The Pinkerton Job

by J. R. Roberts

  “Mexico.”

  “We gonna drive these cows all the way to ol’ Mexico?” another man asked, surprised. “What if they send a posse after us?”

  “You know a posse we couldn’t take care of?” Sandusky asked. “Don’t worry about that.”

  “Harlan knows what he’s doin’,” Delilah chimed in.

  But the men were worried. Driving a hundred head to Mexico didn’t sound possible to them—not without getting caught.

  Anderson came riding up and said, “They’re all dead, Harlan.”

  “Good,” Sandusky said. “That’ll send a message. Won’t be too many volunteers for a posse after they see this. They do manage to get a posse together, ain’t gonna be much of one.”

  “Where to now?” Anderson asked.

  “South,” Sandusky said, “we just keep on goin’ south. And keep these cows tight. I don’t wanna lose any of ’em.” He stood up in his stirrups. “Move ’em out!”

  * * *

  Three hours later Clint, Siringo, and Tom Horn rode up to a ranch house where a group of men were gathered.

  “Uh-oh,” Siringo said.

  “Looks like they hit already,” Clint said.

  “I don’t like the way this looks,” Horn said. “We should get out of here.”

  “Uh-uh. We’ve got to find out what happened,” Siringo said.

  “That looks like a lynch mob to me,” Tom said, pointing.

  “They don’t lynch people for stealin’ cattle,” Siringo said. “Come on, we’ll be okay. Besides, I can prove who I am.”

  Horn looked at Clint, who shrugged, and the three men rode for the ranch house.

  * * *

  “They don’t lynch men for stealin’ cattle,” Tom Horn repeated to Siringo twenty minutes later. “Is that what you said?”

  “Shut up.”

  Clint, Siringo, and Horn were sitting their horses with their hands tied behind them. They had no sooner ridden up to the group of men than they were set upon, disarmed, and tied. The men did not even give them a chance to say their piece.

  “You men are making a big mistake,” Clint said.

  “Shut up!” someone yelled. “You killed three good men and you’re gonna hang for it!”

  “It wasn’t us!” Siringo chimed in. “We’re huntin’ the men who did it.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “If we did it,” Siringo asked, “why would we come ridin’ back?”

  “Who knows what killers do?” somebody asked.

  “Aw, hell,” somebody else said, “here comes the sheriff.”

  “Quick,” someone said, “hang ’em.”

  But there was no way they could get the nooses around the necks of Clint, Siringo, and Horn before the man with the badge rode up to them and reined in.

  “What the hell is goin’ on?” he demanded.

  “We’re hangin’ some no good murderin’ rustlers, Sheriff!”

  “No, you’re not,” the lawman said. “Get ’em down off them horses!”

  Grumbling, three men stepped forward and eased Clint, Siringo, and Horn off their horses.

  “Thank God, Sheriff,” Siringo said. “These men were makin’ a big mistake.”

  “That remains to be seen,” the sheriff said. “Who are you men?”

  “My name’s Charlie Siringo,” Siringo said. “I’m trackin’ those rustles for the Pinkertons.”

  “You got some proof you’re a Pinkerton?” the sheriff asked.

  “In my saddlebags.”

  The lawman walked to Siringo’s horse, went into his saddlebags, and came out with his credentials.

  “Aw, for Chrissake!” he groaned. “Untie them. You men are idiots!”

  “How was we supposed to know he was a Pinkerton?” someone shouted.

  “Maybe by askin’ him who he was?” the lawman said. “Maybe by checking his bona fides before you hung him? How about that?”

  Clint, Siringo, and Horn had their hands cut free.

  “Give ’em back their guns.”

  They accepted their guns and holstered them.

  “Well, Mr. Pinkerton,” the sheriff said, “who are your friends?”

  “Tom Horn,” Horn said.

  “Clint Adams,” Clint added.

  The lawman hesitated a moment, then said, “Aw, jeez . . .”

  TWENTY

  The sheriff introduced himself as Art Delman, and took Clint, Siringo, and Horn into the house.

  “The rustlers grabbed about a hundred head,” he said, “and killed three men—two wranglers and Andrew Lancer, who owned this spread.”

  “The owner was out wrangling strays himself?” Siringo asked.

  “He liked to work his spread,” Delman said. “The rustlers probably thought they were just three cowhands. They didn’t realize they were killing an important man hereabouts.”

  “You got a posse together?” Horn asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not?” Siringo asked.

  “Well, we didn’t find the bodies for a while,” Delman said. “It took a while for the other hands to miss their boss and go lookin’ for him. And then they had to send for me.”

  “And while they were waitin’,” Horn said, “they figured they’d string up three strangers.”

  “They got carried away,” Delman said. “Without somebody to tell ’em what to do, they just made the wrong decision.”

  “You bet they did!” Horn said. “We been trackin’ these rustlers a long time, and now these fellas have held us up. We coulda caught up to them today.”

  “You think so?” Delman asked.

  “Now that they’ve got some cattle with them,” Siringo said, “we know so.”

  “It’s still gonna take me some time to get up a posse,” Delman admitted. “After another hour or so these men will start to think about their dead comrades, and I won’t get so many volunteers.”

