After standing in the doorway for a moment, surveying the customers, the tall man noticed Smoke and began to walk toward him, his friends fanning out behind him.
He stopped at Smoke’s table. “Howdy, mister. Would you be Johnny West?”
Smoke slowly looked up. He took a deep drag of his cigarette and let smoke trail from his nostrils as he replied. “Maybe. Who wants to know?”
“I’m Big Jim Slaughter.”
“So?”
The young kid’s hand moved next to the butt of his pistol and his face clouded with anger. “So, watch your mouth, cowboy!” he snarled.
Smoke let his unconcerned gaze drift over to the young man. “I ain’t no cowboy, sonny boy an’ if your hand twitches again, I’ll kill you where you stand,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.
Slaughter put his hand on the Durango Kid’s arm. “Hold on, Mr. West, there isn’t any need for hostilities. May we join you?”
Smoke shrugged. “It’s a free country.”
After getting extra chairs from a nearby table, the four men sat down across from Smoke.
Slaughter got right to the point. “I heard you were asking around about me last week,” he said, staring at Smoke to see his reaction.
“That’s right. I was asking about a lot of people, trying to see if anyone was hiring guns.”
“And were they?”
“Nope. For a supposedly wide-open town, it’s been quiet as a church around here.”
Slaughter leaned back in his chair. “I thought maybe someone had hired you to do a little job out at the hole-in-the-wall the other night.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. My men and I were attacked out there night before last.”
Smoke let his lips curl in a nasty smile. “Well, then, it couldn’t have been me done the job.”
“Why not?” the albino interjected.
“’Cause if I’d hired out to attack you, Slaughter, you’d all be dead now, not sittin’ here askin’ me fool questions.”
The Durango Kid’s face flushed with anger and he dropped his hand to his side, saying, “Why, you . . .”
In the wink of an eye, Smoke’s pistol was in his hand and he slapped the barrel backhanded across the kid’s face, knocking him backward out of his chair. He landed spread-eagled on his back with his nose bent to the side and a deep gash running across his cheek, leaking blood.
“Goddamn!” Swede said. “I never even saw him draw!”
As the kid shook his head and started to get up, Smoke eared back the hammer and pointed the barrel at the kid’s face. “You sure you want some more of this, sonny boy?” he growled.
The kid’s eyes widened and his face paled, fear-sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Uh . . . no . . .”
Before he could answer, Aunt Bea appeared at the table, a long-barreled shotgun cradled in her arms. “We aren’t gonna have any trouble in here, are we, boys?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” Slaughter replied, though his eyes remained fixed on Smoke. “Kid, get up and wait for us over at the Cattleman’s,” he said.
“But . . . but Mr. Slaughter,” the kid whined.
Slaughter turned to stare at him, his face showing he would brook no argument. “I said go!”
“Yes, sir,” the kid replied, his face flaming as blood spilled down onto his fancy black vest and shirt.
He got to his feet and walked rapidly out of the room without looking back.
Aunt Bea grunted. “If you men are going to stay here, you’re gonna eat, not fight.”
Slaughter smiled up at her. “Would you bring us three of the house specials, please, and some coffee?”
After she left, Slaughter addressed Smoke. “I thought the Durango Kid was supposed to be fast.”
Smoke smiled. “Evidently not fast enough. The Kid ought’a change professions, ’fore he gets killed tryin’ to be something he’s not.”
“You interest me, Mr. West. I might have a place for you in my organization.”
“I don’t come cheap,” Smoke replied, as if he might be interested.
“I’ll bet you don’t,” Slaughter said. “Would you be willing to travel?”
“Depends,” Smoke said. “How far, an’ what’s the pay?”
“Me and my men are going to take a little trip over to Colorado in a few days. The pay’s a hundred a month against a cut of what we make when we get there.”
Smoke grinned. “A hundred a month, huh? That what you’re paying these men?”
Slaughter nodded. “Yeah.”
“Then I’m gonna cost you a hundred and a half,” Smoke said.
“What?” Slaughter asked.
