All three slugs hammered into the talkative pistolero’s chest and sent him staggering back, turning slightly to his left, and then pitching onto one shoulder and the side of his head. The gun he managed to get unholstered was thrust down past his right hip and discharged a single shot into the dirt. His legs spasmed two or three times and then all of him went totally still.
Beating the draw of the second pistolero before the man even cleared leather, Buckhorn fanned two shots so fast they, too, sounded like a single report. The rounds punched into the base of his target’s throat, just under his Adam’s apple. Spouts of blood shot straight out and then arced upward as the man’s head snapped back. His body stiffened and he toppled flat onto the dust.
CHAPTER 36
With blue powder smoke still curling in the air and his guns still held at the ready, Sweetwater wheeled to face the crowd of onlookers. His eyes raked the faces of those who had edged back several more steps from the outburst of shooting. “Any of the rest of you sons o’ bitches want to try and stick your nose in my business or tell me some more what my business oughta be?” he demanded.
Buckhorn was aware of activity taking place back down the street, but he kept his eyes on Sweetwater.
The young gunman locked his focus on Carl once again. “How about you, you drunk old bastard? You had plenty to say a minute ago. You still wanting some of this?”
Carl met his gaze. Licking his lips, he said, “You know I can’t beat you in a draw.”
“Damn right you can’t,” Sweetwater said. “Nobody in this sorry town can. Seems to me a lot of you were on the brink of forgetting that before the two greasers stepped forward to try their luck.”
“That don’t mean you can go around outdrawing and killing everybody,” Carl told him.
Sweetwater grinned. “No, but I can do it often enough to make sure you all keep it fresh in your minds. I’m thinking I must’ve let too much time pass here of late and that’s what brought out the show of bravery from you bunch of losers this morning. I gotta remember not to let that happen again.”
Sweetwater’s focus switched to Goodwin. “In the meantime, what’s your real story, water sniffer? What was it those Mexes were spouting about sticking their noses in on account of looking out for Don Pedro’s interests? You got something to do with Don Pedro?”
“I don’t think I care to answer that,” Goodwin replied stiffly. “You’ve shown nothing but disrespect and ridicule for my work. What difference does it make who or what is behind it?”
Sweetwater took a step toward the dowser. “Maybe it would make a difference if I took that goofy-looking stick of yours and rammed it down your throat. How about that? Or maybe I just blast away your kneecaps so’s you can’t parade around waving your phony stick at all. You like that idea?”
At which point Buckhorn stepped up behind Sweetwater and swung his Colt in a short, chopping blow to the back of the young gunman’s head, knocking him unconscious. He caught the lean body as its knees buckled and the pistols slipped from nerveless fingers, then eased it to the ground.
Carl came over and knelt beside Buckhorn. “Can I help?”
“Undo his gunbelt and strip it away,” Buckhorn instructed. “His guns, too. Get ’em out of his reach for when he comes back around.”
“What the hell’s going on here?” demanded Sheriff Banning, arriving at the head of the spread-out string of townsfolk drawn by the shooting. Looking up and around, Buckhorn saw Deputy Pomeroy also approaching, shouldering his way through the other citizens. A little farther back, Justine was also hurrying in that direction, a look of deep concern on her face.
Buckhorn stood up. “What’s going on here, Sheriff, is the beginning of cleaning up your town and freeing it from the grip of Thomas Wainwright. I don’t know how much you’re privy to what all that crazy ex-general has planned for this territory so, before I say more, you’re gonna have to tell me if you’re ready to pull yourself once and for all out from under his thumb and stand firm in your boots as this town’s proper lawman . . . or if you want to throw that badge down in the dirt and slink off with Sweetwater here when I send him packing back to the Flying W.”
* * *
From the back of his horse, Sweetwater glared down at Buckhorn. His wrists were handcuffed to the saddle horn in front of him. Hatless and stripped of his guns, he had just enough slack to work the reins. “You’re gonna be sorry you didn’t kill me,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna be sorry because I’m gonna kill you. And it ain’t gonna be fast and clean, I can promise you that.”
