by Lou Bradshaw
The other man was dressed like a business man, but his black broadcloth suite didn’t hide the fact that he was a whole bunch of hombre. His face said he was fifty years old give or take a few, but the rest of him said he was thirty and in his prime. Had I not looked hard at that wanted poster, I’d have never known Burley Clayton. The soft face with a full head of dark hair in the picture was a far cry from the rock hard man on the platform. Prison often wrecks a man but, in this case it had created something to be reckoned with.
The dark hair was more gray than dark and thinner on top. The eyes were more confident and harder than the picture, and there wasn’t anything soft in that determined jaw line. It was the same man, and at the same time it was another man completely.
I heard several of the assembled group call him by name and welcome him back. He acknowledged the greetings and shook a few hands. Nobody said anything to the gunfighter or called his name, so I didn’t know who he was. If he was from Texas, I should know him. I don’t claim to know every bad man in Texas, but one who looked that sure of himself was surely someone I should know.
Two men picked up Clayton’s bags and led off toward the hotel. The gunfighter picked up his own bag and walked back to a stock car where they were unloading two horses. I stood there watching him and trying to put a name to him.
“Tom Blaze.” Said Spade Carson from slightly behind me. “Not sure that’s his real name, but that’s the one he likes, so it’s stuck on him.”
“Thanks.” I told him. “Heard of him, but don’t recall ever seein’ any paper on him, but I figure there was some somewhere.”
“He had some flyers a few years back… before your time. His killin’s were mostly face to face. They put him away on an assault charge. The other man was runnin’ away and Blaze shot him in the back. Since the man didn’t die, it wasn’t a hangin’ offense… He got out about six months ago… As far as I know, he’s stayed out of trouble since then.”
We watched them unload the two horses and their rigs. Blaze threw saddles on both horses and hung their bridles across the saddles and led the horses toward the livery stable. I figured he must be pretty tight with Clayton, and was most likely the enforcer, although Clayton looked capable of doing his own enforcing.
Well, we could stop waiting and watching. The dance was about to start. I didn’t know what to expect, since we didn’t have a plan of any kind other than find the gold and take it… That’s what I liked most about Carson; his plans are nice and simple.
When Blaze finally went into the hotel after delivering the horses, I walked back to ask Bob to set us up with a couple of small sacks of grain for traveling. But to my surprise, Clarence was there. He was limping a little, but otherwise he was getting around well enough.
“Lynn around?” I asked.
“No… when I showed up this morning, He just packed up and said so long. I tried to pay him for his help but he wouldn’t have none of it… strange feller, that one… he was here when I needed him, and when I didn’t he moved on…. Uncommon, he is”
“Yep,” I said, “we could use more of his kind.”
I went ahead and asked Clarence to put together some small sacks for the road, and he said he would. A horse can get along well feeding on grass and brush, but to be in top shape, they need that little extra from grain and seeds. Even in the wild, they can get the extra help from grass seed and wild grain. We didn’t know where we were going or what kind of terrain we’d be facing, so we planned to keep our animals fit.
Tracking wasn’t one of my strong suits, even though I’d learned from Ben Blue and old Rubio, who was one of the best… Blue wasn’t too shabby at it though. I still didn’t have the skills needed when someone was intent on hiding his trail. Fortunately, Carson was a fair hand at it, so maybe between the two of us, we could follow Clayton’s bunch.
The pieces were all in place, and the waiting period was over. We expected them to be heading out the next morning or the following morning at the latest. Our supplies were bought, and our horses were in good shape. At least two of them and maybe three were staying in our hotel, which had paper thin walls, so we’d know if they left in the night.
Carson’s idea was to stay about a half a day behind them. That would keep us out of sight and have a warm trail to follow. That made all kind of sense to me. We didn’t want to make our move until they took us to the gold. At that point, we would figure something out. Rangers as a rule were pretty good at figuring things out… some call that, “flying by the seat of our pants”. That would make more sense if we had wings but we didn’t, and there was a big question about us ever getting any.
Since we no longer had to watch the comings and goings of who came and went, we both dropped into the saloon after supper. The usual crowd of penny anti card players was there, so I took my beer and sat in. Carson watched for a few minutes and went back to the bar. I didn’t realize it, but it was the end of the month and a Saturday, which meant payday for the outlying ranches.
The cowhands, started showing up in groups of one to four looking for some way to blow off a little steam… or a lot of steam. I didn’t mind, since there hadn’t been a year passed since I was doing the same thing. Memories of headaches and Sunday morning repentance had been a part of my life I’d just as soon forget, but hoped I never did.
Like most cowboys, these were loud, happy, spirited, and quarrelsome. A few shoving matches broke out, but the combatants were soon arm in arm and buying each other drinks. Most of the boys made it a point to go up the stairs to visit the ladies. Each man or boy came back down with the knowledge that he had left an everlasting impression on his sullied princess. No…. I’ll not likely ever forget.
The game went on with ever changing players. Most of the usual crowd had gone on home or somewhere else. I guess once a month, they could spend an evening with their wives or find something else to keep them entertained. By eight o’clock, the only ones there were ranch hands, a couple of Rangers, and some of Clayton’s men.