“And you’re lucky I don’t ask for two hundred, since I’m at least twice as good as what you got working for you now.”
Slaughter laughed, while Swede and Whitey scowled. “All right, Mr. West. If we decide to use you, you’ll get a hundred and fifty a month.”
Smoke nodded. “Sounds fair.”
“Good. I’ll let you know in a day or so.”
Smoke dropped his cigarette butt in his coffee and stood up. “You know where to find me.”
Slaughter nodded. “That I do, Mr. West, that I do.”
16
After Smoke left the room, Whitey glanced at the door to make sure he was gone, then turned back to Slaughter. “What’a you think, Boss?”
Slaughter rubbed the beard stubble on his face, his eyes contemplative. “I don’t know yet. Mr. West could’a been one. He’s certainly good enough with a six-shooter.”
“Why didn’t you let the Kid take him on, Jim?” Swede asked.
“We lost over half our men the other night, Swede, an’ another third’re so scared they ain’t gonna be worth spit. West would’ve killed the Kid as easily as swattin’ a fly.”
“You think he’s that good?”
Slaughter looked at him. “Did you see him draw? He has the fastest hands I’ve ever seen. He could snatch a double eagle off a snake’s head and give him change ’fore he could strike.”
“He don’t look all that bad to me,” Whitey said, his lips curled in a sneer.
Slaughter laughed. “Then you weren’t lookin’ at the same man I was.”
As they ate, the three men looked around at the other customers in the dining room.
“See any other likely suspects?” Swede asked.
Slaughter nodded. “Those two over there in the corner impress me as being right sure of themselves.”
Swede glanced over his shoulder at the table containing Cal and Pearlie. “You mean those two boys?”
“They’re not exactly boys, Swede,” Slaughter said. “Oh, I’ll grant you they’re young, but look at their eyes. They’ve seen plenty of action, an’ the way they wear their guns shows they ain’t no pilgrims.”
“You want I should go brace ’em?” Whitey asked.
Slaughter thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Let’s finish our food, then we’ll see what happens.”
* * *
Cal could see Slaughter and his men watching them out of the corner of his eyes.
“Pearlie,” he said, “I think they’re talkin’ ’bout us.”
Pearlie paused a moment from shoveling pancakes into his mouth to glance up at Cal. “I don’t doubt it, Cal. I figger they gonna be lookin’ at most ever’body in town for the next day or so, just like Smoke said. They got to know the men who blasted ’em came from here, so it’s only natural to try an’ figger out who it was.”
“What’re we gonna do if’n they come over here askin’ a lot of questions?”
Pearlie gave a small shrug. “Just act like Smoke tole us. We’re miners, pure an’ simple. Don’t wanna have no truck with gunfighters an’ such.”
Sure enough, when Slaughter and his men finished their breakfast, they got up from their table and ambled over to stand in front of Cal and Pearlie.
Slaughter stood there, looking down until the two men glanced up at him.
“Howdy, b
oys,” he said.
Pearlie nodded, his mouth bulging with eggs and pancakes.
Cal just looked and didn’t answer.
“I was wondering if you men were interested in hiring on with me and my men,” Slaughter said.
“Doin’ what?” Pearlie asked after he washed his food down with a slug of coffee.
Slaughter pointed to the pistol on Pearlie’s hip. “Usin’ those six-killers on your hip.”
Pearlie looked at Cal and grinned. “See, Cal? The man thinks we’re gun hawks.”
He glanced back up at Slaughter and the two hard-looking men standing with him. “Thanks for the offer, mister, but my brother an’ me is miners. We don’t hire our guns out.”
“Miners, huh?” Slaughter asked. “Doin’ any good?”
Pearlie let his face get a suspicious look on it. “Some days’re better’n others. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. Just wonderin’.”
“Well, we’re makin’ enough to keep us in beans an’ bacon, an’ that’s all anybody needs to know.”
“You two must be the pair that bought some dynamite from Schultz’s store the other day.”
Pearlie leaned back and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You been askin’ round ’bout us?”
“Well, let’s just say we’re interested in anybody who bought dynamite.”
