”

  Lefty didn’t show any enthusiasm for the employment. “I’d like to stay in Helena a few more days.” His expression brightened. “We been having a lot o’ fun.”

  “A lot o’ fun!” Bigelow exclaimed

  “You’ve been in trouble for ever’thing short o’ murder. Another week here and you two lunkheads is gonna get lynched!”

  Kiowa was thoughtful for a few moments. “Y’know, Lefty. He’s right. We just might’ve outstood our welcome here in this ol’ town.”

  “Well, all our money is gone,” Lefty said. He glared at Kiowa. “And after six hard months scouting for the army, too. That was a waste o’ time, wasn’t it?”

  “Listen you—”

  “Hold it!” Bigelow said. “I don’t want no arguments between you two. We got work to do, so let’s turn to it.”

  “What do you need us to do?” Lefty asked. “I can’t figger out what, if it ain’t hunting.”

  “You know any of the boys that ride with Milo Paxton?” Bigelow asked.

  “Sure,” Kiowa said.

  “We prob’ly know ’em all,” Lefty added. “And those we don’t know can be found out.” He gave Bigelow a quizzical look. “They been hitting the railroad, have they?”

  “Good and hard,” Bigelow admitted.

  Kiowa understood, too. “You’re having trouble digging ’em out, are you?”

  “Yeah. Do you two have any ideas about where they hang out?”

  “Could be any place between Dawson’s Meadow and Luckville. Or even beyond,” Kiowa said. “There’s all sorts o’ camps and settlements around there.”

  “Think you could find ’em?” Bigelow inquired.

  “I reckon we could,” Lefty said.

  “What about if they didn’t want to get found?” Bigelow asked.

  “The job’d be a little harder, but we could do it. Although it’d take some time,” Kiowa said.

  “What do you want us to do after we find ’em?” Lefty asked.

  “Bring ’em back alive or kill ’em,” Bigelow answered in a calm voice.

  “Sounds like bounty hunting to me,” Kiowa said.

  “That’s kinda dangerous,” Lefty drawled.

  “Some o’ them fellers is a bit on the unpleasant side,” Kiowa said.

  “You two are good at tracking and gunfighting,” Bigelow said. “You’re better’n any two men I know.”

  “We are good,” Lefty allowed.

  “And we’d prob’ly be taking ’em on one or two at a time,” Kiowa said. “Three at the worst.”

  “Sure,” Lefty agreed. “They stay split up between jobs.”

  “That’s why us railroad men ain’t been able to get ’em,” Bigelow said. “We don’t know the country up there, and we could never find more’n one or two of ’em anyway.”

  “We can find ever’ damned one,” Lefty said.

  “Including Milo Paxton?” Bigelow asked.

  Lefty and Kiowa said nothing.

  “Well? Do you think you could bring him in?” Bigelow insisted on knowing.

  Lefty displayed his lopsided grin. “I reckon.”

  “If he didn’t kill us,” Kiowa said.

  “We’ve got to have Milo Paxton,” Bigelow insisted. “Getting his gang is important, but that would only slow him down. We want him and all his boys.”

  “You ain’t said nothing about Bill Hays,” Kiowa said.

  “He’s part of the gang,” Bigelow said. “Getting him goes without saying.”

  “Bill Hays’s as important as Paxton,” Lefty said. “If we bring in ever’body but him—”

  “We ain’t gonna bring nobody in,” Kiowa interrupted. “Those boys ain’t gonna surrender.”

  Lefty sighed. “Then let me put it this way. If we shoot ever’body but him, then the gang is gonna start up again ’cept it’ll be the Hays Gang.”

  “What are you leading up to?” Bigelow said.

  “We want extry money for Paxton and Hays,” Lefty said.

  “Damn right,” Kiowa agreed.

  “You’re kinda pushy, ain’t you?” Bigelow said.

  “We know the job is worth something to you,” Lefty said.

  “Yeah,” Kiowa echoed. “Why else would you go our bail and pay our damages?”

  Bigelow grinned. “You’re a coupla shrewd fellers, ain’t you?”

