Chapter 8
Bisbee, Arizona Territory, was nestled in the Mule Mountains, not far from the Mexican border. It was stretching a point to call the low peaks around them mountains, but in that generally flat country, The Kid supposed they qualified. Dusk was settling down, and lights from the buildings were spread across the lower slopes.
The discovery of copper in the area almost twenty years earlier had led to the founding of the settlement, and it had grown as miners realized that smaller quantities of gold and silver could be found along with the copper. The Kid recalled that as Conrad Browning, he had owned a stake in a copper mine near there. Still did, he supposed, but he had never visited the operation and it had represented nothing to him then except some figures on a balance sheet. Now it was even less than that to him. He had no reason to go there, at least none that he knew of.
The first time Colonel Black came to the Williams ranch, he had said that he and his men were headed up the San Pedro. That might have been a lie, or it might be that the killers had indeed gone up the river and then returned to the ranch to wipe out the Williams family. Either way, The Kid didn’t know where they were now, and since he wanted to pick up their trail, the best place to start seemed to be Bisbee. He knew from what Sean and Frannie had told him that the four men he’d killed on the ranch had been planning to rendezvous with Colonel Black in Bisbee.
Somebody there would be able to tell him where to find the colonel.
Once The Kid knew that, his plan was simple: kill the son of a bitch and everybody with him.
It was all he could do for Sean and Frannie and Cyrus.
In the early afternoon he had found the bodies of mother and son in the charred ruins of the ranch house, once the heat had subsided enough for him to go inside. The ashes were still hot under his boots, so he moved quickly as he wrapped the bodies in blankets and carried them out to place them gently next to Sean’s body. He had already dug seven graves up on the hillside. He was drenched with sweat, his muscles ached and there was still work to be done.
The metal framework of the wagon that had been inside the barn was still relatively intact. Only some of it was twisted from the heat of the flames. The Kid shook out his rope, tied the vehicle to the buckskin, and used the horse to pull it out of the ruins. He found enough scraps of charred lumber and cobbled together a new bed for the wagon. Once he had done that, he placed the bodies on the wagon and used it to carry them up the hill to the gravesites.
Earlier, he had spotted the basket where Cyrus had kept the pups. A glance into the basket told him that someone had emptied a six-gun into it. The Kid took the basket up the hill, too, and put it into the grave with Cyrus. Then he started filling in the seven holes.
It was mid-afternoon by the time he finished, and he still had a long ride to Bisbee. But he paused long enough to stand for a moment over the graves. He wasn’t a praying man—he didn’t think El Señor Dios would look too kindly on words from a man who had so much blood on his hands—so he said to the people he had just buried, “I can’t make it right. But I can make the bastards pay.”
He was settling his hat on his head when he saw movement down at the ranch. A couple of small dark shapes darted around the ruins. The Kid frowned, wondering if they were rats.
When he heard the faint yipping he knew that he was looking at a couple of Cyrus’s pups. Somehow they had escaped the massacre of their brothers and sisters. Probably off wandering around somewhere when the attack came.
The Kid thought about it for a long moment, then heaved a sigh. He mounted up, rode down the hill, and called and whistled until the puppies came to him. He made room in his saddlebags, scooped them up, and put them in there. As the buckskin walked along Bisbee’s main street a few hours later, they were still there, their heads sticking out the top of the saddlebag as they looked around. They didn’t weigh more than a few pounds each, little squirming bundles of black and gray and brown, and The Kid didn’t know what the hell he was going to do with them. All he knew was that he couldn’t leave them on the death-haunted ranch to survive on their own. Cyrus wouldn’t have wanted that.
The Kid angled the buckskin toward the hitch rail in front of a general store that was still open. He saw two men walking along the planks of the boardwalk toward the store but didn’t pay much attention to them as he dismounted. He took the pups out of the saddlebag and cradled them both in the crook of his left arm as he started up the steps to the high loading dock in front of the store.
“Would you look at that, Rawley? Fella’s got hisself some little dogs.”
