* * *
Siringo and Horn came out of another saloon and ran smack into three men who were about to go in.
“Well, well,” one of the men said, “look who’s here. What a coincidence.”
“Excuse me—” Siringo started before he realized they were looking at the three Monroe brothers.
“Hello, Horn,” Josh Monroe said, “remember me and my brothers, Dal and Ed?”
“I remember,” Horn said. “Now get out of the way.”
“Not so fast,” Josh said. “We got unfinished business.”
Siringo was busy wondering how the Monroe brothers had caught up with them. They were fairly certain they had not been tailed by anyone, yet here they were. A coincidence? He hated those as much as Clint did.
“Look,” Horn said, “we’re kinda busy now. Why don’t you see me tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” Josh asked. “Out here on the street?”
“Sure,” Horn said, “you’d much rather get killed in daylight, wouldn’t you?”
“And where’s your friend, the Gunsmith?” Josh asked. “You sure you can handle the three of us without him to back your play?”
“I don’t think we’ll have a problem,” Horn said. “Now excuse us.”
Horn and Siringo walked around the three men and crossed the street to the other side.
“You just agreed that we,” Siringo said, stressing the “we,” “are gonna meet them in the street tomorrow.”
“So what?” Horn asked. “We can handle them, even without Clint.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Horn said. “None if those brothers are gunhands.”
“And we got the sheriff watchin’ us close to make sure we don’t kill anybody in his town,” Siringo pointed out.
“I didn’t promise,” Horn said. “You can stand aside if you like. I think I can take ’em.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t afford to have you killed by three idiot brothers until after we find Sandusky,” Siringo said, “so I think I’ll just tag along.”
“Suit yourself,” Horn said. “Let’s hit another saloon.”
“Let’s see if we can find that other deputy,” Siringo said, “Walt.”
THIRTY-THREE
Clint and Baca stood fast in front of the bar, watching. Neither of them knew these men, but they knew who the leader was, so they were going to have to keep an eye on him. When he moved, everybody would move.
Rodrigo Fuentes went for his gun.
* * *
Sandusky was wearing the whore out when he heard the shots. Delilah pulled her big tit from the whore’s mouth and looked around nervously.
“What the hell—” Sandusky said.
In minutes the shooting stopped, and there was a banging on the door.
“What the hell—” Sandusky said again, grabbing his gun.
* * *
Both Clint and Baca cleanly outdrew all nine men. They fired quickly, Clint fanning his gun.
Later many men would say they were there when the Gunsmith and Elfego Baca gunned down twenty men without ever moving from where they stood. That would, of course, be a slight exaggeration, and not as legendary a story as Baca’s jacal tale.
Between them they had twelve bullets for nine men, and they made them all count.
All nine men were on the floor dead in seconds.
“Madre de Dios,” someone said.
They quickly ejected their empty shells and reloaded, then walked among the bodies to be sure they were dead. They were.
“There should be a lawman here soon,” Baca said.
“You think so?” Clint asked.
“We had better have a drink, amigo,” Baca said. He looked at the bartender. “Dos cervezas.”
“Sí, señor,” the bartender said, acting quickly.
Surprisingly, no one had left the cantina. They were still quiet, though, staring down at the bodies of the dead men.
“Well,” Clint said, “we’ve got plenty of witnesses here.”
“I am sure we will have no problems,” Marshal Baca said.
“Something tells me you know the local lawman.”
Baca smiled.
“I did stop in to see him when I first arrived,” the younger man admitted.
“When was that?” Clint asked. “And why?”
“I arrived several days ago,” Baca said. “I am looking for a man named Steagall.”
“What’d he do?”
“Murder,” Baca said. “I was trying to remain unknown, waiting for him to walk in.”
“Sorry to ruin it for you,” Clint said. “You may have been able to get him today.”
“Quien sabe,” Baca said. “We will see. There is still time. Why are you here?”
“I’m riding with Charlie Siringo and Tom Horn,” Clint said.
“I have heard of them, but not met them,” Baca said.
“We’re trailing a man named Harlan Sandusky and his gang.”
“For what offense?”
“Rustling, probably murder.”
“How many do you seek?”
“Two men and a woman.”
Baca rubbed his nose.
“When did they arrive?”
“No way of telling, but maybe the past couple of days. We’re hoping he’s still here.”
Baca drank his beer and set the mug down heavily.
“Clint, I believe you are in luck!”
* * *
Sandusky swung the door open and pointed his gun at the man in the hall.
“Hey, take it easy!” Anderson said.
“What’s goin’ on?”
“We gotta get outta here. There’s been a shootout in the cantina.”
“Siringo?”
“No,” Anderson said. “The Gunsmith, and Elfego Baca. And Baca’s wearin’ a badge.”
Sandusky frowned. “They may not be here for us, but we better get out of here anyway.”
