Right now, she was piling her arms with billets of wood for the kitchen stove in back of the old agency building and she hummed a plaintive Irish melody softly to herself. Inside, she could hear the four men who had been staying at the agency this past week arguing again, and she stopped humming, chewing her bottom lip, hoping it wouldn’t come to gunplay. She had plenty of confidence in her husband, but she wasn’t so sure that he could handle this quartet: they were some of the meanest hombres she had ever seen pass through here and the quicker they moved on the better, she reckoned.
Inside, in the big, beamed, high-ceilinged room of the agency that served as store, bar and eating place, the Slades, Jiminez and Mundy were gathered around the plank food table, glasses of warm beer at their elbows. But the drinks were ignored as they spoke animatedly, under the watchful eyes of Cougar Jack as he swamped out the room, the one-eyed cat perched precariously on his shoulder.
“There was never any deal that we had to stick together, Reno,” Chet Mundy growled across the table. “Fact, I told you I didn’t fancy stayin’ around the Nations for long, and you can’t say I didn’t. You’ll back me on that, won’t you, Jimi?”
The Mexican shrugged. “I remember somethin’ like that,” he said quietly.
“Okay, okay,” Lem Slade said, trying to keep the peace. “No need for anyone to get hot under the collar.”
“No one is,” Reno said, his eyes hard on Mundy. “We ain’t arguin’ about you and Jimi leavin’ us if you want to, Chet. You go any time you feel like it.”
Mundy studied Reno’s carefully blank face for a spell before answering, “Then that’s that. Give me and Jimi our shares and we’ll mosey right along.” He grinned suddenly, winking. “Got me some kinfolk over to Missouri and a gal who said she’d wait for me. Be right nice to go back to her with five thousand bucks in my poke.”
Reno and Lem exchanged swift glances and frowned towards Cougar Jack with a jerk of their heads at Mundy. He shrugged apologetically.
“Be best if we stuck together a while longer, I reckon, Chet,” Lem said. “Better able to handle any trouble that might come up if there’s four of us.”
“Hell, what trouble’s gonna come up now?” Mundy demanded. “We’re deep into the Nations: we’ve whooped it up a mite along the way, now it’s time to cut out and make our own trails. You agree, Jimi?”
The Mexican shrugged. “I have never been to Missouri.” And that was answer enough for Mundy.
“Sure. Well, you come along with me and I’ll show you a good time, Jimi.” He looked across the planks at the Slades. “So, if you fellers will cough up our shares … ?”
Reno shrugged as his brother looked at him quizzically. “Guess that’s it then, Lem.”
Lem nodded. “We been a good team. Should stick together, I reckon.”
“Well, come on across to Missouri,” invited Mundy, grinning. “We can all have us a good time then.”
Lem shook his head. “Nope. I reckon you’re cuttin’ out of the Territory just a mite too soon, Chet. Law can’t touch us here ... Give ’em time to cool off. Plenty to do here for a few months yet. Come and join up with Hondo Sackett and his bunch, with Reno and me. We could make another twenty thousand before we finally move on. Then we could all go down river to New Orleans.”
Mundy shook his head. “No, Lem ... I got a hankerin’ to see my gal again.”
Lem sighed. “Okay. I’ll get your share and Jimi’s ... Reno, set up some whisky and we’ll have a last round together before Chet and Jimi hit the trail.”
He moved towards the room he had been using and Cougar Jack nodded silently in acknowledgment as Reno yelled. for a bottle of whisky.
“And none of that goddamn snake juice of yours,” he added. “Give us stuff out of a labeled bottle or I’ll shoot out one of your eyes to match that blamed cat’s.”
Cougar Jack scowled and stroked the cat as he bent down to reach beneath the bar for the bottled spirits. He glared his hatred at Reno: the man had already complained about the cat smell in his room and Cougar Jack didn’t take kindly to anyone who didn’t like cats. He would remember this tough ranny, Reno Slade, and his pards. He’d remember them ...
Cougar Jack remembered the whole conversation that had taken place in the big room between the Slades, Mundy and Jiminez, four days later when Yancey arrived with Cato and Anya.