  Lefty looked at Kiowa and winked. “We look out after ourselves.”

  “Fair enough, boys. The Northwest and Canadian Railroad is gonna pay you twenty-five dollars for ever’ man you get,” Bigelow said. “And we’ll give you fifty dollars each for Hays and Paxton.”

  “Hell, no!” Lefty said angrily. “We ain’t as stupid as you think, Jim Bigelow. We’ll do the job flat rate ’cept for Milo Paxton and Bill Hays. Some o’ them guys might have already got themselves killed in barroom fights by somebody else. We’d just waste time chasing after ’em ’til we found out.”

  “How much money you want for this job?”

  “We want five hunnerd – wait,” Lefty said trying to think fast. “No ... seven hunnerd—”

  “One thousand dollars!” Kiowa said. “You got to pay us one thousand dollars.”

  “With fifty dollars each for Milo Paxton and Bill Hays,” Lefty added.

  “Boy, you two are real slickers,” Bigelow said.

  “Agreed. The Northwest and Canadian Railroad will pay you one thousand dollars for bringing in the Paxton Gang.”

  “But don’t forget Paxton and Hays,” Lefty again reminded him. “That’s an extra – uh—”

  “Hunnerd dollars,” Bigelow said.

  “You bet!” Lefty said.

  “Think on that,” Kiowa said. “We can have an entire thousand dollars in our hands in a matter o’ weeks.”

  “Five hunnerd actually,” Bigelow said. “Six hunnerd if you get the two big shots.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Jim? We ain’t even gone out yet and already you’re cheating us!” Lefty said.

  “But I paid for that livery barn you two almost burned down,” Bigelow said. “That cost five hunnerd so you got five hunnerd left.”

  Kiowa looked at Lefty who had gone to school. “Is that right?”

  “Uh – sure, you bet,” Lefty fumed. “And we want ten dollars a day for our horses being used.”

  “That’s smart, Lefty,” Kiowa said.

  “You got the best o’ me, boys. I’ll agree to that,” Bigelow said. “Five hunnerd dollars and ten dollars a day for your horses.”

  “Don’t forget the extra for Paxton and Hays,” Lefty said.

  “How can I?” Bigelow fumed. “You keep bringing it up ever’ single damn minute!”

  “And a fifty dollar advance,” Lefty quickly said. “We got to have money for grub and stuff.”

  “Yeah,” Bigelow said. “In other words – grub and drinks, right?”

  “A man’s got to keep his whistle wet,” Kiowa said.

  Bigelow, acting like it was all coming out of his pocket, exhibited a painful sigh. “That’s fine then, boys.”

  They all shook hands. Lefty and the Kiowa Kid sat back on the bed with
smug grins on their faces. “Hell’s fire! One thousand and a hunnerd dollars,” Lefty said. “Six hunnerd.” Bigelow reminded him.

  “Damn livery barn!” Kiowa said.

  Three

  A cold rain whipped across the tops of the trees, the water dripping down through the branches and splattering the slicker-clad men who rode up the narrow mountain trail. The track wound among the thicker stands of pines and evergreens that made up the bulk of the high-country forest.

  Milo Paxton, the lead rider, pressed on through the gloomy weather. He was unconcerned about the physical discomfort of his half-dozen companions. Rivulets of the icy cold water worked its way into the necks of the rain apparel and soaked into their clothing. Although several were visibly shivering with cold, none suggested they halt their journey to wait out the storm.

  Two more hours of the chilling weather were endured before the group came to the edge of the tree line. A wide meadow stretched out for hundreds of yards ahead of them. Paxton looked back at the others. He pointed to one. “Ben. Have a look-see.”

  Ben Clackum, gritting his teeth to keep them from shivering, rode forward in silent obedience. He went slowly down the gentle slope of the flatlands toward a spot where a large log cabin, complete with a corral behind it, dominated the clearing. As he drew closer to the structure, he pulled his Winchester from its saddle -boot and slipped the weapon under his slicker.

  When he reached the hitching rail there, he reined up and slipped out of the saddle, striding quickly to one of the windows and peering in. After a few moments, he waved back to Milo Paxton and the others at the edge of the forest.