The Kid glanced toward the men, saw them elbowing each other and laughing as they looked at him and the pups.
“Naw, them ain’t proper dogs, Paxton,” the one called Rawley said. “Look how little they are. I think maybe they’re prairie dogs.”
Paxton giggled. “You ever had fried prairie dog? It ain’t bad.”
“Yeah, and I’m hungry.” Rawley grinned at The Kid. “Say, mister, you want to sell us those little varmints? We’ll fry ’em up and see how tasty they are.”
The Kid recognized the two men for what they were with a single look. Rawley wore a Mexican sombrero with little balls dangling from the brim, while Paxton sported a dusty black suit and Stetson. Both men carried Colts in cut-down, tied-down holsters. Would-be hard cases and desperadoes, men who fancied themselves fast with their guns. They’d been drinking, but their steps were steady enough and they didn’t sway as they stood on the store’s loading dock grinning at The Kid. The combination of all those things made them dangerous, although The Kid wasn’t particularly worried. He just didn’t want to be bothered with them.
“Sorry, boys,” he said. “These pups aren’t for sale. I’m looking for a good home for them, though.”
“We’ll give ’em a good home,” Paxton said. He grinned and rubbed his belly.
“Hand ’em over, mister,” Rawley added, “and there won’t be no trouble.”
This was ridiculous, The Kid thought. The two men didn’t really want the puppies. They were just looking for an excuse to bully somebody, and the pups had provided it.
“There won’t be any trouble,” The Kid said flatly. “I’m going in the store, and the pups are coming with me.”
Rawley’s lips pulled back from his teeth as his mouth curled in a sneer. The Kid’s response was just what he’d been waiting for.
“What if we say they ain’t?”
“Then you’ll be wrong.”
“You know who we are?” Paxton demanded in a blustering tone. “You got any idea who you’re mess-in’ with here, boy?”
“I think I do.” The Kid paused. “A couple of damned fools looking for somebody to run roughshod over. Well, I have to tell you, I’m in no mood for it.”
Both gunnies stiffened in outrage at The Kid’s words. “Why, you little piss-ant!” Paxton spat. “You can’t talk to us like that!”
“Sure as hell can’t!” Rawley added.
The Kid took a step toward the store’s entrance. “Go somewhere and finish getting drunk. And leave me alone while you’re at it.”
He wasn’t trying to pick a fight with them. He honestly wanted them to go on and leave him alone. If they had done so, that would have been the end of it.
But Paxton yelled, “You son of a bitch!” and reached for his gun, and Rawley made his draw in silence.
The confrontation wasn’t worth killing over, but both men were fairly fast and The Kid knew he wouldn’t have the time for anything fancy. He pivoted toward them as the Colt leaped into his hand as if by magic. The two hard cases had called the tune. Time for them to dance to it.
Both men cleared leather, but The Kid’s gun was level while their weapons were still coming up. The Colt roared and bucked in his hand as he put his first shot in Rawley’s chest. The impact rocked the man back a step, but he stayed on his feet. The Kid switched his aim and fired again, this time at Paxton. Paxton was moving, darting to the side as The Kid drew, so th
at the bullet intended for Paxton’s heart shattered his left arm about halfway between the elbow and shoulder instead. Paxton screamed in agony as the shot spun him halfway around.
Rawley was still trying to get a shot off, so The Kid planted another round in him. Rawley’s head jerked, and the sombrero with its dangling, decorative balls went flying off his head. He finally managed to pull the trigger, but his gun was still pointed down and the slug smacked harmlessly into the loading dock at his feet. Rawley fell to his knees and pitched forward onto his face.
Panting in pain through clenched teeth, Paxton stood at the edge of the dock and tried again to raise his gun. The Kid fired for a fourth time, and this bullet sent Paxton plunging off the dock into the street. His face plowed into the dirt as he landed. He didn’t move again.
The pups had been squirming before the shots began to roar, but the thunderous reports had stunned them into stillness. The Kid glanced down at them to make sure they were all right and saw them staring up at him wide-eyed, with almost human expressions.