They made sure Cougar Jack knew them by their aliases: Yancey Banner and his lad brother, Andy, and his sidekick, Johnny Colt.
Cougar Jack squinted at them as he set out their meal at the big table and, as he leaned down, Anya stroked the one-eyed cat on his shoulder. The animal rubbed its head against her and purred. Cougar Jack looked pleased and grinned at the girl.
“Well, now, sonny, that sure is somethin’ to see. Usually, he’ll rip open the hand of anyone loco enough to try and scratch his ear, ’less it’s me or the wife. You must have a way with cats, huh?”
Anya smiled, started to reply, but decided against it: in her opinion, she couldn’t really make her voice deep enough to pass for a youth.
Cougar Jack looked at Yancey and Cato. “Heard tell of you fellers a while back. From Texas, ain’t you? And you passed through Mesquite Wells not long ago and left your mark.”
“You talk too much,” Cato growled.
“Only when I want to,” Cougar Jack said, challengingly. “If I don’t want to talk, nothin’ can make me. You ask some of the undercover lawmen who’ve been loco enough to come in here … ”
“Good way to be,” Yancey allowed. “But if you know about our visit to Mesquite Wells, you likely know we’re lookin’ for the four men forking Viking-branded mounts.”
Cougar Jack’s face straightened. “I dunno nothin’ about that. But why would you be lookin’ for them hombres? I won’t ask if you’re lawmen ’cause you’d be loco to say yes, even if it was true. But if you fellers have had a run-in with the army, I don’t see why you’d want to find these other hombres.”
He reared back, startled, as he looked down the twin barrels of Cato’s Manstopper as it suddenly appeared over the table.
“We got our reasons. You don’t need to know ’em. Savvy?”
Cougar Jack nodded, plainly puzzled at the appearance of Cato’s unusual gun. “That must be the gun I heard about from Mesquite Wells.”
No one said anything and Yancey started eating. Anya, tensed, but trying to look calm, stroked the cat again and Cato slowly laid his gun down on the table beside his plate and commenced to eat.
Cougar Jack grinned abruptly. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t worry none, whatever the reason you want to find these other hombres. They don’t like my cat, so I didn’t take to ’em. They was here up till four days ago.”
The trio looked at each other: they were closer than they had figured and their hard ride across from Mesquite Wells to the old agency had not been in vain. Yancey had figured the Slades and their pards would stop off here as places like this became few and far between to the north-east towards the Cimarron Forks. Men with as much stolen money in their saddlebags as the Slades, couldn’t pass up the chance to have one last fling before heading into Hondo Sackett’s domain. Yancey knew that Cougar Jack had a few Indian and half-breed squaws he could call upon if his ‘guests’ required such company. At mention of the women, Cato had spurred ahead briefly, showing a new eagerness to reach the old agency.
“Know where they were headed?” Yancey now asked Cougar Jack.
“Split up ... The Mex and the one they call Chet were makin’ for Missouri. The Slade brothers had it in mind to join up with Hondo Sackett.”
“Hell, we knew that much,” Cato growled. “Not the splittin’-up, but the other.”
Cougar Jack smiled crookedly. “Know where Hondo hangs out?”
“Cimarron Forks, they told us in Mesquite Wells,” Yancey said.
Cougar Jack nodded. “Sure. But it’s one hell of a big area ... If you dunno where to look.”
“And you do?” Cato asked.
Yancey and Cato exchanged glances and Anya tensed a little.
“How much?” Yancey asked.
The agency man shrugged. “Never did hear just how much that army payroll was carryin’, but guess it couldn’t’ve been less than ten thousand bucks ... Say, a—a couple of thousand for me?”
Cato picked up his Manstopper casually and Cougar Jack stiffened. The small man pointed the gun at the cat on the man’s shoulder and thumbed back the hammer.
“How well do you like that cat, mister?” Cato asked.
“Now, wait a minute! I didn’t mean … ”
“I could blow him clear off your shoulder with one shot. ’Course if I was to switch to my shot-shell barrel, I might take half your face with him.”
Cougar Jack glared at Cato. “All right ... I’ll remember you, same as I remember Reno Slade and the way he treated old Deadlight here!”