“You’re a smart kid,” Buckhorn told him, “but not as smart as you think you are. If you don’t wise up in a hurry, you’re gonna find out there’s always somebody faster with a gun.”
“You, I suppose you mean?”
“I don’t know. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but if you push it, I guess we’ll have to find out.”
“Oh, it’s gonna come to that. I aim to make sure. You see me coming, you better start reaching for your hogleg. That’s the only chance you’ll have.”
Buckhorn sighed. “If you have any brains at all, you’ll ride away from here and keep going. Ride clear of Wainwright. He’s heading for a fall and siding with him will only drag you down, too.”
“Hell, you think I ever had plans on living a long life? It plain don’t happen in this line of work. But I’ll live long enough to take you down before I go. You can count on that.”
There was a trace of sadness in Buckhorn’s expression as he replied, “I’ve said all I got to say. I hope you change your mind. If you don’t, I’ll do my best to oblige you reaching that short life you seem so hell-bent on.”
“My guns?”
“They’re in your saddlebags, emptied of cartridges. Same for your gunbelt. By the time you make it somewhere you can get those cuffs off and reload, maybe you’ll have changed your mind.”
“You go ahead and think that if it makes you feel better. One day, and it won’t be long, you’ll find out otherwise.” With that, Sweetwater wheeled his horse and rode out of town in a cloud of dust.
Buckhorn stood watching him go. After a minute, he was aware that Carl had walked up and was standing at his shoulder. “You should have killed him. He’ll make good on that promise to come back after you.”
“Yeah, I suppose he will. Be soon enough to kill him then, if I’m able.”
Carl regarded him. “You got some strange ways about you, you know that?”
Buckhorn returned his gaze. “You just now figure that out?”
“No, not exactly. The part I really can’t figure out is why me and so many others are willing to stick with you.”
Buckhorn looked past Carl at the gathering of people about a dozen yards away. The bodies of the two slain pistoleros still lay on the ground a short distance to one side. Somebody had spread horse blankets over them. The group of townsfolk had increased in size considerably from before. In their midst, addressing them, were Justine and Sheriff Banning. Goodwin also stood close at hand, along with Deputy Pomeroy.
“How are things going over there?” Buckhorn said.
“Justine and Banning are doing a good job of laying it out. So far, I think they’ve managed to convince most everybody what Wainwright and Don Pedro have been setting up. The only thing folks are having a hard time believing is that none of them saw it taking shape sooner.”
“They’re willing to put their trust in Banning, even though he was cutting Wainwright more slack than he ever should’ve been?”
“Yeah. Could say they’re following your lead. I’ll put myself in the same category. I think folks are just glad to have a sheriff back who they can get behind, given the confrontation with Wainwright and his gunnies that looks to be on the horizon.”
“It’s gonna be more than just on the horizon. It’s gonna be right in our laps before it’s over.”
“What about the Don Pedro angle we rigged for Wainwright to worry about? Judging by the way those t
wo pistoleros stepped forward and what they had to say before they bit the dust, I’d say me and Goodwin sold our little show good enough last night to convince more than a few of the cantina patrons. If word of that has gotten to Wainwright and Sweetwater backs it up with what he saw and heard here this morning . . . well, I think it’s a pretty safe bet that Wainwright will swallow the bait.”
Buckhorn grunted. “Swallow it? Hell, he’ll gobble it down like candy.”
“That might make him inclined toward paying Don Pedro a little visit first. Give us more time to get the town ready for when it’s our turn to receive a visit.”
“Something to hope for, maybe. But not something we can count on. Either way, visitors are coming and we gotta figure they’re gonna be coming hard.” Buckhorn jerked a thumb toward the group of folks still being addressed by Justine and Banning. “That means it’s about time to break up this gaggle from just talking about what’s on the way and get ’em preparing for it.”