  “So what?” Horn asked. “You want us to do your job for you?”

  “Seems to me you’d be doin’ your own jobs,” the lawman said.

  “You wanna come with us, then?” Horn asked.

  The lawman was a tall, lanky fellow in his early forties, wore his gun like a schoolteacher would, much too high.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “I’ve got to stay here and . . . keep an eye on things.”

  “Yeah . . . that’s what I thought,” Horn said.

  Horn’s tone didn’t seem to ruffle the lawman.

  “You may think I’m scared or somethin’, but I’ve got responsibilities here.”

  “Of course you do,” Siringo said.

  The sheriff studied the detective for a moment, probably trying to figure out if he was being serious or sarcastic.

  “I think we’ve been delayed long enough, Sheriff,” Clint said. “We better get going, unless you have something else you can tell us about the rustlers.”

  “I think I told you all I can.”

  Clint, Siringo, and Horn exchanged glances, nodded, and headed for the front door. The sheriff followed.

  * * *

  Outside the lynch mob was still gathered, and they watched while the three men mounted their horses.

  “Bunch of brave men when they’re lynching three innocent strangers,” Horn commented. “Won’t none of them volunteer for a posse.”

  “That just means they won’t be gettin’ in our way,” Siringo said.

  Horn nodded and said, “I guess that’s one way of lookin’ at it.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Sandusky and his crew made good time pushing the hundred head. The cows were well behaved, and his men knew how to handle them.

  “We’re makin’ good time,” he commented to Anderson.

  “Still too slow, if there’s a posse after us,” Anders
on said nervously.

  “Don’t worry about a posse,” Sandusky said. “I got a plan.”

  “When do I get to hear it?”

  Sandusky looked around them to make sure they could not be overheard. Delilah was sitting at his feet, but she wouldn’t dare say a word to anyone. She knew he’d kill her if she did.

  “You, me, and Delilah, we’re gonna ride on up ahead,” he said. “We’ll meet up with the men and the cattle in ol’ Mexico.”

  “What if they don’t make it to Mexico?” Anderson asked. “What if the posse catches up to them, and . . .”

  Anderson trailed off as he noticed Sandusky watching him with a small smile on his face. Delilah was also smiling.

  “Oh, I get it,” Anderson said, “I get it.”

  “If they make it, fine,” Sandusky said, “we’ll sell the cows. If they don’t make it . . .” He stopped and shrugged.

  “I get it,” Anderson said again.

  “See?” Sandusky said. He slid a hand down and into Delilah’s shirt until he was cupping one of her big breasts. “I told you to leave the thinkin’ to me.”

  * * *

  After a few miles Tom Horn was still fuming about the treatment they’d received.

  “Goddamned idiots!” he swore.

  “Take it easy, Tom,” Siringo said.

  “It’s bad enough we got shot,” Horn went on, “but those blamed idiots were gonna hang us! And I bet they think we’re gonna bring back their blamed cows!” He looked at Siringo. “We ain’t, are we?”

  “No,” Siringo said. “I ain’t interested in savin’ their cows. I want Sandusky and his men.”

  Clint was studying the ground.

  “They’ll sure be easy to spot,” he said. “Why would Sandusky take the chance of grabbing a hundred more cows? Makes them so much easier to track.”

  All three men reined in and looked at one another.

  “Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Siringo asked them.

  “Sonofabitch,” Clint said.

  “I ain’t no great thinker,” Horn said, “but this stinks even to me.”

  “Sandusky is tryin’ to distract us,” Siringo said.

  “If I was him,” Clint said, “I’d let my men drive the cattle and ride up ahead of them. Hell, I’d just head to Mexico.”

  “So what do we do?” Horn asked. “Head straight for Mexico?”

  “It’s up to Charlie,” Clint said. He and Horn both looked at the detective.

  Siringo stood in his stirrups and stretched.

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “Is there a time limit on this?” Clint asked.

  “Whataya mean?” Siringo asked.

  “I mean do you have to catch Sandusky by a certain day?”

  “No,” Siringo said. “Nobody said nothin’ about that. Just catch him.”

  “And his men, right?” Clint asked. “Not just him, but all of them?”

  “All of ’em.”

  “Then I say we just keep on going the way we’re going,” Clint said. “If we catch up to his men and he’s not with then, they’ll be without leadership and easier to take.”

  “And after we catch ’em,” Horn said, “we can let ’em know that Sandusky left them as bait while he ran to Mexico.”

  “One of them is bound to tell us where they’re supposed to meet him.”

  Clint and Horn remained silent, waiting for Siringo to make the final decision.

  “Okay, then,” the detective said, “we’ll stay on their trail. How far behind are we, Tom?”

  “A few hours,” Horn said, “but we should be able to close that gap quick. They ain’t movin’ all that fast.”

  “Course not,” Siringo said. “Sandusky probably told them not to worry about a posse, or about me, because me and Tom are dead.”

  They started riding again.

  “You think he’ll take anybody with him to Mexico?” Clint asked.

  “Anderson,” Siringo said. “They been ridin’ together a long time.”