Cato kept the gun pointed at the cat, eyes hard. Anya, face taut and pale, glanced at Yancey but the big man was draining his coffee cup. He set it down and looked at Cougar Jack.
“We don’t want to hurt your cat, Jack ... or you.”
The big man nodded curtly, mouth tight. “I’ll remember all three of you ... Hondo Sackett’s got a stronghold on a mesa just this side of the north fork of the Cimarron. Anvil Mountain they call it. It’s guarded like the mint. Only reason I’m tellin’ you is because I figure you got a score to settle with the Slades and that suits me fine.”
“Us, too,” Yancey said, standing and flinging five golden double eagles onto the plank table. “That’s for the meal ... We’ll need some stores before pushin’ on.”
Jack snatched up the money and, as he pocketed it, Yancey reached out and scratched the one-eyed cat behind the ear. The animal purred and Cougar Jack blinked. Yancey winked and grinned.
“See? We’re all cat-lovers. C’mon, Andy, let’s get them stores loaded.”
Cato holstered his big gun and gave the cat a brief pat as he passed but the cat spat and struck at him with its claws. Cato snatched back his hand, sucking at the twin gashes in the flesh.
Cougar Jack chuckled and walked behind the counter.
“Now I feel a heap better! Me and Deadlight both!”
~*~
“We’ll have to split up, it seems,” Yancey said as they paused on a knoll a mile or so past the old agency buildings.
Cato nodded but the girl looked surprised. “Why?” she asked.
“Can’t chase the Slades and the others both, not when they’ve gone in different directions,” Yancey explained.
“But can’t we go after two first and then the others?”
Cato shook his head. “Be long gone. And if Jiminez and Mundy get into Missouri, we could be in real trouble goin’ after them there. It’s a proper State, with its own government, not a Territory like the Nations. Could make all kinds of trouble for Governor Dukes and Texas.” He looked at Yancey. “Who goes where?”
“Well, she’s supposed to be my kid brother and we’ve spread the word to that effect, so she’d better stick with me.”
Cato agreed. “You want I should tackle the Slades, then? Be kind of dangerous takin’ her into Hondo Sackett’s hangout.” Yancey let his worry about this very thing show momentarily before saying, “Well, it’s a tough one, Johnny. You could overtake the other two before they get to the Missouri State line faster than we could, but, like you say, Hondo’s camp is no place for Anya.”
The girl was tense but her face softened slightly as he used her first name: she had been getting angry at being referred to as ‘she’ or ‘her’ and spoken about as if she wasn’t present.
“The Slade brothers are the leaders of those killers,” she said. “They no doubt did the killing. I want to have a hand in killing them.”
Yancey looked surprised. “You want to kill someone? Personally?”
She tossed her head in the way she had. “Only the men who killed my parents ... That’s why I’ve been learning to shoot and to throw a knife.”
Cato looked towards Yancey and scrubbed a hand around his jaw. “Well, ma’am ... Anya ... the governor’s instructions to us were to get the Slade bunch out of the Territory and back into Texas where the law could get to ’em. If we have to, we’ll kill ’em and tote ’em back dead. But only if we have to. We ain’t ridin’ on any vengeance trail. I reckon you’d better savvy that right away.”
Anya looked at him levelly, her jaw firm with determination. “I told you once, I believe in the Old Testament’s ‘eye for an eye’ ... My father did, too.”
“We’ve been teachin’ you to shoot for your own protection! Didn’t figure you had killin’ in mind ... Thought you only wanted to see it done by us!”
Cato shrugged in Yancey’s direction. “Your problem, I reckon, big man.”
“Gracias!” Yancey said with a touch of bitterness. “All right, Anya. You and me’ll go into Hondo’s camp after the Slades ... On one condition! That you do exactly as I tell you, make no fool moves. You wait along with me for the best time to get the drop on ’em. You try to kill ’em, and you’ll get us both shot full of holes.”
Anya stared at him defiantly and for a moment her eyes flashed and he thought she was going to tell him to go to hell. But she nodded slowly, tension pulling at her mouth. “I agree.”
“Guess I’d better start headin’ for Missouri, then,” Cato said.