He turned and looked at Delilah. She was still sniffing around the whore, getting dangerously close to the girl’s pussy.
“Delilah!” he snapped. “Get yer clothes on or I’ll leave ya here!”
“All right!” Delilah gave one of the girl’s nipples a quick lick and then reached for her clothes.
THIRTY-FOUR
“Here?” Clint asked.
“In the back,” Baca said. “They went back with one of the whores.”
“All of them?”
“All three,” Baca said. “The woman is not attractive, but there is something . . . earthy about her. And I just happen to like older women.”
“Show me where they went.”
“I will do better than that,” Baca said. “I will back your play.”
They looked around. The crowd was now milling about the dead men, maybe even lifting some of their belongings. A lawman still had not arrived.
“We better get this done, amigo, before the law arrives,” Baca said. “This way.”
Baca led Clint through the crowd to a curtained doorway in the back. Beyond that was a long hallway, with doors on either side.
They found one door unlocked, opened it, and discovered it empty, moved on to the next one. In there they found a woman, in her thirties, sitting half dressed on her bed.
“A man and a woman, were they here?” Clint asked.
“No,” she said, “only one man. The man and woman. They were next door with Juanita.”
“Thanks.”
They moved on to the next door, opened it, and found a naked woman—a girl, really—on a bed.
“Where are they?” Clint asked.
“Who?” the girl asked.
“The man and the woman who were with you,” Clint said.
Baca said something to the girl in Spanish.
>
“What’d you tell her?”
“That if she didn’t answer, I’d arrest her,” Baca said. “Ask her again.”
“Where are they?”
“They left when they heard the shooting,” she said.
“Which way?”
“The back.”
“Do me a favor,” Clint said to Baca. “Stay with her so she doesn’t disappear. She still might know something useful.”
“I will find out,” Baca said. “Go.”
Clint nodded, left the room, and went down the hall to the back. He found a back door, went out, and found himself behind the cantina. He looked both ways, didn’t see anyone or hear anything. He wondered if they had fled on foot, or if they’d had their horses tied up there. The ground was too hard for him to be able to tell, but Horn might be able to read it.
He went back inside.
* * *
Siringo and Horn found Walt, the deputy, in a small saloon, and immediately saw what Billy had been talking about. He was a shrunken man in his sixties with a face full of wrinkles. He had one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey. Maybe they’d gotten to him, though, before he could get too drunk.
“Are you Walt?” Siringo asked.
“That’s me,” the little man answered proudly. “Walt the deputy.”
Apparently, he’d already had a few drinks.
“My name’s Charlie Siringo,” Siringo said. “I’m a Pinkerton.”
“Hey, congratulations,” Walt said. “Let’s have a drink on that.”
“Later,” Siringo said, putting his hand on the man’s arm to keep him from drinking. “The sheriff said I could ask you some questions. He also said you were the man to help me.”
“He said that?” Walt stood straighter. “He really said that?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“Well then, go ahead and ask,” Walt said. “I’ll help ya if I can.”
“We’re lookin’ for three people, two men and a woman.”
“A pretty woman?” Walt asked.
“No, not a pretty woman,” Siringo said, “but from what we hear, she ain’t ugly. But she dresses like a man and wears a gun.”
Walt looked surprised.
“I saw a woman like that!” he said excitedly.
“Where?”
“On the street.”
“When?” Horn asked.
Walt looked at Horn as if just realizing he was there.
“Is he with you?” he asked Siringo.
“He is,” Siringo said. “Answer his question, please.”
“What was the question?” Walt asked, squinting as if it would help him hear better.
“When did you see her?” Horn asked.
“Um, musta been a couple of days ago.”
“Where?” Siringo asked again.
“On the street.”
“Yeah, but where? What street?”
Walt frowned, then said, “I dunno. Somewhere.”
“Was she with anybody?” Siringo asked.
“No, she was by herself,” Walt said.
“What did she look like?” Horn asked.
“Like you said,” Walt answered, “not pretty, but she had what a man likes.” Walt put his hands up in front of his chest.
“We understand,” Siringo said.
“Are you sure you can’t tell us what street you saw her on?” Horn asked.
“This town’s got a lot of streets,” Walt said.
Siringo and Horn exchanged a frustrated glance. The detective released Walt’s arm so he could drink, then said to the bartender, “Give him another drink.”
“Thanks, Pinkerton!” Walt said.
“Yeah, you’re welcome.”
“Drink with me?” Walt asked.
“Next time,” Siringo said.
He and Horn turned and headed for the door.
“Hey, Pinkertons!” Walt yelled.
They both turned.
“The bridge.”
“What about the bridge?” Siringo asked.
“That’s where I saw the woman,” Walt said. “Goin’ over the bridge.”
“To Juarez?” Horn said.
“Yup,” Walt said. “The bridge.” He waved an arm. “Over.”
“Have you seen her since then?” Siringo asked.