“Sorry,” he said.
He turned his attention back to the two men he’d just shot. He was pretty sure they were both dead, but he still had one round left in the revolver’s cylinder in case he needed it.
Neither man was moving. The Kid stepped over to the edge of the loading dock to take a closer look at Paxton, then used the toe of one of his boots to roll Rawley onto his back. The man stared up sightlessly into the night.
Bisbee had a reputation as a tough town. Most settlements that had sprung up because of their proximity to mines were like that. But even so, an outburst of gunfire was enough to draw considerable attention. A number of men converged on the general store to see what all the commotion was about.
He glanced over his shoulder when he heard a clicking sound behind him. He saw a man standing in the store’s doorway, pointing a double-barreled shotgun at him. The sound he’d heard had been both hammers of the greener being cocked.
“I want to see both hands empty, mister,” the man holding the shotgun grated, “or I’ll blow you plumb in two!”
Chapter 9
“Take it easy, Sheriff.” The Kid had spotted the badge pinned to the shotgunner’s vest right away. “The shooting’s over.”
“Damn right it’s over. If there’s any more guns goin’ off, it’s gonna be this greener o’ mine! I said show me your hands!”
The Kid slid his Colt back in its holster. He didn’t like pouching the iron without reloading it first, but under the circumstances he supposed it was the best thing to do.
“I’m not going to drop these pups,” he told the lawman. “I can’t very well shoot anybody with them, though, so I reckon you’ll have to be satisfied with one empty hand.”
The sheriff stepped out farther onto the loading dock. “Don’t you go gettin’ smart with me, boy. You’re gonna march right down to my jail. I’m lock-in’ you up.”
A tall, thick-bodied, balding man in an apron followed him onto the dock. “Why would you do that, Stewart?” he asked. “We both saw what happened. The stranger killed Paxton and Rawley in self-defense.”
“I don’t abide killin’s!” the sheriff snapped. “I’m puttin’ this fella behind bars until there’s an inquest.”
“Yeah, well, you know what the coroner’s jury is going to say. I’ll testify that Paxton and Rawley drew first, and that the stranger was just defending himself. You’ll be wasting your time and the county’s money locking him up.”
Sheriff Stewart turned his head to glare at the store owner. The Kid figured that’s who the man in the apron was. Stewart said, “I don’t like anybody tellin’ me how to do my job. You may be the mayor of Bisbee, Carmichael, but I work for the county, not the town!”
“I know that,” Carmichael said, “and I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job. I’m just saying that it’s pointless to put this man in jail tonight and turn him loose tomorrow.” He glanced at the bodies of the two dead gunmen. “Besides, nobody’s going to lose any sleep over those two. They were born troublemakers.”
“Well, you’re right about that,” Stewart admitted grudgingly. He looked at The Kid again. “You plannin’ on ridin’ out of town tonight?”
“No. I’ll be here for a day or two, at least.”
“You’ll be here until after the inquest tomorrow, that’s for damn sure. I want your word on it.”
“You’ve got it,” The Kid said.
The sheriff finally lowered his scattergun, and once the twin barrels were pointed toward the ground, he eased the hammers back down. He was on the short side, a middle-aged man with a brushy mustache and what seemed to be a perpetual glare. He gave The Kid a curt nod and said, “I’ll fetch the undertaker. Don’t give him any more work while you’re in Bisbee, if you know what’s good for you.”
If The Kid knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t be in Bisbee on the trail of a gang of vicious, murdering sons of bitches armed with a damned cannon, of all things, but he didn’t explain any of that to Sheriff Stewart. Instead he just returned the lawman’s nod.
The store owner, Carmichael, motioned to The Kid as Stewart headed up the street with the greener tucked under his arm. “Come on in. I’d like to talk to you.”
The Kid had been headed into the general store anyway, so he followed the proprietor inside. A few customers were clustered just inside the entrance, peering out curiously.
“It’s all over, folks,” Carmichael told them. “You can go on about your business now, especially if your business is buying merchandise from me.” He grinned.