  Satisfied that all was well, the group moved toward the cabin. The horses sensed the proximity of shelter and physical comfort. They picked up the pace without any urging from their riders. When the men joined Clackum, the door opened and a portly man with unruly whiskers appeared.

  “Howdy, Milo,” he called out. “Craw, Dean, and Tip is inside waiting on you.”

  “Howdy, Delmar,” Paxton said. “Got room in the corral for our horses?”

  “Sure do.”

  “How’s your likker supply?” Paxton inquired.

  “Got enough,” Delmar Dawson said. “You and the rest of the boys come on inside when you get them horses settled in. They’ll appreciate the shed keeping the water off ’em. We already put feed in the troughs.”

  The place the gang had arrived at was called Dawson’s Meadow. Although Delmar Dawson had no legal claim on the land, he’d built the cabin along with its corral and outhouse as a primitive inn to serve travelers going higher up into the rugged Rockies. It was an ideal location for such an enterprise. The nearest town, a small place called El Campo, was two days’ journey away. A man with a shadowy past that he never talked about, Dawson lived with an Indian woman he called Millie. She had a tribal name, of course, but he had never been able to master it. Millie didn’t care much one way or the other. A renegade of sorts, she’d left an Indian husband to live with a white prospector. An argument over a mining claim had taken his life and the woman ended up with Delmar Dawson after living with several other mountain men. Dawson, who treated Millie rather decently, ran his business on the meadow in a quiet, efficient manner. He was equally at ease with a fleeing outlaw as he was a pursuing lawman. But he survived by being particularly solicitous to the former.

  Paxton was the first to cross the threshold a quarter-hour later after their mounts had been unsaddled and settled in. He entered the smoky, dank-smelling interior. He was followed by his chief lieutenant Bill Hays, Hays’s brother, Orly, Ben Clackum, Tom Foyt, Pud Barlow, and Selby Turner.

  The other members of the gang, Dean Orman, Tip Tyler, and Craw Mindon, watched dully as their comrades pulled off their slickers and hung them up on pegs driven into the far wall. Within moments a pool of water had gathered under the rain gear.

  Milo walked over to the table where the three other men had been waiting. He dropped the heavy saddlebags on it. “There she is, boys, the latest donation of the Northwest and Canadian Railroad.”

  “And about time,” Dean Orman said in a grumpy voice.

  Milo turned toward him. “Sounds like you’re a mite on the testy side, Dean.”

  “I don’t like sitting around Dawson’s Meadow,” Orman said. He gestured at Millie who was now bringing out some bottles of whiskey from the back room. She was heavy-set with a dark complexion and moved ungainly across the rough plank floor. “He don’t keep no decent women here.”

  “As far as you’re concerned, he don’t keep no women here,” Paxton said.

  “That’s the problem,” Dean said. “I’d at least like a tolerable female to look at. Or better yet, to grab ahold of.”

  Millie gave no indication of taking offense at the remark. Any observer would think she hadn’t heard it. Delmar Dawson also showed no particular reaction to the insult. He only waited for Millie to set the bottles down next to the saddlebags, then he motioned her to leave.

  He laughed out loud. “How’n the hell am I gonna keep a whore here when nobody comes through but once or twice a month?” He picked up a bottle and pulled out the stopper with his teeth. “The poor gal would starve to death.”

  Paxton picked up another bottle and uncorked it himself. “And you wouldn’t give her nothing to eat if she wasn’t earning her keep, would you, Dawson?” He took a drink from the bottle and passed it over to Bill Hays.

  Orman laughed as he took the bottle that Dawson had opened. “Ol’ Dawson knows how to take care of his money, don’t he?” He put the bottle to his lips and let some of its contents gurgle down his throat. Then he gave it to Tip Tyler. “I bet you got a lot o’ money stashed somewheres nearby, ain’t you, Delmar?”

  Dawson laughed nervously. “Now you fellers know I ain’t got no such thing. I just get by, that’s all.”

  “You sure you ain’t got something buried in a tin can out there in the woods, Delmar?” Selby Turner asked.