“Nope,” Walt said, “only that one time.”
“How do you remember that?” Horn asked.
“Hey,” Walt said, “I may be old, but I ain’t dead, ya know?”
“Yeah,” Siringo said. “Okay, thanks.”
They went out the door, stopped on the boardwalk right outside.
“If she went to Juarez,” Horn said, “maybe the three of them are there.”
“And Clint’s gonna run into them.”
“We gotta get over there,” Horn said. “It’s dark, there’s no tellin’ what could happen.”
“Yeah,” Siringo said, “let’s go.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Clint came back to the room and found Baca kneeling in front of the woman. As he entered, the young marshal stood up.
“Find anything?” Baca asked.
“No,” Clint said. “They’re gone. I’ll need Tom Horn to see if he can find any sign. How about her?”
“She says she was afraid of them,” Baca said. “The man was brutal, the woman was . . . well, Juanita says she likes men, but the woman was all over her . . . touching her . . . she didn’t like it, but they were paying her.”
“Did she hear them say anything about where they were going from here?” Clint asked. “Socorro, maybe?”
“No, nothing,” Baca said. “They didn’t talk in front of her.”
Somebody showed up in the doorway and both men turned and looked. Clint saw a man with a sombrero and a sheriff’s star.
“Que pasa?” the sheriff said. “What the hell is going on, Elfego?”
“Antonio,” Baca said, “let us go to your office so we can talk.”
* * *
“Sandusky?” the sheriff asked.
“That’s the name,” Clint said.
“I do not know him.”
“Well,” Clint said, “I’m riding with Charlie Siringo and Tom Horn to find him.”
“And you think he is here?”
“I know he is,” Clint said. “That girl Juanita told us so.”
“She told you his name?” the sheriff asked. “The name of the man and woman she was with?”
“No, but—”
“And you?” the sheriff said. “You are still looking for . . . what was his name?”
“Steagall.”
“Sí, Steagall. And you just happened to be in that cantina tonight?”
“That is right.”
The lawman stared at the two of them.
“The two of you killed nine men tonight,” he said. “What am I supposed to do about that?”
“Talk to the witnesses,” Baca said. “You will see we had no choice.”
“You could have minded your own business,” the sheriff said to Baca.
“And Clint would be dead,” Baca said. “Would you like Juarez to be known as the place where the Gunsmith was killed?”
“All right, fine,” the lawman said. “Get out.”
“You have not talked to the witnesses yet?” Baca said.
“Yes, I have,” the sheriff said. “When are you leaving town?”
“Not ’til I catch Steagall,” Baca said.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Clint said. “Actually, I’m going back over the bridge tonight.”
“Bueno,” the lawman said. “That is good. Now go.”
Clint and Baca left the office.
“Elfego, I wish I could stay and help you with your problem,” C
lint said. “I owe you my life tonight.”
“We are far from even, my friend,” Baca said. “Besides, I do not need help. My man is alone. Yours is not.”
The two men shook hands. “I didn’t even buy you a drink,” Clint said.
“Next time, my friend,” Baca said. “Next time.”
THIRTY-SIX
Clint was halfway across the bridge to El Paso when he saw Siringo and Horn coming toward him.
“They’re in Juarez,” Siringo said. “We found out one of the deputies saw the girl crossing the bridge.”
“I know,” Clint said. “I found them.”
“You did?” Siringo asked.
“And lost them.”
“You did?” Horn asked.
“Where?” Siringo asked.
“In a cantina,” Clint said. “They were in a back room with a whore.”
“All of them?” Siringo asked.
“Well, Sandusky and the woman.”
“You didn’t see them?” Horn asked.
“No,” Clint said, “there was some trouble, and they ran out the back and disappeared.”
“On foot, or horseback?” Horn asked.
“I don’t know,” Clint said. “I couldn’t tell.”
“Well, take us there,” Horn said. “Maybe I can tell.”
* * *
Clint took Siringo and Horn to the back of the cantina. He and the detective stood aside while Horn studied the ground. He finished telling Siringo everything that had happened.
“Elfego Baca, huh?” Siringo said. “That was a lucky coincidence.”
Clint made a face at that word, but in this case it had worked in his favor.
“And the girl they were with didn’t know anythin’?” Siringo asked.
“Apparently not,” Clint said. “She was just upset because the woman with Sandusky was touching her.”
“Maybe I should talk to her,” Siringo said. “I might ask her something you didn’t.”
“Wait a minute,” Clint said, you speak Spanish, right?”
“I do.”
“Baca was translating for me,” Clint said. “Maybe something got lost in the translation.”
Clint tried the back door, found it still open.
“Tom,” Siringo said, “we’re goin’ inside for a minute.”
Horn waved at them to go.
* * *
Inside Clint found his way to the girl’s room again, and they tried the door. It was locked. They pressed their ears to the door.
The Pinkerton Job Page 9