CHAPTER 37
“Betrayal! Scurvy, black-hearted, low-down traitors! The very thing every commander fears and detests above all else!” As Thomas Wainwright paced agitatedly back and forth behind the desk in his den, his balled right fist was twisting, grinding steadily in the cupped palm of his left hand.
Leo Sweetwater sat in a wine-colored leather chair positioned in front of the desk. He was methodically pressing cartridges into the loops of the gunbelt spread over his lap. His already-loaded twin pistols were resting on a corner of the desk. The skin around his wrists, exposed by the way the cuffs of his shirtsleeves were shifted back, appeared reddened and faintly abraded.
“I felt the sheriff weakening steadily of late. I knew I’d lose his support completely and have to get rid of him when it was time to take the town,” Wainwright went on. “And I certainly had no high hopes for Buckhorn. You can expect only so much from those heathen redskins. Short term, however, I did believe we could maintain control over him and maybe even get some use out of him if we brought him into the fold and kept him close.”
“I’d like to think we did get some use out of him. Leastways, I did,” Sweetwater muttered. “He saved my life once back in that wash, maybe even twice when he pitched in against those pistoleros earlier this morning.”
“I think you sell yourself short. I think you could have managed both of those situations on your own,” Wainwright said. “Either way, he spent whatever currency he’d earned when he turned on you and clubbed you from behind. Isn’t that so?”
“Yeah, reckon I got a right to look at that as wiping the slate clean.”
“Damn right you do. Same for me with Don Pedro. All these weeks and months of planning. All the money I personally poured in, plus the additional backing I was able to secure. You alone, Sweetwater, out of all the men in my employ, have I confided in about the dream of Silverado and everything Don Pedro and I have put in place to move it toward reality. Tell me, have I shirked at all in my share of the duties?”
Sweetwater shook his head. “No, sir. Way I’ve seen it, you’ve carried your share of the load and then some.”
“Don Pedro’s part all along has only been the potential for the silver he would be bringing out of the mountains to square things up. That and the daughter who was supposed to provide me issue to carry on my name and take over all that I am building.” Wainwright made a disdainful snorting sound. “Well, the daughter has proven barren and, for all I know, the alleged silver mines will turn out to be more of the same. Maybe it’s a good thing Don Pedro’s duplicity has been revealed now, before I waste any more money or time or—”
“Attention to the breeding cow who has failed so miserably in her duties?” Lusita finished for him as she came bursting into the room.
“Lusita!” Wainwright exclaimed. “How long have you been standing out there? I thought I locked that door.”
“I had a duplicate key made for that door months ago. You think I would spend so many hours alone in a house that is supposed to be my home and allow myself to be frozen out of a room within it? As for how long I’ve been standing out there, let’s just say long enough to confirm what I’ve suspected for some time—that I was nothing but barter in this insane undertaking that you and my father have set in motion! Am I supposed to be honored that herding me into your bed for the sake of giving you an heir was the initial bargain that sealed your bold partnership?”
“Lusita, that’s crazy talk,” Wainwright said. “You are my wife. I love you.”
“No, it is Silverado you love—or the mad dream that Silverado will ever amount to,” Lusita insisted. She marched up to the desk and swept her arm, scattering several maps and corresponding papers that were spread over it. “This has consumed you. For months! Did you ever stop to think that if you hadn’t poured all of your passion into these inanimate papers and maps of what will never exist, maybe you would have had enough left to produce the child you claim to so desperately want?”
“I do want a child. And I will have one. Our child, Lusita! I have not given up on that eventuality.” Wainwright’s nostrils flared and his eyes flashed with fierce determination. “I will not be deterred from that just as I will not be deterred from my dream of Silverado, not even by the betrayal of your father.”