  “So that leaves ten men driving those hundred head,” Clint said.

  “That’s good,” Tom Horn said. “We already cut the odds.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  “You want us to what?” Rosario asked.

  “Drive the cows to Mexico while we ride on ahead,” Sandusky said.

  The Mexican looked at Anderson, who shrugged, then back at Sandusky.

  “And you want me to lead them.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Porque?” he asked. “Why?”

  “Why not?” Sandusky said. “You know your way around Mexico. With you leadin’ them, they won’t get lost.”

  “And what will you be doin’?”

  “Makin’ arrangements to sell ’em when you get ’em there.”

  Rosario got a crafty look on his face.

  “Will I be gettin’ a bigger cut if I do this?” he asked.

  “A bigger cut?”

  “If I am to lead men, I believe I should be paid to lead men, no? Es verdad?”

  “Okay,” Sandusky said, “sure, why not? More money for Rosario.” He looked at Anderson. “Remind me.”

  “Sure, boss.”

  All three of them looked over to where the other men were tending to the cows.

  “We should go and tell them that I am the new jefe, eh?”

  “Yeah,” Sandusky said, “we should definitely do that.”

  The men did not react well to Rosario being put in charge, but when they raised their voices to protest, Sandusky shouted them all down.

  “Does anybody else here know his way around Mexico?” he demanded.

  “I been there,” a man named Rizzo said.

  “Yeah,” Sandusky said, “once, when you got drunk in El Paso and wandered across the border. No, Rosario knows his way around, and he’s gonna to be in charge until you all reach Mexico.” He looked at Rosario. “And then I’m in charge again. Got it?”

  “I got it, jefe,” Rosario said.

  “Good,” Sandusky said, “then Cal and me and Delilah will get movin’, and you boys follow us and get there as soon as you can.”

  “Why’s Delilah get to go?” somebody asked.

  “Anybody else willin’ to let me stick my dick in your mouth?” Sandusky demanded.

  Nobody stepped up.

  Delilah smirked.

  Rosario’s chest was all puffed up as he strutted around, giving orders.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Sandusky said.

  * * *

  When they were out of earshot and sight of the rest of the men, they slowed to a trot.

  “That ain’t gonna work out, boss,” Anderson said. “Those men ain’t gonna give Rosario the respect of a leader.”

  “That’s because he ain’t a leader,” Sandusky said. “He’s a damn Mex.”

  “So they’re gonna be totally confused,” Anderson said.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Anderson looked at Sandusky, who was staring straight ahead. There was a look of total satisfaction on his face. Riding beside him, Delilah was grinning broadly, revealing the gaps where her missing teeth used to be.

  “Harlan,” Anderson said, “I’m kinda glad we been ridin’ together as long as we been.”

  “We been ridin’ together too long for me ever to do somethin’ like that to you, Cal,” Sandusky assured him. “But for the rest of them? There comes a time you gotta use whatever you got to get away. There’s always a chance Rosario and the others would kill members of a posse, or Siringo if he ain’t already dead.”

  “And at the very least, they’ll slow anyone who’s trackin’ us down.”

  “You got it.”

  “So we ain’t gonna look for somebody to buy them cows?”

  �
�No, no,” Sandusky said. “We are. Just in case they do make it to Mexico with those cows, I want to be able to sell ’em.”

  Anderson shook his head.

  “You got everythin’ covered, don’t ya?” Anderson asked.

  “He always does,” Delilah said.

  “I try, Cal,” Sandusky said, “and that’s what makes a good leader.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Tom Horn’s face was drawn and pale.

  “Tom—” Siringo said, but Horn cut him off before he could go any further.

  “I’ll be fine,” Horn said. “They’re just ahead of us a bit.”

  “How can you tell?” Clint asked.

  Horn looked at him.

  “I can hear the cattle,” Horn told them. “And smell ’em.”

  Clint looked at Siringo, who simply smiled, meaning this was part of the reason he had recruited Tom Horn for the job.

  “I think the two of you should stay here while I check,” Horn said.

  “Okay,” Siringo said, “but don’t you dare fall off your horse while you’re on your own.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t,” Horn said.

  He rode off ahead of them. Clint and Siringo stepped down from the saddle and opened their canteens.

  “He can smell them?” Clint asked. “I can’t smell or hear a thing.”

  “That’s why he’s the best.”

  “You think he’ll stay in the saddle?”

  “I don’t think he’ll give in to that injury until we catch Sandusky,” Siringo said.

  They found a couple of rocks to sit on. There wasn’t much for the horses to graze on, but the animals managed to find some weeds.

  “You know,” Siringo said, “you didn’t sign on to ride way the hell into Mexico. I’ll understand if you wanna turn back.”

  “I didn’t sign on for any of this,” Clint said. “I offered to help, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll see this through to the end.”

  “Appreciate that, Clint,” Siringo said. “I think havin’ your gun along really evens up the odds for me and Horn against the whole gang.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Clint said. “We got them right where we want them.”

  Siringo laughed. The two men touched canteens and drank.

  They both heard a horse returning and stood up to watch Horn ride back.