  “I don’t make enough for the effort to be worthwhile,” Dawson said.

  “You charge a dollar a bottle for this rotgut,” Bill Hays said. “I’d say you was turning a tidy profit, Delmar.”

  “Shit! I make ends meet, that’s all,” Dawson insisted. “Them damn peddlers come through here charge so much that I don’t make but a coupla cents a bottle.” He wanted to change the subject fast. “Now settle down, boys. You been working hard so now you can relax a little. I got venison out there – a new kill, so there’s some fresh meat for you before I start drying it. Y’all know what a good cook Millie is, don’t you?”

  “I want to sit in a restaurant and eat beef,” Orman said. “And I want to drink good whiskey and dally with a fat woman.” He further qualified his desires with “a fat white woman”. He gave Dawson a meaningful look. “I ain’t no damn squaw man.”

  Paxton took a bottle from one of the other men and drank from it before giving it back. “Well, Dean, you ain’t gonna eat in no restaurants or go upstairs with a fat woman – fat, skinny, white, or Injun. You’re gonna stay up here in the hills for awhile. If you want a damn saloon gal, you can go on up to Luckville or El Campo.”

  Dean Orman spat on the floor. “I said I wanted a fat woman, not some dried-up bony hag. And, by God, I will.”

  “The hell if you will.” Milo Paxton’s voice was calm, but it had a tone of cold finality in it. “You might find a purtier woman down in town somewheres, but there’d be a noose waiting for you, too. You reckon that’d be worth it?”

  Bill Hays backed up the gang leader with his words of wisdom for Orman. “You’ll be a lot happier doing as you’re told.”

  Orman frowned and grabbed one of the unopened bottles. “I’m keeping this ’un for myself.”

  Dawson grinned. “I need five dollars, boys. For the whiskey.”

  Orman, wiping his whiskered chin after a deep drink, leered at the innkeeper. “I still think you got a lot o’ money, Squaw Man.”

  Paxton opened one of the saddlebags and drew ou
t some coins. He carefully counted out the money and held it out for Dawson. “You got a lot o’ money?”

  “You know I ain’t,” Dawson said. He chuckled nervously. “Else I’d have me a grand saloon or hotel down in Helena instead o’ this ol’ cabin.”

  “Maybe you can’t go to Helena,” Paxton said handing over the money. “Maybe the law wants you in Helena. Could be that’s why you stay up here in your meadow.”

  “I need another three dollars,” Dawson said. “Dean and Tip and Craw come here yesterday.”

  Paxton paid the bill. “You want anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Where you gonna put that money, Squaw Man?” Orman said.

  “I reckon I’ll keep it to buy some more whiskey for you boys,” Dawson answered. He stuck the coins in his vest pocket. “You just enjoy yourselves now, hear?” He wisely walked away, leaving the outlaws to themselves.

  “Let’s divvy up the money, then I’ll tell you what we’ll be doing for the next coupla months,” Milo Paxton said. “As usual, boys, it’s even up.”

  The nine men watched carefully, taking slow sips of the whiskey, as Paxton counted out ten even piles of the money. When he finished, he stepped back. “There it is, boys. One at a time now. Take your share.”

  “Wait a minute.” Dean Orman’s voice exploded over the scene and he stood up so quickly that his chair tipped over.

  Paxton’s expression remained calm. “You’re starting to rile me, Dean.”

  Orman pointed to Orly Hays standing off to one side. “How come he’s getting a full share. He was only the lookout.”

  Bill Hays leaned forward. “We all take chances. So does Orly.”

  Orman wasn’t convinced. “Orly is a dumb shit. If something went wrong, he’d just run.” He glared at Paxton. “No lookout gets a full share. You’re giving him money ‘cause he’s Hays’s damn brother.”

  Orly Hays, his dull eyes registering no particular emotion, was uninterested in the discussion as if it didn’t concern him.

  “He gets a full share,” Paxton said.

  “Hell, yes! Then you and Hays take part of his and split it,” Orman growled. “That’s more money for you, ain’t it?” He gestured to the others. “Can you see what’s going on, boys? It ain’t fair.”