“Why are you so willing to jump to the worst possible conclusions and condemn my father on such little evidence?” Lusita demanded. “The prattle of drunken cantina patrons. The bravado of a pair of pistoleros looking to make a name for themselves. These few bits of behavior are enough for you to suddenly cast aside all that you two have forged together? I’m not saying I either believe in or condone the concept of Silverado, but doesn’t the integrity of my father such as you have known it up until now deserve at least talking to him about this matter of him allegedly seeking an alternative water source?”
Wainwright’s face flushed with a new wave of anger. “If he had nothing to hide why didn’t he talk to me about such designs? Why keep it a secret that he had gone and hired this . . . this water wizard or whatever the hell he is?”
“I have no answer for that,” Lusita replied. “Yet I maintain that he at least deserves the chance to explain. What’s more, I’m not sure I understand what is so bad about developing a secondary water supply, no matter who is behind it.”
“Water is power!” Wainwright said forcefully. “Don’t you see that? Don’t you understand? Look what having control over the single great water source in this region has gained me. A new source—especially in town, the one place neither Don Pedro nor I have within our grasp—would tip the balance, drastically dilute this power I wield and have so carefully nurtured.”
“So carefully and ruthlessly,” Lusita said bitterly.
“One man’s ruthlessness is merely another man’s ambition. I didn’t hear you complaining this past year and more, since becoming my wife and enjoying all the fineries my ruthlessness has provided you in that time.”
A pained expression pinched Lusita’s lovely face. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I am guilty of being as shallow and materialistic as every other whore throughout history who allowed—”
“Stop it! I won’t listen to talk like that,” said Wainwright.
Lusita leaned toward him over the desk. “Then listen to at least this much. I beg of you. Before you act too harshly on these negative conclusions you’ve reached in such haste about my father, please go and talk to him. Hear him out. Give him a chance to explain.”
Wainwright smiled thinly. “Oh, I fully intend to talk to him. You can damn well bet on that. The sooner the better.” He cut his gaze to Sweetwater. “The men should be about ready to ride by now, shouldn’t they?”
“Should be for a fact,” the young gunman confirmed, pushing out of the chair and rising smoothly to his feet. He swung the gunbelt around his waist, buckled it, and slammed the pistols into their holsters. “I’ll go make sure. Whenever you’re ready, you’ll find thirty riders—that’s the full gun crew and a couple wranglers to round things out
—waiting to proceed under your command, sir.”
“Thirty armed men on the way to confront and accuse my father at his own hacienda?” echoed Lusita. “That’s your idea of a peaceful, constructive talk?”
“It’s my idea of getting to the bottom of a thing without wasting a lot of time or allowing any room for crawfishing.”
“You will only offend and embarrass him in front of his men. That will leave him just one way to react and it won’t be with any attempt at a calm, rational explanation.”
“That will be his decision, and no one can blame me for not trying.”
CHAPTER 38
By late afternoon, a four-block section of downtown Wagon Wheel had been barricaded and reasonably secured against potential attack from either Wainwright or Don Pedro, even the remote possibility of both.
Each end of Front Street was blockaded by overturned wagons, heavy freight cases, stacks of adobe brick, and other pieces of building equipment. The alleys feeding in from either side were similarly blocked. The front windows of shops and businesses were boarded over.
All women and children were gathered into the roomy Baptist church, whose doors and windows were also securely sealed and guarded by a half dozen men specifically assigned to stand watch. They were mostly elderly, limited when it came to speed and mobility, but still sharp of eye and plenty skilled at planting lead in whatever they aimed at.
It wasn’t anticipated that sparsely populated Mexville was under much threat, but word was sent down that anyone who cared to was welcome to come into the protected area, especially the women and children. Most of the latter accepted the offer and relocated to the church. About half of the town’s men came, too, each readily volunteering his gun in defense of the pending threat. Those who elected to stay behind did so in the belief they would not be bothered.
As all of this fell into place with surprising smoothness, Buckhorn took the opportunity to grab a moment’s rest in the company of Justine York and a cup of fresh-brewed coffee she provided. They sat together on the edge of the boardwalk in front of her newspaper shop.
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