“Yeah, we bought some. You ever tried to dig through twenty feet of granite, mister?”
“Schultz said these two men also bought a lot of cartridges at the same time.”
Pearlie nodded. “Lot of men try to take other people’s gold, ’stead of diggin’ it out themselves. You got any more fool questions?”
Whitey stepped forward, his hand near his pistol. “I’d watch your mouth, miner man, ’fore somebody shuts it for you.”
Pearlie scooted his chair back and let his hand rest on his thigh next to his holster. “You’re welcome to try, mister, any time you think you’re ready.”
Slaughter raised his eyebrows. Not many men stood up to someone as mean-looking as Whitey.
“You’re pretty tough for a miner,” Slaughter said.
“I’ve mined in Tombstone, Deadwood, an’ lots of other places filled with men who thought they were fast with a gun,” Pearlie answered. “I ain’t particularly fast, but I generally hit what I aim at an’ I’m still alive, so call your dog off, mister, or somebody’s gonna get a gut full of lead.”
Slaughter grinned, shaking his head at Whitey. “You sure you don’t want a job? I could use some men who ain’t afraid to use their guns.”
Pearlie shook his head. “No, I told you, we’re minin’ right now.” He hesitated a moment. “But you might ask again after the snow fills the passes. If we don’t dig out enough to get us through the winter, we might just take you up on your offer.”
Slaughter smiled. “I’m afraid that’ll be too late.” He tipped his hat. “Good luck to you in your hunt for gold,” he said, and turned to walk out the door.
“Jimminy,” Cal said after they’d left. “I thought for a minute there that albino was gonna draw on you, Pearlie.”
Pearlie nodded. “So did I. He’s lucky he didn’t, or he’d be headed for boot hill by now.”
Pearlie rotated his head to loosen neck muscles made tight by the confrontation. Then he looked around the room. “Now where is Aunt Bea? I’m ready for some more pancakes an’ coffee.”
* * *
Louis, who’d been watching the scene with Slaughter and Pearlie, relaxed as the men left. He reached down and eased the hammer-thong back on his Colt, grinning when he saw Pearlie order more food. Unbelievable how much chow that cowboy can consume, he thought. I do believe someday when the Grim Reaper comes for Pearlie, he’s going to ask the man with the sickle what kind of food they serve up in heaven, and if he doesn’t like the answer, he’ll probably ask to be taken to the other place.
17
After Smoke left Aunt Bea’s dining room, he ambled over to the Cattleman’s Saloon. He figured Slaughter and his men would show up there sooner or later, and he wanted to know what they had planned. He knew Slaughter was short of men and the Cattleman’s was the logical place for him to go and try to hire new men for his mission of revenge.
When he entered the batwings, he stood for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. He let his gaze roam the room, and it didn’t take him long to see the Durango Kid sitting at a table with some other men, probably also on the payroll of Big Jim Slaughter. The Kid’d evidently stopped off at the doc’s office, since he had a piece of white plaster stuck to his cheek where Smoke’d slashed it with his pistol. Most of the blood had been cleaned off his vest and shirt, too.
When Smoke walked to the bar, the Kid stopped whatever he was saying and stared at Smoke with hard eyes, as if he might scare him with the ferocity of his look.
Smoke grinned and nonchalantly tipped his hat at the Kid as he sidled up to the bar. He stood so he could see the men in the room, not wanting to present his back to anyone who might want to put a bullet in it.
“What’ll ya have?” the barkeep asked as he wiped down the bar with a dirty rag.
“Shot of whiskey with a beer chaser,” Smoke said. He rarely drank whiskey and never this early in the day, but he had an image to project and had to stay in character.
As Smoke downed the whiskey and followed it with a drink of beer, the Kid leaned over and said something in a low voice to the men at the table with him, causing them to stare at Smoke with hate-filled eyes.
He could see the Kid’s face getting redder by the minute, and knew it wouldn’t be long before the young man who fancied himself a gun hawk would try his hand. There was just no way he could allow Smoke to pistol-whip him and keep his self-image as a gun slick intact.