Cassidy had been leaning on the bar putting away drink after drink. He didn’t talk to anyone and nobody talked to him. Carson was at the far end of the bar jib-jabbing with a pair of rope slingers of a more mature nature. I suspected Carson was at his charming and humorous best because a lot of laughter came from that end of the bar.
By eight thirty, I was ready to cash in and take a place at the bar for a while, when Cole Cassidy left the bar and walked toward our table. I changed my mind and accepted the deck for my turn to deal. He stood watching with a drink in his hand for a few minutes. The player directly in front of him became visibly uncomfortable and muttered something about trying his luck upstairs…. I thought that was a wise choice.
When the puncher got up, Cassidy took his chair and sat down. “What’s the anti?” he asked. Someone said it was two bits, and he anteed up.
“Five card draw,” I said, “one eyed Jacks are wild.” And the game was on.
The deal went around the table and no one was clearly ahead, but on the second time around, Cassidy and I had a game within the game of our own. His raises became higher and higher until three players folded and it was just him and me. I eventually took the pot with three tens. I figured he had been running a bluff, and I was right. He was not in the least bit a sport about it; draining his drink he slammed down the glass and yelled for another.
When it came his turn to deal again, he took a long time shuffling and dealing. I figured he was planning his revenge for losing a ten dollar pot. The game was again five card draw, but he said a pair or better to open with deuces wild. That was alright with me, since I’d at least know who was holding a pair.
I saw the move as he dealt his second card. It came from the bottom and not off the top like it was supposed to. I didn’t have anything and figured to fold after the draw. Taking three cards I was lucky enough to get a cheap little seven high straight, so I played a little longer.
As Cassidy was dealing himself his last card, the young punche
r to my right said, “Hey, Mister… that one came from the bottom!”
Cassidy shot straight up and out of his chair yelling and the young fella, “Are you callin’ me a cheat?!”
Chairs scraped the floor and men moved out of the line of fire. The young puncher had lost all his color, and his eyes were wide. He didn’t know what to say or do. He’d opened his mouth without thinking of the consequences… He sat frozen while Cole Cassidy’s hand hovered over his gun butt.
I gently pushed back and slowly raised myself to a standing position and said, “The lad doesn’t know what he saw, so just forget he even said anything… But I know what I saw… and I saw two cards come from the bottom of the deck.”
His attention had swung itself to me. He looked me over and said, “Do you know who I am, Cowboy?” His face was a dark red and his eyes were burning holes in me.
“Yeah… I know who you are… Cole Cassidy, a two bit gunslinger and a damned poor excuse for a card cheat.” I heard the boy next to me suck in a quick breath.
Cassidy swept his six-gun from its holster and his first shot shattered a leg from the chair I had just abandoned… low and to the right. His second shot never happened. My .45 slug ripped through his left eye socket and out the back of his skull.
The place was dead quiet for a few seconds, until one of the more well liquored up cowboys staggered over from another table. He looked down on the fallen card cheat and said, “One eyed Jacks are dead.”
Chapter 7
Reaching over the table, I flipped Cassidy’s cards over, and to no surprise, there was an ace of hearts, ace of spades, and two deuces. Two pair at any other time, but with the deuces being wild, that made a nice little four aces. There weren’t many hands able to top that. I’d seen two bottom deals, the boy next to me, who had just wet himself, had seen one. That made at least one other which I’d missed… I needed to pay more attention.
Across the room, I could see activity. Spade had moved away from the bunch he’d been having such a good time with. His hand was on his gunbelt, and his eyes were taking in the room. He was trying to see where trouble might come from. At the other end of the bar, I saw one of the two hardcases who had been passed up the hotel for a campsite, slip through the door.
The bartender and another man started dragging the gambler whose luck had run out, toward the back door. When the hardcase came back in, he was followed by none other than Burley Clayton and Tom Blaze… Imagine that.
“Hold on a second, will ya, Pete?” Clayton asked.
“Sure, Burley.” The bartender replied and dropped the foot he was pulling.
Clayton and Blaze both walked over and took a look at the body. Clayton had a look of pure disgust as he gave the dead man the toe of his boot in the ribs. “Dumb bastard.” was all he said. Then he asked Pete something I couldn’t hear, and the bartender pointed his thumb in my direction. I was busy trying to find a chair to replace the one Cassidy had crippled.
I looked up and saw them coming my way, and I could see Carson coming from the other direction. By the time they were nearing the table; I had seated myself in a more stable chair and was ready to play again.
Burley Clayton stopped a few feet from the table, looked at me and asked, “You the one that killed Cole Cassidy?”
“Was that his name…I didn’t know who he was, but yes, I shot him for bottom dealin’… and he wasn’t any good at that either.”
“No matter. But you’ve left me a man short. Why don’t I buy you a drink and talk a little business, Mister….?”
“Tate…Truman Tate… When I talk business, I always include my saddle pardner.” I motioned toward Carson standing a few yards away.
“Bring him… I might be able to use both of you.”