“How can you know where to go?” the girl asked. “I mean, there must be many trails to the State line from here, and the country is so big. You could easily miss them.”
Cato smiled. “Well, they don’t call this the Indian Nations for nothin’ ... You might not have seen any Injuns apart from Half-Ear but they’ve been all around us every step of the way. Some will be watchin’ us right now ... There are trails that white men follow across the Territory and they hardly get bothered by the Injuns. But, if they try to make new trails, detour far from the usual ones, they lose their scalps. The Injuns’ll give us a little freedom, but they got their own rules about it.”
“You’re telling me that there is really only one way the Mexican and this Mundy could have gone?”
“That’s it.” He nodded to Yancey. “See you back at the old agency, huh?”
“Sure ... two. weeks. That ought to be enough. If neither of us is back by then, I guess we won’t be coming back.” He thrust out his right hand and gripped firmly with Cato. “’Luck, Johnny.”
“You’re the one gonna need the luck,” Cato said, flicking his eyes briefly towards the girl. He touched a hand to his hat brim in her direction. “Adios, ma’am.”
Impulsively, she put her mount in close against Cato’s and offered her hand. He took it briefly. “I wish you good luck, too, Johnny ... And you have my gratitude for—for what you have done and what you are doing on my behalf.”
Cato looked uncomfortable, nodded shortly and reined his mount around. He waved briefly and rode away, Yancey and the girl watching until he dropped from sight below a rise. Yancey turned to tell her they had better be moving, too, and was startled to see how drawn and pale her face was. Her hands were clenched tightly on the saddle horn and she was shaking a little. He frowned, then reached out and covered her hands with his own. She jumped and looked at him, wide-eyed.
“Damn me if you’re not scared to death,” Yancey said quietly.
She pulled her hands away from under his and made that toss with her head but somehow it was awkward this time and didn’t quite come off. She lifted the reins. “Which way do we go, please?”
Yancey held her gaze until she looked away and then turned his mount and cut away down the knoll towards the north. The girl put her work pony after him and they rode on into the Indian Nations.
Yancey didn’t say any more, but he sure admired that girl’s spirit. She was near terrified at the thought of going into a camp of outlaws and killers; in fact he’d swear she was close to throwing-up
, but it made no difference. She had set herself this chore and was going through with it, no matter what. It explained a lot of things to Yancey. Her harsh, bitter attitudes, her seeming ‘bossiness.’ He saw now that it was all a defense, a cover for her real fear.
Well, the really brave people were the ones who went ahead and did what they feared, do—or die.
Chapter Six – Anvil Mountain
Yancey Bannerman spun out of his bedroll, Colt in hand, hammer snapping back to full cock, as the sound of gunfire awakened him. He rolled behind a rock, heart hammering as two more gunshots echoed across the flats where he and Anya had camped last night. He glanced towards her bedroll and started when he saw that it was empty.
Then it began to seep through his sleep-sluggish consciousness that those gunshots were like firecrackers, the ‘snapping’ sound made by the Smith and Wesson .32. Swearing, he got to his feet, lowering the hammer on his Colt and deciding that the sound of gunfire came from the small draw they had seen before making camp the night before. He holstered the Colt and walked across and sure enough, there was Anya, standing like a contestant in a target-shooting match, legs spread wide and feet planted firmly, left hand on hip for balance, and right arm raised straight as she sighted along the short barrel of the Smith and Wesson. The little gun cracked as he watched, jumping in recoil with such a short barrel. One of her target stones jumped off the boulder where she had set it up.
Yancey walked down into the draw and she spun at the sound of his boots, bringing the gun around to cover him. He stopped dead, hands a little way out from his sides.
“Easy!”
She lowered the gun, relaxing and breaking open the gun, turning her head a little as the empty shells ejected past her face. That was one fault with the break-action revolver: it ejected every shell in the cylinder when it was opened, regardless of whether they had been fired or not. That made it a little hard when a man only wanted to replace, say, two fired cartridges: he would have to stoop and pick up the four live ones that would be ejected as soon as the action was broken down. So the claims that this type of loading and ejection were faster and more efficient than the old single-loading Colts and Remingtons, were often in dispute among, the gun experts of the frontier.
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