Jim Slaughter and the albino and Swede walked through the batwings, striding to the center of the room as if they owned the place.
Slaughter nodded at Smoke, then turned to face the many tables where men were sitting and drinking their breakfast. He held up his hands for attention.
“Gentlemen, my name is Jim Slaughter an’ I’m hirin’ men who aren’t afraid of usin’ their guns. If anybody’s interested, see me at my table and I’ll tell you what the job is and what it pays.”
When he was finished speaking, he walked over to a table in the corner where two men were sitting. He stood there, looking down at them for a moment until they hurriedly got to their feet and went to another table across the room. Slaughter and Whitey and Swede took their seats, and Slaughter motioned for the bartender to bring him a bottle of whiskey and some glasses.
While he was filling the glasses, the Kid got to his feet and hurried over to his boss’s table. He stood there, talking animatedly for a moment, looking over his shoulder at Smoke as he spoke.
Slaughter got a pained look on his face and shook his head. The Kid kept talking, gesturing wildly with his arms. Finally, Slaughter lost his patience and pointed toward the table where the Kid had been sitting, as if he were sending an unruly child to bed without his supper.
The Kid hung his head and slouched back to his table, glaring at Smoke from under the brim of his hat.
In the next fifteen minutes, over twenty cowboys approached Slaughter’s table to ask about the job he was offering. Smoke had no way of knowing how many took the outlaw up on his offer, but he supposed with the wages Slaughter was willing to pay, quite a few of them did. He briefly wondered where Slaughter was getting that kind of money, because the fifty thousand he expected to get from Monte wouldn’t go far if split among twenty or thirty men.
After the last of the men in the saloon had finished talking with Slaughter, he got to his feet and began to walk toward Smoke, a half grin on his face.
Over his shoulder, Smoke saw the Durango Kid get to his feet, his face a mask of hate and humiliation. When Slaughter was no more than ten feet from Smoke, the Kid made his move, crouching and going for his pistol. As he aimed it at the back of Slaughter’s head, Smoke drew in o
ne lightning-fast motion and fired, his bullet passing only inches from Slaughter’s ear.
Slaughter whirled and ducked, reaching for his own pistol just as Smoke’s slug hit the Kid at the base of his throat, blowing out the back of his neck and almost severing his head from his body. The Kid was catapulted back onto his table, and one of the men there also grabbed iron.
Smoke’s second shot took the Kid’s friend in the forehead, blowing brains and blood and hair all across the room.
Slaughter came out of his crouch pointing his gun toward Smoke, until Whitey yelled, “Boss, no! He wasn’t shootin’ at you!”
Slaughter and Smoke stood there for a moment, pistols pointed at each other, until Smoke’s lips curled in a grin. “You want to make it three, Slaughter?” he growled.
Slaughter glanced back over his shoulder at the bodies sprawled spread-eagled on the table and floor. “What happened?” he asked, still holding his gun at waist level.
Smoke shrugged. “Evidently the Kid didn’t take kindly to you dressing him down in front of the other men. Looked to me like he was going to plug you in the back.”
Whitey and Swede rushed up to stand next to Slaughter. “He’s right, Boss,” Swede said. “The Kid already had his pistol out and was aimin’ at the back of your head.”
Slaughter relaxed and holstered his Colt. “And why didn’t you do something about it?” he asked his two henchmen, scorn on his face. “Isn’t coverin’ my back what I pay you for?”
Whitey ducked his head, his eyes unable to meet Slaughter’s. “It all happened so fast, Jim. How’d we know the Kid was gonna do somethin’ crazy like that?”
Slaughter gave Smoke an appraising glance. “You mean the Kid had his gun out and pointed at me and West was able to draw and fire before he could pull the trigger?”
Swede nodded, his eyes on Smoke. “That’s right, Boss. I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it. One second the Kid was set to shoot you in the back, and the next West’s gun was in his hand blowin’ the Kid to hell and back.”
As they talked, Smoke broke open the loading gate on his Colt and punched out his empties, letting them fall on the floor. He reloaded his pistol and stuck it in his holster.
Heart of the Mountain Man Page 12