We found an empty table and settled in to introductions. Carson took on the name Dave. No one in town had made us for lawmen so we just kinda kept that fact to ourselves. The drinks came and we got down to business.
“Tate, I had a short crew, and you just shortened it by twenty percent. Now I don’t hold that against you because I knew that sooner or later Cassidy would press the wrong man the wrong way… Now I’m offerin’ you the job that you just opened up. If you can take Cole, you’ll do. And I suppose if Dave here runs with you, he must be able to keep up, so I can cut him in too.”
“Well we do seem to be between jobs right now, but we don’t hanker for none of those thirty a month jobs.”
Clayton laughed and said, “I need tough men with nerve, and I pay well for both. If you come out of this walkin’ you’ll both be a couple of thousand dollars better off.”
Carson looked at me and I looked back at him. Neither of us had to say anything or give any secret signal; we both knew the answer. Turning our attention back to Burley Clayton, we said in unison, “Who do we have to kill?”
Clayton leaned back and had a good laugh. When he had finished laughing he leaned forward and said, “The only ones who need to worry are them that try to rob me. I’ll be picking up some merchandise south of here and taking it to a buyer near El Paso.”
“Now, I’m not goin’ to sugar coat anything for you boys. It’s a valuable shipment, and there’s likely to be some who would risk gettin’ shot to get their hands on it. There shouldn’t be any trouble till we get the shipment, but I want you to run off anyone on our back trail… If they don’t run… shoot ‘em.”
Carson asked, “Do we need to worry about the law… not that we’ve worried much about it before… just curious?”
“Good question. The shipment belongs to me and nobody else. There’s not a man alive that can lay claim to any of it…. What do ya say, boys?”
What could we say, but yes. This was something akin to putting the foxes in the hen house. Life was pretty easy when all you had to do was call a man a cheat, and then shoot him before he could quit shooting up the furniture and find your range. This Rangering business was getting so easy; I might not even collect the back pay that’s owed me. But I don’t want to mess up the bookkeeping, so maybe I’d take it after all.
This would make things a lot simpler, considering we wouldn’t have to be following a half day old trail through who knew what kind of terrain.
“When do we leave?” Carson asked.
“The day after tomorrow… there’s one more person coming in on tomorrow’s train, and I won’t go anywhere until then.” Clayton stated.
Uh oh… that sounded like a spanner wrench being thrown into the works. If this person was so important to delay getting a pile of gold, they must be pretty big stuff. I just hoped it wasn’t someone who knew either Spade or me. If that be the case, we may have to fight our way out of here tomorrow. The whole shebang would go up in smoke… the Colonel would not be too happy about that.
“Tate, I want you with me tomorrow, when the train comes in… You and Blaze. Anyone gets close, you back ‘em off… any way you have to… Carson, you stay handy…. We’ll all meet at the livery barn tomorrow at noon… Till tomorrow at train time then.”
With that, he and Blaze got up and walked to the bar, where he looked as if he was giving instructions to the two hardcases who made up the labor crew. After a short meeting, Clayton and Blaze walked out together leaving the others there. Carson tilted his head to the bar, telling me that we needed to see what information those boys had.
So we walked on across the room and sat our glasses on the bar with that Carson on one side and me on the other. I ordered a round for the four of us, and Carson introduced us.
“I guess we’ll be working together for a while, boys, so we might as well start off friendly like.” He said. They both agreed and accepted the drinks.
Morgan and Bridger, as they called themselves were both big men though a little past their prime, and they looked like they could take care of whatever came down the trail at ‘em. Neither man showed a powerful lot of intelligence, which was the opinion I took when they first showed up in town…. After a few minutes with them, my opinion hadn’t chang
ed.
We didn’t learn much, but we did learn that we weren’t taking a wagon but pack mules instead… eight of them to be exact. That made sense because mules could go where wagons couldn’t. The mule handlers didn’t know where we were headed or what they would be hauling. All they knew was they would each get two hundred dollars to do it, and which was all they needed or wanted to know.
Morgan, the smarter of the two had met Clayton in prison and although they weren’t pals, they formed a bond as the brains and the brawn. Morgan used Clayton’s cleverness as a facilitator, and Clayton made Morgan his enforcer. Clayton was more than capable of handling all but the biggest and toughest inmates. But the threat of Morgan and Clayton together kept even the tough one at bay.
“Those was glory days,” Morgan said, “and when Blaze landed in our cell block, we had us a stone cold killer that could leave bodies all over the place…. and they all knowed it….He could do a man in seven different ways that didn’t need a bullet.”
So Clayton had made smart use of his prison connections. We were the outsiders, but he needed a couple of tough gunmen, who were willing to do what he wanted for a price. We weren’t fool enough to think Burley Clayton had any intention of paying us off when he collected. For that matter we had no intention of letting him sell his gold.
We were handed a bit of luck when Clayton hadn’t ask us about out past. He just accepted that we were a couple of drifters packing guns and not afraid to use them and used them well. As soon as we were alone, we gave ourselves histories. I had been on the dodge out of New Mexico, and Carson had been in Kansas until things got too hot for him. We both knew enough about Kansas and New Mexico to make it stick.