The little knot of people dispersed. Carmichael gestured for The Kid to follow him toward the back of the store, where there was a long counter. Carmichael went behind it and pointed to a stool in front of it.
“Have a seat, Mister…?”
“Morgan,” The Kid supplied, without adding the rest of it. He held on to the pups.
“You can set ’em down if you want. I don’t think they’ll get into too much trouble.”
“That’s all right. They’re pretty hungry. They might start looking for something to eat.”
“Well, we can take care of that. Got some beef scraps they can have. Are they big enough to eat something like that?”
“I don’t know. They’re not really my pups. I sort of…inherited them. I’m looking for a good home for them, as well as some information.”
“About dogs?”
“About a man,” The Kid said. “Colonel Gideon Black.”
A scowl appeared on Carmichael’s normally friendly face. “I know the name. Don’t really know the man, though. Don’t want to, either.”
“Why not?”
Carmichael hesitated. “I don’t want to say anything against the man, in case he’s your friend.”
“He’s not,” The Kid assured the storekeeper. “I never met the man.” Technically, that was true, although he had laid eyes on the colonel once. “I promised some people I’d look him up, and I was told that he’s been here in Bisbee lately.”
“That’s true. He’s been in and out of town several times in recent weeks. I don’t really know the man myself, so I shouldn’t make any judgments as to his character. I’m just going by the company he keeps.”
“Bad company, huh?” The Kid asked, even though he already knew the answer.
Carmichael nodded toward the street. “Those two gunnies you just tangled with out there…”
“Colonel Black’s men?” The Kid asked, somewhat surprised.
“Not really. They wanted to be, but I reckon Black turned them down. They didn’t ride out with him the last time he left. Plenty of other hard cases did, though. That’s why I don’t care much for the colonel. He’s surrounded himself with gunmen. Outlaws and hired killers, if you ask me.”
The Kid nodded. So far, Carmichael hadn’t really told him anything that he didn’t already know, except that Paxton and Rawley had been would-be members of the colonel’s gang, and that Black had found them
wanting for some reason.
They hadn’t been fast enough and tough enough, more than likely, and Black had sensed that somehow. The Kid hadn’t had much trouble disposing of them. Black’s men had to have more bark on them than those two.
“You think he’s liable to take offense at what happened to Rawley and Paxton?” The Kid asked.
“I don’t know. Like I said, they didn’t actually ride with him. They’re the reason I wanted to talk to you, though.”
“What about?” The Kid asked warily.
Carmichael placed his hands flat on the counter. “There’s getting to be more and more of that sort of men around here. Bisbee’s always been a pretty rugged place, but it’s getting worse. The county sheriff has always handled law and order here in town, too, but the town council and I have been thinking that it’s time to hire a city marshal. To be blunt, I’d like to offer you the job, Mr. Morgan.”
The proposition took The Kid by surprise. “You just met me. You don’t really know anything about me.”
“I know you’re mighty slick on the draw, and you didn’t even think about backing down when those two started to ride you. That’s the sort of man we need to keep the peace here in Bisbee.”
The Kid’s first impulse was to laugh. Pinning on a lawman’s badge was just about the last thing he ever wanted to do. Wearing a badge meant wearing a cloak of responsibility and respectability, too. He didn’t want to be tied down, and he didn’t want anybody looking to him to solve their problems. Whenever he stepped in and took a hand in something, he did so because it was his own choice, not because it was his duty.
He settled for shaking his head and saying, “Sorry, Mayor. I’m not looking for a job right now. Not that kind, anyway.”
Carmichael’s eyes narrowed. “That’s right, you said you were planning to look up Colonel Black. I reckon maybe I misjudged you, Mr. Morgan.”
“Maybe you did.” The Kid paused. “But I’m still looking for a good home for these pups.”
“Well…I might be able to help you out there. It so happens I’ve got an eight-year-old grandson here in town, and I think he’d love to have a couple of fine little pups like these.”
The big gundown Page 5
